Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1)

by John Bowers

  Nick felt his pulse throb as he read the testimony—Jessica Garner had told him she bit a man’s penis when he tried to copulate her orally. Yet the photos entered into evidence were of bite marks on the throat. So either she was lying, or Don Hooley wasn’t really the man she had injured.

  The prosecution case had gone swiftly; Hooley and one other guard testified, then Medical Examiner Shirley Chin took the stand to confirm that the bite marks matched dental impressions taken from Jessica Garner.

  Finally the defense got a turn.

  Judge Maynard:

  Mr. Cramer, you may call your first witness.

  Mr. Cramer:

  If it please the Court, we have no witnesses. Mrs. Garner is unable to appear due to injuries suffered when the guards pulled her off Mr. Hooley—she is currently receiving medical care—but I have consulted with her and she wishes to plead No Contest to this charge.

  Judge Maynard:

  Is your client aware that a No Contest plea is equivalent to a guilty plea?

  Mr. Cramer:

  She is, your Honor.

  Judge Maynard:

  And you have no evidence to present in mitigation?

  Mr. Cramer:

  We do not, your Honor. We merely ask the Court to recognize that Mrs. Garner has been despondent in lockup and to take into account the fact that her husband was recently killed in a mining accident. We ask the Court to show mercy.

  Judge Maynard:

  Does the prosecution have anything to add before I pass judgment?

  Mr. Tarpington:

  The Federation has nothing to add, your Honor.

  Judge Maynard:

  Very well. In the absence of mitigating defense testimony, I have no option but to find the defendant guilty as charged in Count 1 of the information. While it is regrettable that the defendant’s husband met a tragic death, that in no way excuses the defendant’s actions in this case. This is a second offense, of a similar nature to the first. The defendant is hereby sentenced to an additional twelve months in lockup, to be served consecutive to the original sentence.

  Next case.

  Nick leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh and rubbed a hand across his face. Un-fucking-believable! He was no courtroom expert, had yet to testify in a real proceeding, so he had a lot to learn, but everything he had just read screamed foul! His sense of right and wrong was severely bruised by the contents of those transcripts…

  …not least of all by the words of Monica Maynard herself.

  He made a mental note to check the hospital records for the date of the attack and find out if a prison guard other than Donald Hooley had been treated for bites on the genitalia.

  And he needed to talk to David Tarpington, but was reluctant to do so. He had promised Jessica Garner to keep her name out of his investigation, and he couldn’t do that if he went around asking questions of everyone in sight. What was painfully clear to him now was that the Farrington brothers were far more powerful than they had any right to be, and they were also corrupt. Clearly they had people in their pockets, but the question was…who and how many? Tarpington seemed like an upright guy, and probably was, but Nick couldn’t gamble with Jessica Garner’s life.

  At the moment, aside from Misery Allen, he didn’t know whom he could trust.

  “You gonna stay here all night?”

  Nick looked up in surprise. He’d been so intent on his musings that he’d forgot Marshal Milligan was still in the office. He glanced at the front door and noticed that it was getting dark outside—Ceres turned the “sunlight” down at five in the evening, and completely off at eight, to simulate the Terrestrial day-night cycle.

  Milligan was on his feet, stretching. He grunted as his back popped and let out a sigh of satisfaction. He’d shut down his terminal and was looking at Nick.

  “Can I talk to you about something?” Nick asked.

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Nick leaned back and gazed at his mentor a moment, wondering how best to present his thoughts.

  “I think Farrington Industries is dirty.”

  Milligan’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Dirty how?”

  “In every way. Their security people are mostly goons, for one thing, and I’ve uncovered evidence of not only prisoner abuse but severe prisoner mistreatment as well. I’m looking at a case right now where I believe they framed one of their employees for a crime, and Dave Tarpington tells me that Henry Farrington is a rapist.”

  “Is that all you have?” Milligan’s grin was ironic.

  “The body count from their lockup facility is way too high, and the cause of death in many cases isn’t consistent with the medical records for the dead. The M.E. is too scared to talk to me and I’m starting to think that Farrington is exerting more control over this asteroid than meets the eye.”

  Milligan’s grin faded and he sat on the edge of Sandy Beech’s desk, arms crossed.

  “Go on.”

  Nick sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes.

  “Right now that’s all I feel safe telling you, but—”

  “You’re afraid to tell me?” Milligan showed real surprise for the first time since Nick had met him. “You don’t seriously think I’m on their payroll, do you?”

  “No, of course not. What I mean is that if I speak out of turn at the wrong moment I might get someone killed.”

  “Like who?”

  “The employee that I told you had been framed? I’ve given my word to keep her name out of it, yet she pointed me toward what I believe is a serious problem.”

  Milligan nodded slowly. Protecting confidential informants was standard practice.

  “Okay, I’ll buy that for now. What else?”

  “From people I’ve talked to today, including Sandy Beech, I’m getting the feeling that a lot more people than me know about this problem, but because Farrington is the prime mover of water to the Outer Worlds, nobody is willing to do anything about it.”

  “Good theory. What’s your solution?”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t have one.”

  “Yet.”

  “Right. I don’t have one yet. But if I’m right about what’s going on, then someone has to take action.”

  “What kind of action?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need your help. You’ve been out here a while. You know things about this place that I don’t.”

  Milligan studied him a moment, rubbing his chin.

  “When I got here,” he said, “Farrington was already king cock. Had been for several years.”

  “But how did they get that way? They came here with nothing, as far as I can tell. No money, no investment capital. And in two or three years they’re running the whole goddamn asteroid.”

  “Why don’t you ask them?”

  “I did.”

  Milligan’s eyes widened again, this time in near shock.

  “You’ve been to Farrington?”

  “Yes, sir, this afternoon. Sat in Harvey Farrington’s office while he and his brother insulted me.”

  “You should have insulted them right back.”

  “I tried to.” Nick grimaced. “They’re a lot better at it than I am.”

  “They’ve had a lot more practice,” Milligan grumbled.

  Nick brightened a little. “What do you know about them?”

  “Not a great deal. They rarely venture out of that cave they have over there, and they don’t talk to the common folk…like law enforcement. Your interview with them is a rare and newsworthy event.

  “From what I’ve observed, they represent everything that’s wrong with capitalism. They’re more like feudal lords than anything else. If they could legally use slave labor, they’d do it.”

  “Do you know how they got their start? The business, I mean.”

  “I don’t. Word is they bought up two or three companies that were faltering, consolidated them, and moved forward
from there.”

  Nick compressed his lips in frustration.

  “But you can find out,” Milligan told him. “All that stuff is a matter of public record. Farrington is a Mars corporation, so dig into the Martian databases and start looking at records. You should be able to find out which companies they purchased and the details of transaction. I’m not sure what good it will do you…”

  “If I can find any evidence of foul play, then I’ll have something to work with.”

  Milligan looked skeptical. “And what will you do with it?”

  “If my suspicions pan out, I’d like to put them in prison—and out of business.”

  Milligan shook his head.

  “Don’t forget, they’re the prime mover of water to the Outer Worlds. You said it yourself.”

  “Yes, sir, but why can’t the Federation put them under receivership and continue operations until a buyer turns up?”

  “Mm. That might work.” The old man yawned and stood up. “You’re biting off an awfully big chunk, Walker. I hope you can chew it.” He started toward the door. “Good night.”

  “G’night, Marshal.”

  Chapter 20

  Nick spent two more hours on the computer, until his eyes were burning. He checked the hospital database and found no record of a prison guard with bite injuries to his genitalia. Nor did he find any record of Donald Hooley’s bite wounds on the neck. Curious—Hooley’s injuries had not been life threatening and could have been carefully inflicted with the help of a female (or even male) employee—but the other guard should have received medical treatment, if for no other reason than to preserve his manhood. Jessica Garner hadn’t told Nick the man’s name, if she even knew it, so without interviewing her again there was no way to check further.

  On a hunch, he pulled up the Farrington home page and discovered that Farrington Industries had its own infirmary. Records from that facility were private and unavailable…which meant that Jessica’s story could not be verified one way or another. Nor could Donald Hooley’s injuries.

  Setting that question aside, he logged onto MarsNet and began a records search for corporations. Farrington Industries popped up after a simple search and he drilled down to see what he might learn. The records were clinical and detailed, including copies of original document filings and a list of transactions that left a clear trail of how the firm was established.

  Nick was no expert on business matters, but for what he was looking at he didn’t need to be; Farrington Industries had been created effective January 1, 0431 (CC), just over nine years earlier. The company had come together quickly, it appeared, as the result of the buyouts of three other mining companies: Ceres Creek, the smallest of the three; Ceres Ice; and the largest, Agua Solar. Each had been purchased after filing bankruptcy—Farrington had paid nine cents on the terro for them.

  Nick noted the names of the people who had owned those enterprises and searched for them as well. One appeared to be deceased, another had returned to Terra…but Esteban Castillo, CEO of Agua Solar, was living on Mars.

  Refining his search, Nick pursued Castillo through MarsNet and sighed with disappointment; Castillo was alive, but barely. Less than a year after losing his mining operation he had suffered a stroke and was now living on an intensive-care satellite orbiting the Red Planet. His condition was so grim he couldn’t even speak, so it seemed unlikely he would be of much help.

  Nick returned to the Agua Solar page and tried looking for other corporate officers. His eyebrows lifted when he got to the Chief Financial Officer…her name was Carmen Castillo-Bernal—Castillo’s daughter—and she lived on the same satellite as her father, which apparently provided quarters for patients’ family members.

  Nick glanced at his watch—it was almost six-thirty, but that meant nothing; Ceres time was simulated to match the orbital rotation of Terra, humanity’s mother planet, but Mars had its own rotation and he had no idea what time it might be where Carmen lived. Only one way to find out…he would have to settle with Milligan later on the expense.

  He placed a call.

  * * *

  Carmen Castillo-Bernal was an attractive, if somewhat severe looking woman in her late forties. Her thick black hair was streaked with grey and a few lines eroded her face, but she was still a striking woman. She peered at him through hard black eyes as he gazed at her face on the subspace comm screen.

  “Did you say United Federation Marshal?” she demanded.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I’m calling from the Ceres office.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction and her lips parted.

  “Ceres!”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I have no idea what time it is where you are, so I hope this call isn’t an inconvenience.”

  Her momentary surprise vanished and her face hardened.

  “What do you want with me?”

  Nick hesitated a brief moment—he had a lot to explain and she didn’t seem terribly receptive. He would have to get her attention quickly or she might disconnect.

  “How would you like to get Agua Solar back?”

  “Is this connection secure?” Carmen Castillo asked.

  * * *

  Nick nodded. “It is on this end. Why do you ask?”

  “Because that cucaracha pendeja threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone.”

  “¿De cual cucaracha hablas?”

  Her eyes widened again, more pleasantly. “¿Tu eres latino?”

  “My mother was,” he said with a friendly smile. “Ella me enseñó el idioma.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Neither did she.”

  “Bueno.” Her iron exterior seemed to relax a little. “To answer your question, the cucaracha I’m talking about is Harvey Farrington. He stole my father’s company and laughed in our face while he did it.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Not in a Ceres court, no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means there is no justice on Ceres. It means I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  Nick tensed, sensing he might lose her.

  “Señora, I just got here four days ago. I’m not part of whatever establishment you’re familiar with. The reason I’m calling you is that I’m trying to figure out just what’s going on around here, who’s really running this place, and see if I can do something about it.”

  “How did you get my name?”

  “I’m digging into Farrington to find out how they got to be so powerful. I went back to the beginning, found the name of your company, your father, and you.”

  She stared at him for long seconds, probably a hundred terros worth of transmission time. Finally she nodded slowly.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. I wish we could sit down face to face but I doubt if I could get authorization to travel to where you are.”

  “As long as the connection is secure, I’ll talk to you.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. I understand that Farrington grew out of the ashes of three companies, yours being the largest. Can you tell me how that happened?”

  She nodded, leaned forward, and spoke earnestly.

  “Agua Solar was founded over a hundred years ago by my great grandfather. It’s been in the family ever since, and we were publicly traded. Farrington came out of nowhere about twelve years ago and decided he wanted to buy us out. We were not for sale, and he had no money anyway, so we turned him down.”

  Nick’s heart skipped as he realized this was what he’d been looking for. He made notes as she talked.

  “Then things started to happen.”

  He frowned. “What kind of things?”

  “Accidents. Suspicious deaths.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  She sighed. “Did you ever hear of the Agua Express disaster?”

  He strained his memory, but the words didn’t ring a bell.

  “When did it happen?”

  “In Four Twenty-nine.”

  “No, I’
m sorry. I would have been about thirteen then, and I never listened to the news. What happened?”

  “Agua Express was one of our water freighters carrying ice to Titan. It disappeared between the orbits of Jupiter and Saturn on an outbound voyage. At first it just went silent, and we hoped it was nothing more than a communication failure, but when it never arrived at Titan, an emergency was declared and the Space Force went looking for it. They found it drifting on past Saturn, toward the orbit of Neptune. It carried a crew of twelve, and they were all dead.”

  “Depressurization?”

  “No. There was a time bomb on board, one that released a massive quantity of carbon monoxide. The explosive portion of the bomb destroyed the damage control computer, so when the gas was released there was no defense, no overrides, nothing. The crew died a quiet, painless death, but they still died.”

  Nick felt the hairs on his neck prickle.

  “Let me guess—whoever placed the bomb was never caught?”

  “That’s right. But two days after the disaster hit the headlines, Harvey Farrington showed up again and renewed his offer to purchase Agua Solar.”

  “That looks suspicious,” Nick said, “but it proves nothing. It’s purely circumstantial.”

  “That’s what we were told. The loss of that freighter was a blow, but it didn’t put us under. It turned out to be a warning of things to come. Over the next few months we had several ‘accidents’ in our mining operation, everything from exploding drill heads to a malfunctioning ice crusher that flooded an offline storage tank undergoing maintenance. In every case people were killed, and before long our employees started bailing out. On top of that, Federation safety inspectors landed on our backs and started shutting things down until they could determine if we were criminally negligent.”

  Nick’s mouth compressed as he began to detect a pattern. He continued to scribble while she talked.