The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2)

by L. J. Simpson

  Minutes later the three of them were walking down the center of a long aisle, containers of all shapes and sizes stacked up to the roof on both sides.

  “Good grief,” said Tully looking around him. “There’s enough hardware here to start a small war.”

  “Of course there is,” said Jacks. “That’s what it’s here for.”

  Tully looked at Jacks quizzically. “A war with who?”

  “Well,” said Jacks. “That’s a political question, isn’t it, Sergeant Fletcher?”

  “It is indeed, sir.”

  “Funny business, politics. There are two things to remember about politicians, Corporal. None of them want to die poor, and at the end of their long and illustrious political careers they all want to be remembered for achieving something of note. Bloated salaries and extravagant expense accounts take care of the former, and the easiest way of achieving the latter is…?”

  “Start a little war somewhere,” said Fletcher.

  “Precisely,” said Jacks. “Works every time. Tell me, Corporal, how many inhabited systems are there? Rough estimate?”

  “Must be eighty or ninety.”

  “And over what area of space?”

  “Over a hundred light years in every direction.”

  “How do you imagine the government keeps that lot in check? The simple answer is that they can’t – it’s an impossible job. All the First Worlds – Earth, Atlas, Rubicon and half a dozen others – fall under direct control of the Federal Government. They’re policed by the various law enforcement agencies and protected by the fleet. All wonderfully civilized. A little further out you’ve got thirty or forty Second Worlds, semi-autonomous colonies which handle most of their own affairs but fall under the auspices of the Federal Government as far as law and order and defense are concerned. Again, little threat to civilization.

  “But then you’ve got the fringe worlds, places like Charnak 3. Most harmless enough, but there are always the inevitable few with aggressive tendencies and notions of territorial aggrandizement. That’s where the trouble starts. The Federal Government doesn’t have the resources to guarantee the sovereignty of every single colony out there. The fleet just doesn’t stretch that far. Neither can the government prevent two or more colonies banding together to form an alliance that might threaten their neighbors, or even one of the first or second worlds themselves. But what the government can and does do is keep a very careful eye open for any system which might one day pose a threat. Once identified, it’s just a matter of sowing a few seeds of discord amongst its neighbors, engineering some kind of provocation and then encouraging someone to fire the first shots. Then you retire to a safe distance, all the time keeping your preferred side – or both sides, if it suits you agenda – well equipped with the latest military hardware – all supplied through a third party, of course. The sole objective is to sap the strength of the combatants, keep the war contained and as far away from the core worlds as possible.

  “Then, when the conflict has just about run its course, by which I mean that one side actually looks like winning, you send in a squadron of battle-cruisers to restore peace and stability to the sector. You establish a military garrison for local defense and install a puppet regime with which to administer freedom and democracy. You then remind the populace that this particular brand of freedom and democracy is the finest and noblest example of its kind – one paid for by the sacrifice and lives of their countrymen. Wave a few flags, organize a few parades and you have a brand new colony in your pocket for the price of a few pieces of artillery. It’s all good, solid politics, Corporal, and the beauty of it is that you can engineer a war and still manage to go down in history as a peacemaker. I almost wish I’d gone into politics myself.”

  “I’m glad I’m just a soldier,” said Tully.

  “There’s honor in that too, Corporal. Make no mistake. However, to the job at hand... Before we do anything else I suggest we stock up on consumables. An army marches on its stomach, and whatever awaits us, I intend we should do it fully fed.”

  “Agreed, sir,” said Fletcher. “A couple of month’s worth?”

  “That should suffice. We also need to think about reloads for our weapons systems. After that, we fill the rest of the hold with tradable commodities. There must be some kind of inventory console somewhere,” he said, looking around.

  “There’s one over here,” said Tully, gesturing towards a small alcove. He flipped on the power switch and watched as a complete list of the facility’s stores appeared on the screen.

  “Just like Aladdin’s cave,” said Jacks, scrolling down the list. “I think we can forget all the heavy duty stuff – I somehow doubt we could get a brace of armored personnel carriers through the airlock door in any case. Think we’d best concentrate on infantry weapons. Ah, this is more like it… Enfield Mk7 plasma rifles – we’ll have a few crates of those. And a few more of XL50 hand guns…”

  “May I recommend a batch of rotary laser cannons?” said Fletcher.

  “You may indeed,” said Jacks. “Throw in a few dozen cases of assorted grenades, perhaps a batch of Napier shoulder launched missiles and Vixen point defense systems… and that should just about do it. Apart from one or two specialty items, that is.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m in the market for some explosives,” said Jacks, opening up a new menu on the inventory. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got… All kind of mines… limpet mines, anti-armor, anti-personnel…”

  “I thought anti-personnel mines were banned by treaty,” said Tully.

  “At present, yes,” agreed Jacks. “And I expect them to remain so, but only until someone decides it would be convenient to use them again, at which point the treaty will be conveniently pushed to one side. Politics again, Corporal. Ah, here we are… demolition charges. Sergeant Fletcher, I believe this is your field of expertise.”

  “What’s the target?”

  “Close proximity surgical strikes – three, or possibly four individual targets.”

  Which means assassination, thought Fletcher. “Understood. I suggest we stay with Tetranox as our primary explosive. It’s light, malleable and of course, very high yield. As for detonators, we’ll take a selection of proximity, acoustic and timed fuses. It should allow for every eventuality.”

  “Well then, gentlemen,” said Jacks. “Let’s get started.”

  Tully fed a list of their requisitions into the console and a pair of automated cargo handlers immediately began removing items from the racks lining the aisle. In fairly short order the Reaper’s cargo bay was filled with containers of various sizes.

  The last items were the explosives and detonators, all of which Fletcher personally removed from a sealed locker at the far end of the storage facility. The detonators were held in sturdy, padded cases, the four packs of Tetranox simply wrapped in brown greaseproof paper.

  Fletcher carefully placed the detonators inside a locker in the Reaper’s hold, making sure they weren’t free to rattle around inside. Satisfied, he opened a drawer set in the bottom of the locker and casually tossed the Tetranox inside. Tully raised an eyebrow as he did so.

  “Don’t worry,” said Fletcher. “You could throw a chunk of Tetranox off the top of a skyscraper – or even onto a roaring fire – and it wouldn’t go off. Even the detonators are pretty stable these days – until they’re armed, that is. Then they’re right nasty little bastards.” He gave Tully a wicked smile.

  “Are we cleared to depart?” asked Jacks.

  “Yes sir,” said Tully. “The cargo is in place and locked down.”

  “Very well. Corporal Tully, tactical console if you please. Sergeant Fletcher, bring the engines online.”

  Fletcher fed in the necessary commands and moments later the Reaper’s sub-light engines spooled up, the familiar vibrations echoing through her airframe.

  “Ready to move, sir,” said Fletcher.

  “Commodore,” said Tully. “I’m picking something up through the sensors. Hard to
be sure from inside the hangar, but I’d say that there is another ship – or ships – out there.”

  Jacks peered over Tully’s shoulder. “I concur.”

  “Definitely two targets,” said Tully. “One appears to be stationary – the other is passing across our bows in front of the hangar doors.”

  “Sergeant Fletcher, I believe we have a choice of alternate registrations.”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Choose the one most infrequently used.”

  “That would be the Cormorant, sir. Initiating changes now.”

  At the touch of a button, the reactive coating on the Reaper’s hull engaged and the normally dull grey freighter was transformed into deep blue ship with a broad, yellow stripe painted along her side.

  “Mr. Tully, power up our weapons but keep the gun-ports closed.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Right then. Mr. Fletcher, disengage docking clamps and then open those hangar doors. Let’s see what’s out there.”

  As the Reaper / Cormorant drifted free of the airlock, the hangar doors slowly opened to reveal the usual panorama of stars outside. But no ships.

  “Corporal Tully?”

  “Getting better readings now… The stationary ship is away to starboard. Judging by the echo, it’s some kind of freighter. The other ship appears to be smaller, and is passing left to right above our position.”

  “Military?”

  “No military band transponders in evidence. They do not appear to be broadcasting at all.”

  “Privateers,” said Fletcher.

  Jacks nodded in agreement. “Take us out,” he said. “Mr. Tully, prepare to open gun-ports and engage on my command.”

  The Reaper edged slowly out of the facility and moved into open space. Once clear, the two ships came into visual range. One was a freighter slightly larger than the Reaper. The other was smaller and more agile. Uncomplicated in design, it dispensed with the niceties of gun-ports, two ugly looking barrels protruding from a bulge in the vessel’s nose.

  “Dracian mercenaries,” said Fletcher. “What the hell are they doing here?”

  “Probably much the same as us. What do you know about the Dracian clan, Sergeant?”

  “That they’re most likely to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “In normal circumstances, yes, but they’ll be as surprised to see us as we are to see them. They’ll be wondering what we’re doing here and I doubt if they’ll view an unarmed freighter as a threat. And with our gun ports closed, that’s what they’ll see – an unarmed freighter. Nice, easy pickings for a gun boat. Corporal Tully, be sure to keep those gun-ports closed until I give the word.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “Move us off to starboard, Mr. Fletcher. Slowly, now... Show that gunboat our stern. That should allay any fears they might have.”

  “The gunboat is coming around after us, sir,” said Tully.

  “Like a salmon to the fly… This is where it gets interesting,” said Jacks.

  “We’re being hailed, sir.”

  “Gunboat Stinger to unknown vessel – identify.”

  “Maintain course and heading,” said Jacks. “Open a channel to the gunboat.”

  “Channel open, sir,” said Tully.

  “Good day, Stinger. This is the Cormorant, presently attached to the 15th Air Transport Wing and on route for Karnak 5.”

  “Cormorant – cut power immediately.”

  “Two points to starboard, Mr. Fletcher,” said Jacks. “Maintain speed.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” said Fletcher.

  “Gunboat coming up fast on our starboard quarter,” said Tully.

  The gunboat drew level and flew alongside the Reaper for a few seconds before increasing speed and cutting across their bows.

  “Cormorant, I repeat – cut power and prepare to be boarded.”

  “Message garbled, Stinger. Say again,” said Jacks.

  “They’re coming round for another pass,” said Tully. The gunboat swung round behind the Reaper and once more pulled level. Increasing speed, it turned inwards, aiming for a point a few hundred meters ahead of the Reaper.

  “They are opening fire,” said Tully. No sooner had the words left his lips than a volley of plasma bolts flashed across the Reaper’s bows.

  “Warning shots,” said Jacks. “How eminently noble of them.”

  “Gunboat will cross our bows in five seconds.”

  “Noble… and foolhardy... Corporal Tully, open gun-ports.”

  “Gun-ports open, sir.”

  “Safeties off – weapons to auto and fire as target comes to bear.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  As the Stinger crossed the Reaper’s bows it flew straight into a torrent of fire. First to engage was the Reaper’s Talon rotary cannon. It fired for only a brief second, but that was long enough to send two hundred explosive rounds whistling downrange. The two J&P particle weapons engaged a second later, the plasma rounds catching up with the Gatling shells an instant before they began to hack their way through the gunboat’s defenses.

  Gunboat and projectiles met and dutifully exchanged kinetic and thermal energy in accordance with Newton’s laws of motion and the laws of thermodynamics. A few moments later all that was left was an expanding cloud of debris punctuated by the occasional flash of secondary explosions.

  “The target has been neutralized,” said Tully.

  “How about the freighter?” said Jacks.

  “It’s heading away at full power.”

  “Do we pursue?” asked Fletcher.

  “No. Let them go,” said Jacks. “They’ve had a good look at us. With any luck they’ll have noted our registration and will shortly be broadcasting an alert on all channels. Whoever comes looking will be searching for a vessel called the Cormorant.”

  Tully watched as the freighter cut her sub-light engines before disappearing in a blaze of light. “They’ve made the jump into super-space.”

  “Good... Mr. Fletcher, change our registration back to the Reaper and lay in a course to Atlas. Our destination is the Magmox breakers yard in orbit around Atlas Prime. I’m in the market for an old clunker.”

  CHAPTER 8: No Witnesses

  Atlas Central Police HQ

  There were few criminals that Burns actively disliked. Most people found that surprising, considering that over the years he’d encountered some of the most loathsome, reprehensible individuals it could ever be your misfortune to meet. Murderers, arsonists, rapists, drug dealers, slave traders... Burns had seen it all, trolling the dregs of society and the depths of humanity in his quest to bring the guilty to justice.

  There was no doubt that many of the criminals he’d brought to book were fully deserving of his contempt, but Burns had long since learned to remain dispassionate about the people he was stalking – at least during the investigation. The reason was simple – negative emotions got in the way. Anger, disgust and hostility clouded your vision, got your blood up and prevented you from seeing things as clearly as you might otherwise do. Far, far better to remain cool, calm and collected. It wasn’t always easy and required a large measure of self-control and restraint. Twenty years of practice also came in mighty handy.

  For all that, there were still some people who just rubbed him up the wrong way. Zak Leonard was one. It wasn’t just the blatant arrogance, the overt disdain for the police, or even the obvious chip on his shoulder. It was more basic – the immaturity of the man, the apparent belief that he was in some way untouchable. Foley, the fancy lawyer sitting to his right, probably reinforced that belief, and if there was a way to wriggle off the hook or exploit a loophole in the law, he would know how to do so expertly and efficiently.

  Lenny gave Burns his customary smirk as he and Mullins entered the interview room. The uniformed duty officer gave a grunt of annoyance but Burns just smiled back pleasantly.

  “So sorry to drag you back in so soon, Mr. Leonard.”

  Slouching back in his chair, Lenny let o
ut a bored sigh. Then rubbing a finger in idle circles on the tabletop he fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall high above Mullins’ head.

  “Is this really necessary, Chief Inspector?” said Foley. “My client has already provided you with a signed affidavit regarding the assault on his person. Unless of course, you’ve brought us here to inform us of the capture of his assailant?”

  “I regret that the perpetrator of that particular crime is still at large, though rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to bring him to justice. Actually, we’d just like to run through the events that took place on D47 on the day of the incident.”

  “Really, Chief Inspector, it’s all in the statement.”

  “Simply for clarification,” said Burns. “Humour me.”

  “Very well,” said the lawyer after a pause.

  “Do I have to?” said Lenny sourly.

  “No, you don’t,” said Burns bluntly. “But you’ll be here for the next twenty four hours unless you do. That’s how long we can hold someone without charging them. And just for the record, we might even consider bumping the D47 case up to a full blown terrorist incident, in which case we can hold suspects for up to fourteen days. Am I making myself clear?”

  That was enough to get Lenny’s attention. Even his lawyer looked up in surprise.

  “Shall we begin?” asked Burns.

  Lenny looked at the lawyer who nodded back.

  “Mr. Leonard,” said Mullins. “You state that you were aboard the freighter Kingfisher when you answered a distress signal broadcast by the prison transport D47.”

  Lenny nodded.

  “Is that correct, Mr. Leonard? I should remind you that this interview is being recorded.”

  “Yes,” said Lenny. “It’s correct. It’s in the statement.”

  “And then you docked with D47 and the man known to you as Barnes banged on the airlock door.”

  “Yes, and that’s in the statement too.”