There was, however, one other variable which required consideration.
“What’s the captain like?” asked Chuck.
“Lt. Commander Savage?” said James. “What can I say? From what I gather, he’s the oldest serving lieutenant commander in the fleet. Not really a surprise – he came to us from the science directorate so he’s not really a line officer.”
“Neither am I,” said Chuck.
“I heard. News travels fast on O1. What was it like getting blown up?”
“Don’t remember much about it to be honest. One minute I was walking back to my quarters and next thing I knew I was drafted and got posted here.”
“Sure beats a posting into the afterlife,” said Penny.
“You got that right,” said Chuck.
“Anyway, about the captain,” said James. “In fairness, he’s not a bad sort. He’s an expert in his field – asteroids, orbital mechanics and that sort of stuff – and knows the Artemis back to front. He’s capable, easy enough to get along with and quite brilliant academically… but not your quintessential military man, if you know what I mean. That’s not to say he doesn’t try, but to be truthful he’d be better off just being himself.”
Chuck was about to ask what James meant when Lt. Commander Savage entered the room. In his mid fifties, he had a round, friendly face and though slight of build he had an almost youthful energy about him.
“At ease,” he said, though only Penny was actually standing to attention. Savage didn’t seem to notice. “Lt. Poulson, Ensign Parker, glad to have you aboard,” he said warmly. “Have your things been taken over to the Artemis?”
“Not yet, sir,” said Chuck.
“Not to worry. There’ll be time for that in the morning. But for now, if you’d like to take your seats everyone, I’ve a few announcements to make about our upcoming mission.”
Chuck, Penny, Angus and James dutifully sat on the front row of chairs as Savage stood behind the lectern on the dais at the front of the room. He cleared his throat theatrically and began his address.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to today’s err… MiB. I’ve received our DO’s from CICN-AS to which we RV at AL32 at AST-0830 tomorrow. We will spend the next shift cycle conducting ship wide DR’s. On confirmation of our OR we will file our DFP no later than 0600. PFC’s to be carried out by 1100. A copy of the MO’s have been CC’d to your HHD’s. Any questions?”
The crew of the Artemis collectively shook their heads.
“Capital,” said Savage. “Well, please enjoy your last night of R&R. That is all.” He gave everyone a beaming smile and promptly left the crew room.
“Actually, I do have one question,” said Chuck once Savage had gone. “Does he always talk in capital letters?”
“On occasion,” said James. “It’s his military persona coming to the fore. He tends to do it whenever he meets someone new, or when one of his superiors is around. Like I said, he’s much better when he’s just being himself, which he is, most of the time.”
“Did anyone actually understand what he said?”
“Let me offer a translation,” said Penny. “It goes something like… Welcome to the mission briefing. We’ve received our deployment orders from the Commander in Chief, Atlas Sector. We rendezvous at Airlock 32 at eight thirty in the morning, spend the day running ship wide diagnostic routines and once our operational readiness has been confirmed we are to file a departure flight plan by six the next morning, pre flight checks to be completed by eleven. Did I miss anything out?” she asked James.
“Reckon that’s about it.”
“Oh, and a copy of the mission objectives has been carbon copied to your hand held device.”
“Oh, so it has,” said Chuck, checking his data pad and opening up the relevant file. “My, it seems to be a very long list.”
“Well, the Artemis is a very long ship,” said James. “Don’t worry about it – most of it is just routine diagnostic stuff. Personally, I’m just looking forward to blasting the hell out of some asteroid with the rail gun. I think it’s the schoolboy in me. Don’t you just love things that go bang?”
“Not anymore,” said Chuck truthfully.
“Not to worry,” said James. “At least this time you won’t be the designated target, and if you ask me nicely, I might even let you pull the trigger.”
“Thanks, but right now I think I’d rather have some of that R&R that the captain was talking about, and yes, I know what that means. Rest and recuperation.”
“I thought it was rest and relaxation,” said Penny.
“Either works for me,” said Chuck.
“Us too,” said James. “Look, if you’ve nothing else planned why don’t you join Angus and me in the Titan Bar and Grill later on. Eight o’ clock sound alright?”
“Yeah, great,” said Penny. “That’s if you don’t mind.”
“Course we don’t, do we Angus?” Angus shook his head vigorously and gave a double thumbs up.
“Two thumbs,” said James in wonder. “I think he likes you.”
CHAPTER 13: The Devil You Know
The Titan Bar and Grill, Orbital One
“Why couldn’t we have had this kind of fare when I was on board O1?” said Penny as she looked up and down the menu of the Titan Bar and Grill. “Smoked brisket, buffalo wings, chicken fillets, spare ribs, steaks, pies and just about every burger I can imagine.”
“Because you didn’t work for Titan,” said James. “It’s the one thing the job has going for it. No frills, mind you – no tablecloths and everything served up on unbreakable dishes.”
Who cares about the dishes, thought Chuck. Dinner in Alpha Section usually meant a sandwich at Mo’s café or something knocked up in his quarters. This was almost unreal, but the smells drifting over from the kitchen area were proof enough.
Ten minutes later he was sitting with a great pile of spare ribs and fries in front of him. Penny arrived with a huge rib-eye steak while Angus seemed to be content with a mixed salad.
“Where’s James got to?” asked Penny.
“Guess he’ll he along in a while,” said Angus softly. It was the first time they’d actually heard him string a sentence together. “James does like his food… You’ll see.”
James returned a few minutes later, threading his way between the tables of the crowded canteen. And he did indeed like his food; his plate was piled high with a mountain of ribs, bacon, pork chops, fries, something that resembled half a side of beef and a pair of fried eggs perched precariously on top.
“You’ll never eat all that,” said Penny in surprise.
“Oh, yes he will,” whispered Angus.
“Got to keep my strength up,” said James brightly. “Only bad news is that I can’t wash it all down with a few beers, but we’re all on twenty four hour flight rules, if you didn’t already know. No more alcohol until after we’ve finished our mission.”
“No worries,” said Chuck. “I’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.”
“Me neither,” said Penny. “How about you, Angus?”
“No. I don’t really like what beer does to me…”
“Looks after his body, does our Angus,” said James. “And just as well, because he’s soon to be wed. Isn’t that right, mate?” Angus nodded and blushed.
“Well, congratulations!” said Chuck and Penny together.
“And I’m the best man,” said James proudly. “Not that I’ve got a lot of competition around these parts. Anyway, best tuck in before this lot gets cold. Anyone want to say grace?”
Penny shook her head glanced across at Chuck.
“Thank God for bacon?” he said.
“Amen to that,” said James, spearing a rasher with his fork.
Twenty minutes later, Chuck pushed his empty plate away and sighed in utter contentment. Penny followed suit soon after, leaning back in her chair with a rapt expression on her face. Meanwhile James just carried on eating. The assault on the heap of food on his plate never slackened, Chuck
and Penny looking on in wonder as it slowly but surely disappeared down his gullet. Surprisingly, Angus was still only half was through his salad, picking at it delicately and apparently savoring every morsel.
“Uh-oh,” said James, pausing with a sizable piece of steak half way to his mouth. “Here comes trouble.”
A large, rotund man was making his way towards them, a glass of ale in his hand, the drink sloshing over the rim of the glass as he sauntered along.
“Well, well – what have we here?” he said, looking Chuck and Penny up and down. “Our brave heroes from the fleet have deigned to visit us. We are mightily honored. You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Without waiting for a response he dragged a chair from an adjacent table and thrust himself down between James and Angus. “How you doin’, Angie?”
“His name’s Angus,” said James.
“That’s what I said. You eating salad again, Angie? Tell you what, you need to get some proper food inside you or you’ll be no damn good at all come your wedding night.”
“This is Pug,” said James. “Not noted for his manners, as you can see.”
“Now, now,” said Pug. “I’m just trying to do the man a favor. He can’t fuel his nuptials on salad, can he? He needs to get some red meat down his neck. Put some lead in the old pencil. Haw-haw-haw.” He gave Chuck a suggestive wink and leered at Penny. “By the by, have you met his dearly beloved?”
“She’s on leave,” said Angus quietly.
“Brenda. Wonderful girl, Brenda. Robust – good, sturdy construction – just like Angus here. But then… she’d have to be, wouldn’t she? Haw-haw-haw. Built to last, I’ll say that about her.”
“Why don’t you leave the guy alone,” said James.
“No, no. She’s got her good points, has Brenda… For a start, both her eyes point in the same direction. Haw-haw-haw.”
James looked at him menacingly.
“And give the girl her due, she’s got all the right curves…” He paused for effect. “But not necessarily in all the right places. HAW-HAW-HAW!” Yet more beer slopped out of Pug’s glass as he laughed uproariously at his own joke.
“Knock it off,” said James. “I’m warning you.”
“Jeez, what are you, his mother? Just having a bit of a joke, is all. Where’s your sense of humor?”
“My sense of humor is just fine,” said James. “And you’re not joking – you’re taking the piss. Excuse my language,” he said to Penny.
Pug snorted and took a swig of beer. He belched loudly and then looked at each of them in turn as if deciding who to target next. His gaze finally settled on James, who was on the last leg of his gastronomic marathon.
“Enjoying that?”
“I was until you turned up,” said James bluntly. Cutting a slice of sausage he raised it to his mouth, but Pug extended a finger and poked him in the arm at the critical moment, sending the sausage skidding down James’s cheek. James ignored it but a deep frown furrowed his brow. He raised the sausage once more but Pug prodded him again. This time the sausage was dislodged from its perch; it bounced once on the edge of the table and then fell to the floor. Still James said nothing but Penny noticed his eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw tighten and clench. He no longer looked like a choirboy. Looking straight ahead he cut another piece of sausage and raised it deliberately to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pug’s finger extend once more...
James exploded into action. In one fluid motion he dropped the fork and twisted in his chair, grabbing Pug’s wrist in his left hand and grasping the extended index finger in his right. James than stood, and with Pug’s wrist still in a vice like grip, he slowly bent the finger upwards and backwards.
“Ow! Ow!” cried Pug. “Let go, you bugger!”
James increased the pressure, forcing Pug’s wrist and finger lower and lower. The rest of Pug’s body followed until he was virtually prostrate on the floor. Much to the delight of the small crowd that had now gathered, James promptly stamped on Pug’s free hand ground it into the floor tiles.
“You know what your trouble is, don’t you Pug? Bad karma. Your whole body is surrounded by a dark, negative aura. That’s why you’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Ow! Ow!”
“Now here are a few tips on how to improve your karma. You listening?” James gave the offending finger another bend.
“Ow! Yes,” squealed Pug.
“Get up early, eat a proper breakfast. Smile, give compliments, help people, and one of my all time favourites, do the right thing even when no one is looking. Your problem is that you keep doing the wrong thing when everyone is looking.
“Now here’s the deal. In a minute I’m going to let you go and here’s what’s going to happen after that. Still listening?”
“Argh… yes.”
“You are going to get up, smile, wish everyone a very good night and leave. And if you don’t, Pug, if you mess with me or my friends just one more time I promise you I’ll hammer you into the ground like a rusty old tent peg. I kid you not. Do you understand me?”
Pug nodded, his round face a mask of anguish as tears of pain and embarrassment filled his eyes.
James released his grip and watched as Pug struggled slowly to his feet, the onlookers breaking into a spontaneous round of applause.
“You’re not going to stand for that are you Pug?” laughed one.
“Don’t just stand there,” said another. “Do something!”
Shamed by his plight and egged on by the crowd, Pug squared his shoulders and looked James in the eye… and didn’t like what he saw. The inner voice said ‘retire with as much dignity and grace as possible’. There wouldn’t be much of either, but one glance at James’ expression told him that sticking around just wasn’t an option. If looks could kill he’d be dead already.
Pug took a couple of paces backwards and muttered ‘good night’ under his breath. Then he abruptly turned on his heels and barged a path through the onlookers, many of whom jeered mercilessly as he beat his retreat.
“Terribly sorry about that,” said James, sitting back down at the table. “Anyone for dessert?”
* * *
Belvoir Bay, Atlas
Less than forty eight hours after his telephone conversation with Sig Larson, DCI Burns found himself sitting in a hotel restaurant on the other side of the continent. The maglev train had made the journey in just a couple of hours, whistling along the vacuum tunnel at over twice the speed of sound. With no fuss, noise, vibration and perhaps most importantly, no windows, the only sensations he’d had of travelling were the ten minutes of acceleration and deceleration at each end of the journey. Considering the velocity at which he’d been hurtling down the ferroconcrete tube, Burns found the whole experience somehow disappointing. Surely he was entitled to at least a modicum of excitement somewhere along the line? The system’s architects would have admonished him for such thoughts, explaining with indignation that engineering the thrills out of the experience had, in fact, been the most difficult part.
The speed at which he had covered the distance also ensured that he arrived even before he set out – at least, according to the adjusted time on his wristwatch. Just in time for a late lunch – or was it early? His stomach told him it was late but he’d still wait for his unlikely guest to arrive before ordering.
Larson appeared just a few minutes after Burns had sat down. He looked carefully around the room before joining Burns at the table. “I take it you’re going to honor our agreement and not arrest me here and now?” he said without preamble.
“Alas, I seem to have forgotten my handcuffs,” replied Burns as he picked up the menu. “And as requested, I’ve come alone. Shall we order?”
“Why not?” said Larson. “Perhaps I could recommend the Coquilles Saint-Jacques, or perhaps the Sole Meunière.”
Burns looked up from his menu. “Are you used to fine dining, Mr. Larson?”
“I enjoy the simple pleasures in life, Chief Inspector, especially
good food and wine. Spending so much time in space I don’t usually have the chance to indulge. It is, perhaps, the one benefit of having my ship taken.”
“Indeed,” said Burns. “I’ll take your advice and try the Sole Meunière.”
“In which case may I suggest a glass of Sancerre or Chablis to accompany it.”
“Not while I’m on duty, I’m afraid.”
“As you wish,” said Larson. He called to a passing waiter who took their order and then he sat back in his chair and waited patiently for Burns to begin the conversation.
“So, Mr. Larson, how was it you came to be involved in the D47 affair?”
“As I said on the telephone,” replied Larson. “I was contracted to transport one passenger to a point in space and then rendezvous with another vessel.”
“Zak Leonard.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It’s up to you… I’m told there are three kinds of policeman, Mr. Burns. The first believes everyone starts with a clean slate. The second believes that everyone is guilty of something and lastly, there are those who are quite prepared to fit you up. Which kind are you?”
“The first and second, but not necessarily in that order.”
“I’m a freelancer, Mr. Burns, and believe it or not, most of the work I undertake is within the law. I won’t deny that there have been occasions where I’ve bent the law somewhat out of shape, but that’s a question for the lawyers.”
To Larson’s thinking, which was admittedly stilted, it was almost true – in the very loosest sense of the word. He’d carried all manner of illegal contraband and had even been caught doing so, but plausible deniability had always been on his side. He simply produced the manifest prepared by his customer and walked away. The Oceana affair – if it ever came to light – would be more difficult to explain but Larson could justifiably claim that they had found the vessel adrift, towed it to a world with less than stringent regulations and claimed salvage rights. It wouldn’t be true, but it would be enough to cast doubt on his guilt, which in Larson’s book was just as good as being innocent.
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 19