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

by L. J. Simpson

  “You haven’t changed much, have you sir?”

  “Not one jot, Pen. And you know what they say – if isn’t broke, don’t try and fix it.”

  * * *

  Belvoir Bay, Atlas

  Sig Larson wandered through the open patio doors and out onto the balcony beyond. From his vantage point he could see out across the bay to the headland jutting out into the ocean some kilometers distant, a lighthouse on the cliff edge flashing out its warning to the vessels plying the sea lanes beyond. There was something comforting about the rhythmic pulses of light as they swept by but as always, Larson’s gaze was drawn to the sky – a sky full of stars. Somewhere out there, he thought for the thousandth time, somewhere out there is my ship. He stood in silence, his gaze drifting from system to system, picking out the ones he’d had cause to visit. Many of them held fond memories, some not so fond and there were one or two which, for one reason or another, he’d needed to leave in a distinct hurry.

  Eventually he gave up his musings and went back inside. Modern and well appointed, the apartment lay on the top floor of an elegant building in the suburbs of the peaceful seaside town. It was an ideal place for lying low and exactly the location he might one day consider retiring to… but that was for the future. Right now he had the present to contend with.

  The one contact in Atlas Central that he could still trust – he thought he could still trust – had informed him that the Delph had put out a contract on him. Not a large one, he’d learned with some indignation, but certainly large enough to tempt all manner of thugs, junkies and wannabees. It wasn’t an immediate problem as he’d no intention of going back to Atlas Central anyway. He’d kept a modest apartment there out of convenience but he’d never thought of it as home. For as long as he could remember, his only real home had been out in space aboard the Reaper.

  What he’d hoped to do now was either call in a few favors or perhaps buy up a stake in another operation somewhere. He’d put out a few feelers but the answer had always been the same – sorry, too much baggage. The best and only advice he’d received was to leave Atlas, get as far away as possible and never come back.

  There was wisdom in that, Larson realized, but the stubborn streak in him told him to stay in the game until he’d exhausted all other options. And there was one other course of action he might yet try. He may well have run out of friends at the critical moment, but there was still the old adage that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. He checked his watch – it was nine in the evening, which would make it 5 pm in Atlas Central. It was a long shot, but he had very little to lose. He picked up his data pad and searched for the number of Atlas Central Police HQ.

  * * *

  Atlas Central Police HQ

  “I’ve been going over the station logs,” said Mullins. “I’ve pulled the duty roster for the day we brought Chumly in for questioning and compared it to the morning when Lenny was killed.”

  “What do you have?” asked Burns.

  “As far as I can tell, there were six officers who were definitely on the premises at both times. I’ve gone over the security footage from the cameras at the main and side doors and we have facial recognition on all of them.”

  “Internal cameras?”

  “Well that’s the interesting part. We’ve got a whole bunch of cameras situated in various strategic positions within the station. The corridors to the interview rooms, the armory and the cell block are well monitored, as is the main lobby. What we don’t have is coverage for the kitchens or the locker rooms, which along with the canteen are situated in the basement. However, there is a camera at the foot of the stairs. The canteen is directly in front, the locker rooms are off to the left and the kitchens off to the right. Now take a look at this,” he said, taking his data pad from his pocket. “This was taken by the stairwell camera at seven forty five on the morning Lenny was killed. We’ve got someone dressed in overalls walking past the camera in the direction of the kitchens… and exactly one minute later he goes back the same way.”

  “From the locker rooms to the kitchens and back again,” said Burns.

  “That’s right, but there’s no footage of him going either up or down the stairs.”

  “So who did go up and down the stairs?”

  “Everyone who was on duty that day. Again there are a number of faces we can’t identify but that’s normal enough on a stairway. People tend to look down at the stairs rather than up at the camera. In any event, I think we need to concentrate more on the mysterious figure in the overalls. The overalls in question belong to the contractors who do all the maintenance work in and around the station. I’ve been in touch with their office and according to them, they had no-one working here on that day,” said Mullins.

  “One of our own dressed up as a maintenance man?”

  “That’s how it looks to me.”

  “Whoever it is, they didn’t want to be seen, that’s for sure,” said Burns playing the video back and forth. “Collar turned up, cap pulled down and looking away from the camera at all times. We don’t even have a hair color.”

  “What we can tell is that it is a man rather than a woman – height about six one or two. It’s hard to tell in those overalls but he doesn’t appear to be that heavily built – I’d put the weight in the region of a hundred sixty to seventy pounds. That effectively eliminates half our list of suspects.”

  “Who do we have left?”

  “Officers Lucas, Baines and Sergeant Gomez.”

  “Have you checked their files?”

  “Service histories whiter than white.”

  “We could have it all wrong, you know,” said Burns. “It might be pure coincidence that those three officers were inside the station on both occasions. Still, I guess it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

  “Do we question them?”

  “I can’t see what good it would do. It would just alert them to the fact that we have our suspicions. No… For the time being, we’ll just keep a close eye on all three. Perhaps our man will make a mistake and if not, we’ll just wait for things to quieten down and then see if we can flush him out. All we really need is the right bait.” He paused as his phone began to ring.

  “Yes?” said Burns, picking up the receiver.

  “Hello, Chief Inspector,” said the voice. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Who is this?” said Burns sharply.

  “Sig Larson. You’ll remember interviewing me regarding the D47 incident?”

  “Mr. Larson… yes…” said Burns loudly enough to gain Mullins’ attention. He waved his arm above his head and jabbed his finger at the phone which in police sign language meant, ‘Get a trace’. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I believe it’s more a case of what I can do for you.”

  “Is that a fact?” said Burns. “Well you could start by turning yourself in at the nearest police station.”

  “Ah, now I thought you might say that and I’m sure you’ll understand if I politely decline the invitation. You see, I know what happened to Zak Leonard and I’d rather not go the same way.”

  “What makes you think that you would?”

  “Because the people who killed Lenny also tried to kill me,” said Larson. “They missed, but I doubt if they’d miss a second time, especially with me locked up in a cell and nowhere to run.”

  “Who exactly are they?”

  “Come now, Mr. Burns. We both know the answer to that one.”

  “I have a very good idea, but I’d rather you tell me than I have to suggest it to you.”

  “I’m not very good with names, I’m afraid, especially over the telephone. You never know who might be listening in.”

  “I see,” said Burns. “You know that we charged Lenny with murder. We were under the impression that you’d been tipped off.”

  “In a manner of speaking, I was. By a heavy caliber plasma pistol pointed at my chest, if you catch my meaning.”

  “No way for an employer to treat one of
their employees.”

  “Ah, but I don’t have employers, Chief Inspector. I work strictly on a contractual basis.”

  “As in contract killing?” said Burns.

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  “Perhaps, but you might also like to know that we have a warrant out for your arrest as an accessory to murder. The DA thinks we might even get you for conspiracy. And he might even be right.”

  “All that I can do is profess my innocence,” said Larson. “I was hired to take Lenny to a particular point in space at a particular time. That’s all – nothing more, nothing less. I had no idea what was going to transpire after that.”

  No, I bet you didn’t, thought Burns. He looked over at Mullins who was still trying to trace the call. ‘Keep him talking,’ mouthed Mullins.

  “I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you’ve never broken the law.”

  “Not knowingly,” lied Larson. “I can’t personally vouch for every cargo I’ve ever carried, of course. I just go by what’s on the manifest.”

  “But we won’t be arresting you for smuggling.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be arresting me for murder, either. Whatever the DA says, I don’t think you can prove that I was anything but an innocent bystander when Clive Donaldson got shot.”

  Burns had to admit that it was probably true; Larson’s story would be backed up by the recording from D47’s airlock, and with all the other witnesses either dead or on the run, the DA would have precious little to work with.

  “And by the way,” continued Larson. “I imagine that right now you are trying to trace the call. You won’t succeed, but don’t let me stop you from trying.”

  Burns glanced over at Mullins who shook his head. No go.

  “Well then, Mr. Larson, perhaps you’d like to tell us exactly why you called.”

  “It’s simple,” said Larson. “I can’t help you with the people who killed Lenny, but I can lead you to Commodore Jacks and the man I knew as Barnes.”

  “Really?” said Burns, his interest suddenly piqued. “And exactly how do you propose to do that?”

  “There is a homing device aboard the Kingfisher. It’s hidden inside the engine bay where no-one will find it – at least, not without removing the engine. Given access to the right equipment I can help you track her down. You find the Kingfisher and you find Jacks.”

  “I see,” said Burns slowly. “And what do you want in return?”

  “Drop the charges against me, and guarantee that the Kingfisher will be returned to me once Jacks is back in police custody. I don’t believe that’s asking too much.”

  “I don’t have the authority to make those decisions.”

  “I didn’t expect you would. I imagine you’ll need some time to confer with your superiors so if you’re agreeable, I’ll call back in a day or two.”

  “I’ll be here,” said Burns, and with that, the line went dead. He gazed at the receiver for a few seconds before placing it back in its cradle. “Did you get all that?” he asked Mullins.

  “Yes,” nodded Mullins. “But no luck with the trace. He’s somewhere on the eastern seaboard… probably. The signal was bounced off so many satellites it’s hard to say… Do you think he’s on the level?”

  “I think he’s most likely telling the truth – up to a point, at least. I don’t think he was complicit in Donaldson’s murder, thought I’m damned sure he’s guilty of something else. I’m just not sure what.”

  “Agreed,” said Mullins. “But if he can track down his ship, it might be our best chance – maybe our only chance – of catching up with Jacks… providing he hasn’t already sold it and moved on, of course.”

  “There is that,” said Burns. “The only thing we can do right now is kick it upstairs and see what the commissioner and the DA have to say. The final decision will be up to them.”

  * * *

  The Reaper

  The Reaper dropped into normal space on the edges of the of Grenedal system. One of the younger Second World colonies, it was a lush, semi-tropical world that fell only partly within the jurisdiction of the Federal Government. In return for giving up a portion of its sovereignty – and making a hefty tax contribution – Grenedal enjoyed all the rights and benefits afforded to the First Worlds without being laden with the burden of political union.

  In a very real sense Grenedal enjoyed the best of both worlds; it enjoyed the protection of its mightier neighbours but still retained the majority of its autonomy, and if nothing else, the Grenedal were a fiercely independent people. Perhaps even to a fault, which caused them to spend rather more time looking inwards than outwards. And while they enforced their own laws and statutes most assiduously, they were inclined to turn an indifferent eye to the goings on in other systems.

  It made Grenedal the perfect centre of operations for the Reaper. On arrival, their less than genuine documents would be subjected to only cursory scrutiny, no troublesome questions would be asked, and provided Jacks and his crew obeyed the local statutes to the letter, they would be free to go about their business.

  Once the Reaper was powered down, Jacks elected to remain aboard and allow Fletcher and Tully to enjoy some well earned leave on the planet below. His turn would come later and for the time being he was content to write up his journal and enjoy the peace and solitude aboard the Reaper as she lay in space dock high above the planet. He prepared a simple meal and then switched on the com system, accessing one of the local news channels. He soon found what he was looking for. ‘High court judge killed in bomb attack.’

  Reading through the article he was pleased to learn that the device he’d personally stowed under the bench seat in the Rocket’s cabin had performed flawlessly; there had been precious little left of either yacht or pilot. Gazing at the picture of Basham’s funeral procession, Jacks could only wonder what they had put in the coffin. His judge’s robes, his gavel and a few other mementoes, perhaps?

  A link at the bottom of the page took him to a similar story which described the demise of Admiral Giles. An expert with explosives and no stranger to assassination, Fletcher was hardly going to miss, but it was reassuring to receive confirmation. Death had been as violent as it had been instantaneous.

  Game, set… but not quite match. The final part of the article revealed that a third assassination attempt had been thwarted. Lieutenant Charles Poulson had escaped with minor injuries.

  No matter, Jacks told himself, Basham and Giles had always been the main targets. They had conspired against him and they had wronged him. And far worse than that, they had taken it upon themselves to judge him as if their rank somehow dictated that they were the better men. It was an affront, an insult of the highest order, and one that Jacks had repaid with interest.

  Though well satisfied with the outcome he did not revel in their deaths, for that was not in his nature. The ledger stated that they had attempted to take away his freedom and he had taken away their lives in return. It wasn’t revenge, but more a simple lesson in accountancy. That and confirmation as to who really was the better man.

  Jacks re-read the final paragraph of the story. Lieutenant Charles Poulson had escaped with minor injuries and had taken up a new assignment away from the space station Orbital One.

  Lieutenant Charles Poulson..? Since when had Poulson become a lieutenant in the fleet? That was also an affront. The man was singularly undeserving of both the rank and the uniform. A frown immediately formed upon Jacks’ brow. Poulson was still alive. It shouldn’t matter, but it somehow did, and the more he thought about it the worse his indignation became. Giles and Basham had at least risen to the top of their respective professions and that alone had made them worthy adversaries. Conversely, Poulson was an idler, a wastrel. A man with no passion or sense of duty, a man completely lacking in moral fibre.

  Jacks fidgeted in his chair and finally rapped his hand on the desktop in irritation. A lieutenant? We’ll see about that, he thought. If Poulson was indeed a serving officer, Jacks h
ad the contacts to find out where. Poulson had now thwarted him twice. It wouldn’t happen a third time.

  * * *

  The Artemis crew room. Orbital One

  Angus smiled hesitantly as he wrapped one of his huge hands around Chuck’s and gave it a gentle shake.

  “Hi, there,” said Chuck brightly. “Good to meet you.” Angus murmured a greeting in return and then blushed profusely as Penny also shook his hand. After that it seemed that Angus was doing his level best to hide behind James despite the fact that he was twice his size.

  “Bit shy, is our Angus,” said James, turning to give his friend a slap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, he’ll soon come around. So, you’re joining us on the Artemis?”

  “That’s right,” said Chuck. “We’ll be helping out with your system checks.”

  “We could use a hand, that’s for sure. When everything is up and running, the AI should be able to take care of the day to day operations, but there’s a lot of calibration to be done before we arrive at that happy state.”

  “Been with the Artemis long?” asked Penny.

  “Yeah,” said James. “Spent most of the last year at the dockyard during her fitting out, and then on board for the preliminary engine and seaworthiness trials. All went smoothly enough – no problems with the nav or propulsion systems. She’s a darned good ship – all the latest equipment and the best news is that the crew quarters are top notch. Unless you’re Angus, of course, but the bunk that will accommodate a man of his proportions has yet to be built. How he ever gets to sleep with his feet hanging off the end of the bed like that I will never know. You should have been born like me, Angus.” he said. “Nice and compact, with no useless and unnecessary appendages.”

  Angus began to chuckle, a deep rumble which began somewhere deep inside and then shook his great shoulders up and down as it battled its way into the outside world. James laughed too and gave Angus another slap on the shoulder.

  Chuck and Penny shared in the moment. The two men obviously enjoyed a rapport and it was good to see. The relativistic length of any voyage was directly proportional to how well the crew got along with each other. Angus and James seemed to get along just fine.