“Unfortunately,” Holmes continued, “the kind and peaceful worker individuals have already been informed of the recent events, because they are the ones who work at the communication stations and make up most of the crews of the Zzygou ships. And so… this is truly a tidal wave of wrath from their entire race. This is the holy war for ninety-five percent of their population. And besides, about seventeen percent of them are genetically linked to the deceased Zey-So! They are her brothers… or sisters? Let’s just say, relatives. The Zzygou females may not wish to go to war. They might have agreed to hush this business up, accepting apologies and reparations, but…”
“Their own slaves will not understand.”
“Their workers.”
“Their slaves. You’ve explained it all very well, Mr. Holmes.” Alex now stood face to face with Holmes. He hadn’t even noticed the moment he had jumped up out of his chair. He looked into Holmes’s wise, weary eyes, which seemed to contain all human sorrow. The great detective smelled of brandy and tobacco.
“Is there no way out, Mr. Holmes?”
“There is, Alex. There is always a way out. If in the course of the next forty-eight hours, before all-out war begins—small skirmishes are already taking place—if I find the murderer and turn him or her over to the justice system… the Zzygou will stop their advance. They are ready to punish either the murderer alone, or the whole human race. And so I ask you directly, Alexander Romanov, pilot-spesh… were you the one who killed Zey-So?”
“No, I’m not, Mr. Holmes.” Alex shook his head. “I did not kill her, and I haven’t the slightest idea who did, or why. But… I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“I’m ready to admit that I am the murderer.”
Holmes stuck the long-cold pipe into his mouth and asked with curiosity:
“What for?”
“To save the world from destruction. After all, it was I who took the murderer into my crew. Whoever he or she might be. I… didn’t sense a mistake.”
Holmes shook his head.
“No, Alex. It’s impossible.”
“But why?”
“Let the world perish, so long as justice prevails.”
“Oh, the hell with…”
“Besides, the whole thing will probably end with extradition of the murderer to the Zzygou. And they will find a way to check the person’s sincerity. Your sacrifice—if it is a sacrifice, and not a belated confession—is useless.”
“Then find him, Holmes.”
“Him or her?”
“What does it matter? Murderers are like angels—their gender is irrelevant.”
“It’s a good thing you are incapable of love, Alex,” the detective said. His gaze was so piercing; it was as though he already knew about the blocker Alex had taken. “Love has often made people do crazy things.”
“No matter who the murderer is, he is entirely in your power, Holmes.”
The detective nodded. At that very moment, the unlocked door of the cabin opened.
“Report, Dr. Watson,” the detective ordered, without even turning.
“How did you know it was me?”
“Elementary. All the rest have been ordered not to leave their quarters. And besides… if you ever wish to take me by surprise, change your perfume. The scent of Fiji I recognize a quarter-mile away.”
Dr. Watson smiled and came into the cabin. Alex looked at her with curiosity. When she and Holmes had first arrived on Mirror, there was no time to get acquainted—Watson went to Zey-So’s quarters, and Holmes immediately sequestered himself with Alex.
Holmes’s faithful sidekick was a petite redhead with large eyes. Sort of pretty, though a multitude of tiny freckles didn’t do her any favors. In other words, she was the kind of girl who would easily become a loyal friend and a cheerful lover. The kind of girl who would happily accept a partner and let him go without sadness, who was always eager to have fun but at the same time capable of serious and selfless commitment to her beloved work.
Alex caught himself analyzing the girl’s behavior and shook his head. Seemed like Holmes’s way of thinking was contagious.
“But Captain Romanov…” said Dr. Watson doubtfully, looking at Alex.
“Go ahead. It’s all right,” Holmes replied, gesturing to her to come in. “If he is the murderer, the information won’t help him any. But if he’s not, then he may be able to help us.”
Dr. Watson nodded and perched on the arm of a chair, as though it was her favorite spot, reserved by habit. When Holmes lowered himself into the chair, Alex realized that that was indeed the case.
“I wasn’t able to… determine the time of death.” Dr. Watson lowered her eyes.
“At all?”
“No, I do have a rough estimate. The Zzygou had been killed during the time interval between twelve and a half and fourteen hours ago.”
“Bridge duty shift change falls precisely within that period of time,” Holmes nodded, looking at Alex with renewed interest. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to clear at least one of you of suspicion, Captain. Either you or Morrison.”
“They both could have killed Zey-So.” Dr. Watson took out a computer notebook, handed it to Holmes. “Here, take a look. The space vector unfortunately puts the deceased in everyone’s availability zone. The same goes for the time vector. The interval zone is just too large.”
Alex’s enhanced vision enabled him to see the picture on the display fairly clearly. A three-dimensional grid with a tangle of different-colored curves. The center of the grid was taken up by a hazy oval, which must have been the “zone,” the time interval and the spatial coordinates of the murder.
“You don’t have to look over my shoulder, Captain,” Holmes growled. “Come closer.”
He touched his fingers to the screen, and the curves stretched out slightly, intertwining even more intricately.
“Ah,” said Watson under her breath, “and everyone has a motive, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Holmes wasted no time on disappointments. Took another look at the grid, shut the notebook, and handed it back to Dr. Watson.
“Why were you unable to determine the time of the murder, Jenny?”
“Because of the cabin’s air conditioner. It has been working in the chaotic mode. Temperature, pressure, humidity, and oxygen levels in the cabin have been changing every five minutes. With absolutely unpredictable parameters! And since the cabin is made for the Others, the range is very large. The temperature variance, for instance, is between seven below and one hundred and seventy-six above zero.”
“Good.” Holmes began to relight his pipe once again. “Simply wonderful!”
“For goodness’ sake, Holmes! Why?” exclaimed Dr. Watson. Her eyes, fixed on the detective, were filled with mute adoration.
“The murderer was covering up his tracks. In a very professional manner, mind you! He made it impossible for us to determine the time of the crime, and that was considered impossible!”
“If we could deliver some military technology to this ship—something like a mental scanner, for instance—we would certainly be able to detect the pain burst, Holmes! The Zzygou’s murder took five or six minutes, and she was alive the whole time. The background emotions will most certainly linger in the cabin for many months to come.”
“Mental scanning would take no less than forty-eight hours, Dr. Watson. We don’t have that kind of time. If war breaks out, it will be impossible to stop.” Holmes looked at the wall screen, as though expecting to see the charging Zzygou ships. “But what about smells?”
“The cabin’s air conditioner had been turned on to circulate the air. The entire volume of it had changed eight times over. It’s even possible to breathe there without a mask, even though the Zzygou has been carved up into bits…”