Ibe heard the door slide open and checked his wrist: 0642. “Thank God,” he said to no one, then yelled “Essie?” as he stood from his stoop over the console. His back screamed. He gasped and it screamed again. He stooped again.

Well, this is just perfect, Ibe thought. Just what I need. He decided to continue the stoop as he shuffled over to B32. Even picking up my feet hurts. This is a wonderful addition to the debacle.

It was bad enough I couldn’t get on Angela from home. Bad enough I’d fought with Bekka about wanting to. They had promised each other when they first moved in together that they would treat their apartment as an oasis from work. Any work done at home was making two situations worse, after all, since splitting one’s focus between the two caused each to inevitably suffer. But I just wanted to find out about her. Had to. I couldn’t sleep for thinking. And why should she have been so mad? She jumped right into figuring it out during dinner. Didn’t that count as “working from home?” And hadn’t she brought raw data home before? She’d always put it away once I arrived, but how was this any different? It was 4 o’clock in the morning. She could hardly feel ignored while asleep, could she? And, likewise, I wouldn’t be distracted. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the distracted part. She’d rolled over in a huff and wouldn’t even take a kiss from him before he left the bedroom.

Bad enough I had such a hard time leaving the house. He couldn’t connect to the labnet, no matter what he tried, and had finally decided to just go to the lab and satisfy the question there, but then he’d argued with the detail. Agent Miller had still been at the door and had asked Agent Borman, the night AIC, to do the real arguing. Ibe had stood his ground though, and in the end Borman had commed a groggy-sounding Tanner for permission before they would coordinate his descent.

How am I supposed to do my job when I’m treated like some sort of prisoner in my own home? It’s not like I just wanted to take a stroll or something. And what if I did? What if I just wanted to walk in the night air to clear my head? Why shouldn’t I be able to do that? They’re my detail after all. They work for me. By the time they’d figured it all out, Ibe had been ready to just call it a night, but at that point, it had become a matter of principle.

Then the body. And now my back. Well, at least I’ll get the body sorted out now that Essie is here.

He tried leaning on the rack, preparing for the big reveal, but he could not get comfortable. And Essie did not come. “Essie?” he yelled again, and his knees nearly buckled with the pain. He stooped more. That felt better. Bent his legs a bit more. Better still. He bent over fully and just dangled from his waist. He could feel the stretch all the way from his hamstrings up. That feels really good.

But this would be a great, wouldn’t it? Nothing to see but my backside when she opens the door? Not the kind of reveal I had in mind. Still, there was no reply. Maybe it hadn’t been Essie. Maybe no one had come in and the night shift was leaving. Maybe it was Bob. Nah. It was too early for any of them to leave, especially with the boss here, and especially Bob, since I’d caught him sleeping when I arrived. But if someone had come in, wouldn’t they have replied to him? Then again, I’d called specifically for Essie. Would I have answered if someone called for Essie and not me?

He steeled himself and yelled again. “Hello?” Still no answer.

Well, I can’t just stay here mooning whoever might come through to Cryo. He slowly worked his way to standing, bracing on the drawers. He checked his wrist again: 0654.

Once he was reasonably sure he could walk upright, Ibe abandoned Cryo altogether, moving slowly out to the main hall on his way to the lockers and hopefully Essie or one of the other grad students. Bob’s deskchair was empty. Maybe he really had left already. If that’s the case, I’ll have to say something. I’m willing to overlook the occasional slip, but I can’t have everyone just sleeping whenever and leaving before their shift ends. It undermines my authority. Bob’s lunchpail was sitting on his desk. A lunchpail. Like the replicator couldn’t simply have made anything he could pack in a pail. So was the guard’s slate. That seals it. Bob’s still here. Somewhere. Anyone might forget a lunchpail or a briefcase or a bag, but no one ever left their slate behind. Ibe continued his trundle to the break room.

That’s why we’d bought ‘plants. Too much to think about already, without constantly wondering where a slate was. People without ‘plants are obsessed. I guess I was like that, too. Yep. The ‘plant was the way to go. He found Bob.

Head lolled forward, softly snoring, a thin line of spittle strung from the corner of his mouth to the lapel of his uniform, he was slouched down in a chair at the table. “Bob,” Ibe said as he shuffled across the room. Bob did not stir. “Bob!” he said louder, cringing as his back gave a warning. He gave a gentle nudge to Bob’s shoulder when he was finally beside him. Bob at least grunted and shifted in the chair, but then quickly returned to nodding and snoring.

That’s right. He sleeps like the dead. Like he’d sommed when he should have stimmed.

“Bob!” he said louder, nudged harder. He felt his back argue, but that did it. Bob’s head came up, and Ibe saw the guard’s eyes open as he sat up, but they were unfocused, and then he continued forward to lay his head down on the table!

Oh, for crying out loud, thought Ibe. It really is like trying to wake a dozer.

“Bob!” he yelled as he put his whole weight into shoving Bob’s shoulder, and paid for it with back muscle. Bob gasped and jumped up, his arms thrown out, eyes rolling, before his legs decided they did not want to be awake and the six foot man began a slow collapse. Ibe jumped to direct him back to the chair, even as his own legs buckled at his pain. They almost ended up a pile on the floor, but Bob grabbed the table and, though it threatened to join them briefly, inertia won, and the whole of them steadied. Bob finally focused on the face on his left shoulder.

“Oh! Dr. Heinemann!” Ibe released the man and pushed to upright against him. “I am so sorry!” Bob scrubbed at his face and ran a sleeve across his drool-laden chin as he looked around like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. “My God! I don’t know what’s got into me! I never sleep on the job! Never! In 20 years of night shift! I have never, ever fallen asleep! This is the middle of my day!” Bob was dabbing at the spit stain on his lapel.

“Maybe you should be a little more liberal with your stim, Bob,” Ibe offered. Bob shook his head. Ibe couldn’t decide if it was an answer in the negative or the man was trying to clear his head.

“Oh, I never went in for the drugs, Doc. ‘Cept caffeine. And I get that the old fashioned way.” Bob looked to the coffeepot on the counter behind him, or the mug beside it, Ibe couldn’t be sure.

It really is odd that we have an actual coffeepot sitting on the counter, right next to the replicator, which can supply a cup of coffee in nearly the time it takes to say ‘cup of coffee.’ The story went that Bob had brought the relic his second night on the job and it or its replacements had lived there ever since.

“Course, you got to drink it for it to do any good, don’cha?” Bob stood up again, steadied himself against the table and, with Ibe warily watching, lumbered to the counter, steadying himself there, too. He picked up the cup and dumped the half cup it contained into the sink. Then he checked his watch.

An actual watch, thought Ibe.

“I only made this half an hour ago,” Bob announced as he waved the now empty cup toward the pot, “Didn’t even get to drink it. This was the old stuff. Wanna cup?” he offered and proceeded to pour for himself.

“No. No thanks, Bob. It’s about time for you to go, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Probably pay for it later when I’m supposed to be sleeping, but I swear if I don’t get some inside me now, I’d be out again as soon as I sit down in the lift. I tell ya, I just don’t know what’s up with me tonight.”

“And you say you don’t use stim or somm?”

“Oh, no. Me and the missus, we figure we’re too set in our ways. That’s for young folk, I think.”

“Well, you sleep like a dozer, Bob.”

“Yeah, that’s funny, too. I’m usually such a light sleeper that the door opening at our neighbors will wake me.”

“Huh.”

“Right?” Bob took a cautious sip of his fresh coffee, then, when presumably it was of a palatable temperature, a big gulp, followed by another. “Good thing he’s a night shifter, too, huh?”

“Guess so,” Ibe agreed. Silence descended, Bob leaning against the counter, gulping his coffee and Ibe watching him. “You should just go, Bob,” Ibe offered. “It’s near enough.”

Bob straightened and picked up the coffee pot to pour another. “Oh, no, Dr. Heinemann. I’ll stay. I need to write up an incident report, anyway. I’ll dock my pay, too.” He sipped the second cup again before resuming gulping.

“That won’t be necessary, Bob. I think after 20 years you’re allowed one off night.”

“Well, thank you, Dr. Heinemann. That’s very kind.” Bob gulped again. “I still need to find Other Bob and flip the shift, though.”

Bob Guillian must be on today, thought Ibe, smiling. Guillian had received the moniker since this Bob had been around – as he pointed out - 20 years and, therefore, had dibs on the name. Other Bob was happy to have the nickname, too, since it meant he was also the lucky recipient of Bob’s desire to stay on the night shift.

“Well, go do that, and then you can leave.”

“Thanks, Dr. Heinemann,” Bob said one more time while rinsing the cup and putting it in the sink, “and again, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He made it to the doorway before Ibe remembered.

“Oh, hey, did you see Essie come in?” Ibe asked.

“I think Bonnie’s in today, Dr. Heinemann.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bob turned to go again. “And who was on last night again?”

“Dr. Crispin and David.”

Damn it. David. I should have known. Bob stood in the doorway, no doubt waiting for one last question. Ibe nodded to release him.

“Have a good day, Dr. Heinemann,” he called from the hall.

“You too, Bob,” Ibe replied automatically, his mind already on to what he was going to do about David.

############

The ancient man swept from the tent, the flap sounding his ire as it whipped back, smacking the canvas wall.

“Alssalam Adoel wabarakatiun,” he muttered in a language lost to the millennia. A language thought long dead. The man sitting at the entrance smoking a midwakh (not a shisha, but advertisement just the same, and guarding/adverting a shisha tent was good cover for guarding more important things), startled at the smack and spun like he might reprimand the noise maker, until realization crossed his face. He jumped up and spoke to the ancient one in a pressured near-shout:

“Malakamawti! Llaamnakun narif annak sawfitati!”

The old man had intended to continue on, not in a mood to exchange pleasantries, but at the outburst, he stopped, turned slowly and straightened to his full height (an easy intimidator). One eyebrow – just one – rose in inquiry. The living ad/watchdog seemed surprised and then dismayed to find he had actually gained notice. His wide eyes widened even more, then he quickly bowed his head and steepled his hands in front of his chest, the pipe falling at his feet.

“Alssalam Adoel wabarakatiun,” the deferent said. Loudly.

“I have said that, Nasif,” Malakamawti replied in a near-whisper. In English.

“Yes, Malakamawti,” the man whispered back, also in English. At least he was suggestible, thought Mal, though Nasif’s hands were now fully pressed together, his chin to his chest, nearly resting on his fingertips. “I am sorry, Malakamawti,” he continued, punctuating the man’s name each time he spoke it with a short bow from the waist. “You took me by surprise, Malakamawti. We were not told you were coming.”

“I heard you the first time, Nasif. As did the rest of the market.”

“Yes, Malakamawti. I’m so sorry, Malakamawti,” Nasif repeated, still bowing at the name.

Mal took a step in toward the man, hoping nearness would stop his bobbing, and lowered his voice even more. “Stop this ridiculous display!" Mal gestured toward the man’s hands. “And out here!”

Nasif gasped and looked at his hands as if he was surprised to find them in front of him. He quickly threw his arms to his sides, standing stiffly, his eyes flitting from side to side. That was no better. "What do you think you are about, here, Nasif?” The threat in Mal’s voice was not tempered by its muted level. Nasif raised his head to look up at the towering man.

“Sir?”

“Can you not keep your wits, even in the face of what is inarguably a minor surprise?”

“I can, Malakamawti,” the man urged, again dropping his chin to his chest, again managing a bow at the name, even with his hands grasping his pant legs. “I promise. It won’t happen again, Malakamawti. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, for Chrissake, Nasif,” Mal sneered. “You obviously can’t! It’s still happening!” The old man waved a come here to no one in particular.

“I’m sorry, Malakamawti. I don’t understand.”

“An understatement!” Mal took a step back. Intimidation had wrought the exact opposite of his goal. Sometimes, and particularly when he was in a foul mood, like now, he rather liked the effect he had on others, but this time, it had occurred out here, in the Market, and almost certainly brought notice. Though Nasif was surely to blame for displaying his fear and reverence so grandly, Mal was equally to blame for creating the situation in the first place. If anyone did pay attention, it was Mal’s fault, not Nasif’s. But the young man was certainly not helping. “Go inside, Nasif. Get out of the sun.”

“I cannot abandon my post, Malakamawti.”

Mal sighed as he counted slowly in his head, to collect himself. It would only make things worse if he was to scare the man more, but he needed to make the transgressions clear to him. When he was able, he said, “Nasif, you abandoned your post the moment you spoke in the old way in full voice. Out here.” Nasif’s head snapped up, a look of shock on his face.

A man ran up behind Nasif, whispered, “Alssalam Adoel wabarakatiun,” with a slight nod of his head and took Nasif’s seat, reaching in the dirt for the midwakh.

“Welaykum alssalam Adoel,” the ancient one responded, but he was not done with Nasif, who was still at attention. “You abandoned your post when you drew scrutiny to us with your bowing and scraping and you do so still with..." Mal gestured again to the rigid man. "this.” Malakamawti sighed again. “Go inside, Nasif,” he ordered, trying hard to keep his tone gentle.

“Yes, Malakamawti,” Nasif replied, but did not move. When it became apparent that Nasif was frozen at attention, Mal prompted.

“Now.”

Nasif jumped at the doorway and quickly pulled the flap aside, but paused and, without looking at the ancient man, offered, “I am truly sorry I have offended you.”

“You have offended us all, Nasif.”

Again the young man’s head snapped up, but Mal simply spun away from him. He heard the rustle of the tent flap falling before he turned to the new man sitting in the chair.

“See that he goes back to Boma. He no longer works at the Edge.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied, but Mal was already several strides away, heading for the flow.

############

Ibrahim listened as the connection to David’s comm rang for the fourth time. Shirker, he thought. I know you’re still here. Just thought this might be easier than yelling for you. It rang a fifth time. He closed the connection. Alright. Have it your way.

“David?” he yelled. Ibe’s back was feeling better, at least. Sitting had helped, and he’d stopped at the replicator for a hot pack before heading back to First lab. Still, he hadn’t stood for a while, so he might still be in trouble when he tried to, but for now, it felt better.

“Yeah, boss?” David yelled back from somewhere. Ibe didn’t hear footfalls that would announce David was joining him.

Seriously. What could I possibly appropriately ask him while shouting?

“Come here!” Ibe yelled again and sighed.

David was not Ibe’s favorite grad assistant. He wasn’t even his second favorite. Or third. Or fourth. And there were only six. (Jeremiah was just creepy.) And grad assistant was a generous term, since most grad assists were working on their own PhDs. Not David. The man seemed to have no ambition. Or motivation for that matter. He’d abandoned his dissertation years ago, before Ibe was made director, and seemed content to merely work here. And do as little as possible while he did. He had no passion for it. Plus he was the lab gossip, and Ibe despised scandalwags.

But if anyone knows what might have happened last night, it will be him. Maybe he’ll be more reticent to spew it around when he realizes it involves him. David did not appear.

“Da--!” he yelled again and was startled as David appeared in the doorway.

“Man, Ibe, calm down. I’m here,” he said as he crossed to Ibe, sipping his coffee. “If this is about me being late last night, I had permission for the overlap hour and then I got trapped on a local floor coming down. Some up-top peril or something. There was knife play, I hear, though they’re staying pretty tight on partic--”

“Not that,” Ibe stated, knowing full well what up-top thing he meant. Damn it. I forgot he was going to be late. And then I’d made him later still. Likely, he wasn’t even here when it happened. Whatever it was. Still, he’s my best hope of finding out anything right now, since I can’t get hold of Essie or Dom. Where is she? And why won’t she answer her comm? At least Dom is understandable. Though I bet David knows all about that, too. Carl didn’t have anything more than Dom waking him, frantic, babbling about his wife going to the hospital.

“Well?” David asked, his face a question, too. It brought Ibe back from his musing.

“Sorry,” Ibe offered. Have I been just staring at him this whole time? That’s more patience than I thought you possessed, David. “Did you hear about something odd happening before you got here last night? From Dom, maybe? Or see or hear anything odd yourself?”

“Besides Dom’s wife’s heart attack? No,” David replied.

A heart attack. Well, that explains that.

David sat in the chair next to Ibe, leaning in. “What happened?” The sparkle in David’s eyes at the thought of getting some juicy bit of info made Ibe’s stomach clench.

“I don’t know, David. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know, but you obviously think something did. What do you think happened, Ibe?”

Ibe hid a sneer at the thought of what he was about to do. “Do you remember the first body on your log yesterday?”

“I wasn’t here for the first one. Or the second, for that matter. Essie covered that hour for me, remember?”

“Maybe Essie said something?”

“I was late. Later than I was supposed to be, I mean. She was pissed. I didn’t even get a good bye.” He leaned in again and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Was there something odd about that first body?”

In for a penny, Ibe thought. No helping it at this point. He took a deep breath to steel himself, then blurted, “It’s the wrong one.”

David sat back, his face flitting between confusion and disappointment. “I don’t understand.”

“According to the log, Dom -- and Essie -- worked 742 first. That’s not correct. I worked 742 and was here when Dom set up 743.”

 “So it just got duped to the next shift, is all. It happens. Especially if they completed the Tract.” David spun to the console behind him and typed into the slate.

“It didn’t get duped because they didn’t complete it. I was going to Tract it today, so I told them to move on. I put it in the racks myself.”

“It’s not listed on your log at all, Ibe.”

“I know that, David.”

“And it’s right here. Still racked awaiting autopsy. B32. Maybe they went back and finished it anyway and the log just put them in numerical order.”

“Number one: the log does not reorder itself and number two: it’s the wrong body.”

“Do you mean in the rack? ‘Cause it might be nearby. These doors all look the same, you know.”

“They all look the same, David, because they are the same. And I’ve looked in every rack on this wall.” At David’s shocked expression, Ibe explained, “I came in early.”

 “Jeez, Doc. You’ve got to get a life.”  

“I have a very nice, life, thank you. Until things like this happen. How can we lose a body?”

“Whoa! Who said anything about losing a body?”

“What do you think I’m talking about, David? The body listed as 742 in the log, supposedly in rack B32, is not the correct body.”

“But--”

“That 742 is a 67 year old male gunshot victim. I’m looking for a female. 32 years old.”

“Maybe she was 741, or 740.”

“741 is an old woman who sat in her apartment for 5 days.”

“Ew.”

“740 is a kid who fell down stairs.”

“What was a kid doing in a stairwell?”

“I don’t know, David. Perhaps that’s why he was given to us?” David looked suitably contrite. Ibe continued. “739 is a male caught in an experiment gone wrong at the Urban Aeronautics ‘Stute, 738 is another male gunshot victim, and 737 is an old woman who was apparently poisoned. Essy and I cleared them all yesterday. And before you ask, 743 is a 40 year old male with no discernable COD and 744 is a 22 year old rape victim found in the Beachside’s stairwell.”

“It says here, 742 was night’s first case, fresh from the queue.”

“Well, it’s wrong, I tell you. 742 was not their first case. It was my last case, and she was a 32 year old female Ject find with a Superior Inclusion. She busted on First. Brain damage on open exam. Open exam! Amelia from ME came over for the crani.”

“Well, there ya go. Maybe she has it.” David picked up the phone, dialed a number, then nodded at Ibe as he leaned his chair back and listened.

“It still doesn’t explain the computer glitch, but at least I’d have her. God, I hope they haven’t sliced yet,” Ibe said.

After what seemed to Ibe like a day and a half, David sat up and said, “Hey, Maggie. It’s David over in Oh One. Hey, is Doc James handy? Doc Heinemann-- Oh.”

“What?” asked Ibe. David answered with a finger in the air, signaling ‘one moment.’

“Oh! Wow.”

“What?” Ibe insisted. David’s finger insisted as well. He actually swiveled the chair slightly away as he listened.

The hell with this, thought Ibe and pressed the speaker button, much to David’s irritation.

“—sending people over now.”

“Maggie,” said Ibe, “It’s Doctor Heinemann. What’s happening?”

Maggie started reiterating, but David was also trying to answer, and Ibe couldn’t make out any of it. “David, stop,” he ordered. “I’m sorry, Maggie. You were saying?”

“She didn’t come to work this morning and her comm’s off. She never turns her comm, off. Not even at night.” Maggie’s anxiety was clear in her voice. “And her home said she hadn’t been there since she left for work yesterday. We’ve got people tracing her trip up now.” 

“Well, I hope everything is okay.”

“We do, too.”

“When you find her, have her give me a call, okay? No rush, though.”

“Okay, Dr. Heinemann.”

“Thanks, Maggie.”

“Your welcome.”

Ibe hung up.

“You know, Essie’s comm is off this morning, too.”

“Well to be fair, it is her first day of vacation.”

“Her vacation. I forgot.”

“And you had to be calling at what? Six? Seven in the morning? I’d have my comm off, too.”

“When is she due back?”

“A couple weeks, I think. She has to go over to Theresa’s for her dissertation -- some particular Inclusion they got -- and she’s visiting her family while she’s there.”

“A couple weeks, huh?”

“Try her later. If she still doesn’t answer, then you know she’s avoiding you.”

“Why would she be avoiding me?”

“She’s on vacation, Ibe. Don’t want to talk to your boss on vacation.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. Can I go now? Shifts nearly over and I still need to finish some logs.”

“Of course. Go.” David was at the door in a blink. “And David?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I don’t suppose it would help to ask you not to repeat this?”

David only smiled.

############

That had gone poorly, thought Mal, as he reached the nearest stream of people. But better to have found out Nasif’s shortcomings now, at this hour, with the Market throng thinning and the other vendors busy packing up for the night: Fewer idle eyes to notice, and fewer idle minds to ponder what they had seen.

Mal slid easily into the stream, heading outward. Not that there were streams heading inward from here. It wasn’t called Desert’s Edge on a whim, after all. He let his posture curl and allowed the crowd to move him along at its pace, not really caring where it took him or how long it took to get there, just slipping along, his mind free to wander even as he was forced to be mindful of those around him. It was meditative, really.

As he stepped, he could feel the muscles in his neck relaxing, the events at the shisha den quickly falling behind him. Of course, that merely allowed the events at Boma with the Umbriel to jump to the fore again, and the relaxation he’d begun to feel slipped away as his irritation bloomed anew.

How dare Umbriel keep the Adoel to herself. Again! She had to know this one was different than the others. Nothing like the others. So strong. Stronger than any of them. Or could be. If only Umbriel would listen to him!

Why was she always so tightfisted with them? She hardly ever helped him. He had to ask and ask. Beg, really. She always made him beg before she would allow him even one question. It was a control thing, he knew. A way to keep him in his place. A way to ensure her title.

Well, it wasn’t her title to ensure. She was little more than a placeholder, and she would do well to remember it. She was only keeping it warm for the true Umbriel, as all those before her had done. Since the second, at least. And this time, he’d really found her. He had! This time, he just knew he was right.

Mal found himself across the square and slipped from the flow highside to pretend to catch his breath. An ancient man such as he should not move in the throng so easily, and he had to keep up appearances. He looked out at the streams as if trying to make sense of them, as he scanned for any notice from the crowd, but even the stallway crowd was thin and busy with other things. Still, it was best not to bring attention. He made a show of steeling himself and merged into the stream again. He still had some thinking to do, and flowing the crowd was the best way he knew to do it.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4