Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

Moving to one end of the table, I peered at the screen and watched a variety of graphs and displays constantly flickering and fluctuating. A line of numbers climbed one small section of the display and in another a line rose and fell like a heartbeat on a monitor.

  "I don't understand any of this," I conceded.

  "You're not supposed to," Liddle answered. "If you did, you wouldn't need us techs. And there is nothing to understand. I can't get the bloody suit to start up. The mechanicals are sound. Everything moves like it should, but the computer is stubbornly refusing to answer."

  "Is it switched on?"

  "What?" There was irritation in his voice and I looked away from the display.

  "Have you turned the computer on? You know, plugged it in, charged it up. That kind of thing."

  "Hayes."

  "Yes?"

  "Shut up."

  "Right. So, that's a yes?"

  "Look," he pointed to the lights on the front of the suit. "The computer is on and working, it is just not talking to me or any other part of the suit apart from this single light here." One of the small LEDs was furiously glowing at us.

  "What now?"

  Liddle took a half step back from the suit. "I don't know. I've been poking at it for over an hour. It should have done something by now, but it hasn't. We can hand it over to the investigation. They'll be asking for it soon enough."

  "Restart the suit?"

  "Shut it down?"

  "Yes, and back up again. I used to get told that all the time."

  "But we don't know if the memory is intact. If whatever has gone wrong wipes the memory, we'll be back to somewhere way before step one."

  "But," and I raised a finger to emphasise my genius, "at the moment we have nothing and at least if we talk to the computer it can tell us something."

  "It will tell us nothing," Liddle answered. "The memory on these suits is pretty good, but the only thing wrong that I can see is the computer and that controls the memory. If a restart wipes it, we'll have nothing."

  "We've got nothing now," I pointed out.

  "But we aren't being court-martialled yet," he said.

  "Do you think the investigators will get any further than you?"

  "Not likely." I saw his chest puff out slightly. Pride goeth before a smack in the mouth, as my experience had taught me.

  "But they might?"

  His chest deflated a little. "Maybe. They'll have a proper lab not half a shed and a single Pad to work with."

  "Then," and it galled me to say, "let's leave it to them. We've done all we can. Maybe, once Norah's been interviewed, we'll know a lot more."

  He grunted again. "Maybe."

  "Pack it up and let the commander know where the suit is. Make sure you tell him you made sure it was safe because the other techs hadn't arrived and everyone else had left."

  "They'll know I opened it up," Liddle said.

  "Wouldn't tech normally do that after every mission?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yes, of course," he said.

  "Then grab mine and take it apart," I said, and added, "a little. I mean don't do anything to it. Just undo a few panels and make it look like you've given the once over. The suit works fine so there is no need to fiddle with it."

  A lump of worry formed in my stomach. A small lump, to be sure, but the thought of anyone taking apart my suit made me nervous. I'd give it the Hayes once over before taking it out again. We were a nervous bunch, Fish-suit pilots. It kept us alive.

  "That's bound to fool them," Liddle said with a deep vein of sarcasm running through his words.

  "Something went wrong with her suit," I said. "That isn't right. These things are built to be reliable and she's been taught to maintain her own, just as I was. It makes me worried."

  "For yourself," Liddle added.

  "For me, for her, for Abrahams, for anyone who steps into one of these. If it was a simple malfunction then I want to know why. If it was something else, I definitely want to know. Pack it up and let the commander know," I repeated.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Try to find out what Norah's condition is."

  "You think she's alive," Liddle said. "They could have the security in place to cover up her death, or at least control the flow of information."

  "They were working on her when they took her away," I corrected him. "That meant they thought there was a good chance to keep her alive."

  "Or bring her back."

  "That too. Either way there's good chance she's alive." Which would take some of the responsibility off my shoulders, and a portion of the guilt too. I knew I'd done everything right to bring her back to base, but that didn't make it any easier.

  I watched for a little while as Liddle put the panel covers back in place, poked the wires back where they should be, and slotted the components back into the suit. There was no point staying and overseeing the process, Liddle knew what he was doing.

  Stepping back into the corridor, in the bright lights of the naval portion of the city, I headed towards the hospital. Uniformed people moved back and forth along the corridors. Lower ranks nodded to me, and I nodded at the higher ranks, the customs of navy life coming slowly back to me.

  Away from the engineering section the corridor traffic calmed for a few corridors as I passed some of the living quarters and shared barracks. The screens on the walls showed some basic information about the ocean conditions outside the city and a news channel kept us up-to-date with the war situation.

  I stopped by one for a moment and read the subtitles. It looks like there had been a confrontation further north, far enough away that we weren't in any danger. Who had won wasn't clear. The announcer seemed to be suggesting that NOAH's forces had returned to base victorious but I could read the looks on some of the sailor's faces in the background of the shot. They weren't happy and they certainly weren't celebrating. There'd been losses, but how severe it was impossible to guess.

  Resuming my walk it occurred to me that we might have suffered our own loss closer to home. In war accidents happened and people died. Even during training, soldiers and sailors died. Military life was inherently dangerous. Following orders was important and drilled into recruits in the first weeks of training. After that, the navy taught you to evaluate risks and take them when they were in your favour. Some people got it wrong and died. Training incidents they were called and they were more frequent than most people suspected. I didn't want to lose Norah to one of those. She deserved better.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "I ordered them to keep you out," Anderson said from his side of the desk.

  "I want to see her," I snapped back.

  "No," Anderson said, rising from his chair, his height over-topping mine by a good few inches. I'd hit bigger and been hit by much bigger. "Do you want a coffee?"

  The question caught me by surprise and all I could do was nod.

  "Sit down, Hayes," Anderson said as he pressed a section of the Panel inset into his desk. "Two coffees, navy fashion."

  Triple shots, black, no sugar. The caffeine kept you awake, increased your heart rate, and set your muscles to trembling.

  We waited in silence for the coffee to arrive. I could hear the gurgle of the machine outside and when the door opened a tall, thin man wearing the rank insignia of a petty officer brought the two cups in on a tray. He set them down with fastidious care on the desk, making sure they were centred on the coasters. Steam rose from both cups and the smell of coffee, dark and heavy, kickstarted my synapses.

  "She's alive?"

  Anderson nodded, picking up a cup and sitting back down in his chair. "Yes, though we haven't been able to interview her yet."

  "Why not?"

  "They're keeping her sedated for a day, letting her body repair some of the damage that the pills, gels and drugs can't," Anderson said, taking a sip. I saw the wince as the hot coffee met his lips.

  I lifted my own cup to my lips and experienced the pain followed by the bitter taste of the liqui
d across my tongue. Coffee, at least as far as I know, exists only as seeds in few labs. True coffee is out of reach, above the waves, where we cannot go. Not and survive at any rate. What we had now was science's best replica. Caffeine was easy to formulate, the actual taste of real coffee was the scientists’ subjective impression. I didn't know any better and didn't care, the caffeine was the important thing.

  "And," I struggled to find the words I wanted, paused, fumbled, and settled on a quizzical look which I hope Anderson understood.

  "The oxygen deprivation hasn't, so the doctors tell me, affected her brain. There was enough left in the QxyQuid to keep her brain healthy," he said, saving me from asking.

  The body is a wonderful thing. Well, mine isn't, but I've seen some truly spectacular ones on the clips shows which deal with adult themes. It can make decisions that preserve life without conscious thought, which is just as well as it is usually our stupid thoughts which drive the body into dangerous situations in the first place. Faced with a lack of oxygen the body first shuts down the non-essentials, like arms and legs, diverting blood and oxygen to the heart and brain. This had kept Norah alive.

  "So you're interviewing her tomorrow?"

  "Not me," Anderson said, taking another sip of his coffee. "Intelligence."

  "Commander," and I saw his eyes widen a little at my use of his rank, "we can't let those idiots," his eyes narrowed again, "investigate it. They can barely make a sandwich, let alone the full picnic."

  He grunted. "Out of my hands, Lieutenant. Intelligence is handling the investigation and there's nothing we can do about it. One of our best trained sailors almost died today, on a training mission. It is in their purview to investigate. Keeps it fair, impartial and above board."

  "And seven months later the report says it was pilot error."

  Anderson took another sip of his coffee, staying silent.

  "Commander," I began.

  "Those are our orders. Ensure Norah's suit is turned over to the Intelligence operatives when they arrive."

  "They're not here?"

  "Two officers have taken over Norah's security, but a third is coming in on a sub." He paused to check his Pad. "A Lieutenant Commander Columbo."

  "An ominous sounding name," I offered.

  "Only if you're guilty, Hayes. Only if you're guilty. Is there anything you want to tell me before he arrives?"

  "I went to a party once but told my parents I was going to the library," I answered.

  "I'll be sure to let them have your confession," Anderson said and finished his coffee in one swallow. After a moment's contemplation he turned in his seat and sat forward, clasping his hands together. "Something happened out there, Hayes. I've been in the navy long enough to know that Fish-Suit's don't just go wrong. Nothing does. So either she did something wrong or you did?"

  "Or something was done to her before we left," I added before he could say any more.

  "One of the crew here?" He sat back again.

  "Possibly," I said. "You're right. The suits don't go wrong. I've used mine for years with only the most basic of maintenance and the bi-yearly navy check. Nothing has ever been highlighted as wrong."

  "So?"

  "So mine was fine before I got here and the modifications to bring it back up to combat readiness didn't affect it," I said. "Norah's was a newer version. It doesn't have the kilometres or years on it that mine does. There is no way it went wrong on its own. All through her training she'd have been using it, putting in the hours, working out the little gremlins."

  "You're point?"

  "My point is that both the suits worked fine before we got here. Now, on the first mission, the first time out of the docks, hers goes wrong. All that's changed is the location and the crew working on the suit."

  "We haven't found her technician yet," Anderson admitted.

  "You're not pinning this on me or her," I said. "I worked too hard to bring Norah back and I’m not losing anyone to this war. Find the technician and maybe you'll get some answers."

  "Or maybe Norah will have them?"

  "Intelligence?" I said.

  "What did Liddle find on the suit?"

  "Sorry, Commander?"

  "I'm not stupid, Hayes, and I'd have done the same thing. Looked for answers before the thumbscrews are applied. You and Liddle took the suit and gave it the once over," he said in a weary tone and I actually found myself respecting him.

  I paused, balancing the choice on the apex of the triangle and sighed. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

  "That's," and it was his turn to pause, "disappointing."

  "Liddle checked the components and everything is in working order. There was no reason for the pumps, filters and exoskeleton to fail."

  "The suit computer?"

  "Has us shut out. It is still operating but it's not talking to anyone or anything," I said.

  "We need answers," Anderson said.

  "Not from the computer," I said. "Least not right now, not if we have to hand it over to Intelligence."

  "If you couldn't get anything out of it, maybe they can," he said.

  "I'd said that to Liddle, but I was hoping our techs would have the chance, in a proper lab." It was only when I'd finished the sentence, I heard the possessive in the middle of that sentence.

  "They'll have to work with us," Anderson said. "They'll need our labs and our technicians to get anything out of the suit. I'm sure we'll have access to their findings."

  "And Norah's tech?"

  "I've got security looking for him."

  "It is more than a little suspicious that he's not here," I said.

  "I hadn't considered that, Hayes." The sarcasm was thick and impossible to miss, even for me.

  Before I could answer, the Pad on his desk beeped and he looked down. I saw his eyes scan the screen and the skin around them wrinkled with distaste.

  "Commander?"

  "Security have found Norah's tech."

  "Good. Can we question him before informing the Intelligence officers?"

  "Not likely," he said.

  "Why not?" I looked at my coffee, realised it was cold and downed it anyway.

  "He's dead."

  "Shit."

  "Not the words I'd have chosen, but I agree with the sentiment," he said.

  "Do you know any good mediums? A necromancer?" Never a minute misspent on those role-playing games when I was a teenager, every minute worth its weight in gold.

  "Not funny, Hayes. We've just added to our problems. A murdered tech and an almost dead pilot. This does not bode well."

  "Murdered. Security are sure?"

  "Yes," he said. "Apparently the multiple stab wounds and cut throat were unlikely to be self-inflicted."

  "Ah."

  "Indeed, Hayes. You'd better get your alibi sorted. As of this moment you are confined to base," Anderson said.

  Which wasn't a change in my circumstances. I wasn't going anywhere and I didn't know anyone. An Intelligence investigation was not going to be pretty, they never were. I'd best get some beauty sleep, I wanted to be my charming best when they came for me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "And you're sticking to that story?"

  "It isn't a story. It's the truth." It’s not often I can say that will all sincerity, but this was one of those times.

  Lieutenant Columbo, all seven foot and muscles squashed into the chair opposite, sucked on his vapour-pipe and expelled a voluminous, sweet smelling cloud.

  "Those things will kill you, you know," I said, helpfully. At least that was the tone I was aiming for.

  Smoking, like those things in old clips, the cancer sticks which really did kill millions back in their day were a thing of the past, thankfully. When all our oxygen had to be created for us by vats of algae and factories, consuming it just to fill your lungs with nicotine, tar, carcinogens and poisons was deemed a waste by most people. Some people were hooked on the stuff, but it was expensive, hard to find and illegal. Frank could find it for you, at a premiu
m price, of course.

  Even the vapour-pipes were a rare thing to see. Living in an enclosed environment you got used to the smell of other people, it became a background scent, something you could ignore. The clouds of vapour that came off the pipes were supposed to be reminiscent of fruit, or forests, exotic spices, ocean spray, three-day old fish. Maybe not the last one, but that's what it reminded me of. I coughed and waved my hand through the smoke, creating currents, eddies and swirls.

  "Is this bothering you?" He held up the vapour pipe and gave it a little shake, the amber liquid in the little glass vial sloshing back and forth.

  "Nope," I spluttered. "Not at all. Lovely scent."

  "You've no idea how happy I am to hear that," he said with a sickly grin on his face.

  "Absolutely lovely," I said, my throat dry and a cough threatening to burst forth. "What's the scent? Old fish supper?"

  "Jasmine," he said without the slightest flicker of annoyance.

  "Poor girl."

  He stared at me for a long moment and I saw annoyance narrow his eyes. "Now, back to your story."

  "Truth."

  "So you say."

  "So all the data, records and recordings say," I pointed out.

  "Indicate, Mr Hayes. They indicate, but they do not prove." He shook his head. "Our records show that you've been interviewed by Naval Intelligence recently."

  "Lieutenant Hayes," I corrected him, "and do they?" No point offering free information. That's what his screen was for. He could read.

  "They do. I find that interesting." He flicked the switch on his pipe and tucked it away in one of his uniform pockets.

  "Always happy to help Naval Intelligence," I said, smiling.

  "Hrm," he grunted and raised an eyebrow.

  "Have your technicians found a reason for Norah's suit malfunction?"

  "You're not here to ask questions, Lieutenant Hayes."

  "Then how will I learn, Lieutenant Columbo?" I stressed the rank. He might be a full Lieutenant but there wasn't a lot between us. Apart from the height, muscles, mass and ability to loom which he was using to good effect. I've been hit by small men, small women, large men and larger women. It was never pleasant. Brutality from Security was alive and well in the corporations, but the Navy still had some rules and we were both officers. I was safe. Unless I said something really stupid. As Hamlet once said, there's the rub.