KILLER PLANET
Chapter 9. An organ Farm

They entered into a 1-hour motel on the docks of Nickel Port. In the middle of a messy room, Doctor Philippe’s body was hanging from the ceiling’s fan. When Fabio entered the room, a police officer was taking photos of the body with his mobile. Another police officer was picking up traces of evidence from the floor, gloves in hand. Fabio approached the body and examined it carefully. His eyes fell on Philippe’s hand for a long time. Keiichi and Martha’s shadows fell onto the ground.

“Did you find a suicide note?” Fabio asked.

“Yes,” said Keiichi, “I gave it to the graphologist. I’m sure you will recognize Monsieur Philippe’s handwriting.”

“Did he perhaps write ...” Fabio asked.

“«Don’t blame anyone»?” Martha cut him off.

Keiichi looked at them in amazement.

“Yes,” he replied. “That’s exactly what I read.”

Fabio got up and nodded with a slight movement of his head. Keiichi oscillated with his pupils looking at his subordinates as Monsieur Philippe’s body descended from the ceiling. Martha examined the rope.

“This crime was committed by the same person who murdered Cleopatra,” Keiichi said.

“Maybe,” said Fabio.

“I also believed that,” Martha replied. Look at his neck.

Keiichi and Fabio leaned over the corpse. They discovered several bruises on the skin of Monsieur Philippe’s neck.

“He was strangled,” Keiichi declared with a sigh.

“And then hanged,” added Fabio.

“The same modus operandi of Cleopatra’s ‘suicide’,” Martha commented. “Irrational, but effective.”

“Irrational?” Keiichi asked.

“Martha has given up her Cartesian thinking.”

“Really?” Keiichi asked.

“It happened on Venus,” Martha agreed. “We were flying to one of my father’s gravimotor factories on a sunny Saturday morning from Remote City to Jasmine City. Fabio told me that we would leave at 8 in the morning. But you know how laid-back Venusians are. He wanted to make love, so we left our apartment in Remote City at 9:30 a.m. I was upset about the delay, but even more for what was about to come. Just before leaving Remote City, my husband suddenly flew to Puerto Bucaramanga, ‘I want to invite you to breakfast at a special place,’ he said. I got sour. He explained that the seafood casserole there was the best in the universe. It was an old house by the San Antonio Sea, among mangroves, decorated with antiques. Adding insult to injury, he told me that he used to fly there with one of his former lovers from his years at the University in Ciudad Coltan. Then we sit down. I was about to explode for such a display of irrationality. On Neptune, when you plan something, you just stick to it. Well, while we were waiting for our breakfast, Fabio took a design from the window right next to us. Those walls and windows were decorated with hundreds of old gravimotor and machine designs, things from the new era. And to my surprise, Fabio told me that the design he just took was from my father’s company.

“From L’Autruche?” Keiichi asked in disbelief.

“Amazing!” Martha exclaimed. “I was born and raised in Neptune, but Fabio discovered a design that had been stolen from my father five years ago, and which was essential for the project we were developing. Can you believe that this design completed the best-selling gravitaxi model in the galaxy?”

“What a happy coincidence!” Keiichi exclaimed.

“There are no coincidences,” said Fabio, “according to mysticism. Blessed are those who believe, because they submit to the will of the nights and days..”

Keiichi shook his head with a growing sense of skepticism.

“It really happened,” Martha assured him.

“Of course!” He said with Martian condescension. “Do you still want to visit Mrs. Grave, Fabio?”

A shadow approached behind him.

“Here’s the report, Sir,” a young policeman said, handing Keiichi a manila envelope.

“Thank you, Officer Bass.”

Keiichi opened it and studied its contents for a while.

Fabio noticed that the policeman had a plastic bag with a cover letter inside.

“Can I see that card?” He asked him.

“Of course!”

It was the ace of diamonds. Fabio recalled a historical photograph of Pluto in the 3830s, with the body of an organ trafficker holding a bloody card in his right hand.

Fabio took the manila envelope and examined the name of the sender.

“Where did they find it?” “he asked.

“On the floor, under the body. We were unable to find the other cards on the deck.”

“And you won’t find them,” Fabio said, returning the plastic bag to the police.

“Fabio!” Martha called him. “Do you see the knot around his neck?”

“It’s an excessive knot,” said Fabio after studying it carefully.

“Cleopatra was hung with a surgeon’s knot,” Martha said.

“I remember…”

“We may be dealing with two criminals.”

“Or with a very cunning mind.”

Keiichi approached, folding the report and putting it in one of his pockets.

“We must return to the hotel, Inspector,” said Fabio.

“I must visit Mrs. Grave at eleven tomorrow,” said Keiichi. “Would you like to join me?”

“Why not?”

“We must have Doctor Dupin’s autopsy results by then.”

“Doctor Dupin?”

“That is Mister Philippe’s last name.”

Keiichi showed him the document he had just folded.

“Of course,” Fabio nodded, recalling Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. “I heard from him before.”

“Do you think he murdered Cleopatra, only to commit suicide later?”

“It’s a possibility. Good evening, Inspector.”

Hours later Fabio and Martha were passionately kissing inside a gravitaxi over the Cheshire fields.

“We are here, sir,” said the robotaxi, slowing his ship.

“Thanks Edward,” Fabio said, descending.

“That’s how we’ll call you from now on,” said Martha. “Your work has been impeccable.”

“You don’t know how much I appreciate the fact that you have given me a name, Lord and Lady Saint-André.”

“Can you please wait two hundred meters above me, Edward?”

“Your wishes are orders!” Said the robotaxi. “I’ve already obtained permission to occupy a space 234 meters high.”

Martha got out and looked curiously at several gravimotors that were furrowing the sky.

“He will pick us up in exactly sixty minutes,” Fabio said, getting out.

“At that time I will descend, your grace,” said the robotaxi before ascending into the air.

Fabio raised his head and faced an old Pre-Orian mansion. He fixed his eyes on a well-lit window as they approached the front door. Several silhouettes lined up behind a curtain.

“Have you been here before?” Martha asked.

“This morning. I was watching the house for almost two hours.”

“What will we do if they find you out?”

Fabio pulled up a hood hidden under his coat.

“They won’t.”

They kissed each other.

The couple broke up. Martha walked to the main entrance. Fabio turned right into the backyard, following a pebble-covered path.

The carved wooden doors of the pre-Orian mansion were wide open. Martha crossed the threshold and found Anaximandra and a fat brunette. They both drank cocktails from conical cups. Anaximandra turned around and opened her eyes in disbelief. Martha smiled sweetly. Guillermina approached Martha from the living room. Her jaw dropped as soon as she recognized her.

“Can I speak to you?” Martha asked.

“But ...” Guillermina said.

“I’m looking for advice,” Martha sobbed.

“Everything is alright?” The dark girl asked.

“I think so,” Guillermina replied, holding Martha’s right arm. Please follow me ...

Martha rubbed her eyes, as if waking up from a heavy dream, and was guided by Guillermina.

Outside, Fabio’s hands clung to a branch of the vine that covered the walls of the pre-Orian mansion. He deftly climbed up to a dark balcony on the third floor.

Martha was led into a large hall, where the tall glass windows were framed by heavy embroidered cotton curtains. The space was poorly lit. Small groups of men and women, wearing black and gray clothing, spoke here and there, indifferent to her presence. Martha detailed her surroundings: large photographs of famous suicidal writers on the walls: Stefan Zweig, Gilles Deleuze, Alfonsina Storni, Virginia Wolf, etc. Guillermina invited her to sit on a semicircular sofa draped in a rose-pink silk cover.

“How many days?” The dark-haired girl asked as she reappeared before Martha.

“Fifteen, I think.”

“Be brave. You’re lucky it’s not too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Guillermina chimed in as she sat on the sofa. “Are you sure this is not just a psychological genetization?”

Anaximandra approached them with two glasses of champagne. She offered one of them to Martha.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the cup. “I already took the test.”

“Maybe we should do it again,” Guillermina said. “The whole region already knows that you are the owner of the largest taxirobots companies in the Milky Way.”

And without waiting for an answer she got up and disappeared into another room.

“We’re glad to have you tonight, Martha,” Anaximandra said. “Have you come to talk to us about it?”

Martha sobbed nervously.

“She needs help,” said the dark girl. “My name is Ellacarda. Poor creature.”

“We’ll see,” Anaximandra murmured. “Who told you about us?”

“On the web information,” the dark-haired girl said, “I suppose.”

“Martha is a private detective,” Anaximandra replied.

“Who’d say that?” Ellacarda said.

“She believes my sister was murdered. Don’t you?”

“By heavens! Ellacarda exclaimed.

Martha noticed the presence of Nefertiti and Cancerbero, who were studying her from the top floor.

Fabio jumped to a third floor balcony. He gasped as he turned on a small flashlight. Before him he found a small door. He opened it without resistance, entered, and descended by an spiral staircase into a dark room. His ring’s flashlight discovered an office with three desks and seven filing cabinets. The top drawer of the first closet on his right slid smoothly before his left hand. He immediately leafed through the individual file folders, all of them arranged in alphabetical order: Terry Ackard, Marine Adonis, etc.

Nefertiti descended the hallway main stairs and fixed her gaze on Martha.

“Still,” Ellacarda continued, “you are more than welcome to spend this night with us.”

“Thanks,” Martha gasped as she took a sip from her champagne glass. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No way. They already told me that you were married to a Venusian. It doesn’t surprise me at all that you want to degenetizise your offspring from a man from such a backward planet.”

“I should have waited until tomorrow,” Martha agreed, “but we had an argument and… I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

Anaximandra entered with a genetic test.

“Now, do you want us to help you?”

Martha got up and received the genetic test with a wide smile.

“Anaximandra!” Nefertiti exclaimed. “Oh my God! What are you doing?”

“Trying to help Martha.”

“This is not a hospital.”

“Sorry,” Martha apologized.

“You don’t have to apologize for something you haven’t done!” Nefertiti exclaimed with manifest hostility. “I guess Martha didn’t know about our meeting tonight, did she?”

“Nefertiti!” Anaximandra exclaimed stroking her long blonde hair. “I also have the right to invite my friends.”

“She can come back tomorrow morning,” said Nefertiti. “You look tired. You should rest, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Martha replied.

Anaximandra rolled her blue pupils towards Nefertiti and left the hall. Martha sat down on the sofa. Guillermina took Nefertiti sideways from her arm.

“I also suspect uninvited guests,” Guillermina whispered in her ear.

“Her husband visited us last night,” said Nefertiti. “A waste of time, of course. But I understood his point. He is a foolish, idealistic, Catholic, conservative, stubborn and incorruptible man.”

She turned around and looked at Martha, who was watching her with wet eyes.

Fabio went through the cabinets without finding an indication of the crime. Then he sat down in front of one of the congested desks. His eyes fell on a sheet of paper where it was written thrice with different calligraphy:

Don’t blame anyone.

The signatures were clearly signed by different hands. He recognized among others those of Mister Gloucester and Nefertiti Gloucester. He found several sheets with the same pattern underneath. As he rearranged the documents, he distinguished from the darkness a man’s silhouette in a Doctor’s gown.

“Monsieur Cancerbero,” he murmured.

He switched off the flashlight, took one of the ”Don’t blame anyone" documents, put it in his pocket, and hid behind the curtain. His ear heard each step closer. The door opened slowly and Mister Cancerbero entered and closed the door behind him. He turned on the lights and checked the items in the cabinet files. Everything was in order. Then he went to a bookshelf and took a paper edition of the Arabian Nights. The wall in front of him was divided into three folding doors, the closest one just a few meters from Fabio. Mister Cancerbero entered another room and turned on a bright set of lights. A minute later, Fabio peeked into the room and stared in horror at what appeared to be a clandestine degenetization clinic. In the center there were a dozen metal plates still dripping blood from the removal of recent embryos. Around it, heavy shelves carefully packed dozens of 3-gallon glass bottles. Each bottle contained, in clear water, well-developed organs from small embryos in which little heads disfigured by pain could be seen.

“An organ farm!” Whispered Fabio to himself, bringing to mind the lush faces of Nefertiti, Sir Weyden, and Lord Gloucester.

He identified the sound of water falling on a far distant metal surface. The path was clear, so he went through the maze of living organs. He stopped suddenly at a metal sink, hid behind a shelf, and looked at Cancerbero dragging a bucket of water and a white towel. Cancerbero returned to the entrance of the laboratory and left the bucket of water next to the blood-stained metal plate. He dipped the towel in the water and began wiping away the bloodstains one by one. Suddenly, a cat jumped on Fabio’s back and from it to a metal plate. Cancerbero screamed and laughed.

“Jigs!” he yelled, pleased.

Mister Cancerbero looked into the angry eyes of Jigs, and reflected on them the threatening figure of Fabio.

“I am sorry to tell you that I am an expert in Karate-do, Monsieur,” said Mister Cancerbero. “And this laboratory is soundproofed.”

Jumping next to him, Mister Cancerbero came to a table where the blood-stained degenetization instruments rested: tweezers, needles, pliers, knives, etc. He took a machete and threw it at Fabio, who barely avoided him by breaking his waist. Mister Cancerbero threw himself at Fabio with a pair of tweezers in hand. Fabio received the weight of his body and, taking advantage of his launch, threw him against an organ rack. Cancerbero screamed when a bottle broke with two pieces of glass piercing his arms. Immediately he awkwardly drew a dematerializing pistol from his coat. Fabio kicked the gun in Cancerbero’s hand with his right foot. The weapon leapt into the air and was caught by Fabio as it descended into the air.

“Not so fast, Mister Cancerbero!” Said Fabio, pointing the gun at him. “I am also a student of Kung-fu.”

Cancerbero backed away puzzled. Jigs jumped into his arms, and suddenly the cat’s throat was cut from the glass embedded in his arm. Cancerbero screamed and slammed the dying cat body into the mount, in a vain effort to contain his blood. The shelves shook for a moment, then ducked, throwing dozens of organ bottles on it. Mister Cancerbero crawled, groaning. He stood up covered in blood and body parts.

“You shouldn’t be horrified,” said Fabio. “These embryos are lifeless for you. Be as brave as when you extracted them from the legs and arms of your victims.”

“Never! You won’t get anything from us, Saint-André!”

Fabio watched a still beating heart sliding from a bottle.

“Growing organs from embryos is the most lucrative underground business since drug legalization.”

“Our planet doesn’t require more people.”

“That is just what Cain thought one hundred and fifty thousand years ago.”

“Oh!” Cancerbero smiled. “But we must all die someday.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say that for all those embryos who wanted to live one day, Mister Cancerbero.”

“Aren’t you a thief?” Cancerbero asked.

“I don’t mean to denounce your society, Sir.” It would be useless to accuse you and get close such a place like this.”

“I see that you are an intelligent man. What do you want from us?”

“I’m just curious to know why Doctor Philippe committed suicide.”

“Doctor ... Philippe?”

“Or Doctor Dupin, as you prefer.”

“He didn’t know ...”

Fabio showed him the note with several signatures.

“It’s obvious that Cleopatra Gloucester and Doctor Philippe didn’t commit suicide,” Fabio continued. “You may have strong reasons to protect the murderer, Monsieur, for it’s evident that you are part of this organ trafficking community. I understand that he or she can act by taking advantage of you, but could you at least tell me what information you have?”

Mister Cancerbero shook his head in disbelief.

“Only if you promise me not to get me involved in your investigation. I can’t afford to go back to jail. My other cats need me, Monsieur.”

Fabio remained defiant, pointing the gun at Cancerbero.

“I hardly know him, Mister Cancerbero.”

“We are not murderers. We respect the dogma of degenetization, that’s all.”

“But…”

“Doctor Philippe betrayed us,” Cancerbero agreed. “He was selling our organs to cosmetic companies. We also learned that he bought a Graviferrari and a farm on Pluto. Eventually, we discovered that he sacrificed several embryos to a clandestine sect: the worshipers of Moloch. You see, we wanted to save Cleopatra’s embryo.”

“Did you?”

“Lord Gloucester and his family.”

“Who killed Doctor Philippe, then?”

“We just don’t know.”

Fabio aimed the gun at Mister Cancerbero’s head.

“You are not a murderer, Monsieur. You are a Catholic; a man who fears eternal damnation.”

“With authority to judge,” Fabio said coldly.

The gun began to hum. Mister Cancerbero threw up his hands in growing panic.

“It all started with a literature debate,” Mister Cancerbero explained with a sweaty face. “We all admire Mister Stevenson’s inventiveness. We all had reasons to commit suicide. So…”

The buzz of the gun decreased in intensity.

“Eleutheria started out as a suicide club ...”

“You can say it like that if you want. The cards were shuffled in a dark room. They were distributed face down on a round table. We could only see the hands of about 12 club members.”

“New members?”

“I don’t know! It was a lottery, do you understand? Whoever has the ace of spades must be the killer.”

“Continue…”

“The letters are secretly turned over. Different figures appear. The hand of the most wretched of us is the one that picks up the ace of diamonds. He or she is the one who designates the victim, the one to be killed ...”

“This is not the way the book goes.”

“The information is then secretly released to the ace of spades holder,” Cancerbero said nervously.

“That way they do prevent the victim from being alert.” Fabio’s face paled. “Macabrely smart!”

“Thus…”

“You are a pro-murder society.”

“It was a game,” Cancerbero excused himself. So we decided that we didn’t want to live, but today ...”

“As in the novel, they are not so sure.”

“Yes.”

It seems you set up some funny rules, and now you realize too late that you are criminals.”

“Actually,” Cancerbero cleared his throat, “we only murdered Doctor Philippe, and for the reasons you know.”

“Who was the lucky victim at your last meeting?”

“Doctor Philippe!”

“Or did someone else betray Eleutheria?

“No one wanted Cleopatra’s death, I insist,” Mister Cancerbero sobbed. Lord Gloucester loved her! Even I saved her once, in Jupiter.”

Downstairs, in a small library, Guillermina and the dark girl questioned Martha.

“Were you geneticized on Neptune?” Guillermina asked.

“Yes.”

“But your husband doesn’t know,” Ellacarda said in a naive voice. “He doesn’t have to, do you know? You, and only you, own your calf. If he wants to get an embryo he can do it with his own legs!

“What’s your name? A small woman behind her asked.

“Martha.”

“Poor Martha!” Ellacarda repeated.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Guillermina opened the door. Fabio intervened.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Good heavens! For a moment I thought my wife had been kidnapped.”

“Fabio!” Martha exclaimed, recovering suddenly. “My dear love!”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ellacarda said with tears on her cheeks.

“Now I must go!” Martha apologized.

“But ...” Ellacarda stuttered.

“What kind of sense of humor is this?” Guillermina asked in an obvious sense of disgust. “They are just pulling our legs”

Martha and Fabio smiled as they left the house.

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