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inter-orbit ships; we even have a large survey team on Callisto right now.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘But your biggest headache is going to be Boston.’
    ‘I don’t remember that name in any of my preliminary briefings.’
    ‘You wouldn’t.’ He produced a bubble cube, and handed it over to me. ‘This contains my report, and most of it’s unofficial. Supposition, plus what I’ve managed to pick up from various sources. Boston is a group of enthusiasts – radicals, revolutionaries, whatever you want to call them – who want Eden to declare independence, hence the name. They’re quite well organized, too; several of their leading lights are JSKP executives, mostly those on the technical and scientific side.’
    ‘Independence from the UN?’
    ‘The UN and the JSKP, they want to take over the whole Jupiter enterprise; they think they can create some kind of technological paradise out here, free of interference from Earth’s grubby politicians and conservative companies. The old High Frontier dream. Your problem is that engaging in free political debate isn’t a crime. Technically, as a UN policeman, you have to uphold their right to do so. But as a JSKP employee, just imagine how the board back on Earth will feel if Eden, Pallas, and Ararat make that declaration of independence, and the new citizens assume control of the He 3 mining operation while you’re here charged with looking after the Corporation’s interests.’
    *
    The PNC wafer’s bleeping woke me. I struggled to orientate myself. Strange bedroom. Grey geometric shadows at all angles. A motion which nagged away just below conscious awareness.
    Jocelyn shifted around beside me, twisting the duvet. Also unusual, but the Zimmels had used a double bed. Apparently it would take a couple of days to requisition two singles.
    My questing hand found the PNC wafer on the bedside dresser. I prayed I’d programmed it for no visual pick-up before I went to bed. ‘Call acknowledged. Chief Parfitt here,’ I said blearily.
    The wafer hazed over with a moiré rainbow which shivered until a face came into focus. ‘Rolf Kümmel, sir. Sorry to wake you so early.’
    Detective Lieutenant Kümmel was my deputy, we’d been introduced briefly yesterday. Thirty-two and already well up the seniority ladder. A conscientious careerist, was my first impression. ‘What is it, Rolf?’
    ‘We have a major crime incident inside the habitat, sir.’
    ‘What incident?’
    ‘Somebody’s been killed. Penny Maowkavitz, the JSKP Genetics Division director.’
    ‘Killed by what?’
    ‘A bullet, sir. She was shot through the head.’
    ‘Fuck. Where?’
    ‘The north end of the Lincoln lake.’
    ‘Doesn’t mean anything. Send a driver to pick me up, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
    ‘Driver’s on her way, sir.’
    ‘Good man. Wafer off.’
    *
    It was Shannon Kershaw who drove the jeep which picked me up, one of the station staff I’d met the previous afternoon on my lightning familiarization tour, a programming expert. A twenty-eight-year-old with flaming red hair pleated in elaborate spirals; grinning challengingly as Zimmels introduced us. Someone who knew her speciality made her invaluable, giving her a degree of immunity from the usual sharpshooting of office politics. This morning she was subdued, uniform tunic undone, hair wound into a simple tight bun.
    The axial light-tube was a silver strand glimpsed through frail cloud braids high above, slightly brighter than a full Earth moon. Its light was sufficient for her to steer the jeep down a track through a small forest without using the headlights. ‘Not good,’ she muttered. ‘This is really going to stir people up. We all sort of regarded Eden as . . . I don’t know. Pure.’
    I was studying the display my PNC wafer was running, a program correlating previous crime incident files with Penny Maowkavitz, looking for any connection. So far a complete blank. ‘There’s never been a murder up here before, has