Jacks studied the plans until he knew the ship’s layout and technical specifications by heart. It wasn’t just common sense – it was a fundamental rule of war fighting. Before joining your adversary in battle it was wise to know him just as well as he knew himself.
CHAPTER 16: Going Down
The Artemis, Atlas Kuiper Belt
Angus sat at the dinner table with a look of extreme satisfaction on his face. Arms folded lightly across his chest he appeared to be nodding slightly, as if agreeing with himself over some matter of grave importance. Finally, he began to hum a little tune.
“Go on, lap it up,” said James as he opened up his pre-packed dinner. “If you were a cat I daresay you’d be purring.”
Sitting across the table, Lt. Commander Savage and Penny noticed Angus’s expression graduate from well satisfied to unashamedly smug.
“Well, to be fair, it was a pretty impressive performance,” said Penny.
“Of course it was,” said Angus proudly. “After all, it’s our primary weapon.”
“Alright, alright,” said James with mock humility. “I concede defeat.”
He had little choice. The first test of the phased laser array had passed without a hitch and even James had to admit that it had been a resounding success. Angus had powered up the array, focused the beam at the center of the crater previously gauged out by the rail gun and then hit the button. For a few seconds Chuck and Penny thought that the laser has malfunctioned. There was no searing beam of light, no pyrotechnic display, just a steady hum as the array pumped out trillions of watts of energy in an invisible stream of high energy particles.
Shortly after, a spot in the center of the crater began to glow, first a dull orange, then changing rapidly through bright yellow to white hot, the surface of the asteroid bubbling with molten iron until the crater became a cauldron of sparks and flame. Ten minutes later the array shut down and the crew of the Artemis watched as several tons of white hot metal drifted off into space, quickly cooling as it went.
Analysis showed that the laser had drilled a neat hole in the asteroid, the molten ejection driving it off course by exactly 0.03 degrees, beating James’s rail gun by exactly 0.01 of a degree, or as Angus pointed out, a full fifty percent. It fairly made his day.
The tests on GR-850Z complete, the Artemis was now heading out towards the next target, a rocky object known as GR-417R. The twelve hour flight would be managed entirely by Val, allowing the human crew members some off duty time to eat, sleep and – according to standing fleet orders – manage their personal affairs. Aboard a normal vessel on active duty that generally equated to several hours of cleaning, washing, ironing and polishing.
Luckily for all on board, the Artemis wasn’t a normal vessel, which meant that having finished her evening meal, Penny could spend a few hours relaxing in the comfort of her quarters before she turned in for the night.
Meanwhile, James was dejectedly pushing his dinner around the plate.
“Don’t take it to heart, James,” said Savage. “The rail gun is still a valuable piece of hardware, tried and trusted. It’s really no wonder the laser performed better – it was designed to, after all.”
“It’s not that,” said James. “I’m absolutely delighted that Angus’s laser array did the business. It’s this damned pre-packed food. Steak and roast potatoes with two vegetables, it says on the pack. I mean, just look at the state of it.”
“Mine was OK,” said Penny. “Lasagna. Not bad, really.”
“You should have a go at this. The steak looks as if it was recycled from an old inner tube and as for these roasted potatoes, I reckon you could play ping pong with them.”
“How about the vegetables?”
James prodded an orange mush with his fork. “I presume these are carrots. I say this only because of the vague orange color. And these yellow, ball bearing like objects would appear to be… sweet corn? Yes, I think they are. I reckon I got spoiled in Titan’s canteen. Who approved these rations anyway?”
“Standard fleet issue,” said Penny looking at the box.
“Well whoever it was, they deserve to be keelhauled. That’s an old navy punishment, if you didn’t know – they used it on the old sailing ships hundreds of years ago. They’d run a length of rope under the keel of the ship and tie the offender’s legs to one end. Then they’d chuck them overboard, haul them underneath the ship and back up the other side.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” said Penny.
“Well, that all depends on how fast they decide to pull on the rope, doesn’t it? No fun at all if they decide to take it nice and slow – or stop for a jar of grog along the way. And then you have to take into account all those razor sharp barnacles and stuff stuck to the bottom of the ship. They didn’t mess about with sissy stuff like KP duty in those days.”
“A brutal practice,” said Savage. “Mind you, I expect it kept the crews on their toes.”
“Even more brutal in the vacuum of space,” said Penny.
“Might be a little severe,” conceded James.
“What’s that?” asked Chuck as he entered the crew room, a portable diagnostic meter slung over his shoulder.
“Keelhauling,” said Penny.
“Why? Has someone done something wrong?”
“Not that I know to,” said Savage.
“Well, I have a candidate,” said Chuck. “I finally worked out why Escape Pod 2 isn’t functioning.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It seems that every single relay, power coupling and hydraulic pipe has been connected… well, back to front. It’s pushing when it’s supposed to be pulling, clamping when it’s should be releasing and blowing when it should be sucking. It’s no wonder that nothing works.”
“How on earth did the dockyard manage that?” said Penny.
“Simple. According to the plans, everything is actually connected up as it should be. It’s only when I compared it to Pod 1 that I noticed the difference. The only thing I can think of is that the plans for Pod 2 were somehow printed out back to front. I’m just amazed that no-one picked it up during the construction phase.”
“These things happen,” sighed Savage. “Most construction crews just follow the plans, however crazy they may seem. I take it that we’ll need to dock before we can think about repairs?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Chuck. “Fundamentally, it’s not a difficult job. The hydraulics are easy enough – it’s just a matter of reversing the flow. The same goes for the electrics – it’s simply a matter of swapping over all the connectors.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked James.
“The wiring harnesses,” said Chuck. “There are a couple of dozen of them, some of them heavy duty with dozens and dozens of wires all neatly bundled up into cables with nice, easy plug connectors on the end.”
“I still don’t follow,” said James.
“Murphy’s law,” said Chuck. “If you try to reconnect them the right way around, you’ll find that the longest cable now has the shortest distance to travel, and of course, the shortest cable…”
“Ah… It won’t reach.”
“Got it in one.”
“Could you build some new cables?” asked Savage.
“I could, but we don’t really have the necessary materials on board. I already checked.”
“Oh well, I suppose it can’t be helped. And you say Pod 1 is fully operational?”
“No problems at all,” said Chuck. “Diagnostics all check out.”
“Very good,” said Savage. “If that’s the case I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Everyone else though so too, and in normal circumstances they might even have been right…
* * *
The Cascades Club, Atlas Central
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, come in, Jack,” said St.Clair. “Take a seat. How are things going downstairs?”
“Busy night,” replied Hobbs. “The casino’s full again – it looks l
ike being a very profitable evening.”
“Mr. Jewkes tells me that the casino profits are up, as they are elsewhere. I hear the Lakeside development is providing an excellent return.”
“It is indeed, and all for the price of one hijacked freighter,” said Hobbs with a hint of smugness.
“You’ve done well, Jack. The days of relying solely on drugs, sex and coercion are long gone. They’ll always be a necessary adjunct to our operations but we need to accelerate our movement into more legitimate areas. It seems to me that you’ve excelled in both sides of the business.” Coming from St.Clair, that was praise indeed.
“There was a balance that needed to be addressed,” said Hobbs. “Our legitimate concerns are now generating far more capital than the traditional enterprises. But as you say, we’ll always have need of the old ways – and we’ll always have need of people like Deputy Mayor Hanning.”
“Is he still playing ball?” asked St.Clair.
“He no longer has very much choice.”
That much was true. Hanning had swum into the Delph’s net three years previously, caught like many before him with his trousers down. Had it involved hookers or lap dancers, nobody would have cared very much; Hanning would simply have joined a club whose membership likely included half the male population of Atlas Central. It wouldn’t have been worth the gossip. Unfortunately for Hanning, his own peculiar sexual fetish proved to be eminently gossip-worthy.
His downfall started when Chumly obtained a set of photographs showing the newly invested deputy mayor surrounded by a group of ladies best described as being in the late autumn of their lives. All of them were dressed as cheerleaders, though some were in a more advanced state of undress than others. For his part, Hanning was wearing a diaper.
While predictably repugnant to many – Chumly included – Hanning hadn’t actually broken any of the city’s many ordinances, but he was a proud man and wasn’t about to allow his political ambitions to be jeopardized by anything or anyone, and especially not a few sleazy snapshots. When the Delph came calling, he paid. Modest amounts to begin with, but the scale and frequency of the payments gradually increased until the burden began to threaten the foundations of his existence; his home, his family, and perhaps worst of all, the lifestyle to which his wife had become accustomed. Slowly but surely, Hanning was being driven into a corner, one from which there seemed no obvious escape. He found himself on a downwards spiral that seemingly had only one end.
But then providence provided him with an escape. Hanning found himself elevated to chairman of the Atlas Central planning committee, and as such was involved in the process of handing out lucrative contracts to construction companies. Most lucrative of them all was the contract to construct the new Atlas General Hospital. Millions of credits would be channeled into the city’s landmark project, guaranteeing huge profits to all involved. Competition was fierce, all the major construction companies promoting their services in an endless stream of corporate lunches and official presentations.
At a business lunch organized by the city’s chamber of commerce, Hanning found himself in the company of an executive from the Cornerstone Corporation. Based in Atlas, it was a relatively minor operation when compared to its interstellar competitors. Having exchanged business cards, the executive engaged in the usual small talk until he and Hanning were quite alone, whereby he came very abruptly to the point. The Cornerstone Corporation would be prepared to pay handsomely for any information pertaining to bids tendered by their competitors. Very handsomely indeed.
Hanning was so taken aback by the man’s unabashed candidness that he was lost for words. He must refuse, of course. To consider anything else would be to cross a line from which there could be no return. The honorable man within won the day; he declined the offer, made his excuses and moved away. The executive merely smiled and bowed his head politely.
The following day, Hanning received a further demand of tribute from his blackmailers. Pay, or be exposed to the world as a sexual deviant. This time the demand was radical, completely beyond his means. Faced with complete and irremediable ruin, he took the Cornerstone executive’s business card from his wallet and turned it slowly over in his hand. Finally he made his decision – he picked up his phone, dialed the number… and was lost forever.
Though Hanning would never realize it, the Cornerstone Corporation was wholly owned by a subsidiary of the Delph, with St.Clair as the major shareholder. Within weeks, the Delph not only had photographs of Hanning engaged in some very unusual sexual practices, they also had photos of him both paying and receiving large cash payments – both to and from the Delph. The irony of the situation might even have amused the man himself had he not sold his soul to the devil – or at least, the highest bidder.
And now, he was just another well oiled cog in the machine, and the very best kind of cog, as from a financial point of view, Hanning required no maintenance – the man was completely self lubricating.
“Yes, Hanning was a good coup,” said St.Clair. “And when he becomes mayor, as the polls suggest, I’ve no doubt he will prove even more useful. But that’s for the future. Right now there’s another matter to attend to… You know Art MacLeod?”
“Our head of operations on Canuxa.”
St.Clair nodded. “Art’s a good man and he’s been a good servant to the organization but he’s coming up to retirement. I’d prefer him to stay on but he seems dead set on leaving. I guess he’s earned the right, but the long and short of it is that we need someone to take over our interests on Canuxa.” He paused and looked Hobbs in the eye. “I think you’re the man for the job.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s promotion, Jack. You’ll continue on here until the end of the month and then fly over to Canuxa and take over.”
Hobbs was momentarily taken aback. He had ambitions to be sure – big ones – but hadn’t expected to rise so far this early in his career. True, he’d made a name for himself in recent years, but he hadn’t yet graduated to the state of having a ‘reputation’, something that manifested itself in various ways and meant different things to different people. Perhaps the simplest, most basic measure was in not just ordering an execution, but pointing the gun and pulling the trigger yourself. Hobbs never had. He’d never had to, for either consciously or unconsciously he’d always managed to distance himself from that kind of thing. If he took up this new post it was a step that he’d be expected to make, and sooner rather than later.
In any event, St.Clair’s tone made it clear that the Canuxa appointment was an order rather than a request, and not an offer that could be declined. In the end, there was only one answer Hobbs could possibly give.
“I accept,” he said.
“Good,” said St.Clair, “Art will show you the ropes and help during the transition. It’s nothing you won’t be able to handle. By the same token we need to think about your replacement. Unless you have your own recommendation I was considering Karl Zeigler.”
Again, St.Clair’s tone implied that the matter had already been decided. All Hobbs was required to do was agree.
“Karl should do fine,” he said. “He knows the system as well as anyone.”
“Make sure he’s brought up to date with all the latest contracts. I want the transfer to be as smooth as possible. We don’t need any disruptions.”
“Understood,” said Hobbs.
“That’s settled, then.” He gave Hobbs a curt nod, the usual sign that the conversation was over, and returned to the papers on his desk. “Oh, and Jack,” he said as Hobbs reached the door. “Keep this under wraps until we make the official announcement. It’s just between you and me.”
* * *
Atlas Central Police HQ
Burns and Mullins were waiting in the station lobby when Officer Baines returned for his firearms test.
“Officer Baines isn’t it?” said Burns, stepping forward.
“Yes, sir,” said Baines.
“I wonder if we could have a word.�
��
“Well, I’m due at the firing range at eleven – firearms qualification.”
“That can wait,” said Burns. “We’ve already squared it with the duty sergeant. As I say, we need to talk – in private would be best. Interview Room 1 is vacant, isn’t it, Sergeant?”
“I believe it is, sir,” said Mullins.
“Just the job. Shall we?”
They walked the short distance to the interview room, Mullins holding the door open as Burns and Officer Baines entered.
“What’s this about,” said Baines as he sat across from the two detectives.
“I think you already know,” said Burns.
Baines just shook his head.
“Sorry, sir. I’ve no idea. Has something happened?” he said innocently.
Burns held the gaze. If Baines was nervous, he was certainly hiding it well. Perhaps he just wasn’t the nervous type – some people weren’t. Conversely, maybe he was one of the supremely self-confident types – too brazen to believe that he could ever be caught. There were quite a lot of those around, too. And of course, there was also the possibility that he was just plain stupid – too stupid to realize that the roof was about to cave in upon his head.
“I’d advise you not to play the innocent with us,” said Mullins. “Your friend Chumly was picked up at seven this morning.”
“But I don’t know any Chumly,” said Baines.
“Of course you do,” said Mullins. “You tried to warn him of his arrest at precisely 8:57 this morning. We intercepted the call you made to the Cascades Club. And yes, we obtained a tapping order from the local magistrate a few days ago – it was all quite legal.”
“And right now you’re probably thinking that we won’t be able to break the encryption on the message you sent,” said Burns. “You’d be wrong, because I think we will, and so do the people in IT. Clever bunch, you know, IT.”
“And even if they can’t, we have to wonder why you’d want to send an encoded message to the base of operations of a known crime syndicate,” said Mullins. “That is what we in the trade call highly suspicious. You might want to start considering your options, Mr. Baines.”
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 24