A young Maxwell funding the first successful mining of an asteroid, piggybacked on someone else’s pipedream. Some bright spark tried to turn a space rock into a spaceship by coring it out, building life support inside and attaching propulsion systems. Ten years of failure. When the instigator moved on, Maxwell examined what was left with a moving R & D craft. He found hyperconductors, iridium, piezoelectrics, unknowns, unknowns, unknowns, all of which he ferried to Earth. He had to fight off a lawsuit from the pipedreamer, but soon became pretty much the richest person in the solar system – which, if explorers are to be believed, means the richest person in the galaxy. Adjusted. The rise of MaxGalactix.

The first discovery was a freebie, scavenged from the cast-off of another enterprise. He sent robot ships far and wide – even, it is rumoured, into the Oort Cloud, beyond Earth’s nearest bridge. And it all flows back to Earth for analysis, conversion, empowerment of humanity. Geologists suddenly in higher demand than they have ever been; rock nerds to rock stars in one generation.

And Maxwell? Shrank from view as his star rose. No scandals, no children, no drama. True, impossible to make that much money without pissing someone off, but Maxwell seems to have done it. Or paid off his enemies and scrubbed public records.

Sixty-three years old at time of death. Some plaque in his carotid artery that might have got him within two or so decades. Massive amount of fat in the greater omentum. Heart encased in fat that must have rendered him breathless. Lungs healthy, no soot spots. Brain pristine. Polyp in rectum, but benign, unimportant. Curiously, one ingrown toenail that must have hurt given the inflammation around it. He could have had it sorted out surgically in less than an hour. Why did he leave it?

Why the fuck are you dead, Maxwell?

Fin pulls up a conceptual map of the passenger placement. Marking the diagram with the thirty-one dead shows most of the bodies on Torus 2, clustered around Maxwell, as if he is patient zero and the murder contagion spread from him to the pods adjacent. He was the target. Great. So many reasons for anyone to want to murder the richest man in existence. Fin rubs his eyes and dismisses the display.

“Fin, come in.” Shell.

“Captain?”

“The Equivalence and the Decisive are going to stop thrusting now. You’ll need to help remove the manual locks from the hatch. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks. Uncle Larry will talk you through it.”

“Affirmative.”

“What?”

“I thought that’s what you say in… never mind. When are you coming back this way?”

“After I’ve inspected the passenger sections. Why?”

“I have some news on the investigation.”

“I do not care. Do you even understand our situation? We need to get planetside, to safety, and soon.”

“I appreciate—”

“Get off the comm unless it’s an emergency. Larry will need the channel open. Out.”