The Year's Top Hard Science Fiction Stories 7 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Infinivox
Published: 2023-06-16T04:00:00+00:00

Hades Station passed below the horizon and evening came. Icehouse was one of hundreds of settled darkplanets beyond the useful reach of sunlight from any star, and one of the stepping stones of the slow migration leading to other stellar colonies near Sol.

On the surface of Icehouse, dozens of smaller fusion reactors kept the streetlights shining and provided power to the community. When Lempa returned home after dark, he found the single door to his mansion broken in and police hovering around asking questions. Leaving the alien gun in his trunk, he approached his house, his tall, black-plastic figure pushing past the policemen who tried to delay him. It was easy to do; he was fifteen centis taller and fifty kilos heavier than the largest of them.

Inside, he quickly surveyed the entry lobby: two policemen in uniform and a detective, three smoldering security drones lying on the floor, and a corpse with a charcoal-rimmed hole in his chest. The corpse was the man he’d hired to guard the place, supplementing the drones. “Mr. Tarren?” the detective asked.

He spared a glance at the detective, then, ignoring him, walked into a larger room containing several display cases. Most of the cases were broken open, the contents missing. The items too big to carry were untouched.

The detective followed him into the display room. “Mr. Tarren?” he said again, a little louder than before.

“What?” he barked, then shook his head and took control of his anger. “Yes, Detective?”

“I see you have some security cameras stationed around the room. Can we get a copy of the video?”

“Yes, of course.” He blinked once while accessing the component memories, then said, “I just sent the video from the cameras and drones to your station.”

The detective raised his eyebrows. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if we find anything useful. Were you notified when the break-in occurred?”

“No. I should have been, however. There are sensors—” He stepped back into the lobby and looked down at the corpse, wondering if the security guard had had anything to do with the lack of notification. He’d only hired him two months before, highly recommended, but Lempa wondered if he’d been involved with the theft, and someone higher in the ranks was cleaning up after themselves.

“The items that were stolen. Anything special about them?”

Lempa nodded. “Of course. They were all unique. Last of their kind. That’s what I collect. And they were all popular items. Easy to market, lots of potential collectors, and hard to trace.” He thought of the shattered cases: a rare bottle of fifty-year-old Laphroaig Scotch from 2080. It would probably just be piss in a month. There was a signed letter from Anders Vandermeer to the Journal of Gravitational Physics on the theory behind stasis. And a one-off wooden puzzle box from puzzle craftsman Arturo Ransom custom-made for his spouse. And more. All priceless, all gone. He swept his gaze around the room, anxiety eating at him like acid rain.

“Any other items lost?”

He shook his head. “I think not. I only keep a small fraction of my collection displayed at any time.

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