For the first time in several years, Bruno Tully realized that somewhere deep inside there still lurked a man of honor.
* * *
TacNet Bunker, Phoenix Station
Having lost his ship, his livelihood and then waking up one morning to find a price on his head, Sig Larson could be forgiven for ruing the hand that fate had dealt him. However, as every successful poker player knows, the trick is to play your cards as best you can, and his ace in the hole was the tracking device hidden away in the Reaper’s engine bay. He was still in the game.
He had other things going for him too. It helped that he was residing in a comfortable apartment on Phoenix and it helped even more that he was living there rent free as part of his agreement with the Atlas Police Department. A further bonus was that being off planet also put him well out of reach of any of the lowlife and scum down in Atlas Central who were still on the lookout for him. But the real icing on the cake was that the guys in TacNet were slowly but surely putting together a picture of the Reaper’s movements.
During the last several weeks the Reaper had evidently spent most of her time out in the fringe worlds, staying far out of reach of the TacNet sensors. The interesting thing was that when she had reappeared, it had been in the same place – the Grenedal system. The Reaper had shown up twice now, which perhaps suggested a pattern. Jacks might be using Grenedal as a base for resupply or equally, he could have business contacts there.
Captain Norris and Burns were in agreement – a warship would be put on standby and if Jacks showed up there again it would be dispatched. It might not be in time to catch him there and then but next time he returned to Grenedal he’d be in for a rude surprise.
The plan was sound enough but Jacks wasn’t playing ball. It had been twelve days since his last visit, an absence which could unfortunately mean anything.
He might be about to return. On the other hand, the previous visits might have been pure coincidence. The renegade commodore may even have decided to move to pastures new. He was certainly intelligent enough to realize that staying in one region entailed risk. It would be much better and safer to relocate.
Larson was beginning to think that the Grenedal connection was a dead end when the com unit in his apartment lit up. It was a message from the TacNet bunker – the Reaper had returned to Grenedal once again.
Ten minutes later Larson was sitting next to Sergeant Clancy in the bunker.
“Yeah, it’s definitely the Reaper,” said Larson, poring over the data. “When did she show up?”
“About an hour ago. It took us a while to triangulate but she appears to be docked above the main colony.”
“Have you notified Captain Norris?”
“Of course. Scuttlebutt is that he’s put the frigate Temujin on standby and that your pal from Atlas PD is on his way. If you’re going along for the ride, you might want to think about packing a bag.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Larson, getting up from the chair. “Thanks, guys. See you around.”
Six hours later Larson found himself sitting in the Temujin’s ward room along with DCI Burns, Captain Norris and Commander Tostig, the frigate’s commanding officer.
“Gentlemen,” began Norris. “As you are all aware, the Reaper was positively identified as being in orbit above Grenedal as of 15:00 AST today. I regret to inform you that the target apparently departed the system just one hour later and is no longer registering on any of our TacNet sensors. This leads us to believe that the Reaper is resuming operations out in the fringe worlds.
“Commander Tostig, your orders are to proceed to Grenedal and await the Reaper’s return. If possible, you are to capture the Reaper intact and take the crew into custody. If not, you are authorized to use whatever force is necessary to bring the mission to a successful conclusion.”
“What exactly does that mean?” asked Larson.
“If you are fired upon, you are authorized to destroy the target.”
“Wait a minute. That’s my ship you’re talking about.”
“A ship which – if I understand correctly – is capable of inflicting very real damage upon my frigate,” said Tostig. “Not to mention putting the lives of my crew in jeopardy. Don’t you worry, Mr. Larson. I’ll give her every chance to surrender but if she so much as opens her gun ports I’ll blow her to hell and back.”
“And there you have it,” said Norris. “DCI Burns, do you have anything to add?”
“Only that we believe the Reaper now has a crew of three. Commodore Jacks and Sergeant Fletcher you of course know about. The third crewmember is believed to be one Bruno Tully, previously a corporal in the marines but dishonorably discharged after assaulting a superior officer. We believe he was responsible for the attempted murder of Lieutenant Poulson on Orbital One.”
“How did he manage that?” growled Norris.
“He infiltrated O1 on an old shuttle, ostensibly for an airworthiness check. While the flight mechanic was checking the shuttle, Tully set about laying the booby trap in Poulson’s quarters. It was sheer good fortune that Poulson survived. Tully then left the station and rendezvoused with the Reaper above Koss. The shuttle is still there, by the way, covered in Tully’s fingerprints. Not that we needed them – we have a positive identification from the security cameras aboard O1.”
“I see,” said Norris. “Well, gentlemen, any questions?”
Before anyone could reply there was a knock at the wardroom door.
“Come,” said Tostig.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir. But I have a message from TacNet. We have a fresh sighting of the Reaper.”
“At Grenedal?”
“No, sir. She was picked up by one of the sensors at the edge of the Picus system, travelling at high warp.”
“Do we have a course?”
“Only tentative at present, sir.”
“Best guess, Lieutenant.”
“There’s not very much along that heading, sir. There’s a mining complex in the Druos belt, and the Reaper’s course would take it across one of the main trading lanes between Earth and Rubicon.”
“Anything else?”
“Not really, except for a small outpost in the Arcadia system. A planet called… Lyra.”
Burns immediately shot a look at Norris. “Lyra? That’s where the Artemis is headed, isn’t it?”
“Correct,” said Norris. “They are en route to head off a comet.”
“And the Reaper is headed the same way? That’s no coincidence,” said Burns. “Lt. Poulson is on board the Artemis. That’s where Jacks is going. He’s going after Poulson.”
“But Poulson’s posting was kept under wraps. How the hell could Jacks have found out?” said Tostig.
“I suggest we worry about that later,” said Norris. “Right now I want to see a detailed tactical assessment in CIC. I want to know the Reaper’s exact speed and heading, and if she is indeed heading for Lyra I want to know exactly when she can be expected to arrive. And the same for the Artemis. Commander Tostig, you’d better bring the Temujin to readiness.”
“At once, sir,” said Tostig, leaning over to jab a button on the wardroom’s com-panel. “Bridge!”
“Yes, sir,” said the officer of the watch.
“Bring the ship to cruising stations. Power up the grid and bring the main engines on line. Plot a course to the Arcadia system and upload it into the nav-computer.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
A few minutes later Burns, Larson, Norris and Tostig were gathered around the main screen in the Temujin’s combat information center.
“The Arcadia system is located here,” said the tactical officer, pointing to a flashing orange dot in the center of the screen. “Just over fifteen light years from our present location here in Atlas. The Artemis is en route and presently here.” He indicated a blue icon a little over half way along a dotted line that joined the two stars.
“And the Reaper?” asked Tostig.
“The Reaper is over here, a
pproaching the Arcadia system from the almost exact opposite direction. She’s somewhat further out but has a significant speed advantage. If both ships maintain current speed we estimate the Artemis will arrive in system in approximately twelve hours. Reaper is projected to arrive one hour later.”
“Can we intercept in time?” asked Norris.
The tactical officer ran the data and shook his head. “I don’t believe so, sir. Like the Reaper, we have a considerable speed advantage over the Artemis, but even if we leave immediately and travel at maximum velocity we will be unable to reach Lyra before the Reaper.”
“How far behind?”
“An hour. Maybe less.”
“Then we have no time to lose,” said Norris. “Commander Tostig, let’s get underway.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tostig, thumbing a button on the com-panel. “Bridge, this is the captain. Make ready for immediate departure. Close all hatches and sever umbilicals. I’ll be with you directly.”
“Sir!” came the reply.
“Can we get a message to the Artemis?” asked Burns. “Warn them that the Reaper is inbound?”
“We’ll send one straight away,” said Norris. “She won’t be able to receive it until she drops out of super-space but it should give them enough time to evade and await our arrival.”
“And still have enough time to carry out their mission?”
“With providence, but I won’t be able to give you a firm answer until we make contact. And by the way, Chief Inspector, I doubt very much if you’ll make any of the airlocks before they are sealed. It rather looks as if you’ll be coming along for the ride.”
* * *
Cascades Club, Atlas Central
Jack Hobbs’ last official duty as an employee of the Atlas chapter of the Delph Consortium was to hand over his computer access codes Karl Zeigler, the new head of security. He typed the codes into the terminal in his soon to be relinquished office and watched as Zeigler assigned them to his own ID.
“There you go, Karl,” said Hobbs as he logged off for the last time. “It’s all yours. Lock, stock and barrel.”
“Thanks, Jack,” said Zeigler. “If I have any trouble I’ll give you a call on Canuxa. And congratulations on your move, by the way. It’s well deserved. When do you leave?”
“No time at all,” said Hobbs. “The flight leaves at nine in the morning.”
“You all set?”
“Yeah. Just a little last minute packing.”
“Do you have time for a farewell drink? My first duty as head of security is to escort you to Mr. St.Clair’s office. I have it on good advice that there’s a bottle of champagne on ice waiting for us. And just so you know, I’m not allowed to take no for an answer.”
“Is that so?” said Hobbs with a laugh. “Well in that case, you’d better lead the way.”
Just like the Cascades Club cocktail bar above which it sat, one side of St.Clair’s office bore a row of full length windows beyond which lay a balcony with a stunning view out over the city and beyond. On a clear day, you could – with a decent pair of binoculars or a very good pair of eyes – see way past the city limits and clear across the grass covered plains to gaze upon the snow covered peaks that made up Atlas’s highest mountain range.
But the greatest spectacle was to be seen after the sun dipped below the horizon and the neon lights of Atlas Central flickered into life. As darkness fell, the whole city blazed into light, the centerpiece being the space elevator, a shining tower that reached up to the heavens, lit up by the glow of thousands upon thousands of multi colored warning beacons.
Augustus St.Clair put aside a little time each and every evening to take in the vista that lay before him. Some claimed that he enjoyed the opportunity to bask in the certain knowledge that he was the master of all he surveyed. They would be wrong, but St.Clair was happy to allow the myth to continue; the truth was that like most other people, he just enjoyed the view.
He watched in silence as a pod began its ascent to the platform at the top of the elevator, gathering speed as it soared into the night sky. Behind him, Sam was readying a champagne bucket and glasses, the sounds of laughter drifting up from the cocktail bar one floor below. With expert timing, Sam popped the cork just as Jack Hobbs and Karl Zeigler appeared on the balcony.
“Told you so,” said Zeigler under his breath. “Try to act surprised.”
“Well, this is unexpected,” said Hobbs dutifully. He gave Sam a pat on the shoulder and then joined St.Clair at the balcony’s edge. “Quite a view,” he said.
“Something I never tire of… but come,” said St.Clair, motioning to the table set in the middle of the terrace. “Let’s be seated.”
As St.Clair, Hobbs and Zeigler sat around the table Sam placed a glass of champagne in front of each of them. “Pour one for yourself, Sam,” said St.Clair. “It’s a special occasion, after all.
“Gentlemen, a toast,” he said once Sam had rejoined them. “To old friends and new enterprises.”
“Old friends and new enterprises,” echoed the other three.
“You have some big shoes to fill, Karl,” said St.Clair. “Jack has done some sterling work here on Atlas.”
Hobbs shook his head in a show of humility but St.Clair raised a hand and continued. “No, you have, Jack – we have a lot to thank you for. Indeed, we have a sending off present for you. Didn’t think we’d let you leave empty handed, did you?” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed an envelope. “In recognition of your service,” he said, passing the envelope over to Hobbs.
“I don’t know what to say,” said Hobbs.
“Go on, open it up.”
Hobbs slid his finger under the flap of the envelope and withdrew a check from inside. Three million, seven hundred and twenty two thousand credits.
“Have we got the figure right?” asked St.Clair casually.
A cold leaden weight materialized in the pit of Hobbs’ stomach. Three million, seven hundred and twenty two thousand credits... the exact net profits from Tristar Holdings.
“Now is the time to tell us that you can explain,” said St.Clair. “I doubt if you can, but feel free to try.”
“The money is safe,” said Hobbs, frantically searching for a way out of the dire predicament he found himself in.
“It’s not about the money, Jack. You should know that, and in any case, it’s not our money,” said St. Clair reasonably. “It belongs – or belonged to – Tristar Holdings, wasn’t it? And now it belongs to you. You have that check in your hand.”
Hobbs looked down at the check and then glanced over his shoulder at the doors behind him, the only possible escape route from the balcony. With deep foreboding he saw Sam now barring the way, his huge arms folded across his chest.
“You were greedy, Jack. If you’d kept things small, nobody would have been any the wiser. But that’s not you, is it? You’re just too much of a showman. It’s been your downfall all along. From getting personally involved with Jimmy Franks to the debacle with Commodore Jacks… and then the botched hit on Sig Larson. Did you know that Larson is now helping the police find Jacks? Ironic, isn’t it? The man you failed to kill is now helping to fix the job you botched.”
“I gave you Hanning,” said Hobbs in desperation.
“I’m afraid that Deputy Mayor Hanning is a busted flush. He’ll be arrested in the morning on corruption charges – I understand the DA is preparing the papers as we speak. You see, Jack, I have informants of my own. This has been coming for months, which has given us the opportunity to distance ourselves from the Cornerstone Corporation. We sold off our assets some time ago, about the same time as the executive who first approached Hanning was let go. Something about him not being in sync with the company’s core values, was it? There’s nothing to lead the police back to us. However, when the authorities question Hanning I fully expect him to implicate you. We could have had him killed, but that would just draw a lot of unnecessary attention and why bother, when we have you sitt
ing here in front of us?”
“There was never any job on Canuxa…” It wasn’t even a question.
“No, Jack. The only way Art MacLeod will ever retire is when they carry him out horizontally. It was easier this way. You see, I had to make sure you’d give Karl your access codes of your own free will. Didn’t want you throwing any unnecessary spanners in the works.”
Hobbs looked across at Zeigler who just shrugged. “Sorry, Jack. It was nothing personal.”
Hobbs opened his mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say. His mind was a complete blank. He looked across at St.Clair who just stared back, his face an expressionless mask – no emotion at all. No signs of aversion, or satisfaction… or anything. Nothing at all – just a cold, vacuous stare. Hobbs screwed up the check and let it fall to the floor.
It surprised many people that a man as large as Sam could move so stealthily. Certainly, Hobbs never heard him as he approached softly from behind, a cosh in his hand. It wasn’t large – just a small, tapered leather bag filled with lead shot. With a flick of his wrist he rapped Hobbs smartly behind the left ear – a blow meant to incapacitate rather than kill.
Stunned, but still conscious, Hobbs slumped forward in his seat, lights dancing before his eyes. He was still struggling to regain his senses when Sam deftly plucked him from the chair and carried him the short distance to the stone balustrade. He sat Hobbs on the edge of the precipice, facing inwards with his legs still hanging inside.
Sam looked him squarely in the eye. “You should have kept the faith, Jack,” he said. Then he shoved him firmly in the chest. Hobbs’ legs came upwards and followed the rest of his body over the parapet and into the void. “Have a good trip,” Sam murmured.
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 27