Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

  "Investigations continue," Columbo said, drawing himself to his full height. For a moment I was worried, hoping, his head would bump the ceiling. It didn't. Another of life's little disappointments.

  "Do they?"

  "They do indeed. Our technicians will be thorough. As will I," he said. "But you've drawn the eye of Intelligence twice in quick succession, Hayes."

  "Just lucky," I answered.

  "It's not luck, Hayes. Intelligence keeps an eye on troublemakers."

  "Then they've no cause to be watching me," I said. "I never cause trouble."

  "Just find yourself in it a lot of the time?"

  "Sometimes."

  "We've got your security record too."

  "Ah."

  "I'm surprised you got your commission back," he said, picking up his Pad and swiping through the information a few times.

  "Me too," I answered honestly. "Maybe you can tell them it’s all been a big mistake and I can go home."

  "You don't want to serve in the war?" He looked shocked. A company man through and through.

  "I served in the last one. Saw enough and heard enough that time."

  "The last few months only."

  "Still more than enough for me to find out that war isn't glorious and solves very little. It isn't till the CEOs get around the table that something actually changes."

  "That's close to treason, Hayes."

  "The truth though, Columbo." I nodded to the weapon holstered at his waist. "How many times you shot someone with that? None?" The twitch of his eyes told me I'd hit the shark on the nose. "And that's because you’re safe back here. I don't begrudge you that, Columbo, before you get riled up. It's because we haven't been at war, because we've been safe. No one's been stressed, panicked or terrified. A few items go missing from base stores, there's a punch up in a bar, an officer gets tangled up in an affair they shouldn't have, all those and more I'd bet. But you've no reason to shoot someone."

  "You got a point, Hayes?"

  "Killing someone is a pretty permanent solution to a temporary problem, Columbo, and war is temporary problem. The other side, the soldiers and sailors, don't really want to fight, to kill us, they're just following their orders and doing their job."

  "There has been a killing on the base. Ensign Copeland's technician is dead. You're trained to kill."

  "Along with everyone else on the base, including you. I'm just not very good at it," I said, holding on to my frustration, letting it warm my belly.

  "I will find the person responsible," Columbo said.

  "And maybe you'll get to be judge, jury and executioner, Columbo, and it will haunt you the rest of your days. Take my advice, don't shoot anyone. Especially me."

  "Hayes," he shook his head, paused and I could almost hear the gears turning as he tried to get his thoughts back on track, "I'm here to investigate the accident with the Ensign's suit, and the murder."

  "Can't base security investigate the murder?"

  "We're treating both events as being part of the same case."

  "Makes sense and let me return to my original point. Firstly, I didn't do anything to Norah's suit. I couldn't. I was nowhere near it and a Fish-Suit Pilot checks their own suit before heading out. She didn't find anything wrong and your records prove that."

  "Indicate."

  "Whatever. Secondly, I was with Liddle and then Commander Anderson when the Norah's tech was killed. Proving I am innocent of both."

  "Indicating."

  "We agree a little at least. So why the third degree?"

  "Fish-Suits don't go wrong, Hayes."

  "You don't have to tell me that. I've been using mine for more years than I care to remember. They're built for minimum maintenance and maximum life span. I can strip mine down and fix most problems. It's what they were designed to do."

  "And which bit can't you fix?"

  Here he had a point. The only bit of Norah's suit Liddle and I couldn't investigate was the suit's computer and I told him so.

  "Well, we can."

  "And what did you find?"

  "Tell me what Intelligence wanted you for last time," Columbo said, changing the subject and not answering my question.

  "Your records don't tell you?" I was genuinely puzzled. A city had fallen on me. I'd escaped and been captured by VKYN, uncovered a traitor and escaped again. I was, for a brief moment, a hero. A quiet, unknown one to be sure, but there wasn't much else to say.

  "No," he admitted. "So?"

  "I can't tell you," I answered. Again it was the truth and I was becoming a little uncomfortable using it so much in one interview. "I was told never to tell anyone. I signed a document and everything."

  "Interesting," he said. I didn't like the word.

  "It is?"

  "Yes, it is. It means I don't know whether to trust you or not."

  I smiled. "I'm trustworthy. More than that, as we've discussed, I am the most innocent person on the base. You can track all my movements, every second."

  "We have."

  "And?"

  "And what?"

  "What did Norah's computer tell you?"

  "The investigation is ongoing," he answered after a pause.

  "What?"

  "Our technicians are continuing their investigation. How well did you know the technician?"

  "Met him twice before. Once on the sub and once here. Can't even remember his name," I said. "What about the computer? It should give you an answer as soon as you crack it open."

  "We are continuing to investigate all aspects of the incident."

  "The suit can't have gone wrong. Not without someone tampering with it." Fish-Suits don't go wrong. They're not sophisticated. Not by the standards of the Navy's submarines and the rest of the war machines. A simple exoskeleton. A basic motor. A pump, a filter, a backpack of stuff that kept the QxyQuid moving and monitored the pilot’s vitals. The computer wasn't much either. Mapping tools, communications, a database and some sensors that were a little more sophisticated than regular submarines, but nothing that should, could go wrong.

  "Then clearly someone tampered with it in some manner," Columbo said, taking the vapour-pipe from his pocket and turning it back on. "Any ideas?"

  "Don't look at me. The records prove I couldn't have done it," I protested again.

  "Indicate, Lieutenant Hayes, not prove."

  "Close enough," I said, trying a confident smile on for size. It didn't fit well and tended to pinch the rest of my face into some grotesque mask of pain.

  "Not for me," he answered and my smile made a rapid descent towards the floor.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Holy fucking sh..."

  The blaring cacophony bounced and echoed from the bare walls of my room and hammered at my head. My teeth shivered in their sockets and my head began to pound in time with the wailing alarm. I kicked with my feet and fought the bed clothes with my hands, scrabbling to free myself. Cracking my eyes open, I recoiled from the bright light which glared down upon me from the ceiling lighting strip.

  "Off," I croaked out. "Alarm off. Fucking off."

  The alarm wailed three more times in sullen protest before falling silent, leaving me in a heart pounding, sweaty and dazed mess. The thin bed sheet clung to every bit of damp skin and I peeled it away as I swung my legs over the side. Warm feet touched cold floor and I drew in a sharp lungful of air.

  "Time?" I said and coughed.

  A speaker in the corner of the room told me the time and I winced. I'm not a morning person. Afternoons aren't my strong suit, evenings find me full of irritability and at night it is best to leave me well alone. There's a moment, just before I fall asleep when I might describe my mood as tolerable.

  I'd been dreaming of something, but whatever it was had slipped away and become lost in the confusion behind my eyes. Little fingers of common sense tried to dig up the reason I'd set the alarm so early and drag the information to the forefront of my mind. The desire to piss overrode that and clambering to my feet I w
addled in the way that only a full bladder will allow to the toilet door. Rank has its privileges. In my case, an en-suite toilet and shower room. It was almost as nice as my own little room back home.

  Washing my hands and throwing some of the cold water on my face, I caught sight of my visage in the mirror. There's no accounting for taste and my maker had clearly found something interesting in the seemingly random selection of facial features which he had slapped without care onto my skull. My wife had seen some things she'd liked, though that hadn't lasted. Not past Tyler's death.

  I fished the toothpaste out of the small cupboard on the wall and spread it on the brush. The simple act of cleaning my teeth, scouring away the bad taste of the previous day, the navy food, and whatever sins remained hidden within the tiny crevices between each tooth was enough to bring my mind back to the day. It also made my breath minty fresh, not that anyone would get close enough to appreciate that fact.

  Rubbing a hand across my chin and cheek I could feel the stubble and considered the time. There wasn't enough of it to shave and the navy could build massive weapons of destruction, I reckoned they could cope with a little stubble for the day. A fresh uniform jumpsuit, another perk of rank, I had someone to do my washing for me, came out of the small wardrobe inset into the wall and I slipped my feet into my boots. A quick dust down, more from habit than to remove any dirt, and I was ready.

  My stomach rumbled and luckily the canteen was on the way, so I left my room and stopped by. A cup of coffee, thick, dark and bitter smelling, and a fresh croissant, still steaming from the oven. If it wasn't for the rules, hierarchy and constant threat of death, I could get used to the navy life. If I recalled correctly, this was why I'd joined up in the first place. Not the terror of imminent death, but to escape my childhood, learn some skills, and be looked after. That and my number came up in the war draft, but it's the little lies we tell ourselves which keep us sane. A fish told me that.

  I picked a seat against the far wall. The table was empty, so no one would complain if I left crumbs, or more likely spat them across the clean surface. Biting into the warm croissant was like coming home to the house I always wished I could have. One that was large, clean and had a chef whose sole purpose was to make fresh croissants every morning. I'd have another chef prepare lunch and dinner, obviously. A gulp of hot coffee chased it down my throat and they both settled in my belly a moment later warming me from within.

  A few years ago I'd seen a man dunk a croissant in his coffee and eat it. All I could think was 'heathen' and then I'd tried it and upgraded him to pious. But those little breakfast pastries had been cheap and stale. The coffee made them edible. Here and now, anyone I saw dunking their croissant would be strung up on a cross, or put to the inquisition, crushed under rocks or any of the thousand other hideous punishments that only the truly religious could invent. It took folks determined to save your mortal soul to find the really exciting ways to make you shed your mortal shell.

  Swigging the last of my coffee, I dumped the cup into the recycling bin and turned down the corridor towards the Commander's office.

  "Watch out," the call made me look up and I twisted to the side.

  A young man made of muscles barrelled past me carrying a heavy case. He didn't pay me any more attention, but I recognised his face. Norah's friend, the security ensign with jealousy issues.

  I passed through the glass door to the waiting room and the Commander's secretary pointed to an unoccupied seat. Wait to be summoned was the clear implication. There were four seats and one of them was taken by Abrahams. He nodded as I sat down.

  "You look awful," he said after a moment.

  "You look like shit too," I said with a smile.

  "Heavy night," Abrahams admitted. "What's your excuse?"

  "This is pretty much as good as I get," I replied.

  "There's no hope for you then."

  "Never has been much. What's the Commander want?"

  "I dunno. That investigator was going in as I got here." Abrahams nodded towards the Commander's door.

  "What does he want?"

  "He didn't stop to tell me but judging by his face he wasn't happy."

  "I don't think I've seen him happy," I answered.

  "Maybe not," Abrahams conceded.

  The Commander’s door opened and a finger beckoned us in. I shared a glance with Abrahams and we both stood. Tugging my tunic top down I followed Abrahams into the office. The wall showed an ocean scene, fish swimming over a coral reef, sunlight playing on the waves above. It was stunningly beautiful and about twelve thousand miles from where we were now, and likely to be several hundred years ago. I'd never been there, but I'd heard the coral reefs hadn't yet recovered. More than anything, seeing that scene, I prayed I was wrong.

  Columbo sat in a comfy chair in front of the wall screens. There was a half empty cup of coffee on the low table in front of him. He glanced up as we entered, and it confirmed Abrahams's words. He did not look happy.

  "Commander," Abrahams said, coming to attention and saluting. I waved a hand somewhere near my forehead.

  "Sit down, both of you," Anderson said, following his own command and sinking into his plush office chair. That thing probably cost more than three months’ rent on my little box apartment back home.

  "I want," Columbo said, "my objections on record."

  "They are on record Lieutenant Columbo," the Commander said with a sigh. "For what it is worth, if there were any other choice available, I would not be doing this."

  "There is an active investigation in process, Commander."

  I shared a look with Abrahams who nodded in return.

  "You don't have to tell me that, Lieutenant. I've got one injured pilot and a dead technician. Are you any closer to discovering if there is a link between the two incidents?" The Commander's words were sharpened to make a point.

  This time it was Columbo who shared a look with me. His eyes were sour and there was a bitter twist to his lips. "We are investigating every avenue."

  "So that's a no," the Commander said with finality. "Until you do, we have our own jobs to do."

  "Commander?" It was a bit of a shock to find out that I had spoken.

  "Hayes."

  "Do we know the circumstances of the technician’s death?"

  "He was stabbed." Columbo answered the question.

  "But what were the circumstances? I mean, where was he? What was he doing? Who else was there?" I looked between the other three men. Abrahams's face was quizzical, but the Commander and Columbo maintained a look that they must have practised across a no-limits poker table.

  "We are still investigating," Columbo said.

  "The camera's in the engineering bay don't seem to have been working during the murder, Hayes."

  "Commander," Columbo interrupted.

  "My troops, my decision," Anderson waved the Lieutenant away. "The staff tracking devices also seem to be reporting an error during that time frame. The Lieutenant and his investigators are having to corroborate every alibi by hand."

  "Again, Commander," Columbo said, and there was steel in his voice, "I must ask that my objections are placed on record. You are giving privileged information away to people who may be suspects or may have contact with suspects."

  "It won't matter much in a little while, will it?" Anderson directed a piercing stare at the security officer. There was no response. "Good. Now, gentlemen, the timetable for your mission has been moved up. You leave in two days."

  "What?" I looked at Abrahams to see why he had spoken, and he looked right back at me. "Damn it," I said, realising that I was no longer in control of my mouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Sir," Abrahams started, "what is the mission?"

  I saw Anderson and Columbo share a look. For some reason the security officer knew the details and we didn't.

  "He had to be briefed before we could move forward," Anderson explained, catching my expression.

  "Right," I said, nodding, not understa
nding. "So, its top secret then, need to know. For our ears and eyes only?"

  "Hayes," the Commander began.

  "Sorry." I raised a hand and waved him on. "Please, continue."

  He glared at me for a moment while Abrahams stared straight ahead. From the corner of my eye I caught sight of Columbo shaking his head. My charm was not making its intended headway.

  "We're here," and the screen behind the Commander's desk sprang to life showing a map of the oceans. NOAH's territory was highlighted in green and VKYN's in red. There was a zone between the two which glowed orange. One single dot pulsed and a line of text appeared above it indicating our exact location. We were, in my humble opinion, a little too close to the orange zone for my liking.

  The screen changed, zooming in on our sector, and the little dot of the city grew bigger. The conflict zone was to our north and the safe area was south. I longed to head south for the war, but suspected we were heading north.

  "Your target is here." A new dot appeared and a line of text joined.

  "Damn it," I muttered. I hated being right, it happened so rarely that it was always a shock. The target was north of us, just on the other side of the combat zone. "What is it?"

  "Good question," Anderson said and tapped the screen bringing the new dot into the centre. The outline of a city appeared, the passageways, boxes and what I took to be factory buildings with their associated power stations came into view. "This is one of the forward supply and repair bases for the VKYN forces operating in this area."

  "And you want us to destroy it?" I said.

  "If possible," Anderson answered. "Though the best intelligence estimates," an oxymoron of epic scale, "say that total destruction is impossible."

  "Damage it a bit?"

  "Certainly," the Commander said.

  "Why?"

  "Because it will slow down the deployment and repair of their submarines," he replied.

  "How?"

  "Each pilot will have enough high yield explosives to do the job," the Commander said with a nod, as if convincing himself.