A Visitor to the Future - 17 - The Game is Afoot
We enjoyed our drinks for a while until a grey-haired woman walked into the café, seemingly in her mid-fifties - though such things were hard to guess with what I now knew of the Consortium. She reminded me a lot of my favourite art teacher growing up, who was Ethiopian, though this woman's default expression was neutral and not warm. She walked with a poise and dignity that reminded me of a ballet dancer - not one foot was misplaced as she approached. She gave a very slight and polite bow to each of us, and then addressed Tungsten in Human. He responded and pointed in my direction. I was surprised to hear her shift into an accent very similar to Sarkona's, if a little less strong, her tone quiet and reserved.
"English it is, then. Welcome all to Anchor, waystation to the skies. I have been told that you are all interested in completing the Challenge today," she cocked her head slightly to one side but her face remained expressionless. "You are fortunate that this is a fairly empty week, we can fit you in without issue. I am Aida and I will be tracking your progress today. The Challenge takes place on a separate layer not far from here - I presume you are all ready? Good, then follow me."
We followed Aida to one of the launch platforms, and though our walk was a short one it was still very memorable. The sight of the various layers towering over us and the support pillars rising out of the ocean was a little intimidating - but not in the same way that the dense skyscrapers of my day had been, for empty space and blue skies shone around the structures. There were also lots of sleek curves in even the tallest buildings - giving the appearance that they had grown rather than been built. The doors of a small, sleek cone of a quadrocopter drone-craft slid open, and Aida sat facing us on the bench at the front.
"Well then," Aida said, "The rules. First, whatever you experience you may not discuss it outside of the island for one full year, unless you are auditing the challenge itself. Even if you are auditing we politely ask that you keep the details in your report to a minimum. You may say that there is a Challenge, you may recommend it to other people, but you may not comment on its exact contents until one year passes."
The doors of the craft eased shut, and the noises of Anchor faded away. We began to take off - but you could only tell visually, the craft was incredibly well stabilized.
"Secondly, you may not ask the Consortium for help in completing the Challenge, though you can of course ask to leave at any time. Finally, you must allow me to ask the Consortium if you have ever been told the answer to the current Challenge. Do you consent?"
A round of agreement followed and Aida was silent for a while, staring off into space. "Very good, all clear," she said, "I suspected there would be no issues."
Our small craft continued to gently climb before our destination came into sight. On a small layer barely large enough to support it was a three-storey building of functional design, made out of concrete and glass. It was surrounded by a security fence and I could see CCTV cameras dotting the outside. We touched down on a small landing pad.
Aida continued, "The Challenge is as follows. This is a set piece. A man in this base has been murdered. You are the team of investigators assigned to discover to cause of death - and, should you deem his death suspicious, bring the perpetrator to justice."
There was a beat of silence in the craft.
I was fairly concerned, "I'm sorry, did you say someone has been murdered?"
"That is the set piece, yes," replied Aida, "Do note that this scenario is set in about the 2200s."
Sarkona held a hand up to me in reassurance, "No-one has actually died. It is just a set piece - a facsimile. Common enough throughout the Consortium."
Aida frowned briefly, "Well, if you want to ruin your immersion, that is a fine way to start. But yes, have you never seen one before?"
I shook my head. "I was recently awoken from cryocontainment."
"Really?" said Aida, raising an eyebrow. "I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the accuracy of our scenario, then. Now please leave and begin the challenge."
"Hang on," said Tungsten, "So you're telling me that to get residency in Anchor, you have to solve a murder-mystery?"
"Yes," replied Aida plainly.
Tungsten turned to me. "This is everything I've ever wanted in life," he said, his tone raising in awe.
We stepped out of the craft and onto a floor of tarmac - everything on this small layer looked like something more reminiscent of my own time. There were differences, however - the doors appeared to be made out of some sort of plastic, and the solar panels on the roof seemed to be mounted so they rotated to face the sun. I looked behind us, expecting the craft to immediately take off again but instead it just sat there - Aida sat staring forward with eyes glazed over.
A man exited the building and marched over to the four of us where we stood. He was wearing military fatigues with a green, red, and blue identifying flag that I didn't recognise. He looked fairly plain, with close-cropped dark hair and a long nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. He gave us a quick salute and introduced himself.
"Sub-Commander Travers at your disposal. Please, follow me."
We entered the interior of the base, which was painted a utilitarian grey-white. The floor was tiled and functional and there was a faint smell of lemon-scented cleaning products. But even though the room seemed clean there were still scuff-marks on the floors, damaged paintwork, and other imperfections. I thought nothing of it, but I could see Antonia staring at them as we passed. Occasionally you would see a framed photograph of a rocket or rocket launch - though I'd never seen any of the exact designs before.
Travers briefed us as we walked. "The victim is Commander Jackson, who was set to command the Mars mission next week. Terrible shame, he always wanted to return to Mars. We've checked all the camera footage and we know that no-one entered or left the base last night, so we think the perpetrator was one of the four people with him on the base last night. We can't delay the mission, so we need this matter resolved as quickly as possible."
Tungsten stepped forward, "We'll want to conduct interviews," he said sternly, before turning to Sarkona and giving a cheesy thumbs-up, clearly excited.
"Of course," said Travers, "I figured you'd want to see the crime scene first. We're absolutely clueless on this one, which is why we've called you all in." We followed him through the corridors, climbing two flights of stairs before we arrived at a door marked A. Jackson. Travers produced a swipe-card from his belt and ran it through the digital lock. There was a buzzing sound, and the door opened.
Inside was a fairly neat, military-style room with a plain bed and bedside table, which was positioned underneath a window which showed the afternoon sky outside. The table held an alarm clock, a picture of a man and a woman, and an orange bottle of pills. There was also a small en-suite bathroom and shower. The bed was messy and unmade.
"We found him here," Travers said, pointing to a white outline on the bathroom floor. "On his back, facing into the bedroom. The body is in medical - suffered a blunt-force blow to the head."
Tungsten kneeled down to inspect the outline on the ground, adjusting the angle of his head in scrutiny. Sarkona stood in the bedroom looking at the window, and Antonia inspected the bedside table. It was rather crowded inside.
"The door lock," I asked, "Is that logged?"
"Yes," replied Travers, "That's the oddest thing - no-one in and out since last night. That door didn't open until Jackson didn't report for duty this morning, and we found the body."
"And this window?" Sarkona asked, "Could someone have come in this way?"
Travers shook his head, "There are cameras in the corridors and watching the exterior walls. We've pored over the camera footage - no signs of anyone outside last night. Besides, we're three storeys up here."
"Please leave us for a moment - if you'd be so kind," said Tungsten. Travers gave a short nod and left the room, the door buzzing shut behind him.