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

by L. J. Simpson

  “We have ignition and engines are stable at ten percent power,” said James. “You may experience minor G forces as the inertia dampening fields stabilise. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “How many Gs are we likely to pull?” asked Chuck.

  “Val estimates a total engine burn of forty seven minutes and twenty seconds. During that time Val will gradually increase engine power to peak efficiency ratings of about sixty percent. Along the way we will probably experience a maximum of about seventy five Gs.”

  “Not to worry, Lieutenant,” said Savage. “Artemis is rated for over one hundred ten Gs.”

  “And all that the creaking you can hear is perfectly normal,” said James as an almost ghostly groan echoed through the superstructure. “Just the joints taking up slack. And of course, the inertia dampening around the habitat zone ensures that the most we experience is between one and a half and two Gs. And even then only for brief periods as the dampeners compensate.”

  “The miracles of modern science,” said Penny.

  “Call me a doubter,” said Chuck, “but what happens if the inertia dampeners fail?”

  “We have triple back-up systems to guard against any such eventuality,” said Savage. “And in the unlikely event that the worst comes to the worst, I doubt if you’ll know very much about it.”

  “True,” said James. “But it’s an interesting philosophical question, isn’t it?” He paused for a moment as he considered the possibilities.

  “I suppose it would all depend on your bodily orientation,” he said finally.

  Angus raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  “Well, let’s say you were lying prone, with your head facing the direction of travel. If the dampening were to suddenly fail, all your blood would rush to your feet – in an instant. That’s about two and a half litres per foot. I think they’d explode, wouldn’t they?”

  “Now there’s a happy thought,” murmured Angus.

  “On the other hand,” said James. “If you were facing backwards, your blood would rush the other way and the pneumatic pressure would probably crush your brain down to the size of a pea… I wonder if that’s what happened to Pug? It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

  Angus, Chuck and Penny immediately broke into laughter and even Savage smiled. Chuck settled back in his seat and ran his hands down the soft leather of the armrests. Despite all his misgivings about being commissioned, things were working out just fine. The Artemis wasn’t just a comfortable ship, it was a happy ship too. What more could you possibly ask for?

  * * *

  Atlas Central Police HQ

  “Now, this is what I call a camera,” said the station’s resident digital engineer. “Superzoom, fully automatic exposure compensation, image stabilization, night vision lens and more pixels than you can shake a stick at. You didn’t get this in a discount shop. Who’d you steal it from?”

  “It’s on temporary loan,” said Mullins. There are a series of shots at the end of the camera roll that I want you to take a look at.”

  “No problem,” said the engineer, plugging the camera’s hard drive into his console. “Oh, nice giraffe. Nice one of the wife and kids too… Yours?”

  “Hardly,” said Mullins. “It’s the next lot of pictures – the ones of the opposite platform.”

  “Got it. Here we are, and… oh…” said the engineer as he flicked through the shots.

  “Yes, oh,” said Mullins. “Those were the last moments of one Jimmy Franks – in full colour and, as you can probably see, in grisly detail. We don’t think it was an accident. Franks was helping us with an investigation and ended up under that train for his trouble. We’re pretty sure who the perp is, but aside from the fact we’ve got him placed at the scene of the crime we’ve got no concrete evidence.”

  “And you need me to find it.”

  “Exactly. A convenient shot of him with his hand in the middle of Jimmy’s back would do nicely. There’s already a mug shot of the suspect in the data base. Name of Chumly. Here are the details,” said Mullins, passing over a file.

  “Gotcha. If there’s anything to see, I’ll find it. Might take a while, but I’ll find it.”

  “No problem,” said Mullins. “Give me a call.”

  “Any joy?” asked Burns as Mullins returned to the office.

  “Take a while,” replied Mullins, sitting down at his desk. “There was nothing obvious on the original shots but with the enhancement software, who knows?”

  “If we can just catch Chumly standing behind Jimmy Franks at the moment he fell, it might be enough. We’d need Alice’s testimony, but it would be enough. And talking about Alice, following the conversation we had with her, I asked the fraud squad to take a quiet look into the affairs of Deputy Mayor Hanning.”

  “They turn anything up?”

  “Maybe. Over the past few years there have been a number of cash transactions going through his private bank account. A few deposits but mostly withdrawals.”

  “Any idea what for?”

  “No, but they seem to be regular, both in amount and frequency. It might be nothing, but we’re talking about fairly large sums – the withdrawals amount to twenty five to thirty thousand credits each time. You have to wonder why he would need that much in cash.”

  “Gambling, drugs… ‘speciality’ services,” said Mullins.

  “Not the pastimes you’d normally associate with a pillar of society, are they?”

  “No, and how about the cash that he’s depositing? Those are even larger sums. Where’s that money coming from? That’s even stranger.”

  “The only thing I can think of is that he’s borrowing it and then paying it back, or the other way around,” said Burns.

  “Put him under surveillance?”

  “Not sure the commissioner would go for it. He and Hanning are golfing buddies.”

  “He wouldn’t necessarily have to know, would he? And if the surveillance team were discreet, neither would Hanning. It wouldn’t be illegal – just the following up of a lead.”

  “True,” said Burns. “I’ll put it to the fraud guys and see what they say. If Hanning sticks to form he should be making a withdrawal in a week or two. If Alice is right and he is mixed up with the Delph, we can throw a spanner or two in his political aspirations.”

  “Uphold the public trust and mess up the commissioner’s golf afternoons into the bargain. Sounds like a good enough deal to me.”

  “You don’t like the commissioner very much, do you Mullins?”

  “Not really, sir. He spends too much time with politicians and bureaucrats – I think he’s forgotten how to be a policeman. Our first and only duty is to collar criminals, not worry about political expediency. Petty thief or corrupt congressman – they’re all the damned same to me.”

  “I share your sentiments, Sergeant. And if Hanning is on the take, for our sakes I hope the commissioner does too.”

  * * *

  Camp Stafford, Atlas

  By the time Colonel Joseph E. Butcher closed the last file on his desk the rest of his staff had long since retired to their homes, the officers Club or wherever it was they spent their off duty hours. Even his adjutant, Lieutenant Huth, had departed.

  No sense in keeping the man hanging around for no good reason, thought Butcher. Huth was a newly-wed and there must be better ways for a newly-wed to spend his evenings than shuffling papers for a worn out, passed over colonel.

  In reality, there was nothing keeping Butcher at his desk either. There were no vital war plans to evaluate, no cutting edge research projects to preside over and certainly no regiment to command. There was nothing except the mind numbing monotony of running a military personnel and logistics complex. Simply put, Butcher was a glorified clerk – part hotelier and part stock keeper, the commanding officer of a facility whose sole purpose was to shunt military personnel and their equipment wherever the high command deemed necessary.

  He could just as easily switch off the lights and turn in for t
he night like the rest of his staff, but this was by far his favorite part of the day. A few minutes to himself, when he could pour a glass of port – a drink for which he’d recently acquired a taste – and gaze in silence at the row of photos arranged on the far wall of his office. Scenes of better days, when he had accomplished things, made a name for himself and even led men into battle. A good, solid career… which was rapidly winding down. Only a limited number of colonels could be elevated to the dizzy heights of brigadier general and Butcher had missed the cut. A few more months and he’d be shunted off into retirement. The thought made him shudder. What on earth would he do after that? Spend the rest of his days at home with his wife? That provoked an even greater shudder. His adjutant might have skipped dinner in favor of another turn between the sheets but no such pleasures would await Butcher. He was locked in a marriage whose spark had long since been extinguished and now lay buried under an impenetrable layer of permafrost.

  He was still pondering the thought when his com began to buzz. Who would be calling him at this time of the evening?

  “Butcher,” he said.

  “Evening, Butch. How’s life treating you?”

  “Who..?”

  “Come on, Butch. It’s been a while but not that long.”

  “Dan… Jacks?”

  “That’s Commodore to you, Butch. I still outrank you, remember?”

  “You might have done in the past but I heard that you were... how shall I put it… retired? Not to mention on the run from just about every law enforcement agency from here to the outer rim.”

  “A technicality, Butch.”

  “And Admiral Giles?”

  “Collateral damage.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it.”

  “It was him or me, Butch. You know the kind of person I am.”

  “No half measures.”

  “Something like that… which brings me to the reason I called. I have a job half finished – a lieutenant by the name of Poulson.”

  “And?”

  “I want to know where he is, and with you being involved in deployment, who better to ask?”

  “And exactly why would I help you, Daniel? Bearing in mind it could cost me what’s left of my career – not exactly a great loss in itself – but also my pension, which I’d miss very much indeed.”

  “Take your point.” said Jacks, “But think back, Butch. Who was it that covered for you when the Pegasus mission got blown? I’m just calling in a favor. You owe me, Butch – big time.”

  “That was a long time ago. A very long time, and in any case it wasn’t my fault that the exchange went wrong.”

  “No statute of limitations on espionage, Butch.”

  “It was a black op, for Christ’s sake. I was under orders.”

  “I know that,” said Jacks. “And so do you, but nobody else does, do they? And you don’t seriously think that the people who gave the orders would ever admit to it, do you? See, the thing is, I’ve got a couple of files sitting on my hard drive. Now if they were to end up in the possession of that journalist from the Atlas Tribune, losing your pension would be the very least of your worries.”

  “That’s blackmail, Dan.”

  “Oh, come on Butch. I just need an address for a name. It’s no big deal.”

  “All right,” said Butcher tiredly. “Who was it again?”

  “Poulson. That’s P-O-U-L-S-O-N. Charles, A. He’s a lieutenant, last serving on Orbital One.”

  “Leave it with me. How do I get in touch?”

  “You don’t,” said Jacks. “I’ll contact you. And there’s no rush. Tomorrow will do just fine.”

  “Oh, great. And is there anything else?”

  “Nope. That’s all, Butch. Tell Nellie I said hello.” Then the line went dead.

  Butcher looked down at the glass he was still holding in his hand. Taking a sip, he swirled the vintage port slowly around his tongue. It was both rich and sweet, but it would take far more than that to eradicate the sour taste that his conversation with Jacks had left in his mouth.

  * * *

  Atlas Central Police HQ

  “Hope you’ve got some good news,” said Mullins.

  “I haven’t got a nice, convenient shot of your friend Chumly pushing the victim to his death, if that’s what you were hoping for,” said the digital engineer.

  “Pity,” said Burns. “Is there nothing we can use?”

  “Not at first glance, but luckily for you, the vast sums I receive for my skill and expertise have not been wasted.”

  “What do you have?”

  “OK, we’ve got eighteen wide angle shots of the train pulling into the station. I’ve been through the lot but there isn’t a single frame that shows the suspect standing next to the victim. However, there are two frames in particular that I want to draw your attention to.

  “First, frame seven. You can see the train approaching from the left, and if I pan across to the right and zoom in, you have the victim standing at the edge of the platform.”

  “But no Chumly.”

  “True, but with the light conditions as they are, the only the people who are clearly visible are those standing at the edge of the platform – everyone behind is hidden in the shadows. However, the wonderful thing about high end cameras is that they record a lot more than meets the eye – quite literally. Now, by applying a few filters we can bring all those shadowy figures into view. And there, standing a few meters behind and to the right of Jimmy Franks is your suspect.”

  “That’s definitely him,” said Burns.

  “And now we go forward to frame fifteen. Here we can see the victim toppling forward towards the edge of the platform. But, if we pan across to where the suspect was in the previous shot and use the same enhancements… ”

  “He’s gone,” said Burns.

  “And how about between frames seven and fifteen?”

  “Nowhere to be seen,” said the engineer.

  “So how about some of this skill and expertise, then?” said Mullins.

  “Your wish is my command,” said the engineer brightly. “Back to frame fifteen. The victim is being propelled towards the platform edge. His head is back and his chest out, a clear sign that he was pushed from behind, and if we zoom in still closer – I wish I had a little fanfare I could play for moments like this – you can just make out an outstretched arm, one extended towards the middle of the victim’s back – the arm of whoever it was that pushed him.”

  “That’s right!” said Burns. “Can you enhance the image?”

  “Does a dog have fleas?”

  “Not where we come from,” said Mullins, “but enhance it anyway.”

  Burns and Mullins watched as the software slowly worked its magic, the arm gradually becoming more and more defined with each pass of the filter until finally, they were looking at the fully enhanced image.

  “Amazing,” said Mullins. “It’s almost as if was taken from a few meters away.”

  “Now all we have to do is match it to Chumly,” said Mullins.

  “Already have,” said the engineer. “Back to frame seven. Chumly is standing with his arms crossed. A cursory examination shows that the material of the shirt and jacket are a match, as is the watch. It’s a Joubert, by the way – same model. Not many of those around. But the real giveaway is a scar on the little finger. It goes from the knuckle to the base of the finger. It’s good enough for me, and if you dig up some expert in dermatology it will be good enough for a jury too.”

  “I agree,” said Burns. “Damned good work.”

  “Exactly how exorbitant is that salary of yours?” asked Mullins.

  “I never said it was exorbitant,” said the engineer. “I just said I get paid a lot, and on days like today I reckon I deserve it. Don’t you agree?”

  “Do we pull Chumly in straight away?” asked Mullins once they were back in the privacy of their office.

  “No… I don’t think so,” said Burns slowly. “He thinks he’s in the clear so he’s
not likely to do a runner.”

  “That’s true enough. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Yes,” said Burns. “Lucas, Baines and Sergeant Gomez. If we’re right and one of them is in the pay of the Delph, this could be the ideal opportunity to flush them out. I’ve got to run over to Phoenix for the afternoon. While I’m gone, see if you can find out when they’re all on shift together and we’ll take it from there.”

  CHAPTER 15: Seek and Ye Shall Find

  Phoenix Station, Atlas System

  “I can’t pretend I’m happy about this,” said Commander Brice. “TacNet comes under the auspices of the intelligence division. As a general rule, even serving line officers are denied direct access, never mind civilians. However… since the orders come directly from Admiral Bradbury’s office I can only imagine there must be a very good reason.”

  “There is,” said DCI Burns. “And if it sets your mind at rest we’ve been well briefed on the security implications, have we not, Mr. Larson?”

  “Too right,” said Larson. “If anyone asks, we’ve never even heard of TacNet, let alone know anything about the who, where, what, how and why. We were even made to sign the official secrets act.”

  “Which is something you need to take very seriously,” warned Burns. “Non-compliance could cost you up to twenty years in jail. More than you’d ever get for smuggling.”

  “An activity any law abiding citizen like myself would never knowingly undertake, as I’m sure you’re aware,” said Larson. Of course, for a very reasonable fee I’m quite prepared to do it unknowingly, he was tempted to add.

  “Very well,” said Brice. “If you’ll follow me I’ll escort you to the TacNet bunker.”

  Burns pondered how you could possibly have a bunker on a space station but he soon found the answer to his question.

  If O1 was an outpost, Phoenix Station was – in every sense of the word – a complete, self contained city in space – or at least, in orbit. At the last count there were over ten thousand people living and working on a facility which even had its own mayor and elected officials.