***

  Michael sat in his office, his mind churning through the next phase of his calculations. He felt a cold sense of pride in how the pieces had settled. The recent directorate meeting had been a success, largely thanks to a last-minute realisation: the secrecy surrounding the cargo Lizzie Wolters had rerouted had created a contractual quagmire. It was the perfect smokescreen.

  However, the fifteen percent of the votes Lizzie controlled remained a problem. He hadn't had time to prepare for that variable, leaving him with only one weapon: a lie. It was a gamble -- promising action on a matter that wasn't due for days or even hours -- but the probability of success was high enough to justify the risk.

  He knew the legal loophole: according to corporate policy, as long as a death investigation is ongoing and the passing has not been officially certified, the missing party's votes are held by their designated proxies. Michael had pulled the dossiers on Lizzie's assigned representatives. He only cared about two: her father, Sojohan Wolters, and her spouse, Alden Leroux.

  Alden was a problem. A technarch managing a heavy machinery and mining nexus in the Mars sector -- right on the edge of the Inner Solar System -- he was too far away to control and too seasoned to be intimidated. Furthermore, Michael's intel suggested their marriage had been crumbling; Alden wouldn't be susceptible to sentimental manipulation.

  Sojohan, however, was a different story. Still drowning in a decades-old grief over his wife's death, the man was defeated and inert. He was an easy target. The puzzle was almost complete.

  The most dangerous variable remained Lizzie herself. It was a high-stakes play, but Michael had managed to keep her alive on paper -- at least for now. He had promised the board a resolution, but for the moment, the ambiguity served him. As for the incident at the habitat itself; Michael had already delegated that mess to his personal agents and his most trusted technarch of the Heidelberg space habitat.

  By early morning, Michael had executed the first phase of his plan. He had secured the cargo and finalised the manifest: safely frozen bodies of Lizzie Wolters and Hugo Moreau were now officially categorised as bio-hazard cargo.

  On paper, everything was perfectly aligned. He had mapped the logistics with surgical precision -- from the orbital ring's ascent schedule to the automated space tug's docking window and the final orbital crawler transfer. It was a masterpiece of coordination. However, one volatile variable remained on the table: orbital customs. If there was even a minor delay -- a random inspection or a suspicious clerk -- his ideally constructed schedule would shatter.

  A few hours before, Michael had summoned one of his most trusted personal agents to his office. Now, he sat in the silence of the room, waiting for two events to come. The first was the confirmation that his 'biohazard' cargo had been successfully loaded into a space cargo container. It was a container from Outer Solar System, so it was protected by Tyflos agreement. The second was the arrival of Ake Torenbergh. The cargo was moving, the lie was holding, and now, he needed his hands on the ground to ensure everything followed as designated.

  Michael felt a rare, sharp need for counsel. He was prepared to discuss the situation with someone as expert and cold-minded as himself, and Ake was that man.

  Torenbergh arrived silently; he was never one for politeness or the formalities of etiquette. Yet, he possessed a rare ability to work with precision -- silent, accurate, and direct. Ake was no simple machine. He always questioned his orders, but his only interests were the logic and the calculations behind them. He was bitterly cold in his profession, a man who worked for money but lived for the idea. He was Michael's first personal agent, having served him for sixty standard years. Above all, he was quite loyal.

  "Hey! How is your dirty business going?" Ake asked, walking toward the table.

  "Is it cold enough to use as space heat dissipation yet?"

  "The cover is holding," Michael replied.

  "The shit is already frozen and ready to be dusted by a soft touch. Did you secure all the evidence left from the explosion on Heidelberg?"

  "Heh, yep. My best folks secured all your frozen shit over there. No spies, no curious noses can sneak in," the agent replied.

  "Nice to hear. Well, take the bottle of whiskey from the drawer on your right, and bring two glasses... no, make it three glasses," Michael continued.

  "Three? Are we waiting for somebody else?" Ake asked, surprised.

  "No, no. The third one is for Lizzie."

  "She's dead. Why waste good whiskey on a dead person?"

  "Bring it. I'll explain," Michael replied, as calm as ever.

  "She's dead, but probably only temporarily."

  Ake did as he was asked, but his eyes were wide, fixed on Michael in a rare display of shock. "Dead temporary" was a phrase for medical bays and emergency revivals -- minutes, maybe an hour at most. But this? They were talking about days. Not just hours, but many days. In all his sixty years of service, Ake had never seen the math of life and death stretched so thin. The logic he prided himself on was failing.

  "Guess you still remember why I requested that special emergency unit back in the Finnish Cluster territory, that vehicle is capable of freezing a body fast enough to prevent any tissue damage -- especially the brain. Yes, if it works, Lizzie will need a long list of procedures to restore that precious, beautiful body she cared so much about. But... it is doable," he continued.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Ahh, that day when she smashed her car on the way to Lahti... Hmm will work. What will work?" Ake asked, his voice filled with amazement.

  "We're not capable of resurrecting her brain yet, but somebody in the Outer System is," Michael said calmly.

  "Lizzie probably worked with those folks. She has an operational research outpost in the Outer System -- it's part of the German Cluster, so..." Michael's voice trailed off. He shifted his attention to the table, the bottle of whiskey, and the three empty glasses.

  "Ake! Has cosmic ray damaged your brain tissue ? Please pour whiskey, let's drink first." Michael ordered, his tone was friendly.

  Torenbergh became mute for a while. He poured the whiskey into the glasses, took a long sip, and replenished his emptied glass. Michael did the same; the whiskey was a good catalyst for storytelling.

  "That's why you were in a hurry to order a space container from the Outer System. That's why those frozen bodies are on their way to this research outpost. That's why Sojohan will manage her votes for a while. She's dead, but she isn't dead. I'm not sure about her friend Hugo, but let's hope to fix him too," Michael continued, avoiding any questions from his trusted agent.

  "Sojohan...?" Ake finally found his voice again.

  "Yes, exactly. Sojohan Wolters, her father. Your task is to make him cooperative and ensure he follows our agenda. Please, do it gently. You'll need to discuss the matters with him directly, so prepare yourself for a journey -- it's a space habitat. I was kind enough to send you his profile; you'll find everything you need in there," Michael answered quickly.

  "Sure. So tell me then -- who murdered Hugo? Who murdered Lizzie? And in both cases, I cannot understand how. Or why?" Ake continued to push.

  "That's the end of my shiny story. I don't know. I can only guess. And as for the how? I have no idea what Cluster, Circle, or other organisation is capable of such methods. As for your why... that's simple." Michael poured more whiskey into his glass.

  "Lizzie and Hugo were the leading heads in the latest gene therapy research..." He took another sip.

  "Somebody doesn't like the advancements in their research. Lizzie was on her way to that summit in Lahti. She and her friend Hugo were going to present a breakthrough, and the proof was Lizzie herself! That's why. But I have no idea who. I have spies in every advanced Cluster, and there are no signs of such capabilities..." He sipped the whiskey again.

  "Mystery in the dark... But how did you know something would happen to Lizzie?" Torenbergh asked, sipping his whiskey again and refilling his glass afterwards.

  "I was spying on her, and one fact triggered my suspicion: Hugo died the day before her journey, but she didn't react to it. I thought perhaps she knew, that she was involved in his death. However, it didn't fit the logic. I decided to call her..." Michael replenished his own glass.

  "Huh, you know what? I wasn't able to reach her. You were in a different place with a different assignment, but one of your people did the communication checks on her. Her communications, news feeds, calls -- everything was faked. But it was too late. As you remember, I aborted your task and summoned you and your best men to the Finnish Cluster." Michael paused.

  "Yes, we were late, unfortunately," Torenbergh replied.

  "It wasn't your fault. But at the end, at this very moment, we are managing the situation. We are fixing things. I hope we will fix Lizzie soon..." Michael was interrupted by the chime of an incoming message.

  He made a 'wait' gesture with his hand and checked the notification:

  "LOGISTICS UPDATE: Delivery content BWH083234H is loaded to space container JUOO14523FFH."

  "Lizzie is in space now, on her way to the research outpost. Let's drink," Michael said, satisfied.

  ***

  A car, weary from the long highway distances, ghosted into the sleeping streets of Lahdenpohja. The town had already retreated into its nightly silence, leaving the streets desolate. The deep blue of the car's body caught the rhythmic pulse of the street lights, reflecting them in distorted smears across its damp surface as it glided through the roads.

  Behind the wheel, Adrian felt the weight of the journey in his bones. Only a stubborn, burning curiosity kept the fatigue from pulling him under. A faint sign of satisfaction touched his face -- the kind of look that remained invisible to anyone who hadn't known him for a decades.

  The silhouettes of the old town buildings faded into the rear view mirror. Adrian headed toward his secluded house on the far side of the city, away from the highway's reach. This was a low-density district nestled against the lake shore, where the city's pulse finally flattened.

  Street lights grew sparse, replaced by the white glow of the snow-packed road. Here, the winter forest stood sentinel, every branch heavy under a thick, crystalline shroud. The silence and the clear, biting air were meant for deep concentration, or for the quiet reset of the mind. Adrian felt a momentary pull to stop the car and walk into that stillness, but the weight of the forgotten communication device pressed on him.

  He had been out of reach for hours. He needed to call Mikko, not just to share the intel, but because the stolen data was a labyrinth he couldn't navigate alone. The snow had stopped falling hours ago, and the temperature was dropping fast; the sky was a cold, obsidian mirror calling for observation, but the clock was against him. He needed answers before the events of the last few days could hide the consequences in a vast world of technocratic procedures.

  Adrian pulled over at the roadside. The short approach to the covered parking bay was buried under a drift so massive the car wouldn't have stood a chance. The snow sat there, heavy and undisturbed -- a silent reminder of hours he'd been away.

  "Where is this automated idiot?" he barked at the empty air.

  The exterior lights of the garage flickered to life, casting a harsh, warm yellow glow over the parking entry. Beneath the roof, the automatic snow cleaner sat in a state of a dead sleep. The only way to wake the thing from his position was through a sub-menu on the communication device he'd left behind before his long journey.

  Gritting his teeth, Adrian decided to push through the drifts. He reached into the car and retrieved the data media stolen from the Control node, tucking it deep into his inner jacket pocket. He needed to be absolutely certain the media storage hadn't been corrupted or physically compromised by the sudden thermal shift during his trek through the snow.

  His home was empty, the silence absolute for only a few moments before the noisy ventilation fan began its dirty job. It kicked in with a groan, churning the air to establish an optimal flow while grating against its master's ears. Everything was exactly as he had left it.

  "Ahh, my noisy friend greets me again, should I order a new one? Something quieter? But who truly loves a mute fans?" Adrian whispered, scanning the fridge for an ale.

  He emptied the bottle into a glass and moved through the rooms in search of his communication device. It took a few minutes to turn it up. The notification area was a cluttered mess, but the stand outs were the missed calls from Mikko and a single, urgent message:

  "Hope you are doing well... sleeping... whatever. I found the place and the event Lizzie was heading to. That place couldn't avoid death either. Hugo Moreau... well, you are definitely joking, not answering these calls... reach me ASAP!"

  "Oh, my friend, you wouldn't believe what I've brought. I'm still a step ahead of you." , sparked in Adrian's head.

  He typed a short, jagged reply:

  "I've been doing some bloody dirty work. The information I have is amazing. Expecting you at my place... ASAP as well."

  He sank into one of the heavy chairs, took a long, deep sip of the ale, and set the glass on a side table. Within a minute, the exhaustion won. He found himself sliding into sleep.