Starforce Ganymede

by Nick S. Thomas

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  STARFORCE GANYMEDE

  By NICK S. THOMAS

  Copyright © 2012 Nick S. Thomas

  Published by Swordworks Books

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Chapter 1

  Detective Kaufman lay back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk which was filled with four screens crammed with information. The sergeant sipped from his cup of coffee before lifting his cigarette to his mouth. Odourless smoke arose from the top of the ABS tube, filled with a refined herb that was only found in the caverns of Mars. Baracoo it was called, a popular form of relaxant and socialisation drug among all sections of society, completely legal and heavily taxed.

  Looking up and around the wall of his office, he looked at the old posters of bygone ages that he enjoyed studying, advertisements for gasoline cars, tobacco and black and white movies. His eyes wandered over to his calendar, electronically projected onto the wall. The date was 5th March 2325. He had been pursuing the same serial killer for eight months without any developments. The killer, nicknamed the ‘Houdini Hell Hound’ by the press, had long embarrassed law enforcement through his repeated escapes from the clutches of authority.

  Thinking back through his many years of police work, Eric Kaufman could not think of a time when he had been so hard pressed. Now in his late thirties, he had been on the force since leaving school at eighteen, and been a detective since twenty-five. His long and successful career now being stained by one vicious killer. He had put all his energy into the case, working most evenings and nights. Eric didn’t have a family, not a girlfriend, not even a pet, only his job.

  Lights flickered through the room, reflecting off the hazy smoke of the Baracoo. Eric stood up, stretching his legs. He wore a long sleeve black t-shirt, the letters LBPD emblazoned on his left breast, the acronym of his police force. About his belt was fitted a black rigid nylon holster with his Hogswell & Simms T141, his personal carry weapon. Across the back of his shirt was printed the shield of their station, the width of his shoulders and height of his torso.

  The detective was in good shape, he had to be for his work, but his face was showing the signs of age, his face taut but worn and lined. A scar ran from his left jaw down most of his neck, an old wound that would never visibly recover. Stubble adorned his face and he’d barely had any sleep for days. The Mayor was placing evermore pressure on his department to find the killer, not that it would make their progress any faster.

  A TV news station was projected onto the back wall of the room, but the sound was muted. The scene was of a city bank that had been raided, the third such incident that month, with the authorities seemingly unable to get a hold on them. As he watched, the news moved onto the next story, that of the increased number of projected figures of Cosaline being manufactured and sold illegally throughout the Solar System. It was a common drug for over a hundred years, either injected directly or mixed with drinks, especially alcohol.

  Cosaline was not an especially dangerous substance on the surface, but it had been blamed for many violent incidents, as well as an increase in heart attacks and a whole host of other medical conditions. The previous president had declared it dangerous to the wellbeing of the people and outlawed its manufacture and sale. Despite the restriction, it continued to be consumed in astonishing quantities illegally, resulting in a booming underground drug trade.

  Similar bans on alcohol had been trialled in several cities, but when such widespread riots ensued, not only in the test subject cities but elsewhere as well, the proposal was dropped. While many campaigned for the ban to be lifted on Cosaline, many suspected that too many officials had their hand in the illegal profits, not wanting to give up their share of the trade.

  Turning to the wall-high windows on the one side of his office, Eric looked out over the city. It was long into the evening and getting dark. Cars flashed past his window, the sound being completely deadened by the glass. The building had ninety storeys and his office was on Floor 62. Looking down he couldn’t see the street at ground level, it being completely covered by the rush hour traffic, countless layers deep of vehicles.

  Civilian cars were all limited to three hundred metres by built-in devices. The flying car had been a great development in civilian travel and in easing congestion, but that only lasted so long. The rapidly expanding population soon made traffic as bad as it had ever been. Policing the multiple plains of travel had become a technical nightmare. For all that modern technology had brought them, it had increased crime at an equivalent rate.

  He looked out over the towering city apartment blocks at huge glittering video adverts playing continuously on every orifice. In the distance The Spire towered over everything, the central building of politics and city management in the area. As Eric lifted his cup of coffee to his lips footsteps approached from behind, the door to his office was ripped open.

  “Eric, the results are in!” shouted Max.

  His long-standing partner stood before him. Max Barski had been with him for eight years. Barski was only three years younger than Eric. He was a slender man with a slightly receding hairline, but a wiry and strong body lay beneath his slight stature.

  “What have you got?”

  “No finger print traces, info on the plate came up negative, but we got one single hair found on the last victim which matches the blood we found.”

  “You think it’s our guy?”

  “Not sure, but another neighbour reported seeing two figures at the scene, there appeared to be an altercation. The woman says she saw the one chase the other, and they both left the area in separate cars. She said they tore off at a hell of a speed, what do you reckon?”

  “Sounds like our Houdini had an unexpected guest, maybe a friend or partner. Alright, get on the camera footage from the area and trace the plates immediately!”

  “Already done, I could only get a partial from one, but the other was a complete read, Mell is checking on them now.”

  “How long will it be?” asked Eric.

  “Minutes.”

  Before Max could continue, the intercom on the desk buzzed. Kaufman tapped the flashing light.

  “Sergeant Kaufman, Yeah, Mell, go ahead.”

  “I have been unable to tie down the one vehicle, the partial brings up a couple of hundred results, but I do have an address for the other, I have routed it to your pad.”

  “Alright, good work.”

  Eric tapped the intercom and pulled out his pad from the coat hanging on his chair. The device was the size of a coaster, but folded out to four times its original size, with a seamless edge-to-edge touch screen. He tapped the flashing information message, bringing up the street address.

  “Ok, let’s get mo
ving!”

  Kaufman grabbed his coat from his chair, a well cut double-breasted black garment which was knee length, he pulled it on and picked up the security fob for his car. Storming past Max, he grabbed his brimmed hat from the stand in the corner and rushed out the door, his partner close behind. The office before his was filled with black glass desks.

  The last decade had seen a revival of early twentieth century fashions, with long coats, hats and well cut suits being all the rage. It was one of the few changes in fashion that Kaufman had appreciated, as he had long been a keen advocate of the olden ways. As the two detectives strode across the station room floor, the Chief’s door was yanked open.

  “Kaufman!” shouted the Chief.

  Miller, the old police chief, was a politician at heart. He had not been on the street for three decades and had little idea of what life was like for the officers he commanded. All he cared about were the results on paper, always chasing the mayor’s job. Kaufman walked quickly over to Miller.

  “Sir, we have a lead, no time to explain, we have to get on it now.”

  “This Houdini?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll need backup!”

  “No! This guy smells cops a mile away. We need to go in quiet. At this stage he has no idea we have a lead on him.”

  “I don’t like this macho bullshit, Eric, we need to do this together.”

  “No, all we need is to bring him in. If you have to put units on us, be sure they keep at least a couple of kilometres back from us at all times, we can’t afford to blow this!”

  The Chief sighed, he hated the fact that Kaufman was so ill disciplined towards him, but also knew that he was his best shot at getting the result he needed more than anything else.

  “Fine, but this is on you.”

  “Got it.”

  Kaufman turned and headed for the elevator with Max, walking into the entirely glass constructed device that would take them to the roof where the station’s cruisers were parked up.

  “Nice to see the Chief is being as helpful as ever,” said Max.

  “He’s an ass, but he’s also only looking to get what we all want. This Houdini bastard has given us the run around for too long, it’s time he went down for good.”

  The elevator shot up to the top floor, arriving in seconds. They walked out, passing several uniformed officers. They wore thick body armour, bulking them out to almost twice their size. Dealing with street crime in the city was no small task. Shotguns were slung about their shoulders, the visors up on their helmets. The armour they wore almost resembled the metal armour of medieval knights, just lighter and bulkier.

  The regular police beat armour was proof against pistols, shotguns and other low velocity ammunition, as well as most blunt trauma instruments. But like all armour, it had weaknesses. With modern technology the body suits weighed only eight kilograms while giving ninety per cent coverage of the body. The letters ‘police’ was stamped across their chest, their service numbers on the shoulder armour.

  Armouring up police officers to near enough military grade equipment was a controversial matter, as many complained that it presented entirely the wrong image, making the populace feel like they lived in a warzone. It often created a lot of distrust of the authorities, but after a spate of police killings five years before, the city had made it standard practice.

  Kaufman placed his car fob into the reader at the entrance to the car park, the light flashed and buzzer rang, accepting the code. The two detectives stood waiting, ten seconds later the car was lowered by a huge robotic arm and placed down in front of them.

  The car was a Ford T1A. The car firm was one of the few to survive the economic crisis of the last century, and the revival of 20th century fashions had resulted in them returning to some styling cues of their early days. The vehicle had no wheels but had smoothly rounded arches that were so reminiscent of the age. It floated several inches above the ground using a small amount of propulsion through its lower fans. The energy efficient vehicles could lay idle this way for weeks, and were charged whenever placed in an official parking lot. A large square chrome grill adorned the front of the vehicle, attached to a long looming hood. The windscreen was almost flat fronted, large headlights protruding from the fenders. It was not a particularly aerodynamic car, but fashion had won out over practicality, a sign of their decadent times.

  The big Ford had a bulbous underbelly to it, housing its substantial turbines and batteries. Two large turbine exhausts protruded from the rear of the vehicle, beneath the rear view screen. The body of the vehicle was a glossy black, though dulled from the thick pollution that made it difficult to keep anything clean in the city.

  Kaufman clicked the button on his fob and the two front doors levered open vertically with a smooth and graceful dampened action. They climbed in and the engines fired up as Eric hit the big chrome start button. The car shook slightly as the turbines fired up, settling down to a low frequency idle. Max hit the door switch and the doors clamped down as Eric slammed his foot to the floor on the accelerator. The Ford stormed forwards narrowly missing a uniformed cruiser that was ambling in.

  Bursting out of the exit into the open air, Eric didn’t let up on the power. Their car swerved into the path of traffic, the tail end swinging wide and narrowly missing a yellow cab before launching forwards. The city around them was alive with light, the pollution from it so thick that they couldn’t see the stars above.

  Kaufman hit the lights and siren on, the only way to shift some of the traffic out the way, he knew he would soon have to go silent again, but any time gained would be worth it. Without these two symbols of authority, their car blended in like any other. The Ford T1A was the most popular executive car across the major colonies of the System, favoured as much by the population as it was the police.

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out his electronic pad and clicked it in to a small housing on the dashboard. He tapped the screen twice and the address Mell had given him projected onto the windshield. He knocked the intercom switch on the dash.

  “Mell, come in.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Who is the car registered to?”

  “A Mr Brandon Lewis.”

  “Alright, run a search on all medical facilities in the city, see if anyone under that name has been admitted in the last hour, as well as all police precincts.”

  “I’ll get back to you asap.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Max.

  “Our Houdini was caught in the act, one of the two was hurt. The killer may not be willing to seek medical assistance, but I am betting the other guy would.”

  “Do we have any idea which of the two we are going to right now?”

  “No idea, we have no info on a connection between this driver and the victim, but neither do we know who the other guy is, he could be a recent boyfriend, or someone completely unknown to her.”

  “So, what’s the ROE here?”

  “I am not taking any chances, assume whoever we find here is the killer, we cannot risk losing him again.”

  “And if it isn’t.”

  “Then hope he’s sensible enough to not put up a fight, an innocent man should have nothing to fear.”

  “So you wouldn’t put up a fight if armed guys beat your door in?”

  Kaufman looked at his partner, it was a tough decision, but they lived in tough times. A serial killer like this one didn’t just present a threat to the safety of the population, he also weakened the image of the authorities of the city and made crime increase on an even larger scale.

  Their car was still storming along at twice the legal limit, darting in and out of traffic. Max trusted his partner with his life, but he knew that the pressure was starting to affect his judgement and they were travelling dangerously close to disaster.

  The big Ford whizzed past one apartment block after the other, travelling at an altitude of two hundred metres
. The city was a sprawling metropolis and far larger than was practical or ideal for business and trade, or clean living. Twenty million were crammed in, limited by further expansion due to state borders one side and another city on the other. The only way was up, and this city had capitalised on that fact, becoming the centre of sky rise architecture.

  Many people had predicted that reaching the stars and populating them would alleviate the strain on resources and space on Earth, but after the initial surge of emigration, every colony expanded. So many people flocked to new moons and star bases, as well as the huge colony on Mars, but for every person that left, new bodies filled their space.

  Eric flicked the switch for the lights and siren, they were reaching a point where they could not afford to be spotted, or give any indication that they were bearing down on the location of their suspect. They were entering the suburbs of the city, in many respects the most peaceful and least cluttered districts, where the apartment blocks were only twenty storeys, living quarters twice the size, and there was still the occasional park.

  The inner city had long given up on green space, or in fact, any wastage of potential building plots. Parks had been moved to the rooftops of the skyscrapers that had become the very landscape of the city centre. The city was never a quiet place, the continuous ambience of traffic, people and industry droned in the background of every corner of the metropolis at every hour of the day. Those that could afford it had complete sound deadening installed in their homes with expensive air processors. Those that couldn’t had to make do with earplugs.

  Kaufman had grown up on the outskirts of the city, when they were still occupied by houses with wide gardens, a far cry from modern life. The neighbourhood he used to know replaced by modern towers and shopping malls. The location they were heading for was not far from his old home, but in the tightly woven streets of the city that was like a whole different part of town.

  Los Brezos was the name of the city where Kaufman both lived and worked, he had known little else in his life. Los Brezos was founded in 2091, after The Great Holy War had left many of the world’s greatest cities in ruin, the result of nine years of ground conflict and tactical nuclear warfare. The bomb hadn’t brought about the destruction of the world, only the way people knew it. Los Brezos had been one of many highly successful new cities, built from scratch and evolving as like the gold rush towns of the old west. People flooded to the newly built megacities in the hope of starting new and better lives. The radio rang out from the dash of the car.