Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Olson, eyes wide. ‘That’s got to be it.’

  ‘It looks likely,’ she said. ‘It’s quite possible that the high-voltage supply is taken from the power lines in the 7075 tunnel. Whether that happened officially or not is another matter.’

  Olson looked over the schematics again to reassure himself this wasn’t just dumb luck. ‘How would anyone know about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Well…’ said Megan, thinking out loud. ‘It’s only taken us a few rotations to learn all this. Maybe we weren’t the first people to make this journey.’

  ‘Is there any way we can find out if these plans have been looked at in the last few cycles?’

  ‘There should be a record, if they have been withdrawn by anyone that doesn’t directly work here,’ she agreed. ‘I could ask.’

  ‘Do that,’ said Olson. ‘In the meantime, I think we should go and take another look at HEX’s chamber, see if we can’t make out that door. If you’re willing?’

  Megan didn’t need to be asked twice. ‘Give me a couple of rotations. Can I meet you there?’

  ‘I’ll sort out your clearance.’ Olson got up, still eyeing the plans lying across the table. Then he looked at Megan and gave her a final nod of appreciation. It was time to head back to the Vault.

  016: Pack Load

  Research and Development Facility, Eastern District, Skala City

  In the time between Katherine Kane’s visit and the planned Pack installation, Roy Jacobs and Don Hoffer worked without sleep to get as much of the internal installation finished as possible. Privately, Jacobs had been concerned how Hoffer would take to a management role; promoting from within always carried a risk. A good crew chief did not always make a good manager. As things turned out, his fears had been misplaced. Hoffer was neither egotistical nor pushy and had that rarest of qualities, the ability to lead his team without them noticing. He was efficient, liked and easy to work with.

  The two men now stood together watching with interest as the Pack was finally wheeled into place below a gantry crane that spanned the hangar. Hoffer admired its elegance for something that had been so hastily put together. At the back of each hulking V10 were a series of doughnut-shaped objects which Hoffer moved to inspect. ‘These are the torque converters?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jacobs confirmed. ‘Behind them are the drive couplings.’

  ‘One coupling per wheel – don’t mix them up, right?’ intoned Hoffer with a wry smile.

  ‘Exactly.’ Jacobs gestured to a second set of couplings that were mounted directly to a sculpted tank nestled down between the torque converters. ‘Those are the return lines to the hydraulic tank. You can mix them up all you want, it won’t make any difference’.

  ‘Still, I’ll try not to.’

  Both men continued to admire the 6,500-kilowatt Pack for a few turns before Katherine strode into the hangar to greet them.

  ‘I’ve tried to get through the documentation you sent me,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘There is a lot of it…’

  ‘Does it make sense?’ asked Jacobs.

  ‘Yes, but I can’t say I’ve been able to take it all in. I need more time with it.’

  ‘It’s your copy, so take as much time as you need.’

  ‘That’s not the problem, Roy. I’m worried I’m not going to be fully versed by the time we come to commission. I’ve never driven anything this complex.’

  ‘Nor has anyone else,’ Jacobs assured her. He knew the situation she had been put in and, although he didn’t fully understand it, what he did know was that she needed his full backing if she was going to make a success of it.

  ‘Okay,’ said Katherine, gathering herself together and nodding towards the huge engines. ‘So are you going to show me where this lump goes?’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ said Hoffer, turning to GVX, which sat expectantly behind them. ‘And I think you’re going to enjoy this.’

  *

  A few turns later, Roy Jacobs stood with Katherine among a plethora of umbilical lines at GVX’s rear. Don Hoffer was now in full flow, with the majority of his technicians deployed strategically down the vehicle’s length; the rest were coupling the Pack to the gantry crane. There were no straps or other lifting equipment that Katherine could see. She supposed there must be inbuilt hard points integrated into the Pack itself for this purpose. It was the sort of detail John Orchard was renowned for.

  Looking from the Pack back to GVX, she said, ‘I still don’t understand where it goes. How do you get it in?’

  Jacobs smiled and nodded towards Hoffer, who was talking intently into a hand-held radio. ‘I think he’s pretty much ready. You’ll see in just a moment.’

  Hoffer looked towards Jacobs and gave a thumbs up, which Jacobs promptly returned.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Jacobs, and Katherine heard the unmistakable whine of a gas turbine spooling up from deep inside GVX’s body. Then a second whine began. It only took a few moments for both turbines’ speed to stabilise, before the noise deepened as they took up the load.

  Hoffer was conferring with one of his technicians and the two seemed to be agreeing. Hasty radio calls were made and received. Although she couldn’t hear the exchanges above the sound of the turbines, Katherine could tell there was a building sense of expectation. Glancing back at the Pack, she was surprised to see it had already been raised up and was moving towards them.

  A rapid succession of metallic cracks from rotary locks in the vehicle’s rearmost section caught her attention. To Katherine’s amazement, the entire rear section of the vehicle juddered, then began to move. It took less than a turn to fully extend, with the Pack itself moving directly above. The crane’s operator sat in a small glass cab that was mounted on the huge cross beam. She could see him squinting to get perspective on his charge and line it up as exactly as possible. Hoffer concentrated on the final lowering until the crane operator stopped about fifty millimetres above the deck. Now, in Katherine’s hearing, Hoffer was readying technicians positioned down the length of the vehicle, but for what, she couldn’t make out.

  ‘Are they concerned it’s going to tip when the Pack goes in?’ Katherine asked Jacobs, in as confiding a tone as she could manage given the noise.

  ‘Something like that. You’ll see,’ he replied.

  The Pack began moving again but very slowly now. Dowel pegs engaged the sump plate, guiding it into position. As it touched down, short, curved locks snapped up from the bed to secure the V10s in place.

  ‘Pack locked in,’ shouted Hoffer over the radio. ‘Everyone standby while we release the load.’ He signalled to the crane operator, who began to lower once more. The chain slackened and Katherine was aware of a prolonged mechanical groan coming from somewhere deep inside the chassis.

  She turned to Jacobs and saw a distinct satisfaction in his expression. The same look was writ across the face of most of the technicians. Hoffer looked particularly satisfied or relieved; she couldn’t be sure. Something was out of place, though, and it took her a moment to put her finger on what it was.

  ‘Shouldn’t the suspension compress when this amount of weight is added?’ she asked.

  Jacobs grinned broadly at her. ‘It should, you’re right.’

  ‘What’s the joke? Why didn’t it?’

  ‘Platform control,’ he explained. ‘The suspension has springs and dampers but there is also a hydraulic ram that is a part of each damper. GVX was designed as a laboratory, remember? Having a level floor in your science lab is pretty important. According to the scientists at least.’

  It took less than a rotation to complete the installation, even allowing for Hoffer and Jacobs’ tour of the ‘Pack Bay’. Less than ten turns later, the deck was retracting back into GVX’s chassis.

  ‘So that’s it,’ she asked. ‘All over that fast?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Hoffer. ‘That’s the Pack installed and systems flushed, but we’ve got to fire it yet.’

  Katherine watched as Jacobs tested sy
stems from a remote laptop until his list of checks was exhausted. A few calibration changes were made and some system controls tweaked, but it was clear from the perceptible sense of building anticipation that all was going according to plan.

  ‘How are we looking?’ Hoffer asked as Katherine moved aside for him.

  ‘We’re looking good for a fire-up,’ said Jacobs.

  ‘Remove the kill on engines one and two once we reach start speed please. Begin cranking now,’ said Hoffer.

  ‘Cranking for dual start,’ confirmed Jacobs and, with only a moment’s hesitation, initiated the starters of both engines. The whir built up over a couple of moments.

  ‘We’re in the start speed window for both engines. Removing kill,’ said Jacobs, suppressing a clear air of nervous excitement.

  There was a bark, followed immediately by a second bark as the Pack came to life for the first time. A deep and brutish roar quickly settled to a smooth, even purr. The reverberating sound was all that could be heard in the hangar before spontaneous applause broke out. John Orchard, who had been standing beside Katherine, gave an emphatic sigh of relief. She had not realised there was so much tension in him. Hoffer and Jacobs exchanged satisfied, equally relieved grins.

  ‘Pressures are holding, pneumatics look good, everything in limits,’ confirmed Hoffer, who gave Jacobs an uncharacteristic slap on the back. Jacobs continued to stare at the control screen, finger poised over the key to initiate a system shutdown. After a few moments the finger was gingerly withdrawn and he turned to look back at Katherine, confidence writ large on his face.

  017: Return

  Gygath Slum, West of Skala City

  JT walked. His head hung low as his body was pounded from behind by the relentless heat of the sun. His mouth was dry and he felt dust caked into every crease of his face as the strain of movement came and went. He used the crisp sound of fine grit crunching beneath each footfall as a point of focus. Ira, walking beside him in silence, was reassurance that he would make it out of Gygath, but the Projects that marked the boundary between the slums and Skala City seemed a long way off.

  He looked around him, trying to take his mind off the pain. The slums seemed less foreboding than they had when he’d entered. There was no sense of being followed this time. The residents were more visible and simply ignored the two men.

  ‘Ira, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Can’t promise I’ll answer, but go on,’ came the gruff retort.

  ‘Before I came here, before I was even out of Skala, I was sure I was being followed. Was that you?’

  ‘Might have been.’

  ‘And people seemed to be hiding?’

  ‘Look, don’t flatter yourself, it was Connor we were after. It took a lot of planning in a short space of time and a lot of people were involved. He would have been quite a prize.’

  ‘And you burgled my apartment?’

  Ira took a moment to consider this. ‘I wouldn’t say burgled, I took a look around. Anyone else wouldn’t know if it had been burgled or not, it’s that much of a mess. I was surprised, the people you work with said you were tidy and diligent. It makes me wonder if you’re going through some sort of personal crisis.’

  This annoyed JT considerably, not least because it was true. He tried to deflect Ira by asking, ‘And how did you get in?’

  ‘Through the front door,’ said Ira, as if the answer were obvious.

  ‘Picked the lock I suppose?’

  ‘No, I used the key.’

  JT looked at Ira in puzzlement. ‘The keys are in the desk drawer in my office.’ It took him a moment to make the connection. ‘You burgled my office and my home? How did you get into Hellinar Research?’

  Ira merely shrugged. ‘And where are the keys now?’ JT demanded.

  Ira began fumbling in a pocket and retrieved a small bunch of keys, dropping them into JT’s waiting hand.

  ‘Meant to give them to you earlier. Sorry.’

  ‘Have you made copies?’

  ‘Actually, no, I haven’t.’ Meeting JT’s scowl he shrugged and added, ‘There didn’t seem much point.’

  They walked in silence the rest of the way, JT brooding, Ira striding alongside him indifferent to his mood. Presently they reached the Projects and the dirt path became the cobbled stones of Siir Street. Waiting at a nearby corner, looking apprehensive in a long white tunic, was Evelyn Tudor.

  ‘Look at you,’ she said in a scolding tone as they approached. ‘You’re covered in blood.’ Seeing Ira she demanded, ‘Who are you? Did you do this to him?’

  Ira offered her a rough, calloused hand. ‘I’m Ira, failed poet, and yes, I did that to him. He took it pretty well actually. You should be proud.’

  Evelyn gave him a withering look before turning back to JT. ‘We need to get you cleaned up and into a fresh change of clothes. Nothing broken is there?’

  ‘I don’t think so. A wash and a change would be welcome though.’

  Evelyn took him by the arm and walked him east along Siir Street, Ira trailing behind.

  ‘I followed the tracks into the slums,’ said JT, in a voice he hoped didn’t carry. ‘Ira here thought I was William Connor.’

  ‘That’s the name from the T24 access log,’ she replied.

  ‘It seems he may have facilitated the theft of Hydra. It stopped in the slums to pick people up before heading out of Skala. From there I have no idea where it went, into Ayon I assume.’

  ‘If it was heading west wouldn’t it be going into Hellinar?’

  ‘It was fitted with snow chains,’ he reminded her. ‘You’d never fit chains to go into the desert.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she agreed.

  ‘The people that questioned me after Ira was done seemed very worried about Hydra. Well, the people Hydra picked up I should say. Their concern seemed a little out of proportion. I’m not saying the theft of three vehicles isn’t a serious offence, but there was something else going on.’

  ‘I might be able to fill you in on that,’ she said. ‘While you’ve been gone it’s come out that one of the Intercessor Drive Cores has been stolen.’

  JT, startled by the news, considered it a moment. ‘You think whoever stole the IDC used Hydra to move it? That would certainly account for a lot.’

  Ira, who was still close behind them, chipped in. ‘Your Unit Hydra and the people it carries are about to become the most hunted group on the planet. That’s why we wanted Connor so urgently. Once we heard about the Core we had to try and get our people back before the authorities got to them.’

  ‘Hence the harsh treatment?’ asked JT, gesturing to the dry blood that still adorned his jumpsuit.

  Ira sighed. ‘It was a race against time. Connor is a tough nut and he had to know we were serious. We had to find out who hired him and where that Core was going, fast, if we were to have any chance of getting to our people first. Unfortunately ‘he’ turned out to be you, and you knew as much about IDCs as I do about poetry, which as I’ve assured you, isn’t much.’

  Evelyn glared at him over her shoulder, then looked back to JT with motherly concern. ‘If that’s the case, there is someone I think you should talk to. We’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll make the arrangements, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ said JT, willing to go along with anything that bought him a bath. ‘Who is it you want me to talk to?’

  ‘An old friend who works for the Corporate Investigations Division.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ said JT, caught a little off guard.

  Ira snorted. ‘What are they going to do?’

  When Evelyn didn’t answer he added, ‘I’ll wait outside while you powwow if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘That,’ said Evelyn Tudor with assured finality, ‘sounds like a very good idea.’

  On the outskirts of the Central District, the Corporate Investigations Division was a large, cluttered office at ground level. Thick double doors prevented the repressively sweaty atmosphere spilling into the rest of Skala City, while w
orn ceiling fans creaked overhead like the hinges of old wardrobes. It was an outdated, wood and glass-lined, open-plan space shared by twenty officers. To judge by the near constant ringing, it was also home to twice that number of telephones.

  Evelyn Tudor and JT sat on a pair of poor-quality steel chairs whose torn linings spilled forth the bulk of their contents. They faced a wide desk with split veneer and bulging but neatly stacked trays of paper that looked destined for the brace of filing cabinets that lined the far wall. A small slide-in plaque assured them the desk was the current property of Detective Vincent O’Brien.

  Evelyn sat prim and upright and, to JT’s eye, looked uncharacteristically self-conscious. She glanced around every so often as if looking for someone she knew but the other occupants of the office seemed far too busy to pay her any heed. Her discomfort was cut mercifully short when O’Brien arrived. He was everything JT imagined an investigator would be – the clean, urgent persona masking a weary, overworked soul.

  ‘Evelyn, nice to see you.’ She stood to greet him and shook his hand warmly. ‘I imagine it’s strange being back in this office?’

  ‘Well, it does feel a little awkward. I don’t recognise anyone,’ she confided.

  ‘There are still a few old faces,’ he scanned around the room but seemed unable to locate one. ‘I guess most of them are out right now. Tyler Olson’s still with us but only for a couple of shifts as it happens. I’ll be sad to lose him.’

  ‘Retirement?’

  ‘Well earned,’ said O’Brien, a sentiment Evelyn clearly shared.

  ‘You worked here?’ JT asked her with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Yes I did,’ she said evenly.

  ‘Worked here?’ said O’Brien, amused. ‘She set the place up.’

  Evelyn blushed momentarily then, remembering her manners, made the introductions. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Vincent O’Brien, this is JT Gilbert.’ They shook hands, each immediately recognising and respecting the administrator in the other.