Murder on the Moon

—1—

No one had ever died on the Moon before, let alone been murdered. But I got to be there when the first dead body was found.

I guess that I'm just lucky that way.

On the Moon, we never needed police before – after all, how much trouble can 25 scientists in three laboratories really get themselves into? In fact, the lab where I worked – the Lunar Exploration Company – was the only one with any sort of law enforcement. I had once heard that the backing investors had insisted on hiring security guards to protect the equipment, but I didn't concern myself too much with it. For me, it was a paycheck and not much more.

There were two of us working to protect the sensitive equipment from unknown attackers, and it was during my fifth tour that I became a full-fledged gumshoe detective and solved the first ever murder on the Moon.

Even though our laboratory was called the "Lunar Exploration Company", we didn't actually explore the Moon; our work was limited to researching atomic reactions in low gravity for a single client - the US Government. The current guy sitting in the Oval Office had campaigned on the promise of researching the feasibility of permanently colonization of outer space. Among the many, many hurdles between making that promise and fulfilling it was the issue of energy. Because any potential astro-colonists would need consistent electrical service, the scientists in our lab were tasked with seeing whether or not nuclear power was a viable option for space travel and colonization.

But I'm getting caught up in politics and pipe dreams.

Let's talk about the murder.

I'll start the story a few minutes before the body was found. By "the body", of course, I mean the other guy on the two-man Lunex Co security team. His name was Tim Connours, and not that it really matters but mine is Mark Hammond. We didn't talk much, Tim and I, and our brief chats were mainly about what had happened during the other guy's shift and who won what game back on Earth. Overall, Tim seemed like an alright guy to me. It was his second tour up here, and I got along better with him than with the guy he replaced.

We keep a 24 hour day and set our clocks to Eastern Standard Time, so it was 18:58 both in the Bronx and on the Moon when I arrived at a cozy closet we called the "Security Office", only to find our shared desk empty. Tim should have finished his rounds by now and been waiting for me to take his place, but instead I found a cold cup of coffee and a log saying that he left for – but didn't return from –his final round 30 minutes previous.

After several attempts to get in touch with him by radio, I started to get annoyed. The job wasn't that hard, after all. It was just a matter of walking the rounds, watching the screens, and keeping a log of who went where on the base.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I looked again at the cluttered surface of the desk. While it's true what I said about Tim and I getting along okay, my only complaint would be that the guy was a slob. Crumbs, drink containers, and assorted pieces of garbage made it hard to gather my thoughts.

Brushing away a candy bar wrapper, I took a second look at the log and saw a scrawled note that said: "East Plateau, 18:25 SHARP". The last word was underlined. Sitting at my chair and keeping one eye on the four monitors that showed different areas of the base, I sat down to figure out what I was supposed to do.

Could Tim really have driven off base to the East Plateau? The plateau wasn't on our rounds, and while it was notable for being the highest point in the area, the only people who went out there were the technicians who maintained the communications array.