meet the author

Credit: Charlie Hopkinson

PHILIP PALMER’s first novel was Debatable Space, but he has previously written for radio, television, and film. He lives in London. Find out more about Philip Palmer at www.philippalmer.net.

introducing

If you enjoyed
RED CLAW,

look out for

BELLADONNA

by Philip Palmer

The Cop was in a cheerful mood. The sky was a rich blue. The twelve moons of Belladonna shone like globes on a Christmas tree in the daytime sky. He could smell orchids.

He was one-day old. He would, his database warned him, grow more jaded with the passage of time. But for the moment, life felt good.

It was a short walk from the spaceport to the crime scene. He was in constant subvocal contact with the Sheriff, Gordon Heath, and the crime scene photos scrolled in front of his eyes as he walked. But the air was fresh, and the orchids were fragrant, and so were the roses, and the hollyhocks, and the grass. The Cop registered felt a faint stirring of remembered regret.

“I’m Sheriff Heath.”

“I’m aware of that,” said the Cop.

“Pleased to meet you too,” the Sheriff chided, and the Cop registered the hint of irony, but decided it would be politic to ignore it.

The Cop and the Sheriff were standing outside a twelve-storey hotel made of black brick with a spire that touched the sky. Police officers had cordoned off the area with holos proclaiming POLICE and MURDER SCENE — KEEP AWAY. Pedestrians on moving walkways were gawping as they swept past, thrilled at the glimpse of a terror that had passed them by.

“Sheriff, feel free to call me Luke,” the Cop added, in a belated attempt to build a rapport, though this was not and never had been his name.

“Sure, I’ll do that. ‘Luke.’ ”

This time, there was a hint of lurking scorn, but the Cop chose to ignore that too.

Sheriff Heath, the Cop noted, looked shockingly old — too old perhaps for cosmetic rejuve? — though his body was fit and strong. He was bald, heavily wrinkled, with a grey walrus moustache, and peering blue eyes. The Cop had been impressed at his bio: soldier, pirate, artist, scientist and bartender. Now, he was Sheriff of the 4th Canton of Lawless City.

“Through here.”

The holograms of the crime scene didn’t do justice to its horror. Blood and human flesh spattered the walls and ceilings. A screaming severed head was impaled on the bed; inside the mouth, which gaped unnaturally large, was a human heart, squeezed and squirted.

The Cop adjusted his decontam forcefield and hovered back and forth a centimeter from the ground. He used his finger-tweezers to take samples of blood and flesh, and mentally tried to keep a tally of the corpses. He saw legs and hands and entrails and a set of lungs that had fallen under the bed, and he noted that the carpets were damp with piss and strewn with half-digested food from the shredded stomachs of the victims.

At one point the Cop glanced behind, and was startled to see that the Sheriff was pale, and looked as if he wanted to throw up.

“Murder weapon?”

“We found nothing. We don’t know what could have done this.”

“Plasma beam? Samurai sword?”

“Look closer.”

The Cop looked closer.