“Sabotage?” There was a sharp intake of breath from the Chancellor.
“Are you sure?” Henley asked.
“I won’t be certain until I’ve made an arrest, but at this point that seems the most likely motive.”
“I see,” the Chancellor said. “You mean it’s a guess. And you are also telling us that you’ve not made an arrest. Do you know who the killer is?”
“No ma’am. Not definitively. But I do have suspects.”
“Suspects, plural?” Henley asked.
“Yes sir.”
“Well, spit it out, man. Who are they?”
“I’ve established that the killer had to be someone from within Tower-One, and have eliminated all but forty-seven names from that list.”
“Forty-seven? You’re not saying they all had something to do with it?” Henley asked.
“No sir,” Ely said, though now he wondered whether there might be more than one person involved. “I believe the crime was committed by just one individual.”
“And how do you want to proceed from here?” Chancellor Stirling asked.
“I was planning on interrogating each of them,” Ely said.
“No,” Henley said curtly. “That would be too great a disruption and we can’t afford any more of those. Not now that—”
The Chancellor cleared her throat pointedly. Henley didn’t finish his sentence.
“It would only take an hour or two per suspect,” Ely said, to fill the loaded silence.
“I imagine it will take a lot longer than that,” Henley said. “And the election is only a matter of hours away.”
“But Chancellor—” Ely began to protest.
“No,” she interrupted. “Henley is correct. We must minimize all disruption. You say you’ve identified forty-seven suspects. If you say they are not all involved, then you must work harder. I will allow you to interview five. No more. In the meantime, I’m ordering all transportation from Tower-One suspended. If we can do nothing else, we can ensure that this killer remains your problem.”
“And, Constable,” Henley said, “when you do catch this murderer, remember that there is only one possible sentence. A killer is of no use to our society and there is no prospect of rehabilitation. The killer must die. When you find him, throw him out of the airlock. We will not waste the energy transporting him here. If you manage this, though I doubt you will, perhaps it will go someway to mitigating the damage your failures have caused.”
“Yes,” Stirling said, “I concur. Execute this killer. Justice should be swift, Constable. We’ve seen your logs. Too often you skulk in the shadows. The fault here lies with you. Were you a more visible presence, were you feared, this crime would not have occurred. Nor, had you been in the lounge, would that fight have begun. All these wasted hours can be firmly placed at your feet, Constable. I will remind you, again, that the election has not yet happened. I am in power. If you are unable to perform your duties, you will be removed and replaced. I hope I make myself clear. Productivity must be maintained.”
The Chancellor clicked off.
Ely stared into space for a moment. He couldn’t believe it. He’d always suspected that Henley was the power behind the throne, but he’d not realised quite how influential the man was until now.
They were going to make him the scapegoat. It wouldn’t work. Rather, it wouldn’t be enough to secure Stirling victory in the polls. That was scant comfort. If Ely was dismissed, he would be sent to the launch site. He didn’t want that. It wasn’t the harsh conditions that worried him, but an ignominious dismissal would spell the end of his hopes to one day stand for election himself.
Ely brought up the list of suspects on his display and began to sort through them as he headed towards the elevator. He needed somewhere quiet to work, but the Chancellor was right in one respect, she was still in charge. He still had to obey her, which meant he had to be seen. He headed up to the lounge.
Chapter 4 - Children
“In under two years we’ll be on Mars,” one said.
“No, in under two years the first of us is going to be on Mars,” another replied.
“It’s the same difference. We’ll be on Mars, and The People’s City will just be leaving Earth’s orbit, and The City of Rights, well, they’ll be still stuck here on Earth.”
“Yeah, but what I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter which of us gets there first. What counts, what’ll matter to history, is who gets all their population transplanted there first.”
“Oh come on,” the first one replied. “In a century’s time does it matter who was on Earth last? No, of course not. People are only ever going to remember which nation got to Mars first.”
“There,” a woman said. “You just said it yourself. First or last, what counts is that there are people who’ll remember. No, no, think about it, I mean really think about it. What matters more, getting to Mars or being the people who write the history?”
“You’re saying,” another said, “that it doesn’t matter what we do, just what we say we do? Doesn’t the truth matter to you? What does it mean to be British if we aren’t honest with our descendants?”
Ely cleared his throat loudly, but he didn’t look up. He was trying to be considerate. Debates were allowed, they were encouraged, but this one was straying dangerously close to sedition. Without any audio recordings to analyse and process, the only evidence that this was anything other than a spirited conversation were the increased heart rates and elevated blood pressures. By law, those themselves weren’t enough to press any charges. But if he looked up, then his camera would register the individuals concerned, and he would be expected to file a report. He really didn’t want any more paperwork, so he kept his head down as he went over the schematics of the corridor outside Unit 6-4-17. He was trying to be considerate, but the group in the centre of the lounge weren’t making it easy.
“I, uh, I didn’t mean it like that,” the woman said. “What I meant was that unless we can establish a thriving colony then it won’t matter whether we were first, second, or third. If the colony fails, then there won’t be any more history. Britain will die. Do you see?”
Ely heard a shuffling of feet. Either no one did get the woman’s point or they were reluctant to agree with her whilst he was sitting so close by.
“The point I’m making,” she went on, “is that we need to focus on production, not on speed. I’m trying to say it’s not a race.”
“Oh? And what about civic pride?” Ely recognised that as one of the voices from earlier. He wished he had a way of blocking out sounds.
“Yes, yes, that’s important,” she said hurriedly. “Of course that’s important, but we can be proud of a good job done. We can be proud of our own work without constantly comparing it to the other two cities.”
“What she’s saying,” someone else added, a snide tone to her voice, “is that she wants more children.”
“Oh? Is that it?” the man asked.
“Well, maybe, but—”
There was a collective snort from most of the crowd, as if they were finally getting to the root of the debate.
“You see, that’s the problem,” a man said. “You talk about Production First, but you don’t really know what it means. More children on Earth means more people to take to Mars. That means more trips and that means more energy, which means more people. It would be a never ending cycle, don’t you see?”
“Without children, there won’t be a future,” she replied.
“Oh, I’m not against children,” the man said expansively. “I’m just saying there’s a time and a place for them. Once we’re on Mars, then fine, we can have as many as the society can support. But now? Can we really support any more unproductive mouths? Well, can we?”