Unclear Skies
Page 1
Unclear Skies
JASON LaPIER
Book Two of The Dome Trilogy
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2016
Copyright © Jason LaPier 2016
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016. Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Jason LaPier asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 978-0-00-812184-6
Version: 2016-01-26
For Cynthia
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Jason LaPier
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
Jared McManus stared at the hodgepodge of numbers, colors, and stars in his hand. There were no patterns. He’d somehow worked himself into a black hole where no ink printed on cardboard could ever be useful to any other ink printed on other pieces of cardboard.
“Stalling?” Susan Horowitz’s eyes didn’t leave her magazine. The cards in her hand rested against the table like a comfortable fan. She flipped over a page. “Only thirty minutes until the next bus is in range.”
McManus grunted and reflexively glanced at the viewport. The security center of the superliner had a broad window and he could see the burning disc, Barnard’s Star, far off to the left, three hundred million kilometers away, give or take. A larger globe of swirling pink and gray encroached on the right.
He turned his attention back to his hand, but he could only feel the hard and cold metal of the table surface under his wrists and not the cards between his fingers. “Gimme two,” he said. Instantly, he wished he’d asked for three.
“Only two? You must have something better than I thought,” Horowitz taunted. She flipped a pair of cards his way, then one for herself. “One for me.”
“I still don’t get this game.” Kendra Katsumi leaned over McManus, causing him to pull his cards tight to his chest. “What?” she said, pulling her pale face back against her neck. “I’m not playing. What does it hurt if I look?”
“Bad luck,” McManus muttered. He directed his attention to Horowitz, who looked at her card and folded it into her hand in one motion. She puffed a long lock of black hair away from her eyes with an idle exhale and turned back to her magazine.
“You guys and your paper,” Katsumi rambled as she paced around the table. Her youthful energy grated him. “Seems like you’d play something on holo.”
“Can it, jockey.” McManus squinted at his cards, daring them to be liars. No matter how hard he stared, they did not budge. If his face was capable of smiling, he might have given himself away. The two cards he’d drawn completed a short star run. Finally he had something he could work with. “One hundred,” he said, pushing the last of his chips into the center of the table.
Horowitz grinned. “Jerry, you really want me to take the last of your Alleys?” With a quick toss, she matched his chips before he could reconsider. “Want to push it?”
“With what? That’s all I got left.”
“Next run.”
The words turned over in his head. “What, you mean if I win, you take my run?”
“And if I win, you take mine.”
It was tempting, McManus couldn’t deny that. He hated the shuttle runs. Docking a patroller with another vessel in mid-space – it was hell on his stomach – to do a passenger check and cargo inspection. And then to rub it in afterward, playing escort to a bunch of rich bastards.
“It’s your turn for the run,” he said. “So if I win, you still go this time. And you go next time, when it would have been my turn. After that, it’s back to your turn again.”
“That’s right,” she said. “That’s the bet.”
“That’s the bet?” Katsumi laughed. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I go on every run.”
“Can it, jockey. Okay, Horowitz. You’re on.”
They laid their cards on the table. As McManus registered the hand that his fellow ModPol officer spread before him, he felt the burn start in his chest, spreading quickly to his arms, his neck, his eyes.
“Full ship,” she said. “Beats that little run of stars you got there. Hope you had your suit cleaned, Jerry.”
“Oh, hey, you guys!” Katsumi called, her face pressed against the viewport. “Look, you can see the shuttle. It’s a Polarlys!”
“Damn you all,” McManus mumbled. He hoisted himself out of his chair and kept his back to the window as he left the room.
* * *
As the ModPol patroller sped to meet the other vessel, McManus turned to take in the full view of the Royal Starways Interplanetary Cruise Delight Superliner #3 that had been his assignment for almost five months. Assignment, but it felt like a prison sentence, or at the very least a punishment. Whatever the case, it was a sight to behold from the outside. Fantastically large, oblong like a sausage, and covered in domes that bubbled around its surface like welts. Some radiating different colors – lush greens, wet blues, warm yellows – and some just completely clear so that when viewed from the side, the black was visible beyond.
He sighed and turned away. Scanning the field before them, he picked out the ship in the distance. Of all shuttles, it had to be a Polarlys. It was coming from Barnard-3, so it would have to be a big one, and the Polarlys held over seven hundred passengers at full capacity. Plus their luggage.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Katsumi cooed, leaning over the throttle to get closer to the viewport. “What a machine.” She leaned back, but kept her back straight as she glanced at McManus. “Not that I would fly one, mind you. It’s too big. You can’t maneuver worth a damn in something like that.”
“No maneuvers, Cadet,” McManus said, eyeing his pilot warily. He reflexively tugged at his s
eat harness, which felt too loose. A bright floral scent tingled in his nose and he looked around the tiny cockpit, trying to find the source. “You got an air freshener hidden around here somewhere?”
“Officer Horowitz is sending the passenger manifest now.”
McManus poked at his console with a pair of index fingers and let out a groan as the list scrolled on. “Shit, Katsumi, I’m glad you get such a kick out of sitting in this tin can, staring at that other tin can. You’re going to be waiting a while.”
“How many passengers, Officer?”
“It’s at capacity. Seven hundred and thirty.” He sighed. “It’s going to take hours.”
“Oh yes, at least four. Maybe eight.” She turned to him, her face jumping upward. “I’ll be able to practice my maneuvers!”
McManus stared at the distant shuttle that was slowly growing in size. He had not had his suit cleaned since the last run, because he wasn’t expecting to go on this run. The last run had not gone well for him, or his breakfast.
“This is all Runstom’s fault,” he muttered.
“What did you say? Runstom?” She was facing forward again, flicking at switches above her head. “You mean, Officer Stanford Runstom?”
McManus closed his eyes. “Yeah, Officer Stanley. You know him?”
“Everyone knows who Officer Runstom is.” Her voice rose and she kicked the patroller clockwise a couple of degrees and McManus gripped the sides of his seat, fearing a spontaneous barrel-roll. “He blew open a ring of corruption inside ModPol!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” McManus muttered. He could feel the red in his chest, and he pushed it down, afraid he might end up breaking a window and suffocating them both. “Let me tell you something, Cadet. Runstom ran off with a fugitive. He ran off and hid on one of these goddamn superliners. With a fugitive.”
“Yeah, but he had to, right?”
McManus sighed. “He could have brought Jack Jackson right back to ModPol, but instead he chose to hide out on a superliner. And Royal Freaking Starways has a freaking fit about it, but you don’t hear about that, no, because ModPol decides to pay them off with some free security. And while I get stuck doing shuttle security, Runstom of all people gets a goddamn promotion!”
As he ranted, Katsumi peered tentatively over her shoulder. “Officer McManus?” she said in a whisper. “Why are you sitting on your hands?”
“Just can it and fly, jockey.”
* * *
As soon as the airlock cleared, McManus fought to detach his helmet. He coughed and sucked in the stale air of the shuttle’s service chamber, which was slightly better than the sour insides of his suit.
A pale-skinned security guard wearing a slim, black, silken outfit came through the opposite door. “Officer Horowitz?”
“McManus.” He tossed the helmet to the floor and followed with his gloves.
The guard stiffened. “We were told it would be Officer Horowitz.”
“Horowitz came down with something,” McManus said, unzipping his suit.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Buddy, don’t talk to me about fortune. Anyway,” he waved, then went back to his suit. “You should have received an update.”
“Hold on.” As the guard lifted his hand to his ear, his biceps flexed large beneath the expensive garb. To most, it would have been impressive, but McManus suspected the clothes were designed to flatter muscles that weren’t really there. He lowered his hand. “Okay, you’re clear.”
McManus thought about challenging the man to a friendly round of arm-wrestling, maybe earn back some of his dignity, but then he got a better idea. “You look strong, Mr., uh …”
“Yernson.” The arms folded and the shiny biceps appeared again.
“Mr. Yernson.” He gestured toward the cases he’d dragged through the hatch. “Give me a hand with this equipment. Least you can do, seein’ as how I’m doing your job.”
Yernson frowned at McManus for a moment, then unfurled his arms and walked to the cases. He stared at them, either trying to work out what was in them or trying to work out how heavy they would be. Not that the shuttle’s artificial gravity was anywhere near a full G.
“Take those down to the cargo bay,” McManus said. “I’m going to start with the passengers. After I get through all seven goddamn hundred of them, I’ll do the luggage.”
* * *
By the time he’d gotten to passenger #365 – exactly halfway down the list – McManus had been at it for almost two and a half hours. He thought people would be more anxious to get this over with so they could get on with their blessed cruise, but no one was prepared as he came through and asked for identification.
“You should have brought more guys.”
“What?” McManus lowered his list to look at #365. A lanky, twenty-something male, red-gray skin, leather jacket, leather pants, and an aural augmentation of some kind that looked like a small, matte-black square where his left ear should be. A top hat on his head and a gold crossbar through his septum.
“This would go faster if you had more guys.”
“Tell me about it. You got your—”
“ID, of course, Officer.” The young man’s eyes sparkled as he presented his biometrics card.
McManus yanked it away and looked at the name, which read Reezer, Frank. He stuck it into his identification unit, tapped a few buttons, and spun the machine around so the hole faced #365.
“Put—”
“My finger in the hole.” The young man peered at the device with an unsettling curiosity before sliding his finger in. “I studied this system. Multi-factor. You have my encrypted bios in the box’s database. I carry a card imprinted with another encrypted version of my bios. The two are only recognized when hashed together with the bio sample from my finger.”
McManus frowned. He knew how the damn thing worked – well, he didn’t really know how it worked, but he knew it did work – and he didn’t need a civilian explaining it to him. He held his tongue; the guy wasn’t worth his breath. Instead, he did what he always did when he was stuck on these inspection runs. While he was waiting for the box to do its part, McManus closed his eyes and imagined punching Stanford Runstom right across the jaw.
The box chimed and he gave the card back to #365. “Enjoy your trip, Mr. Reezer.”
“Thank you, Officer. If you’ll excuse me now, I need to go wash the smell of ID-box off of my hands.”
The young man stood, tipped his top hat, and strolled down the aisle. McManus moved on to #366. “ID?”
“Yes, of course, Officer. I have it right here somewhere.” After a minute of digging, the old man with wisps of gray hair and a bright white suit produced his bio card from a worn briefcase. “There you go, sir.”
They went through the process of slotting the card and verifying biometrics. As McManus closed his eyes to daydream about punching, he heard an alarming buzz. The box jiggled in his hands.
“Oh, goodness.” The old man tugged reflexively, but his finger remained. “I’m stuck.”
“Just hold on a minute, there, Mister.” McManus gripped the box firmly so he could look at the readout on the tiny screen. “Not a match.”
“Wh-wh— I beg your pardon? Who does it think I am?”
McManus lift his gaze. “It doesn’t think you’re anybody, that’s not how it works. It’s just saying that between my database, your card, and your biosample, something doesn’t match.” McManus had done twelve shuttle runs and Horowitz had done eleven. They’d never actually found anything. Everyone always matched.
“Alright, sir. I’m sorry to have to do this, but you’re under arrest.”
“What? Me?” The man gripped his chest with his free hand.
“Just relax, sir.” Was he feeling a rare moment of pity? Or was he just afraid of the paperwork that would come if one of the passengers had a heart attack during the ID test? “I’m just going to take you back to the holding room and we’ll get this sorted out.” He eased a pair of cuffs
from a pocket on his belt. “Now I don’t want you to be alarmed, but the box won’t come off until I get some cuffs on you.”
“C-cuffs? Me?”
He slid the cuffs around the old man’s frail wrists and at the moment they latched, the box blipped and released his finger.
“I just can’t believe this,” he dribbled on. “Oh, misfortune.”
“Yeah, misfortune.” McManus tapped his earpiece. “Katsumi, McManus here. You read me?”
No immediate reply came, so he started escorting #366 toward the hall. The holding room was really just a big closet at the far end of the shuttle.
“Will I still get to go on my cruise?” the old man burbled as McManus shuffled him along.
“Katsumi, where are you?” She was either napping or off doing her useless maneuvers. “Damn it, Cadet. Come in.”
He took #366 into the holding room closet and looked around for a good place to stash him. He was worried about just chaining the geezer to a shelf or something without having anything to sit down on. He shut the door and started moving around boxes of towels.
The shuttle had come to a full stop in order for McManus to space-walk over to it from the patroller, so when it started moving again, he fell backwards onto his ass.
“Oh, are we going to the cruise ship now?” The old man had been less fazed by the unexpected acceleration, and was only teetering slightly.
“What the hell.” McManus yanked himself up and yelled into his comm. “Katsumi, what the hell is going on? We’re moving. Cadet!”
“Officer McManus. I’m sorry, I’m here. I – I must have dozed off.”
He sighed. “Yeah, okay, kid. Forget about it. I would have dozed off if I were you. What’s going on? We started moving.”