Humans do the “make it a question so it doesn’t sound so bad” thing and it still sounds bad.
Indah did not look pleased. Mensah’s mouth twitched in an “I would like to say things but I am not going to” way. Indah said, “Did you tell them this was an emergency?”
Tural said, “Yes, but they said it was an emergency until the onsite medic pronounced the person dead/unrevivable, after that it went to the end of the list of non-emergency things they have to do.”
Preservation has to make everything complicated. And that’s not a metaphor for my experience here. Okay, yes, it is a metaphor.
Indah’s jaw went tight. “This is a murder. If whoever did this kills someone else—”
Mensah cut her off. “I’ll call them and explain that it’s not an accidental death, and yes, it is an emergency and we need them here now.” She looked toward the body again, her brow furrowed. “The council closed the port and deployed the responder as soon as we got the alert, but are you certain this person is—was—a visitor and not a resident?”
The responder was the armed ship currently on picket duty, discouraging raiders from approaching the station and rendering assistance as needed to local and transient shipping. With the port closed, it would be out there keeping any docked or undocked transports from leaving until the council ordered otherwise.
Tural admitted, “Actually no, Councilor. We’re just guessing that they’re a visitor.”
“I see.” Mensah’s expression was not critical, but I can tell you the face she was making did not indicate that she thought Tural or Indah or anybody in the immediate area was doing a great job. It was obvious Station Security was out of its collective depth here. （At least it was obvious to me.）
Indah must have known that too because she rubbed the bridge of her nose like her head hurt. She was short for a Preservation human, a little lighter brown than Mensah and maybe a little older, but with a solid square build that looked like she could punch someone pretty effectively. That probably wasn’t why she was senior security officer, which was more of an admin job. She told Tural, “Just keep trying to make an ID.”
Tural left with the air of escaping before things got worse. Mensah’s eyebrow was still aimed at Indah and it was getting pointed. （Not really. It’s hard to describe, you had to see it.） Indah made a hands-flung-in-the-air gesture and said, “Fine, let’s go talk about this.”
Mensah led us away from the incident scene and out to the Trans Lateral Bypass. It was wide, with a high arched ceiling that projected a series of holo views of the planet’s surface as if you were looking up through a transparent port. It was an offshoot of the main station mall, a thoroughfare to a section of service offices, with branches into supply areas. Traffic was minimal here right now, but a bot that worked for the station was out with a glowing baton, directing humans, augmented humans, and drone delivery floaters away from the junction entrance and Station Security’s equipment. The group of security officers standing there tried to pretend they weren’t watching us. Mensah’s two council assistants who had walked down with us were watching the security officers critically.
The bot could have engaged a privacy shield but Mensah and Indah just stepped behind a large plant biome with giant paddle-shaped leaves that was screening the entrance to a food service place. （A feed marker in multiple languages and a colorful sign in Preservation Standard Nomenclature indicated it was called “Starchy Foods!!!” and noted that it was closed for its cycle rest period.）
It was relatively private, but I had my drones scan for any attempt to focus a listening device on us. Indah faced me and asked, “You have experience at this?”
Watching her via the drones, I kept my gaze on the Starchy Foods!!! sign, which had little dancing figures around it which I guess were supposed to be starchy foods. I said, “With dead humans? Sure.”
Mensah’s pointed eyebrow was now aimed at me. She tapped my feed for a private connection. I secured it and she sent, Do you think this is GrayCris?
Ugh, maybe? Right now all we had was an anomalous death with no indication of a connection to Mensah or any of my other humans that GrayCris might want to target. I told her, I don’t have enough data to make an assessment yet.
Understood. Then she added, I want you to work on this with Station Security. Even if it isn’t anything to do with our corporate problems, it’s a good opportunity for you.
Double ugh. I told her, They don’t want me. （Hey, I don’t want me, either, but I’m stuck with me.） And it would be easier for me to investigate on my own, particularly if my investigations led to me having to do things like disposing of abruptly dead GrayCris agents.