Penumbra

Nevertheless, she accessed GlobaLink on her com-screen and entered the data bank of symbols and logos. She sketched a representation of a cross of Alsace, with a dozen or so variations, and gave the search command. As she waited, she knew that this would be yet another dead end, another hopeless lead she could forget.

Thirty seconds later the screen flashed with the message that half a dozen crucifixes resembling the image she had requested were ready to be downloaded.

Rana touched the command. Instantly, the six crosses appeared on the screen. Five of them resembled the cross of Alsace, to varying degrees. The sixth crucifix was of the regulation Christian type, but with a small circle beneath each arm. Rana sat up, suddenly interested. What if this was the cross the killer had scored on the cheeks of his victims, but he had been unable to carve a representation of the two small circles? Tenuous, she knew, but worth looking into.

She requested information about the crucifix. Seconds later the screen filled with text. Rana read the article, digested the information, then went through it a second time.

The crucifix was the symbol of a Martian Christian cult known as the Church of Phobos and Deimos, hence the stylised representations of the moons. The church had been founded almost one hundred and twenty years ago by French settlers on the red planet, when two young girls belonging to a traditional Christian order claimed to have seen the image of Christ on the faces of the orbiting moons. Furthermore, they said that they had been told by God to leave Mars and settle the newly founded colony of Columbus, Sirius III, which like Mars had two small moons. Almost a hundred years ago the Church of Phobos and Deimos had raised sufficient funds to expedite the venture. They had sent their disciples to the various space academies, and in time had the expertise to crew their own colony liner. Ninety years ago the entire church, some five thousand citizens in all, had boarded the starship New Hope and embarked on their God-given quest.

They had never arrived. The liner was reported missing, presumed destroyed, a month after phase-out from Olympus spaceport. No trace of the ship was ever discovered, either in normal space or in the void. The disappearance of the New Hope and its five thousand passengers remained a mystery to this day.

Rana sat back, digesting the implications.

She accessed GlobaLink and requested every last scrap of information concerning the Church of Phobos and Deimos, existing branches, chapters and off-shoots of the church, no matter how small or removed from the original doctrine of belief. A minute later she had a lot of information concerning the church’s dogma, but nothing at all about extant chapters. The church had effectively ceased to exist with the disappearance of the New Hope.

She sent a message to Vishwanath: “I’ve come across something to do with the Christian symbol, but I don’t know how relevant it might be.”

Seconds later Vishwanath emerged from his office. He pulled a chair up to Rana’s desk and stared at the screen, minutely going through the article about the Church of Phobos and Deimos.

He shook his head. “The very fact of the church’s demise would suggest that there’s no link to the killings.”

Rana shrugged. “What if there were some church members left behind? Their descendants might have secretly carried on the traditions…” She stopped, realising how far-fetched it sounded.

“I don’t know, but we can’t dismiss it out of hand. Check with the victims to see if they had any links with Mars.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course, all this is pure speculation, based on the presumption that the location of last night’s murder was a part of this old symbol.”

Rana felt herself redden. “Yes, sir.”

“But I’ll put an extra patrol out in the area of the other side of the arm, where the second circle would be, just in case.”

Rana sighed. “I don’t seem to be getting anywhere fast, sir.”

Vishwanath gave a paternal laugh. “You’re doing fine, Lieutenant. You can’t expect instant success. Homicide work involves much unrewarded speculation. But speculation has to be worked through and dismissed.” He smiled. “Often the breakthrough comes from the most unlikely of sources. Keep at it, Rana.”

Rana, now… She smiled as she watched him stride back to his office.

Five minutes later her screen flashed. She accessed the call. The face of a receptionist stared out at her. “We have a private outside caller wishing to speak to you, Lieutenant.”

Rana frowned. She knew few people outside the force who might want to contact her at work. “Fine,” she said. “Put him through.”

She was surprised to see a street-kid’s frightened face fill the screen.

“Vandita—this is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

The girl was in a public com-screen kiosk, obviously unaccustomed to using the technology. Rana wondered if this might account for her cowed expression.

“Rana, I need to see you.”

“Vandita? What is it? Is something—”

“I need to see you. Please, will you come right away? I’ll be by the bridge.”

And without further explanation she cut the connection.

Rana tidied her desk, deactivated the com-screen, and locked away her com-board. She was due to leave in one hour, but Vandita had sounded desperate. She could always come back here and put in the hour when she’d talked to the girl.

She hurried from the building and took a taxi to the Howrah bridge.

Vandita was squatting on her heels by the railings, a tiny figure obscured by the passing crowds, when Rana climbed from the taxi. She pushed her way through the press to the girl, who looked up at her with a timid smile.

“Vandita… ?”

“We can’t talk here. Come with me.”

She stood and gripped Rana’s hand, pulling her along the street to the steel pillars of the bridge. Rana’s mind raced through the possibilities. She wondered if one of the kids had done something wrong, which might explain the girl’s anxiety.

Vandita kicked off her plastic sandals and climbed on to the timber platform, squatting on a mattress and not meeting Rana’s gaze. Three candles provided fitful illumination. The other children had not yet arrived home. Rana removed her boots and sat cross-legged before the girl. She reached out and took her hand.

“Vandita, please, what’s wrong? I’ll do everything I can to help. You know that.”

The girl was clasping her hands around skinny shins.

Her eyes finally focused on Rana. “Last night, Rana, someone I know… he saw a terrible thing.”

“Tell me,” Rana said.

The girl remained silent.

“Do I know him? Does he live here?”

Vandita shook her head. “He lives near the spaceport, in the old scrapyard. But last night he was somewhere else, in a rich area. He saw something and told his friends, and I found out.”

“Tell me what it was, Vandita. What are you frightened of?”

The girl looked pained. “This boy, I know him only slightly. He won’t be happy if police are involved.”

“What was he doing in the rich suburb last night, Vandita?” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “I can guess, but tell me.”

“He was stealing—robbing a house.”

“And he saw something, but was too scared to tell the police because of what he was doing? Vandita, if you tell me what he saw, I’ll ignore the fact that he was burgling a house, ah-cha?”

Vandita shrugged unhappily. “He won’t like me telling you.”

“There’s no need for him to know that it was you who told the police. Now...”

For long seconds Vandita looked at Rana, and at last she whispered, “He was robbing a house in the Raneesh district—”

Rana stopped her. “Raneesh?” She was aware of her hammering heartbeat.