THE STATION

After the guard is satisfied that everything is as it should be, he leads you down the hallway to the large circular room in the middle of the level. Slightly curved glass doors swoosh open to admit you.

Another set of glass doors open to the side and a three people step through. The first is outfitted in that vaguely militaristic way of all corporate security chiefs. The second is wearing an expensive-looking dark grey tight-suit with a neon yellow tie and silver cufflinks. His shoes cost more than your ship. The third is an obsolete, rusting android. It's wearing a shirt in an attempt to look somewhat human, but it only makes it look further out of place.

The doors close behind you.

The others cross the mostly empty room and take their seats at a small table in the middle of the room. The table is dwarfed by the expanse of light brown carpet between it and the wood-panelled walls. A small manila folder waits in front of each of the three remaining empty chairs. If you wait too long, the security chief will beckon you to take your seats.In each folder, when you're seated and open them, is a one-page agenda.



The security chief begins speaking. "If there's no objections, I'd like to get through this quickly. Please read through the agenda, and let me know if you have any questions. If not, we'll get this meeting underway."

"Those will be considered in..." The chief looks down at the agenda in front of her. "... in section six, primarily. Since there's no other questions..." She reaches forward and presses a button, and a section of the wall behind him opens, revealing a tape deck. The deck spools up and she begins the meeting in a sort of monotone song-song voice that you've long come to associate with corp-types going through motions that they are utterly bored with.

"This is Security Chief and Marshall Karen Quinton, recording the agenda for Incident Number Seven Two Nine dash four seven five oh oh one, the matter of Adam Hall, requested by the decedent, said Adam Hall and his union lawyer. The reason for this meeting is to temporarily hand over the investigation into the decedent's death to his selected investigators as outlined in Section Four."

"Continuing, Section One of the agenda, approval of said agenda, was completed prior to recording. Section Two... The parties agree that the investigators, the previously-named non-station members will have thirty-six hours to investigate the matter at hand. They will be given complimentary access to the communal cafeteria and rooming in Union Hall. In thirty-six hours or less, their final report must be notarized by any union representative. This is to be undertaken for consideration of five thousand corporation credits at the end of this meeting, and ten thousand more at the end of the thirty-six hours if a report is filed that removes assumed liability from the decedent. Acceptance of this payment is acceptance of all terms given during this portion of the meeting.

"Section Three... The investigating parties will be deputized and receive a Marshall security card that will give them all rights as a deputy marshall including and limited to all door access on station and authority to question potential witnesses. This access can and will be audited to prevent misuse.

"Section Four is open for any questions you may have about the agreement terms. If you have no questions, simply state your name and say, 'I consent'. If you do have questions, please ask and I will answer them if the answers are not covered in later sections. As a reminder, consent is mandatory to continue the process."

The station chief peers at Seth. It is not a nice stare. "We'll get to the details of evidence and such after we have your agreement to terms logged. As far as which areas are off limits, since you'll be temporary provisional Marshalls, there is no off-limits areas. However..." and here she pauses to look you all over again. "Your access is audited. That's for your safety as well as everyone else's. If say, someone reports items stolen, and we can prove you were on a different deck, then we can easily clear you. And on counterpoint, we can just as easily prove you were there, if you were. Does that clear that up?"

With consent given (assuming Heron does the same) the marshall nods. "Payment was indeed promised. Here is the number of the escrow account." She slides a plastic chip across the table. "You can withdraw your up-front amount now, and the rest will be available upon completion. Completion will be verified by either Mr. Hall or his union representative."

She slides a few more plastic rectangles across to you. "These are your temporary Marshall badges. They expire forty-eight hours from now. That's twelve hours past the end time of the contract. If a station-wide crisis were to present itself, you would be seconded to that crisis, and your contract would be extended for an equal amount of time, up to a maximum of twelve hours."

"Those will also get you access to the rooms where evidence is maintained. Namely, points six and seven. The crime scene has been preserved. It is now turned over to you. Upon your arrival, our guards will be dismissed. It will be up to you to keep the crime scene clear if you require it past your initial observation. You are to receive a copy of the medical reports. This is the number of the report." She slides yet another plastic chit across to you.

"The body is in the morgue and will remain there for the full thirty-six hours of the investigation. However, as noted, some of the brain is missing. Mr. Hall died on the operating line, and some of his brain was incidentally packaged and shipped throughout the station. This is the one piece we have located so far." And here she picks a small box up off the floor and sets in on your side of the table. In it is one individually wrapped, semi-translucent HealthPal nutrition bar, raspberry flavored. There's clearly a bit extra to it though, because hanging suspended in the gelatinous body of the bar, is a thin slice of brain.

"We've asked for all of these to be returned, but this is the only one that has been. This brain sample - and any others you may locate - could contain memory engrams. The Neurological Imaging Unit can process those engrams. You will have priority access to the imager for the thirty-six hours of the investigation.

"Point eight simply outlines when the contract will end. Your findings must be recorded prior to the scheduled corporate finding submission to be considered valid. Any questions on any of that? If not, I wish you luck."

The chief shakes her head. "No, but not everyone listens to recall orders, and I'd be willing to bet that a good number ended up in vending machines. They could be in there for years."

"There are maps posted on each main bulkhead. We don't have a printout or anything like that. Your marshal's ID should open the machines. If they haven't been hacked. Sometimes people like to try to steal things, and that breaks the card system about half the time. If that happens, we're as out of luck as you are; you'll have to track down a repairman. And I see that the time alotted for this meeting is over. Best of luck to you. Please don't hesitate to reach out to me with any more questions after you've had a chance to review all the evidence."

She blatantly hasn't looked at a watch or clock this entire time, and there's no way the meeting was alotted any time since they didn't know you'd be here until you got here. But, that's corps for you.

What's your first step going to be?

Are we okay if we do things in the order that Seth says?

Video evidence first then, it is.

You head to the opposite side of the room that the Marshall came from. There, a set of wide stairs lead down to a lower, taller level. All around you are magnetic tapes and film reels, all labeled in some system that's On one side of the room, gates block access to a more fortified section, but with your badges, you're able to walk right through, the gates closing again after you. Adam doesn't move quite fast enough and ends up stuck on the other side of the gate.

Inside, on several hundred screens, each labelled with a seperate location tag, recordings are playing in real time. No one is watching them. A typeset note on the desk that looks to have been there a few months - if not years - says, "Jake, sorry, but they're eliminated your hours this week. Maybe we'll get a better budget next month. 'Til then, you're going to have to go to either accounting, or the mines, your pick." Scrawled at the bottom of the note is a hand-written one, rather more to the point. "Fuck you Karen, and your corp, too. I'm going home." It doesn't look like anyone ever came down here to look at the message after. The Marshal probably has a feed in her office.



You find the camera that shows the food processing line where Adam was working. It's on one of the smaller screens, but it's still big enough to squint at and see clearly. You press the button to make that the active camera and then spin the dial back. As you spin it back, Adam's body suddenly disappears from the floor in a flash of black. You scroll back forward slowly.

-20:05:47

Adam is working the production line. A sign above the line flashes orange. STORM WARNING. ENTERING LOW POWER MODE IN 30 SECONDS. Three men enter. Two remain at the door, and the third comes up behind Adam and swings what looks like a pipe at his leg.

-20:05:20

ENTERING LOW POWER MODE IN 3 SECONDS.

-20:05:17

The screen goes to a burst of static.

-19:05:17

The camera resolves itself. Adam's body - most of it, anyway - lies on the floor.