Goodbye Haldane Hill (DC Holly Towns

Murder Mystery 4) Anne Shillolo

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GOODBYE HALDANE HILL
ANNE SHILLOLO
Copyright © 2021 by Anne Shillolo
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
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 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Goodbye Lake Street
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 1

I saw her just ahead, a petite blond woman in jeans, a red-and-

white striped tee with long sleeves, and a black down vest. Her hair
was wavy and shoulder-length, and the wind off the water whipped
it around her face.
At her side, looking tense and tearful, was a curly-haired little
boy wearing a blue shirt with a large yellow dinosaur on the chest.
His gray jacket flapped open in the gale.
I picked my way along the boulder beach below Haldane Hill,
trying not to twist an ankle, or worse. To my right was a lowering
sky full of tumbling black clouds over an angry-looking lake. The
horizon was a smudge in the far distance. I didn’t need a weather
app to predict what was blowing in across the inland sea of Lake
Ontario.
On top of that, I had no idea why I was even out here. Normal
practice was to send a patrol officer to respond to calls from the
public. In the Criminal Investigations Unit, we waited for our violent
crimes to be delivered to us. We didn’t go chasing them down.
Walking up to the pair, I thought, let’s go, folks. Time to head for
shelter. Instead, I said, “Good morning. I’m Detective Constable
Holly Towns.”
The waves were pounding so hard, it was difficult to hear her
answer. “Oh, thank you for getting here so quickly,” the mom said,
raising her voice against the wind. “I’ve never called the police
before. Not for anything. But I felt I should. And with what Jake
found, I knew it was a serious matter. So I called my uncle.”
Great. I gritted my teeth and waited for her to give me the bad
news.
“He’s a police superintendent. Phil Carpenter. I guess he called
your department.”
Just what every rank-and-file cop wanted to hear. The brass
sending them cases, and then looking over their shoulder at the
outcome.
I forced a smile. “Can I get your name?”
“Sure. I’m Summer Dalton, and this is my son, Jake.”
The boy looked up at me. “There’s a dead guy. You better catch
who did it.”
There were clearly no corpses on the beach. I smiled down at
him. “Absolutely. Can you show me what you found?”
He glanced at me scornfully and pointed towards the cliff. Well,
cliff was too strong a word. The bank rose from the boulder beach
up to the grassy lawn of the park, maybe 20 feet or so of sand,
gravel, smooth rocks. To me, many of the boulders underfoot and in
the bank looked about the same size and shape as a human skull.
Surely Summer Dalton could tell the difference?
I followed Jake’s little pointing finger and still came up with
rocks, not skulls.
“Sorry, Jake. I’m not seeing it.”
His lower lip trembled. “I’m not going any closer.”
Summer Dalton spoke up. “Sorry, Detective. I’ll show you. Jake,
you have to let go.”
Jake had his mother’s hand in a death grip. Her fingers were
turning white.
I said, “Just tell me where to look. You can wait here.”
She nodded. “Walk towards the bank. It’s on the ground, and it’s
lighter than most of the rocks.”
I walked slowly forward, with Summer providing a running
commentary. “Right, no straight. A bit to your left.”
Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. Unbelievable. It was actually a
human skull. I took my phone out of my pocket and snapped a few
photos, and then looked around for the rest of the body. I gazed
methodically back and forth across the beach and then up through
the layers of glacial deposits. I couldn’t help myself. I shuddered
when I spotted them. If I wasn’t mistaken, about two feet from the
top was a thin layer that was composed of human remains. I could
make out several skulls and some of the long bones from legs and
arms.
I turned and walked back to Summer and Jake. He wiped a tear
from his face. I knelt down. “Hey, Jake. I guess you like dinosaurs.”
He nodded seriously.
“Nice shirt.”
“It’s a diplodocus.”
“I see that. Have you ever gone to a museum to look at the
dinosaurs?”
He perked up. “Yes. I saw a T-Rex. And lots of others.”
I looked into his eyes. “The skull that you found. There might be
other bones nearby. Scary, right?”
He nodded.
“When the technicians come to get them, I think they’ll find that
they’re very old. Are you scared of dinosaurs?”
“No way!”
“This is exactly the same. They’ll put up a big tent to protect the
bones and then start working inside. If you want to watch them dig
for a while, I can try to get you in.”
He looked over. I could tell he was weighing my words. “Do you
think it’s a caveman?”
“Honestly? No. But pretty old.”
“OK. I’ll watch.”
I stood up, and Summer mouthed, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I said with a smile. “I want to call my boss, and
then I’ll get your information.”
Stepping towards the shore of the lake, I was surprised to see
that the dark clouds were shredded in places, and tiny patches of
blue were peeking through. That was fall for you. Not that I was
complaining. I was happy to stay dry, and this scene was going to
require a lot of work. Rain and wind, and possibly wave action,
would be terrible.
I pressed the speed dial for Sergeant Terry Hawkshaw.
“Towns? What did you find?”
“Definitely human remains. There’s a skull on the boulder beach,
and I’m fairly sure there are more skeletons buried within the bank.
It’s right below the park.”
“Buried?”
“Like, a long time ago. I’m no expert, but I’d say decades. Or
older. It’s not a recent excavation or anything.”
“OK. I’ll get the coroner out there and she can decide if it’s her
job or an archaeological site.”
Before I could respond, a shrill scream pierced the air. It was
coming from above me, somewhere in Haldane Hill Park. The shrieks
continued, filled with panic. It was a girl, and I could make out,
“Mom, help!”
“What’s that?”
“No idea. I better go.”
Summer was yelling, “Chelsea! I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”
She darted for the stairs that led in two zigzag flights connecting
the beach with the grassy park up top. Now it was Summer who had
her son’s hand in a tight grasp. I caught up with them, and all three
of us burst out of the staircase and across the lawn. I slowed to get
my bearings. It was years since I’d been out here.
The historic Haldane Hill neighborhood formed the eastern
section of the city of Port Alma. Although the original two
communities dated from the same time period, Port Alma had the
superior harbor as well as access to the Gull River, and its growth
had quickly surpassed the smaller village of Haldane Hill.
Haldane Hill itself was a landmark. It was a picturesque rise in
land with a great view over the lake and had started out as a large
farmstead. Now, the gracious old house and a few acres lived on as
a hobby farm, and the hill and another 20 acres had been donated
to the town as a public park.
Trees and brush had been allowed to grow back along the whole
east side, and nearby was a grassy picnic area as well as a children’s
playground. The screams were now mixed with sobs, and I headed
across the lawn. Sprinting past Summer and Jake, I dashed into the
woods. Following a wide, well-worn path, it was only a couple of
seconds before I saw a girl ahead of me in a clearing. She had
wrapped her arms around herself and tears rolled down her face. I
slowed down and yelled, “Police. What is it?”
For the second time that day, a child pointed and I looked.
 2

This time, there was no question. I walked over, put my arm over
her shoulders, and steered her towards Summer and Jake, who had
just entered the woods. I assumed that Chelsea was Jake’s sister,
and she flung her arms around Summer. I walked them all back out
to the clearing and headed for a picnic table. A large backpack was
perched in the middle. “Is this Chelsea’s?”
Jake said, “Yeah.”
“Is there water in it? I need Chelsea to calm down.”
He unzipped it, pulled out a lunch kit, and handed his mother a
water bottle.
I said, “I’m going back into the woods. I want all three of you to
stay here. I’ll be back in a minute or two. Mrs. Dalton, have Chelsea
drink some water, and then if you feel she needs medical help, we
can call.”
Basically, they were all ignoring me, so I re-traced my steps
down the path. This time I counted my paces, paid closer attention
to my surroundings, and watched where I was walking. But it all
looked normal. It was damp and cold under the canopy of trees, and
the air was heavy with the perfume of dying maple leaves. I
shrugged my jacket up around my ears. The trees had lost about
half their foliage, and I was scuffing through a blanket of red,
yellow, and orange. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary at
first glance.
 Except for the body of a young woman, stretched out beside the
trail. I crouched down and felt the side of her wrist. There was no
question that she was dead, but I wanted to see if she was still
warm. However, it appeared she’d been lying out in the cool fall air
for some time.
She was wearing light blue stone-washed jeans, a short-sleeved
pink t-shirt with the iconic Port Alma Harvest Festival banner and
logo, and an unbuttoned denim jacket. The festival, which had been
running for at least 20 years, was two weeks away, and pink was the
color of this year’s commemorative shirt.
The body seemed posed. The woman was looking from sightless
blue eyes straight up through the dark lattice of bare maple
branches. Her arms were by her sides. She looked almost at peace,
if you could get by the vicious bruising on her neck and the
discoloration of her face.
I studied her a little longer. Long light brown hair, fair
complexion, no makeup, long legs, slim build. No rings. A small
tattooed inscription on the inside of her forearm, partially obscured
by her position and her sleeve. She would have been quite tall in
life, and looked physically fit. A wet red maple leaf had fallen and
blown against her right thigh. A scatter of yellow and gold birch
leaves covered her shins.
I shivered. Intellectually, I knew the killer was long gone, but an
atavistic fear had me spinning around and scanning as far as I could
into the forest, looking for a quickly moving shadow, and listening
for the crunch of footsteps. Subconsciously, I reached into my
pocket for my lucky key and pressed my thumb into the teeth. And
then, for the second time in one morning, I got my phone out and
took pictures.
Before I could tear my gaze away from the body, I heard my
name called, and headed back to the picnic table. Summer was
sitting on the bench with Jake on her lap, her right arm around her
daughter. Chelsea looked like a smaller, thinner version of her
mother, and her face was blotchy with tears. But she seemed much
calmer. It was a sad tableau, but I knew the family’s upsetting
morning was just getting started.
 “Is there really a dead body?” Summer Dalton demanded.
“I’m sorry. Yes.”
Now it looked as if she was going to be the one crying. I
continued, “I need to use my phone. I know this has been a terrible
shock. For all of you. I’m going to call my boss. We’ll give you a ride
home. Is there anyone I can contact to be with you?”
Summer collected herself. “We’ll walk. My husband is overseas on
business, but I’ll phone my sister when I get home.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait for a drive?”
She nodded. “It’s only a couple of blocks. We often walk here in
the mornings on the way to school. The kids both go to Melrose
Public School.”
“Can I ask that once you get home, you all stay there? No
school, until we can talk to you in more detail.”
They all nodded seriously, the kids looking up at me with wide
eyes, still shocked by their early morning discoveries. I got an
address and phone number, and let them go. Settling myself on the
picnic table, I re-dialed the boss.
“Yes,” he barked. “How bad is it? I figured when you didn’t call
right away, something was wrong.”
“This poor family. They come out to Haldane Hill Park for a walk
on the way to school. The boy is the one who spots the skull on the
beach. Meanwhile, there’s a daughter waiting for them up in the
park. She decides to take a stroll in the woods. And finds the body
of a young woman. It looks like the victim was strangled sometime
in the last 12 hours. To me.”
The sarge was super-organized, an excellent leader, and an
experienced cop. But excitable. At the other end of the line, I heard
a curse or two, and then he responded. “I’ve already got Dr. Santos
on her way to the beach. I’ll call her and tell her about the other
situation. Stay there and get her oriented. I’ll send a couple of
uniforms for each location. This is really going to stretch us, but I
don’t see a way around it. I want you to focus on the recent killing,
and Cavallo will join you. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
 Detective Danny Cavallo had been part of the Criminal
Investigations Unit longer than me, but he was my best friend on
the force. We’d worked in the same Patrol unit for several years, and
I was fortunate enough to get the transfer to the job of my dreams
a year or so after him. Sergeant Hawkshaw headed up CIU, and we
had two other officers along with us.
While I waited, the breeze picked up, and the sky brightened.
Good news for all cops and coroners. But the image of the young
woman lying behind me in the woods was chilling, sun or no sun.
There was something about the scene that was bothering me. Other
than the obvious. A young life cut brutally short and the perpetrator
walking around a free man. I hoped that situation would be fixed in
the very near future. If we could identify her, and track down a
boyfriend or someone with a grudge, it might all be over before the
weekend.
Or not. What was it about the scene? It was annoying me that I
couldn’t come up with the fact or info that was tickling the back of
my mind. I shook my head as I saw two vehicles pulling into the
parking lot. I walked over to meet the occupants.
Dr. Santos was all business. She was a petite brunette and had
dressed sensibly this morning in a navy trench coat and a matching
beret. Her footwear looked incongruous. She’d swapped out her
usual black pumps for a pair of running shoes. Which made total
sense.
Cavallo sauntered along at her side. His black leather jacket was
hanging open, and he smiled in my direction. I told myself not to get
excited. There was no denying the attraction that we both felt, but
we’d never even talked about it. It went unsaid. Romance was
permanently off the table. Nothing would ever happen between us.
We both valued our jobs too much to jeopardize things with a
flirtation or something more. But I could still admire his curly dark
hair and warm brown eyes, not to mention the physique that he kept
trim at the gym and pool.
“Hey, Towns. You got an early start this morning,” said Cavallo.
“I found them, I didn’t put them there,” I complained.
 Dr. Alice Santos smiled at our banter and then got down to
business. “Terry Hawkshaw called me. I have to look at two sites?”
“Hi, Dr. Santos. Yes.”
As we stood on the open grassy lawn, I took them briefly
through my morning so far. Meanwhile, two women wearing casual
clothing and good walking shoes approached with a total of five
dogs on leashes. “I hope the uniforms get here soon,” I muttered.
Danny headed towards the ladies and turned them away. We needed
to get the whole park, not to mention a section of beach, closed off
as soon as possible.
Dr. Santos was looking towards the lake. “I’d like to look at the
skeletons first. I may be able to make a quick call and free myself up
to concentrate on the victim in the woods.”
Cavallo said, “You better do the honors, Towns. I’ll stay here until
someone from East Division Patrol gets here.”
As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. A cruiser pulled up, and
we waved the officer over. He was short and thin, with light brown
hair and a wide smile. “Hi. Ryan Getz. You need help? Some others
are on the way. Be here in five to ten minutes.”
Cavallo filled him in briefly. “No way,” Getz replied, shaking his
head. “Hard to believe. You guys in Downtown usually have all the
action. Other than rowdy students from Lakeport College, we don’t
have much violent crime.”
Leaving Getz to keep curiosity seekers and dog-walkers out of
the park, the three of us trotted down the wooden steps, turned left
and walked carefully across the boulders, and then stopped. I
pointed out the skull, and then gestured up at the bank.
“Well,” said Cavallo, “Not a sight you see every day of the week
in Port Alma. And it’s not even Halloween, yet. Those bones sure
look old to me. What do you think, Doc?”
Alice Santos nodded. “I’m looking at the depth of the other
remains that we can see on the face of the bank. If the ground up in
the park isn’t disturbed, those bones have been there a very long
time. I’m going to call Spencer Ackerman to take a look. He’s a
professor over at Lakeport College. His area is ancient civilizations,
but he and his graduate students have helped me out a couple of
times in the past. Anyway, we still need an officer down here.”
“Agreed. I’m sure we’ll have help soon.” Cavallo had hardly
stopped speaking when three faces peered over the top of the bank
at us. He beckoned them down and introduced himself. Both Cavallo
and I were veterans in Downtown Division, and now we found
ourselves in the east end. I didn’t know any of the officers. They ran
down the steps and then walked unsteadily across the rocks toward
us.
 3

The first officer to reach us said, “Hey. I’m Moe Hassan. These
boulders are deadly.”
We nodded, and the others introduced themselves. The lone
female officer shot Hassan a look. “I think that’s why we’re here,
Moe.”
He rolled his eyes, and she turned to us. “Hi. Megan Roy.”
Hassan looked to be a contemporary of Cavallo’s, an attractive
man in his late 30s, with short dark hair. His light brown skin set off
his black eyes. Megan Roy was a petite, curvy brunette, maybe my
age, 28 or 29, with her hair tied up tightly in a topknot, and a touch
of lipstick brightening her face.
The third officer, a tall, beefy guy with strawberry-blond hair and
a ruddy complexion, chimed in and told us he was Freddie Traynor. I
immediately thought ‘farm boy,’ and then chastised myself. Or was
there even such a thing as an agricultural bias?
Cavallo nodded at me, and once again, I took everyone through
the events of the morning.
Dr. Santos looked over at the patrol cops from the East Division.
“Hi, Moe. I remember you from that case last winter.” To the others
she said, “I’m Dr. Alice Santos, the coroner. I’d like one of you to
stay down here. I don’t imagine that there will be crowds walking
around, but I don’t want to take a chance until I can get an
archaeologist to take a look. And we’ll have to come up with a plan
to recover the remains. The rest of us will secure the other scene
and do a preliminary search of the surroundings.”
Hassan eyed up the bank. “I think we should get a scaffold set
up as soon as possible. It’s going to rain, and I can’t see another
way to prevent everything from collapsing once you start to dig at
the surface.”
I agreed, but before I could say so, Freddie Traynor asked, “You
think your dad can lend us some?”
Moe looked over at us. “The old man has a roofing business. He’s
pretty busy, but I’ll ask. Otherwise, we can rent it.”
Danny was looking out over the lake. He shook his head. “I
guess there’s a chance it could blow over, but I don’t think so.”
With that, a huge gust of wind drove torrents of ice-cold rain at
us. We all winced and pulled our collars up.
Cavallo said, “Hassan, go deal with the scaffold. One way or
another. Roy, get a raincoat and then park yourself down here.
Traynor, go and find Getz, and tape off everything, all the way back
at the parking lot. If you know of any other access points to the
park, close them, too. By the time you’re done, I should know more.
Let’s go.”
Of all the miserable days. And my early morning impression of
Haldane Hill only got worse over the next few hours.
Secretly, I wanted nothing more than to go and interview the
Dalton family. Indoors. Summer seemed like the kind of woman who
would serve me coffee and home baking. Instead, I escorted Cavallo
and Dr. Santos down the winding woodland trail to the location of
the dead woman. “Just 78 paces,” I murmured, and a moment later
we saw her. The coroner knelt down briefly to inspect the body, then
stood, walked away, and started making phone calls.
Cavallo said, “We need to do a proper search, but it’s going to be
a problem. She’s been here for a few hours, it’s been windy and
rainy, and these leaves are covering everything.”
“Yeah. I wish we had our own K-9 unit.”
Ironically, although it was nice being out of the worst of the rain
in here under the canopy, or what remained of it, the same
overhead protection meant that any parts of the path not carpeted
in leaves were fairly hard packed. There was no convenient mud
with crisp, clear footprints.
Cavallo continued, “When Getz and Traynor get over here, we
can make a start. This path, any other paths that lead here. I
wonder if the Parks Department has a map of walking trails or
something like that?”
“Good idea. Want me to call?”
He nodded, but I waited. Dr. Santos was turning back towards
us. “I assume you’d like to check her pockets?” she asked. “Let’s do
it.”
We all crouched down and assisted her in tilting the body so she
could check all four pockets of the jeans. A rose-colored lip gloss, a
$20 bill, what looked like a house key on a fob advertising a theme
park north of Toronto, an older-model iPhone, and, thankfully, a
debit card.
I frowned, and Cavallo spoke my thoughts aloud. “The guy sure
didn’t care if we identified her. This is giving me a bad feeling.”
“You and me both,” I muttered.
“I’m calling the boss.” He held the card up to the light. “Alison
O’Mara. Ring any bells?”
Dr. Santos and I both shook our heads. She said, “I’ve called for
transport. I should be able to get to the post-mortem later today or
early tomorrow. If you can contact her parents, ideally they can
formally identify her before I begin.”
Cavallo nodded, and this time he was the one stepping away to
use his phone.
I started back down the path, scanning both sides, but I quickly
grew frustrated and returned, meeting Cavallo and Dr. Santos near
the late Alison O’Mara. “Do you think we can use rakes to lift the
leaves? I kicked a bit of it, and I can see some garbage, a candy bar
wrapper, some cigarette butts. Without a rake, I don’t see how we
can do a proper search.”
“The sarge is coming out here with some rakes and extra rain
gear. Once he takes a look, he might ask the provincial police to
send a K-9 unit. But he thinks, with the rain, it might not be worth it.
Also, he looked up the victim’s details. She’s only 20, been driving
since she was 16. He’s got a line on the parents, and will go to their
place after he sees us. Her registered address is still with them. He
also checked with the desk sergeant. No missing persons reported
overnight.”
“So, maybe she lives on campus? Didn’t change her address?”
“Seems like a possibility.”
We heard the sound of an engine and headed down the path. Dr.
Santos said, “I should probably warn you. Spencer Ackerman knows
his stuff, but he’s a little hard to take, sometimes.”
Looking through the sheets of rain at the meetup between
Ackerman and Getz, I thought she was being diplomatic. Even with
the steady drumming of the downpour, I could hear raised voices. I
looked over at the coroner and joked, “Better hurry. I think Getz is
about to arrest him.”
 4

Dr. Santos sighed and put on some speed. She waved and called,
“Good morning, Spencer. Thank you so much for coming out in these
conditions.”
“I would have been here sooner, if it weren’t for Dudley Do-Right,
here.”
The coroner replied, “Sorry, sorry, everyone. Constable Getz, I
apologize for not letting you know. Dr. Ackerman will be looking at
the first site. The older remains. Is it possible for you to let him into
the scene? He’ll be going straight from here to the top of the
staircase leading to the beach.”
Ackerman looked middle-aged but had the long, gangly limbs of
an awkward teenager. Not to mention red hair, a clipped red beard
and mustache, horn-rim glasses that were fogged up in the rain, and
a patchy flushed complexion. I figured his face was redder than
usual because he was obviously bad-tempered and had quickly
reached the end of his short fuse when Getz wouldn’t let him have
his own way. With his dark brown barn coat and a tweed deerstalker
hat, he made quite a sight.
I saw that a young woman was standing behind him, looking
miserable from the rain and likely from embarrassment. She looked
like a long-suffering graduate student to me. At least she was
wearing a proper raincoat, the hood up over short, dark curly hair,
with jeans and a pair of sturdy hiking boots.
 The professor turned his attention to us and started another
tirade. “Dr. Santos, who are all these people? If there is a historical
burial site, this is my scene. All of you are in the way. More tape will
be needed, and I’ll bring in a field tent and begin planning the
excavating later today.”
I’d had enough. Normally, I’d defer to Cavallo as the ranking
officer. But I felt very protective of those bones, not to mention the
dead woman in the woods. And all this rain was making me cranky. I
said, “Mr. Ackerman.”
“That will be Dr. Ackerman to you,” he replied, looking down his
long nose at me.
“Dr. Ackerman. Be quiet and listen to me. This is a Port Alma PD
crime scene. At the moment, Dr. Santos is in charge and when she
leaves, you’ll answer to Detective Cavallo.”
“Totally unacceptable. All of you are in the way, and I’ll be telling
you who I need here. Case closed.”
“If that’s your attitude, I’ll ask Constable Getz to escort you to
your vehicle.” I looked over at the woman standing behind him.
“Good morning.”
She nodded back, glancing at Ackerman out of the corner of her
eye.
“What’s your name? Are you a grad student?”
She nodded again. “Leslie King.”
I looked over at Ackerman. “Leslie, here, will advise us. You can
leave. She can stay. I’m sure she’s more than competent to answer
our basic questions and advise us on what to do next. Constable
Getz?”
Ryan Getz looked like he was holding back a laugh or two, and
Cavallo had his lips pressed tightly together. Ackerman started
ranting, and I held up a finger. “One more word from you, other
than about the identification of the bones, and you’re out of here.”
He snapped his mouth shut.
“Let’s go,” I said. For the third time that morning, I walked down
the wooden staircase to the boulder beach and headed east. I led
the group to the skull lying on the ground and gestured to the array
of bones overhead. “Dr. Ackerman, at this point, I want you to tell us
one thing, and one thing only. In really simple terms, can you
determine if the skull is from a white person or an aboriginal person?
Yes or no.” I knew that was key information and would affect how
we proceeded and who would be our next point of contact.
He launched into a heated spiel about race and the identification
of human remains. I put up my hand. “Stop. This is your last
chance. Any words other than ‘white’ or ‘aboriginal’ will get you an
escort back to your car.”
Ackerman’s face got even redder, but he crouched down.
Mercifully, he was silent for five minutes as he picked up the skull
and looked at it from different directions. The rest of us hunched our
shoulders against the wind and rain and waited.
Then the professor stood. “White.” He began to lecture and
harangue us and, wiping the rain from my eyes, I shouted, “Stop.
Your behavior in the next minute or two will determine who is in
charge of this site, you or Leslie. You know as well as I do that we
have laws to follow and protocols about the discovery of human
remains, so give it a rest. Next question. Dr. Santos believes that the
burial is old. Decades, maybe centuries old. We can all see that the
bones are located well below the grass and topsoil in the park, so
don’t get going about that. Now, yes or no. Are the bones likely an
archeological find as opposed to a more recent murder?”
Behind his back, Leslie was grinning.
The archaeologist said, “Yes. Historic. Not recent.”
Dr. Santos spoke next. “Spencer, we’d like you and Ms. King to
help us with the archeological site. But, we have a serious
complication. There’s been a murder in the last 12 hours or so. The
victim has just been found in the wooded area of the park.”
Leslie looked horrified. “Oh, no. That’s terrible.”
Dr. Santos said, “Yes. So, for this site, we have scaffolding on the
way and it’s absolutely imperative that you begin your dig at the face
of the bank, here, and not in the park. As time goes by, we can
allow you to move back across the lawn. But that will probably not
happen for a day or so, as the other investigation takes priority. You
can put the tent up on the grass, but keep it close to the bank and
stay within its perimeter.”
 Ackerman looked like he was about to object, but I shot him a
look, and he kept his mouth shut. Dr. Santos continued, “The police
will look after notifying the provincial heritage ministry, and you can
expect a visit, I’m sure.”
Cavallo added, “I’m Detective Danny Cavallo. Either DC Towns or
I will be your liaison. Other constables will provide security, and
numerous other officers will be in the park today and tomorrow
investigating the murder. Maybe longer. If you’re going to take this
on, I need a guarantee that you won’t talk to the media. Not a word.
All information will go through our communications department.”
“Fine,” Ackerman said with a sullen expression.
From above us, a voice yelled, “Hey, Cavallo.”
We all looked up and saw Moe Hassan at the top of the staircase.
“I’ve got the scaffolding and a crew. Can we come down?”
Cavallo gave him a thumbs up and turned to the archaeologist. “I
get any complaints from the officers, you’re out and Leslie’s in. Got
it?”
 5

Once Constable Hassan and his helpers from the family roofing
company were at work setting up the scaffold, Cavallo and I climbed
the stairs to the park, bringing Megan Roy with us.
Traynor and Getz were approaching from across the lawn, and
we met at the same picnic table that I’d shared with the Dalton
family. Traynor said, “The tape’s up here. There’s one other park
entrance off Oriole Drive. It has a small parking lot, no more than 10
spots, and a walking trail that connects up with this one. We closed
the lot and strung tape across the entrance. But I figure we don’t
have much time before this becomes public, and we should probably
station someone there.”
“Agreed,” replied Cavallo.
Our attention was caught by an approaching vehicle. “It’s our
sarge,” said Cavallo. “He’s bringing us rakes.”
Sergeant Hawkshaw swung open the door of his white Dodge
pickup truck, slammed it closed with his elbow, and walked our way
with two trays of takeout coffee.
Cavallo looked after the introductions, and added, “Thanks a lot,
boss.” We all took a cup. The hot liquid was heavenly, and steam
rose in front of our faces as Cavallo reported to Hawkshaw. “Dr.
Santos called in an archaeologist and he agrees the bones are old. A
constable from the East, Moe Hassan, already has some guys setting
up scaffolding down on the beach, and the professor says he has a
tent for up here at the edge of the bank. We probably need a
constable for that site, plus one for the Oriole Drive entrance to the
park, and one for here at the Melrose Avenue entrance.”
Hawkshaw replied, “I’ll talk to the inspector at the East station.
Are you all fine to continue over here?” he asked the assembled East
Division constables. They all nodded their agreement. “Alice?” he
continued.
Dr. Santos said, “I’ve called for transport for the victim in the
woods. It should be here any minute. At that point, the scene is
yours.”
Hawkshaw said, “Towns, do you have a vehicle out here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to follow me to the O’Mara’s home. It’s going to be
bad, but I need them to meet you. You can handle the interview
after I leave. I have to get back to the station. We’ll be talking to the
media this afternoon, and I need to coordinate with Inspector
Casgrain. Then, get over to see the people who first found
everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cavallo, there are rakes in the back of the pickup. Obviously,
you’re not going to rake the whole forest, but you can use them to
lift the leaves on the path and along the edges. Hopefully, this rain
will let up.”
As much as I was glad to get out of the downpour, once I was
back in the unmarked and following the sarge, I was thinking of the
next hour with trepidation. Breaking tragic news to the next-of-kin of
victims after traffic accidents, murder, or other disasters was painful
for all involved. I was dreading the meeting with Alison O’Mara’s
parents. On top of that, it was past nine o’clock, and they were likely
at work, which would complicate things.
We drove back across town and pulled up in front of a tidy
bungalow in the Greenwood neighborhood. The whole area was a
mix of middle-class and working-class houses, along with swaths of
social housing, mainly low-rise apartments. I knew it well from my
days in Patrol.
 I stood beside the sarge as he rang the doorbell, and then
tapped on the screen door for good measure. A few seconds passed,
and then the inner door was swung open by a woman in a
wheelchair. “Mrs. O’Mara?” he asked.
Her short brown hair was streaked with gray. She looked us over
and then frowned. “Lizzie’s not at home. She doesn’t live here any
longer.”
We looked at each other. “May we come in?” asked Hawkshaw.
She heaved a visible sigh and nodded.
We followed her into a small living room, where a space had
been left in front of the bay window for the chair. She rolled into
place and gestured towards the couch and armchair. Hawkshaw
asked, “Mrs. O’Mara, is your husband home?”
“No. He’s on days. Joe’s the custodian at the school, just around
the corner.”
The boss looked over, and I left. I drove down to the end of the
block, made a right, and then pulled up to the curb in front of
Greenwood Public School. Inside, I had a quick word with the
secretary, and she showed me into the principal’s office. He was a
young Asian man wearing a neat gray suit and a tie with cartoon
dogs on it. “Detective. How can I help you? Nothing wrong here, I
hope?”
I shook my head with a brief smile. “No, sir. But I have bad
news. Mr. O’Mara’s daughter has been the victim of a crime. I’d like
to speak to him and ask him to come home to be with his wife.”
“Of course. That’s awful. But at the same time, I think they’ve
been prepared for the worst for years. Lizzie has had her problems
since the days she went here, I understand.”
Lizzie. This was the second time I’d heard her name. I wondered
aloud, “Do the O’Maras have other children?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Alison is at Lakeport College. She’s the
opposite of her sister, a real over-achiever. Great kid.”
I sat down and rubbed my temples. This was heartbreaking. I
looked over and murmured. “It’s Alison. Can you get Mr. O’Mara in
here?”
“No! That’s terrible. Are you sure?”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Outside Saturn
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Outside Saturn

Author: Robert E. Gilbert

Illustrator: Richard Kluga

Release date: October 5, 2023 [eBook #71815]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Royal Publications, Inc, 1957

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUTSIDE

SATURN ***
 OUTSIDE SATURN

By ROBERT ERNEST GILBERT

Illustrated by RICHARD KLUGA

Gangsters were out of date, and the ice-sweeper

was an unlikely thing to steal. But Vicenzo
was a streak, so what else could Henry do?

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Infinity January 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
 CHAPTER I
Aziz ripped the radio from Henry's spacesuit and carefully resealed
the panel. "Dis'll be the weldin' of ya, kid," Aziz said, crinkling his
round, sallow face in an attempt to smile. "Yer name'll be in ever' yap
—in our orbit, dat is."
"But what—" Henry tried to say.
"No doubt at all," Vicenzo agreed, cleverly shorting Henry's drive
tube.
"I don't—" Henry said.
"Vicenzo figured it right, kid," Aziz said. He gestured with powerful
arms too long for his short body. "Ya'll hit dat ole sweeper square on
the bulb. Vicenzo's a streak."
"I'm a genius," Vicenzo admitted. He smoothed the black bangs
covering his forehead to the eyebrows, and he fingered the pointed
sideburns reaching to his chin. "You jump into space, Henry, and
then we'll increase velocity and sink into the Rings."
Aziz begged, "Do us a blazer, kid. We won't go far. Too low on fuel."
He lowered the helmet over Henry's bushy, blond hair and ruddy
face and clamped it shut.
Vicenzo and Aziz left Henry in the airvalve and closed the inner door.
When the valve emptied to vacuum, Henry reluctantly lowered the
outer door and stepped to the magnetized platform.
Henry stood twenty meters above Ring B of the Rings of Saturn.
Below him, balls of ice, metal, rock, and assorted cosmic debris
flowed slowly past with stars occasionally visible between the
whirling particles. To either side, the billions of tiny moons blended
with distance to form a solid, glaring white band. Henry bent his
knees and dived into space.
Holding his body stiff with a practiced rigidity, and cautiously moving
arms and legs to check any tendency to tumble, Henry glided above
the Rings. Turning his head, he saw exhaust spurt from the
collection of spherical cabins, tanks, and motors that was the
spaceship; and the craft moved from his line of sight, leaving him
alone.
Henry drifted above a flat surface more than sixty-six thousand
kilometers wide. To his left, Ring B extended to the black circle of the
Cassini Division which separated it from the less brilliant Ring A. To
his right, the gleam of Ring B abruptly changed to the dimness of the
Crape Ring through which the surface of Saturn was visible. Of the
giant planet, forty-three thousand kilometers away, Henry saw but
half a crescent marked with vague white and yellow bands and
obscure spots.
Red and green lights blinked ahead. Most of the approaching ice-
sweeper was shadowed and invisible against the blackness of
space. Henry saw no lighted windows, but he experimentally aimed
his signal torch at a dome on top of the space station.
Moving with the exact velocity of the Ring, the sweeper, a bundle of
huge cylindrical tanks bound together with fragile girders, apparently
grew larger. A rectangular snout, swinging from side to side and
probing into the Ring, dangled below the front of the sweeper.
Dancing in mutual gravitational attraction, the tiny moons constantly
closed the open lane behind the snout.
Henry blinked his torch and saw its red reflection in the sweeper's
observation dome, but no one answered the signal. Gaudy with
lights, the station drifted past below Henry's level and nearly one
hundred meters away.

Henry struggled futilely in his suit and tumbled through space. He

saw the flaming arch of the Milky Way and then the immense
shadow of Saturn stretching black across the Rings. Somewhere,
the bright exhaust of a distant spaceship streaked across the stars.
By missing the ice-sweeper, he would continue on a spiral course
down toward Saturn, until he at last fell into the methane; or, if his
falling body accelerated enough, he might establish an orbit closer to
the planet and revolve around it, until he died of thirst. Vicenzo and
Aziz would never find him and would probably not search long.
Fire shot past Henry's gyrating figure. A thin cable followed the small
rocket. Henry's flailing arms struck the cable, and his gauntleted
hands gripped the strands. He pulled back the spent rocket, and the
missile's magnetic head clanked against his spacesuit. The lifeline
reeled him toward the station.
A hairless, brown, deeply wrinkled face watched Henry from a small
window beside an open airvalve. The cable pulled Henry to the
muzzle of a rocket launcher. He jerked the magnetic head loose and
shut himself into the valve. He slid the inner door open and, weakly
kicking his legs, floated on his back into the sweeper.
An old man, the owner of the wrinkled face, stopped Henry from
drifting into the far wall of the cramped compartment. The old man
wore shorts and a sleeveless shirt, and his shrunken limbs seemed
to have no muscles. He drew Henry down to the magnetized deck
and removed the space helmet.
"You're just a boy!" the man wheezed in a cracked voice. "Where'd
you come from, boy?"
Henry, watching through half-closed eyes, almost said that he was
twenty years old. Then he remembered to mutter, "Water."
The old man said, "How'd you get out here? There's been no ships in
days. What are you doing here all by yourself? I almost missed you.
You'd been on a bad course if I had. Just happened to see your torch
twirling around out there. Ain't many people can come that close with
a life rocket and not hit a fellow. For a second, I thought the rocket
was going to bust you. Of course, being skillful the way I am, it didn't
seem likely, but I—"
"Water," Henry moaned.
"Water? Why sure. How long you been drifting, boy? Must be mighty
thirsty. What's your name? I'm Ranjit. I've never got used to people
not telling their last names. Of course, even when I was your age,
most people called each other by their first names. I can't hardly
remember what my last name is. You might not think it to look at me,
but I'm 107 years old. Here, let's get you out of that suit and see
what kind of shape you're in."
Horizontal and vertical wrinkles formed ragged crosshatching on
Ranjit's forehead. His nose and ears were large and grotesque with
age. He unsealed the spacesuit at the waist and, holding Henry
against the deck with one hand, pulled off the top section.
"Water!" Henry gasped. Peeping secretly, he saw that the teletype,
near the airvalve, was dismantled, with the parts tied in bunches
floating over the empty case. He located the radio above an
aluminum desk in the far corner. He could see no visular set
anywhere.
Ranjit dragged off the lower section of the suit, leaving Henry
resplendent in orange knickers and red blouse. "How do you feel?"
Ranjit asked. "What ship are you from? I don't see how they could
just leave you. I'd better report this. They must be looking for you.
Funny I haven't heard about it. Of course, the teletype's out of
whack. I'm fixing it. I'm handy that way, fixing things. The heater
broke down the other day, but I've got it going good now. I've started
melting ice again. The tanks were about empty after that last ship
fueled up. The Asteroid Ann, it was, or was it the Mimas Mae?
They've both been by lately, but—"
"Water!" Henry pleaded. He had to do something to make Ranjit
leave the compartment. He tried to listen for sounds that would
locate the other crew members. Holding his handsome blond head in
his hands, he sat up. The movement lifted his body from the deck,
leaving his metal-soled shoes attached, so that he sat in mid-air.
"Water?" said Ranjit. "If there's one thing I've got, it's water. Let me
see, there must be a flask someplace." He rummaged in the netting
that covered two opposite walls of the compartment and secured an
incredible clutter of weightless tools, books, food cases, clothing,
oxygen tanks, spacesuit parts, wire, tubing, and other items. Still
talking, Ranjit vanished through an opening almost concealed by the
net.

Henry leaped to the radio. He whipped a pair of insulated snips from

his pocket and cut through the electric cord in four places. He thrust
the severed pieces behind the desk and stood listening. Somewhere,
Ranjit continued talking, but Henry heard no answering voices. The
only other sounds were the whine of electric motors and the throb of
pumps. Henry pulled out a screwdriver and paused as he noticed a
sign above the desk. The sign said:

AAAAAAA CCCCC D EEEEE

G H IIIIH LLLL MM NNNNNNNNN
OO PP Q RR S TTTTT UUUUU
Shaking his head, Henry released the clamps, turned the radio, pried
off the back, and stabbed and slashed at the interior with the
screwdriver. He replaced the back and returned to his position on the
deck just in time.
"—really should," Ranjit continued, walking through the door. "You're
lucky I saw you at all. Of course, I'm watchful all the time. Would you
believe I've been right here on this sweeper for nine years? Here's
some water, boy."
Henry squirted water from the flexible flask into his mouth. Ranjit
said, "You ain't as thirsty as I thought you was. How come you wasn't
calling for help?"
"No radio," Henry mumbled. "The drive tube wouldn't work either."
"What were you doing in a bunged-up suit like that? You'll never live
to be as old as me if you take such chances. If this station had
visular, I'd have picked you up in that, but the company said I
wouldn't have no use for it."
"Where is everybody?" Henry asked, pushing himself unsteadily to
his feet.
"Everybody who? Are you hungry? How long since you had anything
to eat? There's nobody here but me. Karoly and Wilbur both passed
beyond, Wilbur just two weeks ago. He was only 94 too. The
company's sending some help, they say. I don't see how they expect
one man to run an ice-sweeper, even if he is handy like me. This is a
dangerous job, although you might not think so. Do you realize,
young fellow, we're whizzing around Saturn once every nine hours,
four minutes, and twelve seconds? That's an orbital velocity of
nineteen point eight kilometers per second! We've got to go that fast
to stay in this orbit."
"There's no one else here but you?" Henry said.
"Think what would happen if something slowed us down!" Ranjit
exclaimed. "We'd start falling toward Saturn and finally crash!
Meteors are scarce out here, but what if a spaceship came around
retrograde and smashed this station head-on? There ain't a thing I
can do if it starts falling. Part of it's a ship, but the company took the
motor out. All I've got is the flywheel steering gear. The control
room's right up there above my bunk."
Ranjit pointed to a sandwich bunk hoisted against the pipes and
conduits that crisscrossed the ceiling in abstract patterns. He said, "I
can spin this sweeper like a top, if I want to, but I can't accelerate it."
He squinted through the small window beside the airvalve.
"Speaking of spaceships," he rambled, "there's one out there now.
Wonder who it is? There's not a thing on the schedule. Looks like
they would've called in."
Moving to the radio, the old man fumbled with knobs and switches
and pounded on the cabinet with his fist. "This radio's deader than a
asteroid!" he yelled. "First the teletype and now the radio. I'm
supposed to report all ships to Titan, but how can I with no
equipment? Maybe that's your ship come hunting you. What did you
say your name is?"
"Henry," said Henry.
"Henry, huh? My name's Ranjit. I better get up to the big valve. That
ship'll be clinching in a minute."
"What does that sign mean?" said Henry, seizing the old man's bony
wrist.
"Sign? Oh, there over the desk? I just put that there to confuse
people. It's a puzzle that spells out something in an old-time
language, Latin maybe. Christian Huygens published that way back
in 1655. He used a puzzle while he was checking some more. He
was the first man to figure out what was around Saturn. It means
something like, 'There's a flat ring that's inclined to the ecliptic that
circles the planet without touching it.' Well, let go of me. I've got to
see about that ship."
"Just stay here and be calm, Ranjit," Henry said.
"What?"
"Be good, and you won't get hurt."
"Get hurt? What are you talking about, Henry? That's no way to talk
to a fellow that saved your life. If it hadn't been for me, you'd still be
falling. You were slower than the sweeper. I saved your life!"
Henry blushed in sudden shame and released Ranjit's arm. "Why,
why, I—I guess you did!" he stammered.
Henry lived in an era that had been preceded by wars which
destroyed more than half the people of Earth. It was a time of rigidly
controlled population, highly specialized training, and constantly
increasing life expectancy. Each human life was considered a
distinct and invaluable thing. Since the end of the final war, the
Crime War, seventy years before, murder had become an obscene
and almost meaningless word, and natural death was rarely
mentioned. Saving another person's life was considered the most
magnificent act that anyone could perform, and almost the only way
to become a public hero, since actors, entertainers, policemen, and
officials were thought to be no better than anyone else.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Henry said, blushing until he perspired. "I'm all
mixed up."
"That's all right, Henry. You were out there a long time."
Something struck twice against the hull of the ice-sweeper. "There's
a clumsy pilot!" Ranjit yelled. "I better go see what he's trying to do."
"Wait," Henry said, grabbing the old man's arm again. "I—" He
stopped speaking and frowned in confusion. When he considered
recent events, he realized that Vicenzo and Aziz, by their inexpert
maneuvering, had almost caused him to pass beyond. All of Henry's
education, haphazard as it had been, emphasized the belief that a
person who caused another to pass beyond could only be regarded
with loathing. A person who saved a life must be treated with eternal
gratitude and veneration by the beneficiary.
Ranjit said, "Let's go, Henry! What are you up to? I've had a feeling
you ain't exactly zeroed."
"I—I think I should tell you," Henry said.
"Listen. Somebody coming aboard," Ranjit said, jerking his arm from
Henry's relaxed grip and facing the doorway in the netting. Henry
waited for Vicenzo and Aziz to enter the compartment.

CHAPTER II
Two people entered, but they were not Vicenzo and Aziz. The first
was a small, thin man with a long, sad face. He wore a somber black
oversuit. The second was a girl no older than Henry.
"Please, Joachim," the girl whispered, "don't antagonize them. Ask
about the fuel first."
Henry gaped at the girl, and his face grew hot. Since he had spent
his young life among the Moons and Asteroids, never going farther
sunward than Pallas, he had seen few girls his own age and none as
beautiful as this one. Her hair, dyed in tiger stripes of black and
yellow, was parted in the middle and, held by silver wires, extended
from the sides of her head like wings. She wore blue hose, silver fur
shorts, and a golden sweater sparkling with designs in mirror thread.
Metal-soled shoes too large for her feet slightly marred the total
effect.
"High," said the man with the sad face. "I am Joachim, Second Vice-
President of the SPRS. This is our Corresponding Secretary, Morna."
His deep voice rolled around the compartment as if the lower keys of
an orchestrana had been struck.
"Low," Ranjit responded. "I'm Ranjit, and this is Henry. Why didn't
you make an appointment? The tanks are about empty, and you may
have to wait several hours. What do you feed your atomics, water or
hydrogen? It'll be even longer if you need hydrogen. I haven't done
any electrolysis today. I wasn't expecting—Look at that girl, Henry!
I'm 107 years old, but I can still appreciate a sight like that! I don't
see how a homely fellow like you, Joachim, ever got such a luscious
girl."
"Ours is strictly a business relationship," said Morna with indignant
formality. "We do need fuel, Ranjit. We planned to refuel on Dione,
but the moon was not where Joachim thought it should be. If—"
"Later, Morna," Joachim interrupted in a hollow voice. "I have come
thirteen hundred million kilometers on a mission, and I intend to fulfill
it! I represent the SPRS. We have written to you, Ranjit, but you
have never answered."
Ranjit said, "The SPRS? Oh, yeah, you're the ones are always
sending me spacemail. It's about all I ever get, and I appreciate it. I
don't get much mail, out here, and I don't see many people. This
fellow here, Henry, was the first I'd seen in days. I saved Henry's life,
or did he tell you?"
"How wonderful!" Morna exclaimed in awe. "I've never spoken to a
Saver before! Think of it, Joachim! Ranjit saved Henry!"
"That is very nice," Joachim admitted, "but—"
"You're a hero!" Morna cried, seizing Ranjit's hands. "How does it
feel to be a Saver? It must be sublime!" She turned to Henry and
grasped his arms. "How do you feel, Henry? You must almost
worship Ranjit! Such a noble man!"
Ranjit cackled. "Look at him blush! I don't believe he's been around
girls much. Since Joachim don't have no claim on her, Henry, I'd do
some sweet talking if I was your age. I pulled Henry in on a lifeline,
or he'd be falling into the methane by now."
"Isn't that wonderful?" Morna marveled, smiling glamorously.
Joachim said, "Everyone be quiet and allow me to finish! I have
come thirteen hundred million kilometers on a mission, and I intend
to fulfill it! I am Second Vice-President of the Society for the
Preservation of the Rings of Saturn. You, Ranjit, and the people on
the other three stations in the Rings are destroying the most glorious
and inspiring feature of the Solar System! The divine pinnacle of
Creation! A miracle that may be unique in the Universe! You are
destroying the Rings of Saturn for the greedy, selfish purpose of
selling fuel to spaceships!"
"Spaceships got to have fuel," Ranjit said, "and don't talk so loud. Ice
is scarce, you know, unless you want to chase comets. One side of
Iapetus has a sheet, and Titan has some. If you go on in, you'll find a
little on some of the Moons of Jupiter, and a few of the Asteroids are
—"
Joachim said, "You are destroying the Rings of Saturn! This is the
most despicable crime in a long history of the devastation of nature
by greedy men! When you have eventually melted the last crystal of
ice and departed with your hoard, Saturn will spin desolately alone
through the night, shorn of his glorious halo that has been the solace
and inspiration of man since prehistoric times!"
"Not when they never had telescopes, it wasn't very inspiring," Ranjit
said. "I don't see why you're jumping on me, Joachim. I never
answered your letters because there wasn't nothing to say. I just
work here. You'll have to talk to the company to—"
"The Saturnine Fuel and Oxygen Company is headed by stubborn
men!" Joachim said. "They refuse to consider or answer our
demands! That is why I have come to appeal directly to the
operators of these ice-sweepers! You must immediately stop
sweeping the Rings into your tanks! You must tell your superiors that
you refuse to destroy the crowning glory of the Solar System!"
Ranjit said, "They'd just hire somebody else. I don't know as we are
destroying the Rings very fast. This was the first sweeper put in orbit
nine years ago, and I can't tell no difference in Ring B. There's an
awful lot of stuff in the Rings. Some of the balls are solid ice, but
some are just ice coated, so we melt it off and throw out the core.
Some don't have ice on it, so we throw it back. We don't use
hydroponics on the sweepers. We get plenty of oxygen when we
take off hydrogen, so we toss a lot of solid CO2 overboard, too. No,
we ain't taking as much from the Rings as you think. They'll get ionic
motors to working, one of these days, and it won't take hardly no fuel
at all."
"Nevertheless, I believe—" Joachim tried to say.
"You've got a hard hull, anyhow," Ranjit said, "coming out here telling
me to stop when you need fuel yourself. Supposing I stopped right
now. How would you get away? And what would I do? I got a bad
heart. About half of it's artificial. That's why I've been living under
zero G for fifteen years. I can't go back to Earth. The docs say more
than four-tenths G would do for me. Before I got this job, I was living
in a hulk orbiting around Titan, just waiting to pass beyond. Now I got
something useful to do and something to live for. I may last till I'm
120."
Henry, who had been stupidly smiling at Morna with too much
intensity to follow the discussion, jerked his head around and
gasped, "You, you can't stand acceleration?"
Ranjit said, "Not enough to go anywhere. I got a bad heart, a very
bad heart. About half of it's—"
Vicenzo and Aziz, spacesuited, crowded into the compartment
through the doorway in the netting. "Dis is a stickup!" Aziz
announced over a loudspeaker on the chest of his suit.
"Don't move," Vicenzo growled, scowling beneath his black bangs.
Since deadly weapons were extremely rare and difficult to obtain, the
pair had armed themselves with long, hand-made knives. Vicenzo
also carried a cumbersome rocket launcher, a remodeled lifeline
tube.

"Gangsters!" Ranjit wheezed. "I ain't seen a gangster in twenty

years! I fought them in the Crime War! I—"
"Shut up, old man," Vicenzo ordered. His sideburns twitched around
his cruel mouth. "Everything fixed here, Henry?"
"Are you into this, Henry?" Ranjit said.
Vicenzo snarled, "I told you to shut up!"
"Let me talk to you alone, Vicenzo," Henry said.
"Spill it now. Is this all the crew? Did you smash communications?"
"Yes," Henry admitted. "The old man is the crew. The others just
came aboard."
"Why didn't you fix the other ship?" Vicenzo said. "We had to clamp
on, because it was blocking the valve. We came through it, and you
hadn't even smashed the radio. There might've been a crew aboard,
for all you knew."
"Vicenzo's a streak, kid," Aziz said. The short, wide man's sallow
face looked horrible behind the faceplate. "You oughta done like
Vicenzo said," he advised. "You won't get nowhere goofin' like dat or
—Hey, take a check on the doll! I never thought to see nothin' like
dat on a sweeper! Lucky me!"
"She's not in this," Henry said. "She's from the other ship. Leave her
alone, Aziz."
"Don't yap at me like dat, kid," Aziz warned.
Morna, who had stood as if frozen, turned to Henry and squealed,
"You're a gangster? How awful, after I thought you were nice, letting
Ranjit save your life!"
"Shut up, girl," Vicenzo said.
"A gangster!" Morna shrieked. She slapped Henry twice across the
face, knocking his shoes loose from the magnetic deck. He flipped
and fell against the net with his feet touching the ceiling.
In the confusion, Joachim broke from his terrified trance and dived
through the door. "I'll get 'im!" Aziz roared and, waving his knife,
followed the fleeing Second Vice-President.
As Henry struggled to regain an erect position, Morna wailed in his
ear, "I thought you were good and handsome, but you're a gangster!
You didn't deserve to be saved!" She slapped him again, knocking
him to the deck, and began to weep wildly. Under no gravity, the
tears spread in a film across her face. Surprised, she stopped crying
and wiped her cheeks with her hands. A few tears flew into the air as
shimmering globes.
Joachim floated into the compartment. His long chin was bruised,
and he muttered, "Save the Rings!" Aziz, grinning, followed and
stood on guard before the door. Morna gasped, darted to her
employer, and made helpless gestures.
"All right, now," Vicenzo said. "Let's get this jaunt moving. Henry, tie
these cubes up and—"
"We can't do it, Vicenzo," Henry said, staring in horror at Joachim's
half-conscious body.
"What?"
Henry said, "It's the old man. His heart's bad. The acceleration would
k-kill him!"
"Dat's the chance he's gotta take," Aziz sneered.
"You mean you don't care if you m-murder someone?"
"It's all in the orbit," Vicenzo said. "I told you that when you clinched
with us."
"I didn't believe you," Henry said. "You can't hurt Ranjit! He saved my
life!"
"Dat's what he was supposed to do, so's ya could get aboard," Aziz
said.
"But he really did save me! He pulled me in on a lifeline. I would've
missed the station. I wouldn't be surprised if you two tried to m-
murder me! I'm checking out. The whole deal's off. Both of you get
back in the ship and go! I'll give you that much of a chance. I'll stay
here and take Revision, or whatever's coming to me."
"The kid's stripped his cogs," Aziz laughed through his loudspeaker.
Vicenzo aimed his rocket launcher at Henry's midriff. He growled,
"Too bad you turned cube, Henry."
"Don't fire that thing in here!" Ranjit yelled. "You'll blow a hole
through the hull! What are you fellows up to? I never saw such
mixed-up goings on."

Henry said, "They're going to steal the ice-sweeper. That's why I had
to be taken aboard, so I could wreck your equipment and keep you
from reporting us or calling the other stations. The sweeper is
supposed to vanish without a trace. I'm sorry I ruined your radio,
Ranjit. I was supposed to try to keep the crew from becoming
suspicious while Vicenzo and Aziz were clinching. They're going to
move the sweeper into a Sun orbit, somewhere, and use it for a
base. They're going to hijack spaceships."
"Of all the crazy schemes!" Ranjit snorted. "You gangsters are space
happy! You're ready for the psychodocs! You can't get away with
gangstering these days! I fought your grandfathers in the Crime War.
I was in the Battle of Jupiter Orbit. We whipped you good, and nearly
wiped you out, but, ever so often, a few of you still turn up and try
silly stuff like this. Solar Government will get you!"
Vicenzo said, "Shut up, old man! Aziz, hold the girl. If the rest of you
don't behave while I'm tying you, Aziz will stab her."
"Dat'd be a awful waste," Aziz said, twisting Morna's arms behind her
back. Morna began to cry again. Teardrops floated like tiny planets.
Vicenzo pulled a long cord from his pack and lifted Joachim with one
hand. "Save the Rings," Joachim mumbled. "You are desecrating the
glory of the Solar System." Vicenzo lashed Joachim's wrists to an
overhead pipe.
Vicenzo said, "All right, Henry, you and the old man put your hands
against that pipe."
Ranjit said, "I'm 107 years old, but never in my life—"