The Centaurus Legacy (The Adventures of Heck Thomas)

by Tom Bielawski

  Espinosa’s cruiser extended a small tube that latched onto the outer hatch of Sixkiller’s hull and locked into place.

  “Sally port connected, Heck. Atmosphere and pressurization underway.”

  “Good.”

  A heavy clunking sound and chime from Dooly’s holocomputer indicated that the atmosphere inside the tube was now complete and equalized for both craft.

  Another chime from the holocomputer indicated communication from Espinosa’s craft.

  “Sixkiller, this is Moon Police Cruiser A94. Over.”

  “Sixkiller. Go ahead.”

  “Request permission to board,” came the crackled reply.

  “Granted!” replied Heck with a big grin. He stood by the hatch as it slid open and prepared to catch Espinosa. There was no gravity in the boarding tube and sliding from zero-gravity to Earth gravity could be injurious if one wasn’t careful.

  Detective Espinosa pushed off from the police cruiser and hurtled down the boarding tube into the waiting arms of Marshal Heck Thomas. The two embraced very warmly, then kissed passionately. After a moment Dooly coughed, loudly.

  “Boss!”

  “What?” replied Heck, irritated.

  “Yulia Kharkov, that’s what.”

  “Right,” he answered. “Wow, it’s great to see you again!”

  “Once in a blue moon?” she quipped, her auburn hair glowing in the yellow light of the spacecraft.

  “Somethin’ like that,” Heck said as he guided her to a crew chair. Lost in thought, he hadn’t even noticed that the boarding tube had been retracted and Dooly had sent the Moon Police Cruiser on its way. Laylara Espinosa smiled radiantly at Heck, her eyes promising there would be some catching up later. He nodded and returned to the pilot’s chair, forcing himself to switch his mind into ‘Business Mode,’ as he liked to call it. Business Mode was how Heck survived all these years. His past was checkered, bloody and depressing. But, being able to turn his emotions off like the flip of a switch was how he managed to carry on. And it was how he managed to put his personal feelings for Laylara aside now.

  Dooly called out that the navigation system had been transferred to Espinosa’s control.

  “Plotting course,” she called as she entered the data in the holocomputer.

  “What is that?” asked Heck, as he eyed the navigation route appearing on screen before him.

  “That’s our destination. We held quite a bit of information back from the Bureau, those self-righteous bastards would have the Prime Minister declaring a state of Commonwealth Emergency if we didn’t. I’m uploading it now.”

  “Whoa,” whistled Dooly. “The wormhole? They’re going through the wormhole?”

  “I don’t know if there going through. Our informants told us that the Ryevolutzia is definitely working on technology to create an opening. More than likely they will kidnap someone and send them through the wormhole first, to see if they survive.”

  “The bastards probably would, too,” grumbled Heck. “But what’s to stop the Bureau from pulling that ‘Commonwealth Security’ card to get access to your informant?”

  Laylara smiled. “Oh, I’m sure whatever informants they end up talking to will point them towards the Asteroid Belt and the Ryevolutzia Mafia ops base.”

  “Have I ever told you I loved you?”

  “Boss, we got trouble!” Dooly began bringing weapon systems online in a hurry, his hands madly moving and manipulating the holographic images in front of him.

  “What is it? I don’t see anything on the short-range sensors - oh, I see.”

  Chapter Two

  “Meteor storm from port side, two-seven-zero degrees!”

  “Hang on!” Heck quickly accelerated and veered to his right to create as much distance as possible. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Don’t know. Wasn’t on the charts,” said Dooly tersely. Small fragments of the storm began to pelt Sixkiller’s hull. “Hull contact, no damage. Sensors are showing it’s a debris field. Not a meteor storm.”

  “Well, what in the hell created it?” he asked to no one in particular, spinning Sixkiller in and out of large pieces of metal. Hull material from a spacecraft. “How much more of this is coming at us?”

  “Scans show we should be clear of it in ten seconds.”

  Heck continued to silently maneuver the craft into and out of the missile-like debris until they were clear of it. He slowed Sixkiller to a stop and set the scanners to identify the debris more closely. They all sat silently while the computer scanned debris for identifying markings and the makeup of the metal alloys, comparing it to the database of known craft. Finally the onboard computer had an answer.

  “Whoa!” said Espinsoa, reading the holographic data in front of Heck. Heck was silent. “The CS Marauder.”

  “Scanning for escape pods.” said Dooly numbly. The CS Marauder was a Commonwealth Ship that belonged to the Inner System Fleet. It had been patrolling the space between Earth, the Moon, Mars and Ceres for pirates and criminals since the inception of the Commonwealth Fleet. “No pods on scans, Heck.”

  “Damn.”

  “Must have been a thousand crew on that ship,” Espinosa said quietly.

  Heck shook his head at the tragedy of it all. Then more data appeared before him. “This wasn’t an accident. We’re getting vapor trails; Ruger Class missiles,” he said in wonder.

  “Ruger class? Ain’t that what we use, Heck?”

  He nodded quietly. Heck Thomas wasn’t a superstitious man, and he sure didn’t believe in the idea of coincidence. Especially in space. Heck let out a long sigh as a sinking feeling took hold. He was a survivor and had been through more scrapes, chases and fights than any other Marshal. His survival instincts were strong, always telling him when to push the envelope and when to quit. More times that he’d care to admit, Heck had been set up by the criminals he was pursuing. A few times he’d figured it out before hand and foiled the trap, other times he’d been hit hard. But he always survived. And right now, his instincts were telling him something bad was happening and it wasn’t what it seemed. He just couldn’t put a finger on it yet.

  “Who uses Ruger missiles?” asked Espinosa. “Beside you Commonwealth types anyway?”

  “Never heard of no bad guys using Rugers. Have you Heck?” asked Dooly. He wasn’t the subtlest person Heck knew, but he was the best Deputy Marshal Heck had ever trained. He was good in a fight, dependable and meaner than scalded dog.

  “No. Any trace of a distress call?” he asked as his mind processed the events. “Remote beacons? Anything?”

  “None. I sent a message to the Fleet. They’ll be coming ’round soon enough.”

  Heck watched the debris field disappear from view, then slowly it disappeared from his short-range scanners. Finally, it dispersed beyond even the long-range scanners and Heck had to flip that switch. Business Mode didn’t allow him to dwell on the loss of innocent life when there was work to do.

  “We done our part, Heck. Best we can under the circumstances.”

  “You’re right, Dooly. Laylara, lock in a course for Churchill Drift. It’s been a long day and we’ve got some legwork to do.”

  ***

  Special Agent Hall walked nervously down the polished oak corridors of the Bureau’s office in Commonwealth Plaza. Gold framed paintings of all the former Directors of the CBI lined both walls, interspersed with odd wall plants that were remarkably good at recycling air. Hall stopped before one painting in particular, noticing the golden vidplate at the bottom which continuously scrolled biographical factoids about the honoree. Hall breathed deeply in of the recycled air, trying to gain a measure of calm and straightened his tie in his reflection on the glass covering this painting. In fact, it was the only painting in the hallway with a glass cover. And an alarm system in case anyone wanted to steal it.

  Hall knew something very bad was happening in the Commonwealth government, but he just didn’t know what. Revelier had been acting strangely; stranger than usual anyway.
He was still his overbearing, pompous, tyrannical self, but he was more too. He was becoming paranoid and was taking care to avoid having Hall around him during certain meetings, certain holophone calls.

  Hall noted the haggard reflection in the specially alarmed ballistic glass. He was nearing sixty years of age and he was tired. He’d given a lot to the Bureau, his life in fact. Divorce cost him his home, his children, even his friends. During all those years he consoled himself with the fact that he was protecting those whom he’d alienated. But it didn’t seem to matter at all now. His children were all grown now and had children of their own. Grandkids whose names he didn’t even know. He lost touch with them all over the years because of the Bureau.

  The Bureau. Anger began to stir in Special Agent David Hall. The Bureau had cost him everything he cherished in his life. And what had he gained in return? He’d always feared Revelier, but today the ambitious bastard was going to hear from Special Agent David Hall! Today, Hall was going to tell the Bureau where they could stick their ‘Commonwealth Security!’ Today, he was going to rebuild his life, reconnect with his family.

  Even if it cost him his job.

  Hall took his Glock sidearm from his holster and smashed the picture he had been looking so hard at. The picture of Special Agent In Charge, Gem Revelier.

  Ambitious bastard!

  Hall smirked and waited outside Revelier’s door. As he’d expected, the pompous fool burst out into the hallway, searching for whoever would dare desecrate his own portrait.

  “Hall! What the blazes is happening? Who did this?”

  Hall was silent as he stared into the eyes of Gem Revelier and he hesitated. Not for lack of conviction, certainly. No, Hall was so enjoying the sight of the sputtering, incomprehensible fool, that he wanted to prolong Revelier’s torment.

  “Why, I’ve no idea. Didn’t the surveillance cams catch anything? Sir?”

  “No, damnit! Someone must have deactivated them.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I’ll bet the solar system will be rocked to the stone age by this news. Sir.” Hall was positively enjoying this. Maybe he wouldn’t retire just yet. What did he really have to lose anyway? The Bureau couldn’t fire him this close to retirement, not without bringing him up on criminal charges. Not entirely out of the realm of possibility, however it was extremely unlikely. The Bureau’s precious Gem Revelier would suffer too great a blow to his reputation should his closest aide’s character become suspect. Special Agent Hall decided he would ride this out just a while longer, and get a little satisfaction for all the misery the Bureau had caused him during his thirty five years of service.

  “Are you being funny, Hall?” demanded a scandalized Revelier.

  “Not at all. Sir.”

  “No. You don’t even know what that is, do you?”

  “I am just in awe of your dominance, Sir.”

  “I know you are, son,” said Revelier with a condescending smile, he was the same age as Hall. “I know you are. But don’t worry yourself, Hall. I’ll have that vandal scouring the docks at Bureau Outpost on Churchill Drift!” Churchill Drift itself wasn’t a bad place, but working at the Bureau outpost on the docks was one of the worst jobs in the Inner System. “Come into my office. We have plans to discuss.”

  “I’m honored you would discuss even your afternoon tea with me. Sir.”

  “Of course you are, Hall. Sit down.”

  Revelier reclined back in his chair and tapped the tips of his fingers together, the light of Earth setting in the window behind him. A hologram popped into view on Revelier’s desk.

  “CS Marauder,” whispered Hall.

  “You know of her?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. “She’s the most decorated, most well-known ship of the Fleet!”

  “Was,” corrected Revelier. With the twitch of a finger the holographic CS Marauder exploded in a bright flash, thousands upon thousands of tiny fireballs soaring off in a perfect circle of destruction.

  “What happened?” Hall was shocked. Referring to CS Marauder in the past tense was like referring to Earth in the past tense. It was hard to think of. She’d always been there, protecting the Inner System since the earliest days. “So many lives!”

  “A tragedy, that’s what,” growled Revelier. “A tragedy of incredible consequence. It has been the deepest regret of my career that I have had to notify my superiors about this act of treason.”

  “Treason?” Hall’s mind was piecing together all the possible scenarios. “Who would have that kind of firepower? Surely not a saboteur. Was it another warship?”

  “A Commonwealth Marshal.”

  “A Commonwealth Marshal,” repeated Hall dully. He was beginning to see how all this was coming together. Hall knew from the beginning how the Yulia Kharkov case had been swiped from under the Bureau’s nose. He knew it could only have been Marshal Heck Thomas and his partner, Deputy Marshal Stephen Doolin. Thomas had a unique connection inside the Moon Service Police. His girlfriend, Laylara Espinosa, had been involved in more than one power play where the Moon Police and the Marshals Service had conspired to keep the Bureau out of the loop.

  Hall didn’t begrudge them a bit, however. He knew how much of a bully the Bureau could be in these cases and he enjoyed the subtle needling that gave his boss indigestion. But today Revelier wore a mask of shrewd determination and Hall began to wonder how much of a dunce the man really was. Well, whatever the case, Hall knew for a fact that Revelier still thought he was slow-witted which would prove to be a very big mistake on Revelier’s part.

  Yes, Hall’s investigative mind put it together very quickly though he was careful to keep a bewildered expression. They were drifting into dangerous waters, and Revelier did have the power to scuttle the life boat. What is he playing at? If he’s playing the game I think he is, he’ll sacrifice anyone to get what he wants; even a thousand Commonwealth Fleet personnel!

  “Our vast network of informants has revealed to me the identity of the traitor, the only Marshal on this side of the system was none other than our pal, Marshal Heck Thomas and his deputy, Stephen Doolin.”

  Hall knew his life may depend on his acting skills so he gradually slipped back into the role of Old Hall, the one who feared his boss might fire him at any moment and take away the only thing he had left in his life. New Hall resented this deeply, but survival was paramount.

  “But, why?” he asked, seeming desperate. “To what end?”

  “That is exactly what you are going to do for me, Hall.”

  “Sir?”

  “Only the Bureau has the power to arrest a renegade Marshal, Hall. I’m assigning you that job.”

  “A mission, sir? Surely there are more-”

  “Nonsense,” interrupted Revelier. “You’re my sharpest man. My most dependable agent. No one has come close to the records you set when you were a field agent!”

  “Sir, I’m honored that you feel that way. But -”

  “Good,” Revelier cut him off again. “It’s settled.”

  I’m nearly 60 years old. I’m too old for this! Hall thought to himself. I’ll retire, then he can’t force me out there. How will I reconnect with my family, my children, now? Hall knew this mission would neither be short in induration, nor short on danger. It was bad luck to take a field assignment so close to retirement. He thinks I’m on to him. He knows I’m on to him and now he’s sending me off to -

  “You’ll leave for Churchill Drift on the Bureau transport in the morning.”

  “Churchill Drift,” he repeated numbly.

  “Yes, we’ve had reports that the fugitives’ cruiser, Sixkiller,” he veritably spit the name, “was seen at the docks of Portside City, New London District, Churchill Drift.”

  ***

  Churchill Drift was a massive space station that occupied an orbital path in the space between Earth and Mars. It was nearly the size of the US State of Texas in dimension and had a population of millions. Churchill Drift boasted tourist resorts, scientific laboratories, farming commu
nities, corporate headquarters and more. It had its own government with local communities and its own police and defense forces; it held status as a Member State of the Commonwealth. Situated close enough to Earth and the mining industries on Mars, Ceres and the Asteroid Belt made Churchill Drift an ideal location for everything. Including crime.

  “Wow, that thing is big!” whispered Espinosa.

  “Drift Tower has control of the navigation.”

  “Thanks, Dooly. Nice job.”

  “Weren’t nothing, Heck. They’re doing all the work now.”

  Final approach to Churchill Drift was mostly an automated process. Personnel in various control towers along the Drift coordinated flight paths, takeoffs, and landings, much like air traffic control towers on Earth. When approaching craft reached a certain point near the Drift, the crews generally passed controls over to the tower personnel who guided them along designated flight paths to avoid collisions. And now they were coming to the runway completely in the hands of the tower personnel. It was always a bit unnerving to have such a dangerous procedure taken away from your control, but the prevalence of crashes caused Churchill Drift to take action.

  The ride was smooth as glass and Sixkiller drifted almost lazily to the runway entrance where the sudden jolt of leaving zero-gravity and entering Earth gravity jarred Sixkiller severely. Once in the runway tube, the craft decelerated to ground speed then landed gently on a moving platform which drove them the rest of the way to their slip. The yellow lights of the runway drifted lazily by, illuminating large windows where people watched spacecraft takeoff and land with their kids.

  Finally, Sixkiller reached the slip located in the region of Churchill Drift known as the City of Portside, New London District. The craft was transferred to an elevator and rose five stories before settling into a private pressurized slip, just for Sixkiller. Once docking was complete, the ‘garage door’ closed and the crew made their way out of the confines of the ship where they had spent the last ten hours.