First Case: The Murder of Timmy Walters

Grey

Grey

Dialectical Hermeticist
3rd of Greentide, Mornday, 245AU


Califresco City


"Good morning, Citizens," the synthesized female voice of the Municipal Information Spirit says, echoing across rain-slick plazas and in the heads of wakeful Redlines. "The time is eight AM exactly. The rain is scheduled to continue for one more hour, and will resume at 2PM."


Civic Centre calls her Sally. All in the push for a 'friendlier Califresco'.


"Citizens are reminded that Grand and Fifth will be closed today for installation of new road safety devices. Drive safely, Califresco."


Civic news feed makes no mention of the riot in Layfields last night, but Galathine's stock went up five percent. Not hard to guess the new riot suppression drones worked.


If Blacklines got obituaries the list would be a lot longer this morning.


Rise and shine, detectives - you've got work in an hour.
 
Mariner was confined to his bed. Essentially, a corpse left to rot. The 'Miss' - as he dubbed her - hardly motivated him to arise from his mattress. It was only the reward of money that was enough to drag him out. Still, better than when he was training as an Officer. The Commanding Officer had a tendency to drag you out by the foot. Not exactly good for the head. 


A quick bite of... whatever it was that was in his fridge. Goth couldn't exactly make out what it was. Chicken, maybe? Anyway, Goth made sure he was wearing something decent for work. Hopefully nobody would bring up his arms. A little sensitive about the whole 'arms getting blown off by terrorists' thing. After making sure he had actually put some clothes on, it was about time to get a move on to work. A stroke of luck placed Goth's apartment RIGHT next to the Metro. Calculations argued that Goth was about ten minutes away from work. Well, if he caught the train, that is.
 
Reg was awake. He found it hard to sleep while his spike would interfere with his dreaming, trying to apply 3D structural overlays to the dream world in his head. But the dream world was incongruous with the real data and constant 'Searching...' messages would eventually arouse him. He suppposed he should tell the installers of the difficulty, but a diagnostic visit would cost him half a weeks pay, and his landlord didn't barter for rent. 


The manawave pinged after reheating his cup of chai. He preferred Ancient Lion, not only because is was only slightly more costly than bulk boxes, but it had an earthy flavour not unlike what he could have gotten down at the docks. He wondered of its purity, but the ingredients listed only tea and various spices. Plus when heated for a second or third time it barely changed flavour. 


He pulled on a pair of galoshes as he finished his cup, placing it in the sink with a collection of other dirty dishes meant to be washed in some unplanned future. He lived above a market that opened at 6:00, but the steam from the cleaners down the street often woke him with its steady hissing long before his alarm. As he stepped into the rain, he opened his umbrella - black, not the semi transparent ones that many of the urban professionals had that would display news, stock trends, and athletic scores. He was not accustomed to such, and preferred his mornings without the reports of violence and inhumanity. He would get his fill while at work. 
 
Eddie avoided slashing an artery only by the virtue of rote habit, eyes unfocused in the warping mirror as he shaved. He really needed to get to bed earlier, but shirts didn't press themselves.  Breakfast was literally the biggest expense of the day - pride was a big thing for Eddie - so he made an omelette big enough for two by way of salvaging last night's Mexithai as filler, and left the second half in the icebox for dinner.


He opened his umbrella before leaving the apartment, stepped over the pile of towels and newspapers he'd left by the door - the busted pipe in the hallway was going to start soaking under his door in a day or two, he was certain - and pushed out into the smoggy, slightly damper air, hoping the office coffee machine was working again - he hadn't had anything to drink since last night unless you counted mouthwash, and he was thirsty enough to consider the stomach-corroding effects of the precipitation all around him.
 
Asa had been up for two hours. She liked slow mornings, and hated being rushed.


Her day had begun like any other, she'd brushed her teeth in the TCU's bathroom, and flossed. Afterwards, she'd placed her hygiene supplies back in their case on the shelf above the mirror. It was Monday, so she'd cleaned everything yesterday and did her laundry. According to her files, there was going to be a batch new detectives today. New things were difficult, and people were difficult, and new people were very difficult.


After brushing her teeth, she took a shower that lasted exactly fifteen minutes. The clock on her neural HUD made it almost impossible to lose track of time. This early in the day, no one was using the squad showers, so she didn't have to worry about interacting with anyone before she'd had her lovely morning alone-time.


She lived in an unused office adjoining her lab at the TCU. She wasn't supposed to, but it was something of a sticking point for her and the senior detective wasn't going to risk the TCU's only CSI getting fired. Besides, her seniority gave her a lot of leeway as to how she used the TCU's space. She was very comfortable there. She had a futon, a fact that she was very proud of. "I have a futon," she'd tell people. The word 'futon' was just one of those words that was fun to say.


She also had a mini-fridge, a manawave, a portable propane camping stove, a dutch oven, and a whole improvised kitchen setup with utensils and supplies in bureaus and filing cabinets. She made very efficient use of her limited space. There had to be room for the futon. She had a terrarium with plants and a turtle named Futon-San, next to the futon and on top of the dresser where she kept her clothes. She's installed a curtain between the kitchen and the futon, which gave her the illusion of having two rooms unless she wanted one room, in which case she pushed curtain to the side.


The one window she had fell on the kitchen side of the curtain, right next to the vent and the camping stove. It was a small window where the ground was a little lower than it was around the rest of the building. The only window on the basement level. Outside of the window, she'd placed a hydroponic tower garden. This was possible due to the fact that the TCU was crammed into the least desirable part of the building, out of sight and forgotten with a view of nobody who cared that there was a small garden just sitting there on the sidewalk. This, she would admit, was perhaps a little over the top, but Futon-San liked fresh vegetables.


It was raining, and she didn't want to get wet, so Futon-San got turtle food instead of fresh vegetables today. Futon-San blew bubbles from his tiny pond but did not surface to eat the food. He would later, when he got hungry. 


Asa heated some leftover chicken dumplings in the manawave and put her tea to stoop. Herbal tea, with blueberries. After breakfast, she logged on to play a few rounds of Cyberwatch, but she already knew today was going to be difficult and that messed with her concentration. At least it wasn't a surprise that they were getting new people. She dressed comfortably and when 0800 rolled around, she was reviewing the files of the incoming detectives in her lab, holding her stuffed Dark Vader bear in her lap.

 
 
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Syo yawned and rolled over. His eyes blinked twice before staying open. His vision was black and white. He blinked again and it changed to color. The first thing he saw was a small bird outside his window. It chirped and Syo smiled. He rolled over then sat up. Ruffling his hair and sitting cross-legged, he stared at the clock. It took a while for the time to register in his brain. When it did, he leapt up and gasped. "Shoot!"


He ran around the small dorm-like room he had been given the day before, grabbing clothes from random places and changing quickly. "Not good! Not on the first day!" Syo scolded himself and grabbed his keys and communicator. He suddenly couldn't remember what else he was suppose to bring, and rushed out the door without it all. He ran down the hall, reaching the stairs and tried to run down those too; but tripped and tumbled down the rest of them - summersaulting part of the way. He growled and got up, but didn't rub his head nor check for bruises anywhere. 


Syo found the right floor and room number. He ran in, the last one to arrive, and flung the door open. He stared into the area he was suppose to meet the head in. An apologetic grin slowly formed on his face...
 
The precinct house is one of the few standalone buildings near the Old City, a stone's throw from City Hall. Preserved out of 'respect for history' at the baying of a lobbyist group. It's a grandiose thing, with high windows and gargoyles for some fucking reason - Gardiner the Younger had it built by hand, not Magic, and probably wanted to show off.


Civic Centre won the pubtrans bid, and so the metro runs on plain old electricity. Siphoned from the storm by Union Tower, but unexciting once it gets to ground level.


Desk Sergeant Mahoney is on today. Rail thin with hunched shoulders and a quietly mean streak. There's an ADA hustling paperwork to the Captain's office, and a few uniforms chatting with coffee cups steaming in their hands.


The TCU is in the basement.


Empty offices lie dark and dusty. Asa's lab is the most up to date and well-cared for part of the department, and even that's a couple years behind. The terminals on your desks are older, but they work fine. 


Lieutenant Daniels looks like she slept in her office at the back of the room, her door open. She's got a face like a mahogany bust, clean lines and cheekbones that could cut glass. Hard, but not cold. She doesn't look up from her terminal as you arrive.
 
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Asa had just got up to bring Lieutenant Daniels her black-coffee-with-two-sugars when the new recruits began to arrive. She was just in time, any later and they might have interrupted her coffee making process. The morning routine firmly set in mind the transition from being at home to being at work, and it was very important to her. Asa didn't drink coffee, or anything caffeinated or alcoholic. Daniels, unlike the other detectives, had been around long enough to become part of Asa's routine. Asa had a good idea of how she'd behave in a given situation, making Daniels predictable and therefore comfortable and safe. She set the coffee on her desk and stood behind her chair, where Daniels was securely positioned between her and the unpredictable newcomers.
 
Reg stomped his feet as he entered the building to knock the rain from the galoshes. He needn't have worried as an air devil whisked the water from his boots and umbrella. The work was quick and fastidious trying to keep the floor dry and undamaged. Whoever, or more likely 'whatever', was keeping a brilliant shine to the entryway. 


Walking down to the basement was a murky affair as the lighting dimmed as he descended. He wondered how much of it was general disdain for the department and how much was directed distrust of their operations. It only took him a few days to understand the mood behind the murkiness when he first arrived. He had actually been promoted to this position, while most here had been relegated. 


He turned on the light at his desk, the only sign that he was present. Then dropped his work case at the desk and hung his coat on the coat rack, his umbrella resting in the holder at his desk. He lit the computer to allow it a few moments to startup while he pulled the galoshes from his shoes. He had four mails, but he could catch up after he checked in. 


"Lieutenant," he greeted Daniels as he stepped into her office. He wished he had an office instead of a desk in the pit with his other detectives. He could save a fair amount of change if he lived here. "Just checking in. What's on the docket today?" The other woman was Asa who had been relegated here for a while. He nodded politely in her direction, not willing to start idle banter in some else's office. 
 
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Eddie ignored the dirty glances he was thrown by beat cops and brass alike as he stood in the middle of the hallway, stomping his wet soles against the worn-out rugs and shaking his coat free of excess 'water', though how much of that the rain consisted of was a fairly proprietary question.


None of the up-and-coming whom he tried to stay in touch with were around at the moment, so there wasn't anything to keep Eddie from descending into the exhausted basement, seemingly designed to send it's members scurrying back out into the comfort of snow, sleet, acid rain, and the occasional labor strike as quickly as possible.  Like Reg, he barely stopped by his terminal to hang coat and power-up before heading for the coffee machine. First things first, after all.
 
Goth strolled right through the entrance to the building, taking shelter from the clouds that projected the rain down upon the city. He wiped his boots on the carpet that coldly welcomed him inside. He ingnored the other policemen and women that took up position inside. He even ignored the fact that he was soaked. 


Goth madeway to the basement. Hopefully he wasn't late. First impressions are quite important nowadays. He made sure to check in with the receptionist of the building before heading down. He began to descend after each step he took. The air down there felt a little heavy and musky.


After reaching what seemed like a floor, he noticed several other people within the room. People he didn't know. He casually strode towards the area designated as his. He didn't exactly want to strike up a conversation right now. He sat down in the chair placed before the cheap 'desk'. Not exactly comfy, but it could be far worse.
 
Syo was still running down the street. He had managed to make it outside, but of course had forgotten anything to protect himself against the rain. Though, he was running, so it wouldn't have helped him much anyway. He slipped in a large puddle and face planted the sidewalk, "Gah!" When he stood again, a car drove by, splashing the puddle up onto the sidewalk. Syo was right in the way and covered his face with his arms. He grumbled and shook his arms to try to rid his sleeves of some of the water. He glared after the car, his vision turned red for a moment, but he blinked hard and it moved back to color for him. He took off for the station again, running a little because of how late he was, but more cautiously now. When he reached the building, he ran in and up to the receptionist at the front desk. "I'm looking for the TCU!" He blurted out, panting for breath. His clothes were soaked and a wrinkled mess. His hair dripping water into his face as it hung long over his nose. He most certainly didn't look like a new employee trying to make a good impression.


She looked up at him with a disgusted look. "And your reasoning...?" 


Syo pulled out a bunch of papers from inside his jacket. However, these were a bit damp in themselves. He rummaged through them and found the right ones, stating his certification for this type of work and the letter proving he had been transferred here. The secretary was extremely shocked that this half drowned disorganized vagabond had such good schooling and certifications. She stuck her nose up at him as she handed the soggy papers back and gave him directions to the secret headquarters in the basement. Syo thanked her and proceeded down the stairs.


His soggy sneakers made a slushy-squeaky sound on the stairs as he walked along. He tried to lay the wet papers together and fold them in his hands as he walked along. Then, shoving them in his inner pocket of his jacket again, he took off running down the rest of the stairs; leaping and skipping the last six steps. He landed easily and ran down the hall, counting the doors as he went and trying to follow her directions. Finally finding the right door, Syo burst in, flinging the door open with a shove of his shoulder. The door hit the wall, making a terrible sound and distracting everyone from their current activity. Syo stared into the room full of professional looking people. His wet clothes consisted of blue jeans, purple sneakers, a purple t-shirt, green button down flannel that hung open, and a black leather jacket. A couple of bracelets were on one wrist and a watch on the other, while a couple of special dog tags from his old squad were hidden under his shirt. His anime length light-brown hair that was usually very thick looking, clung to his face, still dripping water. He gave an awkward apologetic grin as he looked from one face to another, panting heavily as he still stood in the doorway holding the door open.
 
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"You're lucky men," Daniels sighed, before gratefully sipping her coffee, pointedly ignoring the woman standing behind her. Daniels tolerated Asa, to most eyes, and even the Cyberwatch Coin-cards she left on the CSI's desk every Solstice and birthday did little to betray anything like affection so much as respect.


"We've caught a body, which means you and Scholari get to show the new kids the ropes. I'm sending the file to your Spikes now-"


She presses a key on her terminal. She's Spiked up, too, but Daniels has a last century sense of aesthetics.

Timothy Walters


Age: 45


Birthplace: Califresco


Sex: Male


Marital Status: Divorced


Children: Samantha Walters, 20, currently attending Littern University in Ymon.


Employment: Unemployed - terminated from Sagan Group. Accounting Dept.


Criminal Record: Currently under investigation for embezzlement - CORPORATE JURISDICTION


Medical Record: Asthma; Magically corrected at age 9. Last Checkup: Six months ago


Education: Brightsel Primary, Azta Corporate Academy, Sagan Accountancy School.


Address: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral


Current Location: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral


Estimated Time of Death: 8:00AM



She seems ready to go on when a soaking figure slumps in the doorway. Syo.


Daniels looks him up and down, then leans back in her chair. Reg knows that posture.


That's her 'I'm about to take a steaming shit on your professional record' lean.


"Detective," she says, emphasizing every syllable, "I'm reliably informed you were transferred to us from a military outfit."


She sipped her coffee, not taking her eyes off Syo.


"I take it punctuality and dress codes weren't a selling point?"
 
Grey said:
"You're lucky men," Daniels sighed, before gratefully sipping her coffee, pointedly ignoring the woman standing behind her. Daniels tolerated Asa, to most eyes, and even the Cyberwatch Coin-cards she left on the CSI's desk every Solstice and birthday did little to betray anything like affection so much as respect.


"We've caught a body, which means you and Scholari get to show the new kids the ropes. I'm sending the file to your Spikes now-"


She presses a key on her terminal. She's Spiked up, too, but Daniels has a last century sense of aesthetics.

Timothy Walters


Age: 45


Birthplace: Califresco


Sex: Male


Marital Status: Divorced


Children: Samantha Walters, 20, currently attending Littern University in Ymon.


Employment: Unemployed - terminated from Sagan Group. Accounting Dept.


Criminal Record: Currently under investigation for embezzlement - CORPORATE JURISDICTION


Medical Record: Asthma; Magically corrected at age 9. Last Checkup: Six months ago


Education: Brightsel Primary, Azta Corporate Academy, Sagan Accountancy School.


Address: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral


Current Location: Room 305, Telleman Apartments, Little Coral


Estimated Time of Death: 8:00AM



She seems ready to go on when a soaking figure slumps in the doorway. Syo.


Daniels looks him up and down, then leans back in her chair. Reg knows that posture.


That's her 'I'm about to take a steaming shit on your professional record' lean.


"Detective," she says, emphasizing every syllable, "I'm reliably informed you were transferred to us from a military outfit."


She sipped her coffee, not taking her eyes off Syo.


"I take it punctuality and dress codes weren't a selling point?"
Click to expand...





Syo gulped. He stared at Daniels and moved some wet hair from his face. He looked around the room, noticing the professional feel the room and it's dwellers there in had. He straighten and turned back to Daniels. "I... Apologies." He looked nervous. "I wasn't given a uniform, so I assumed... um... since we... that perhaps it was... undercover work and we were to dress to blend in?" It was the truth that had gone through his head, but boy did he feel stupid about it now. There was now a good puddle of water where he stood. His vision glitched and he shook his head, then looked at Daniels again. "I... um..." He didn't know what to do, so he pulled his shoulders back and saluted her. 
 
Eddie


Half-a-face deep in his coffee (black, sweet) Eddie nodded to Daniels and let the spike flood his mind with the details he now knew - and began the real work of piecing them together with what else he would know if he had been the one making the observations.


"Now, usually-" Eddie took a other sip of his coffee while making sure he had the newcomers' attention. "Reg and I would head out, yeah? Two to investigate. So if you are wondering what it will look like when four of us gallop up to the Walters' door asking questions and looking around, messing up the vidframes on the walls and such..."


Eddie held up a fist to the new guys and started counting. "One, let us do any introductions to the maid or cat or landlords or whatever. Two, we'll finally have enough people to do this safely." That was the thing about Thaumic crime, there really was no such thing as safe, but numbers helped. Bringing your A-game was a big thing with Eddie. "And three, shotgun. Reg drives."


Eddie drained his mug and walked over to his terminal. "Ready to go, Reg?" He asked before bothering to sit and check his mail. He'd spike one of the new guys to do the opening paper work. Maybe both, and they could compare notes. He sort liked that one better.
 
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Coolly, Daniels turns her attention back to her screen.


"We try not to look like obvious civilians on the job," she says, tapping a button to send a copy of The Psychology of Policing to Syo's portion of the cloud. "Just don't let me catch you coming in late and we won't have to have this conversation again. Dismissed."


Once you're all back in the bullpen, she leans out of her door, "and you'd better hurry - the automated complaint registry is filling up with Tibalt bitching about uniforms."


Tibalt is an ornery son of a bitch, but a good coroner. Someone must be in a hurry to put Walters in the ground.


The department has two cars and a van, for those times Asa has to bring out more equipment or for longer stakeouts. All well-kept but older vehicles that, mercifully, most of the population have forgotten were sold in bulk to the PD a decade back.
 
Asa wondered if she'd be able to do a proper examination of the crime scene or if she'd have to deal with one that had already been 'cleaned up' by another department. Either way, it would be nice to get busy. The wet detectives had made the floor sloppy. She'd have to mop it later.


"Is Asa going today?" she asked, vaguely in the direction of Daniels. Sometimes she made Asa stay in the lab if she thought the investigation would be too dangerous, or if there wasn't need of her particular skillset. She could still get a lot done from here, datamining for a more detailed picture of Timothy Walter's life.
 
Daniels looked at Asa with an expression the CSI could never quite figure out, but it had never been reason to worry in the past.


"Couldn't hurt. Tibalt would appreciate the help," she said, returning to her paperwork.
 
Asa briefly gathered some supplies. She always kept a kit stocked with all the basic equipment she'd need. For the more complex stuff, she might have to come back, but she could do most of the work in her head. She threw her CSI coat on over her clothes and maneuvered her equipment into the trunk of the second car. Backup car, Asa drives.
 
The victim's file hit his spike with a spiritual ping, giving him an impression of being wanted or cared for, as if a business download on a murder victim was part of social acceptance. His spike had earned him a discount picking a model normally designed for pre-teen children whose parents wanted to make sure their children received an emotional reward for every nagging interference. He scanned through the file quickly before replying "Lieutenant, what brought this file down to the basement? I don't see anything in here to imply arcane involvement?" 


Then people began dividing up for their duties. Eddie assigned him driving duties, some joke that he found humorous ever since Reg had mentioned that he was fascinated by the ability to operate a vehicle. He had walked his beat in his prior position, and had little use for driving a car. Since then, he had read through the operations manuals and moved on to simulated driving. The only time Reg had actually driven, Eddie found a weeks worth of laughter watching him mumble through every driving regulation while operating the vehicle. It had been perfect operationally, if a little too exacting in following every direction. 


"I'll get the keys." The new cars had driver assist mana-coded into the vehicles, but the ones for TCU had no such ability. Reg remembered 12 years ago when the force ordered 140 cars for the fleet of which only 2 remained operational. It was an obvious sign of the hard use and limited mechanical ability of the service pool, quite possibly the only department less respected than their own. 
 
Goth intercepted the data file via the standard-issue spike implanted into his left temple. Just what you expected from a murder victim: aged, a parent, and divorced. A list made itself apparent in his mind of who the potential murders could be.


He noticed that no one had really acknowledged his presence within the room. Not like he actually cared though. Even being an Officer in the Army, he wasn't exactly a people person at heart. 


The tall figure began marching in the direction of the motor pool, hopefully so that no one would actually drive off without him. There would be words to say, and skulls to dismantle.
 
The drive is quiet. Traffic controls are in place this far under the executive suites and only your police clearance gets you by a little easier. Sagan Corp have been making a big push for to sell better mass transit to the city since the automotive industry collapsed and public opinion of the Civic Centre network is dropping. Seems to be paying off, and the roads are in some disrepair.


Telleman Heights is a nondescript block of poured stone studded with windows. Tibalt and a pair of uniforms are standing outside the front door, peering at something on the sidewalk.


One of the windows on the third floor is broken, completely; the wall is scorched around it. Broken glass lies on the pavement where the waiting trio are looking.


"About time," Tibalt mutters. The blast-doors rise as you approach, the ephemeral keys in your neural spikes triggering the release. Those counter-terrorism blast doors are linked to some simple sensors that detect magic above a certain threshold - which means Walters must have died in a pretty impressive magical explosion.


 


 
 
Eddie gives a good-natured shrug of his shoulders, still feeling raindamp despite the silent car ride they shared. Funny thing, going back out into the rain so soon after finding shelter: it felt more like being out there was where he belonged, the urgency of getting dry less worrysome. "Doctor Tibalt," he makes sure to add a thin smirk over a. otherwise cranky greeting. He liked Tibalt, who gave him a chance to vent spleen at someone who appreciated it, not to mention a fine corpsedoc if there ever was one.  "Had to skip my second cup of coffee to get you out of the rain.  These are Syo and Goth, the new guys, so if there's anything they need to know before they start working for you, now's the time."
 
Reg spent most of the drive over to the crime scene muttering traffic regulations to himself. "Hands at two-o-clock and ten-o-clock." "Precheck mirrors, transmission in reverse, slow depression until moving, and turn slowly, stop." It continued all the way to the scene, never taking his eyes off the road or the instruments, not engaging in conversation. Every fiber was focused on his task. "Signal 100 meters before intersection, scan for crossing traffic, rotate hands as wheel turns, and straighten, no need to oversteer." 


Parking the vehicle contained the same running commentary, but the task was accomplished flawlessly. They arrived safely at their destination, parked and disembarked. He had to click the lock button on his keys as his pre-teen spike didn't allow for driver interface with the vehicle. He turned and nodded to Tibault as if the fact that he was driving would explain the tardiness, he had no desire to go above posted speed limits. 


The scene quickly answered his question about why they were called to this assignment. The magical evidence was clearly visible, but only an examination of the scene, and perhaps later the body would reveal more information. "And a brief summary of the scene would be helpful." He looked over the two uniformed officers, a bit reminiscent of his days walking his beat. Reg had bought 4 suits, all exactly the same, which served as a uniform for himself. The cut and thread were very lower class in his new job, but would be seen as basic dresswear back on the docks. It allowed him to move among both societies with little adjustment. 
 
Tibalt glares, but his heart isn't in it.


"Don't get in my way," he says, simply, before nodding at Asa and gesturing toward the door. 


More doors open at your proximity. The lift rumbles worryingly toward the third floor. A group of tired and ragged neighbours is huddling in the hallway near Walters' room. The blast door retracts. The actual door is intact.


The apartment is small - one bathroom, left of the front door, an open room that seems to serve as bed and living, and a kitchen alcove tucked away to the left beyond the bathroom, near the far wall. A personal terminal sits open and active on the kitchen counter. Cardboard boxes are stacked beside a futon.


A pile of ash lies in the middle of scorched floorboards near the shattered window.


Frowning, Tibalt scoops up a spoonful of the ash with a probe and waits for the analysis. Something glints metallic in the pile.
 
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