Author: K. Andrus
Where was the best place to murder someone and get away with it?
A question that had been fun to ponder, back when Albert had been at home accompanied by nobody else but a chilled glass of scotch, the comforting roar of a June snowstorm, and his most recent work-in-progress novel.
Yet here, stuck on Mars, Albert found himself seriously contemplating the question as he was yet again turned away from the captain’s quarters.
It would only be retribution, he rationalized. After all, Albert had to leave behind his mansion for a single bedroom apartment, his silk robes for an uncomfortable space suit, his employed help for an AI in his wall, and his favorite foods for pre-packaged rations. Truly, Albert was experiencing what could only amount to poverty. However, the biggest tragedy of all was the fact that there was not a drop of alcohol available.
Albert had made his complaint known, of course, but he had been told that such ‘frivolous’ comforts would have taken unnecessary space in the ship. And that to carry, ‘the most people possible,’ some sacrifices had to be made.
Bah! Surely one or two of the scientists scurrying around here could have been left behind? What sort of space resort had scientists, anyway? But when Albert had made such a logical suggestion for the next supply shipment, he had been told to skedaddle. Imbeciles!
Albert huffed to himself as he entered his hotel room. When he got back to Earth, he was going to cut spending on a few senators who had suggested the trip in the first place. Fire-smire, so what if almost all of America was currently burning? He could have flown to one of his many vacation homes and waited out the toxic smog instead. Surely, a trip to another planet had been an overreaction by their government.
Albert sighed and collapsed into his chair. He stretched out his legs and gazed at them sadly. With no ottoman to put his feet upon, his legs were left to sprawl pitifully in front of the coffee table.
“Martin, get me a cup of coffee,” Albert asked his room’s AI before he closed his eyes so he could pretend he was still in his California mansion.
Albert listened to the soft sounds of his door swishing open and the quiet footsteps of someone approaching, no doubt entering with his requested beverage. Surely, once he drank his coffee and was a little more awake, he could once again try to talk sense into the owner of this resort. A place without alcohol, bah, what a farce.
However, all plans went out the window when someone grabbed his neck and squeezed.
Albert’s eyes shot open, and he choked in surprise at the sight of a masked assailant standing over him. He scrambled to grab the man’s hands, doing his best to pull them off his neck, but the blinking light of a mechanical arm told him he was fighting a losing battle.
“Did you think you could run away?” A wicked smile, the gleam of yellowed teeth, and the acidic smell of smoke. “I won’t let you.”
As Albert’s vision began to darken, he was reminded of his earlier question. Where was the best place to murder someone and get away with it? Why, space of course. It was far enough away from society to easily avoid prosecution. Not to mention, such an oxygen-rich environment would be an arsonist’s wet dream. Why couldn’t Albert have thought of that sooner?