The Blunt End of the Service

by L. J. Simpson

  Oh-uh, thought Chuck. Bad cop exits stage right, leaving good cop to extract confession from the suspect. Great, except I didn’t do it! “I really don’t know anything about it. Honestly, I had absolutely nothing to do with it.” How many different ways could you put it? Unable to think of any further reply he just shrugged.

  “I’m really quite tempted to lock you up, you know. However–” but before Burns could finish his sentence the door suddenly burst open and Commodore Jacks strode in, two armed marines at his side.

  “Sub-Captain Poulson,” said Jacks. “I am arresting you for the theft of the HCTR100 core, otherwise known as Hector. Marines, take this man into custody.”

  “We haven’t finished our questioning,” said Burns.

  “Yes you have, unless you want to continue it in the brig.” said Jacks, and with that the marines grabbed Chuck by the arms and frog-marched him out of the room. Chuck wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to do it, but as he left the room he looked at Burns and mouthed the word, ‘help’. Jacks gave the detective a glare and followed Chuck and the marines out of the room. Sgt. Mullins returned to the office just in time to see Jacks disappear into the corridor.

  Burns shrugged his shoulders and closed the door quietly. “That would appear to be that, then,” he said. “Reckon they’ve got their man?”

  “Never in a million years,” replied Mullins.

  “Humor me and tell me why.”

  “Poulson had the means and he also had ample opportunity, but I just don’t see any kind of motive. Look at the background report on this guy – never had so much as a speeding ticket. Hardly ever drinks, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t gamble, doesn’t do drugs – even the legal ones – and never visits any of the red light districts. He spends half his free time on the station instead of heading off to the neon lights, and when he does go down to the planet it’s mostly to visit his widowed mother, to whom he sends part of his salary every month. That makes him just about the most unlikely suspect I’ve ever met, not to mention one of the most boring. Even without all that my guts tell me that he was telling the truth which is just as well as I think he’d be a lousy liar.”

  Burns nodded in agreement. “No argument there. Any other likely suspects?”

  Mullins shook his head. “Not among those we’ve interviewed. Perhaps it was an outside job after all.”

  “Maybe,” said Burns. “Go through the background checks of the operations crew again. See if there’s anything that we’ve missed. Meanwhile, there are a couple of things I want to check. And then I think I might go for a walk. I think better when I walk.”

  The brig on O1 hadn’t been used in several years, which is why Chuck’s first action as an inmate was to reactivate the control panel in the warder’s office. Jacks had jabbed away at the controls but the panel refused to light up. Chuck knew exactly why and considered playing dumb but the marines still had their hands clamped fiercely around his upper arms and he was slowly losing all feeling below his elbows.

  “You need to throw the main circuit breaker in the wall panel outside.”

  Jacks scowled and jerked a finger at one of the marines who disappeared out into the corridor. Life returned to Chuck’s left hand. A few seconds later the control panel also awoke from its slumbers and Jacks called up the command screen for the cell block. A door opened at the far end of the room, opening into a short corridor with three cells on each side. “Put him in cell No 1,” said Jacks. “I want one of you on station here at all times. No visitors. Clear?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” boomed the marines in unison.

  “Err, permission to speak, sir,” said Chuck.

  “Denied,” said Jacks. And with a swift “Carry on,” to the marines he turned and left.

  “This way, sunshine,” said the marine still grasping Chuck’s right arm in an iron grip, one which hadn’t lessened since it was first applied. His name tag said ‘Burke’, and he propelled Chuck through the door into the confines of cell No1 as if he was a rag doll. Marine Burke evidently spent most of his waking hours pumping iron.

  Once inside, Chuck gazed around and began to have second thoughts about telling Jacks about the circuit breaker. There was a fold down steel bed, a toilet and a wash basin. No table, no chair and no mattress for the bed either.

  “Belt and shoelaces,” barked Burke.

  “What?” said Chuck in a daze.

  “Belt and shoelaces! Wouldn’t want you taking the easy way out, would we?”

  “I don’t seem to have either. See?” said Chuck politely. Burke looked Chuck up and down and seemed genuinely disappointed to find that Chuck was telling the truth. He closed the cell door with a clang and stomped off.

  Chuck wandered the few paces to the back of the cell where the ablutions were and twisted the taps which squeaked back at him in dry protest. The water supply to the brig had been cut off long ago. Not exactly a surprise, and like everything else the toilet and basin were covered in a layer of dust which was thick enough for him to write in. ‘Chuck wished he wasn’t here,’ sprang to mind. With a sigh he sat down on the edge of the metal bed. He would be the first to admit that he had never really planned for the future, but any plans he had made didn’t included his present predicament. Exactly how long did they plan on keeping him here? How long were they allowed to keep him here? He hadn’t been formally charged with anything… or had he? No, he didn’t think so. Just arrested, though no-one had read him his rights, always assuming that he had any. In the movies you got a telephone call. Surely there were some rules governing this kind of stuff. What was supposed to happen next? A court martial? Penny would know – she’d studied all this kind of stuff at the academy. But right now Penny wasn’t here. Chuck was well and truly on his own.

  DCI Burns took himself on a stroll around the circumference of Deck 1. Orbital One seemed huge when viewed from outside but in less than forty minutes he found himself back where he started, surprising himself at the speed of his circumnavigation. He was aware of O1’s dimensions but the exploration gave him a sense of scale and proportion. Deep in thought he began another lap of the station. At regular intervals along Deck 1, the corridor opened out into public spaces which the inhabitants had once used as meeting and relaxation areas. Along the outer wall was a row of windows that looked out into space. Burns wandered over to one of them and gazed out. At this time of day O1 was above the night side of Atlas and the stars were at their brightest. Burns had spent little time in space and the view captivated him. He knew so little about the stars he was looking at; he knew some of the constellations but now he was viewing them from an unusual angle and most of them were a meaningless jumble. If fact, he had didn’t have the slightest idea which way was home, which was disconcerting. He was used to looking at things from a different perspective, it was something that he was good at and one of the reasons that he excelled at his job.

  Looking down, he noticed Commodore Jacks’ scout attached to the side of the station a few decks below. As he watched, a puff of escaping vapor announced that she had slipped her moorings and was making a departure. That was a surprise. He imagined that rather than leaving the station, Jacks might now be in the process off attaching electrodes to Sub-Captain Poulson’s genitals. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t go quite that far but from what he’d heard from Admiral Giles’ office, Jacks had a nasty streak and was capable of being be downright malicious. He was also said to be stubborn, arrogant and was showing an increasing disregard for authority. That could go a long way to explaining why Admiral Giles had had requested a police involvement, but the request itself had raised a few questions of its own. It was little wonder that Jacks was annoyed by the police presence and Giles would have surely known that he would be. In the past, Burns had also experienced an officer from another precinct interfering on his patch and he hadn’t liked it either. Had Giles done it on purpose just to irritate Jacks? Or did he simply not trust him? In hindsight he should have asked for a little more information but the orders had come di
rect from the police commissioner’s office and DCIs question neither admirals nor the chief of police. Whichever way you chose to look at it, something didn’t add up and the more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Common sense told him that he shouldn’t really be here… and that Jacks should not have just left.

  Commodore Jacks gently eased the Arrow away from O1’s hull and brought his main engines online. Once at a safe distance a few bursts from his directional thrusters aligned him on a course for the space elevator platform above Atlas Central in accordance with the flight plan that he had filed in Ops just a few minutes before. Once the course was locked he opened up his throttles, a stream of ionized particles swiftly propelling him away and out into the night. When he was sure that he was safely over O1’s horizon he slowed and set a new course to Phoenix Station.

  Penny had been right about Commodore Jacks and Admiral Giles not enjoying the best of relations. Jacks had been one of that group of commodores hoping to be elevated to flag rank, and was at that stage of his career when he needed to make the jump quickly or lose the chance forever. Near the top of the commodore’s list he just needed a little support, ideally the patronage of a senior officer – especially that of his own senior officer – but Giles had not been forthcoming and Jacks had been passed over, which had effectively killed his career stone dead. He could continue on as a commodore for another couple of months but after that he would be shunted off into retirement whether he liked it or not.

  When it came to light that Giles had not endorsed his promotion, Jacks wasn’t merely disappointed, or even annoyed; he was outraged. He had made commodore through a combination of hard work, determination and ability. At least, that was the way that he saw it. Sure, he’d had to step on a few toes along the way, but to his mind that was preferable to brown nosing his way up the ladder as others had done. Sucking up to people just wasn’t his style. Then just as he was about to reach the pinnacle of his career he found himself shafted by Giles, who, as far as he was concerned, wouldn’t know a decent officer from a tea boy. From then on Jacks quickly developed a deep, abiding hatred not only for the admiral himself but also for a system that could grant such a stuck up, self opinionated old dinosaur the power to cut off his career at a whim.

  On the outside, Jacks had appeared calm and collected, an unfortunate officer pragmatically accepting his lot – a role that he played well, for acting a part was one of his genuine talents. On the inside, however, he smoldered away, and swore revenge on his perceived enemies, which included all of his superiors, most of his subordinates, the military establishment as a whole and society in general.

  Like any good officer he evaluated his position, considered his alternatives and then decided the best course of action. His conclusions were that if he had to become a civilian then he might as well be a rich one. An extremely rich one.

  After that it was simply a case of formulating a plan, choosing the tactics and assembling the necessary resources. None of this had proven to be particularly difficult and the execution of his plans had been as smooth as could reasonably be expected. Having to dispose of Bernard Stevens had been regrettable but even the best laid plans were apt to go awry once they were set in motion. Stevens had simply been found guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn’t the first and he wouldn’t be the last.

  And so it happened that Commodore Jacks was now the proud owner of the Comtec HCTR100 core, otherwise known as Hector, which sat just a few meters behind his pilot’s chair in a shielded container designed especially for the job by Spencer Benedict. Jacks already had a buyer lined up – an associate of an associate of GX-Systems, one of Comtec’s main rivals. A generous down payment had already been made and Jacks was looking forward to the receipt of the balance, which would guarantee him an extremely comfortable retirement. He would need to assume a new identity and begin a new life somewhere or other but that wouldn’t pose any problems. His experiences during his tours in military intelligence had taught him all he needed to know about creating false personas, channeling illicit revenue and most importantly, how to stay off the radar.

  Before leaving O1 he informed Lt. Primrose that he’d been called away on an urgent matter, the details of which were classified. He would be back in three or four days and any messages should be forwarded to the military liaison office at Atlas Central. Pity about Dolores, he thought. She was a real tiger between the sheets and he was going to miss their little romps together. True, he’d made a lot of promises that he hadn’t the slightest intention of keeping, but he reasoned that she probably hadn’t taken any of them too seriously – or at least, she shouldn’t have – and in any case, he never forced her into anything. She was quite old enough to know what she was doing and as they say, all’s fair in love and war.

  Marines Burke and Dobbs, automatons that they were, would obey his orders to the letter and ensure that the only person who might conceivably get a handle on what had happened would stay safely locked up in the brig on O1. He had been surprised to find someone as technically aware as Poulson on the station. According to his research, O1 was said to be staffed by a motley collection of misfits, has-beens and slackers. As things had turned out, Poulson’s hidden talents also made him the ideal suspect on whom to focus attention. Even as things stood, the evidence was pretty much stacked against Poulson, though if Jacks had been just a little better informed before his arrival he could have made the case against him completely airtight.

  The arrival of the police was also something he hadn’t planned for but there was nothing they could do now, even if they had the nous, which he seriously doubted. He had little regard for civilians at the best of times, especially the police. If they had any real ability they’d be in the service, not poncing about chasing shoplifters and flashers.

  The only real loose end was Spencer Benedict, and he did wonder if it might be not kinder to shoot him in the head and be done with it once his usefulness was at an end. Benedict, who still knew Jacks as ‘Mr. Smith’, was a brilliant academic and research engineer but like many of his kind, he tended to live within the narrow confines of his own private reality. As far as real worldly matters were concerned he wasn’t so much naïve as child-like, simple even. He really should have got out more. Jacks had found Benedict so easy to manipulate that he hadn’t even been able to take any pleasure from it, which had been doubly disappointing.

  Benedict may have been an unwitting accomplice but an accomplice he was. Sooner or later events were going to catch up with him and when they did, he was going to spend an awfully long time behind bars. They would interrogate him of course, and he would co-operate fully, which might knock a few years off the sentence, but the end result would be the same: he would go to jail. Meanwhile, Jacks would be home free.

  He would be home free because he was smarter, because he was faster and because he was better. By the time anyone realized he was gone he would be hundreds of light years away with a new identity and a new face to go with it. That would be a shame as he rather liked the one that he had, ruggedly handsome with a firm jaw line and even a dimple in his chin. That would have to go, but even he had to make the occasional sacrifice.

  Jacks hadn’t been completely wrong in his assessment of the police. There was a time when Burns actually had collared the odd shoplifter or two, and on one occasion he had even arrested a serial flasher. Known to the locals as Moby Dick, the flasher had terrorized the local park for several months, shocking and amazing ladies both young and old. Burns had interviewed numerous victims but none had been able to provide any worthwhile information. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; everyone was able to give a highly accurate description of the perpetrator until they were asked about his approximate age, height, weight and hair color, at which point they became suddenly vague.

  Moby Dick was eventually caught by using a female officer as bait. It took patience and diligence but one night Dick rose to the lure like a salmon to a fly and that was that. Burns finally nabbed
the scourge of East Welling Botanical Gardens and police officer Maggie Simms went home wide eyed and smiling.

  By the time his long and distinguished career had been brought to an abrupt end, Moby Dick’s fame had preceded him and after atoning for his crimes by way of a spell of community service he went on to bigger things, starring in the kind of production that Shorty Stiles would describe as gentleman’s special interest.

  Burns also moved onto bigger things and he now spent his time frying rather larger fish. Whatever reservations he might have about being involved in this case, involved he was. There had been a theft and likely a murder and the inevitable result was that Burns was going to bring someone to book. There was one thing that Moby Dick and Burns had in common: they rarely failed with the money shot.

  CHAPTER 9

  Orbital One

  Chuck always believed that whatever the situation and however bad things became, there were always positives to be found somewhere. It was just a matter of being… positive. Alone in the cell at least he had time to think, which was one good thing. Trouble was, he was having difficulty thinking of anything that wasn’t very bad. It crossed his mind that when they opened the cell door it had made barely a squeak, even after several years of inactivity. He’d have to find out what kind of grease they used; perhaps they could use it on the Valiant’s air lock. There you go, that was one plus point. He felt better already. Then again, it wouldn’t help him get out of jail, would it? Better to concentrate on that rather than comparing the relative qualities of lubricants.

  OK. So, go back to the beginning and think everything through again. Had he forgotten anything? Had he missed anything?

  The first time he knew something was amiss was when he met Mike Givens and Doug Timmins in the holding room and they realized that Hector was gone. They’d only been on the station a few minutes so they couldn’t have had anything to do with it, but by then it had been a almost a day since anyone had seen Hector. As soon as it was confirmed that Hector had been taken he’d scanned for Hector’s ping and picked it up on the fast transport Magellan. They hailed the transport and ordered it to stop but they made a run for it. He and Penny chased the transport and boarded the cargo pod after it was jettisoned, found the bomb, narrowly escaped being blown to bits along with a shipment of Uncle Luigi’s ready-made meals, made it back to O1 and made their report. That’s all there was to it.