Transilience

by Kevin Bragg

  ‘We don’t have a lot of time. Helmqvist and I will ride with you,’ he said to the lead officer.

  Outside the airlock floated two hovercrafts. They seated four, were open-topped and bore a striking resemblance to a similar vehicle found on a fictional desert planet in a distant galaxy. I didn’t know their actual name, but everyone knew them as ‘Speeders’.

  Ashdown and I took the rear seats as the lead Speeder pilot and his partner took the front. When the other team were ready, the officer gunned it. I gripped a bar mounted in front of me for fear of flying out of the cabin.

  The vehicles glided over the rough Martian terrain with ease. Kitterman’s tracks arced from due east to south in the direction of a cluster of large, white water silos jutting out of the ground like a mouthful of broken teeth from rust-coloured gums. When we were about 800 metres from the water field, the area lit up with the intense glow of an engine firing. By the time we reached the silos, a personal spacecraft rocketed towards the heavens.

  Our pilot brought the Speeder to a halt and we all stared up at the night’s sky, watching the ship until it vanished from sight.

  ‘What would you like to do, Detective?’ the pilot asked.

  ‘Call in the launch and then let’s investigate the Water Field.’

  *

  The area known as the Water Field earned its name because it is where New London receives its supply of water from Titan. A company on that moon harvests ice and sells it to colonies within the solar system that do not have their own source of H2O. What water existed on Mars had been used up long ago.

  The company packs large, cylindrical containers with frozen liquid, and transports them from Titan with the equivalent of an interplanetary lorry with space fold capabilities. When the delivery vehicle reaches a planet like Mars, it enters a low orbit and launches the containers to a drop zone on the surface of the planet. A combination of homing beacons in our water field, and proximity sensors on the container, guide it in a controlled descent to an open spot in the field.

  Once they touch down, legs extend to support the silo. A solar panel array powers a heating element to melt the ice and keeps the temperature at a steady 10 degrees Celsius. Eventually, New London Water and Power send out a convoy of collection tankers to drain the silo. These trucks deliver the precious water to a processing plant located in the Spaceport. New London Salvage retrieve the abandoned silos, recycle them, and sell them to factories within the city.

  The system might have seemed overly complicated but it worked. And since the delivery vehicles didn’t have to expend a ton of energy to land every time they brought a fresh supply of water, it kept the costs down and water from becoming a luxury item.

  *

  The pilot did as instructed, and then accelerated the Speeder to a slow crawl. Kitterman’s trail led us through a maze of the large, ashen silos that had not yet been drained or salvaged. At the far edge of the field, we found a storage tower unlike the others in size and overall shape. The footprints went straight to it.

  In the far distance, a swirling mass of dust and rock rumbled towards us. Traces of lightning coursed through the chaos of dirt and wind. In the dark, it was quite dramatic.

  ‘A storm is coming, Helm. We have to make this quick.’

  He and I jumped out of the craft before we had come to a complete stop and immediately scanned the silo. The sides had been split open wide like space shuttle bay doors and the top of the tower was flipped back like the cap on a tube of toothpaste. Inside there looked to be some sort of launch platform. A layer of soot, charred metal and a ruined control panel were all that remained.

  ‘This is new,’ John said to no one in particular over his comm. unit.

  It wasn’t a question, but I chimed in just the same. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve not seen, or heard of, anyone using a storage tank to hide a launch pad in. The captain needs to know about this. It might help explain smuggling operations into the city.’

  I walked around the unit to see if there were any other clues that might help us. A flight plan fixed to one of the walls would have been extremely helpful.

  ‘Can you get a forensic team out here?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe in the morning.’ He glanced up again. ‘But the tempest coming might ruin any evidence to be found.’

  Our pilot broke in over the airwaves. ‘Dispatch has notified us that the approaching dust storm is a class three. We have to get a move on, Detective.’

  Dust storms on Mars are dangerous for reasons that aren’t immediately obvious. For all their menace, winds topping 200 km/h and particles of Martian topsoil caught in those winds aren’t the threat. On a planet without a real atmosphere, and a gravity the fraction of Earth’s outside New London, the force isn’t even enough to knock a person down, or cause a tear in the skin of their EVA. The real danger is the static electricity created by fine particles of dirt colliding into each other. Surges of lightning will kill electronics. Short out life support systems. Kill you slowly. Unless you get hit by too many bolts. Then you die pretty quickly. Either way, all of us were looking at a bad ending if we didn’t get going.

  ‘Fine. Let’s go,’ he announced.

  The wind had begun to pick up. Particles of dust and small debris swirled around us and pelted us. If we weren’t encased in suits designed to keep us alive, I have no doubt I could’ve felt the charge in the air. But I didn’t have to feel it to know. The HUD in my visor began to flicker.

  We scrambled back into the speeder and our pilot gunned it. The other craft already started for home ahead of us. Our man guided the craft through the field. When we cleared the last silo, I glanced back to see a twisting, churning mass of Martian landscape tumbling towards us.

  The Speeder pilot opened up the throttle and we began to outpace it. Our tiny craft created its own wake of red dirt as he pushed it to the very limit of its speed. As we neared the substation airlock, I could see it was already open. The lead craft entered and made a hard left to clear the area.

  ‘Bravo 923.’ That was us. ‘You are coming in too fast. Be advised you will hit the interior lock door at this speed. Do you copy?’

  No one said anything. All four of us poured our will into outstripping the hurricane.

  I glanced back. The cloud looked like gods fighting. Brilliant bursts of white blinked here and there, reflecting off the visor of my EVA. The sheer power of it held me in temporary awe.

  It gained energy. The distance between the maelstrom and us narrowed. We could not go fast enough. Bolts of energy arced out of the cloud like some nightmare forged in the mind of Tesla. Systems on the craft began to flicker. I only hoped they didn’t begin to fail. Once again, I latched onto the bar in front of me with a vice-like grip.

  ‘Bravo 9… I repea… ou… opy?’

  ‘Yeah, I copy! Now shut the hell up! Everyone, brace for impact!’

  Tendrils of electricity grabbed the Speeder and all hell broke loose in our tiny little world. Display panels popped, and smoked, and went dead. In one last hurrah, the engines spat a gout of fire and then nothing.

  We hit the ground hard and skipped over a dune. It nearly kicked me out of my seat. The Speeder slid through the sand, rocks and gravel, sparks all around us, but the pilot had positioned it perfectly. It bounced through the external airlock and came to a stop about 2 metres before the second airlock door. Its counterpart slammed closed with a resounding thud. Before I had the time to process everything, let alone relax my grip on the bar, the tumbling mass of Martian topsoil and coursing energy unleashed itself on the wall of the dome. However, the dust and the wind and the electricity could not penetrate the engineering marvel that is New London’s domes.

  The inner door opened. A tech group ran into the hanger and doused the still smouldering engines with fire suppressing foam. I didn’t dare move. It felt like hours before the pilot broke silence. ‘Helluva a ride, eh boys?’

  The co-pilot busted out laughing.

  These guys
weren’t right in the head.

  *

  By the time I had given Ashdown a statement outlining my activity up to the moment I called him, hopped a subway back to RD1 to fetch my car, drove home, hid my FE9 in the closet, and drank myself stupid, I hadn’t been passed out for very long. A persistent chirp from my MAX smartwatch pulled me from a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Less than half awake, my hand knocked into an empty lowball glass and bourbon bottle reaching for it. I checked the display. Ashdown.

  ‘Detective, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Helmqvist, is that you?’

  ‘You dialled my number! Who else would it be?’ Pain in my chest sent me into a coughing fit. I tried to cover the mic as best as possible.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice at first. You sound like shit.’

  ‘Your people skills haven’t improved much, Ash. Again, why are you calling me?’

  ‘I briefed my LT on last night’s incident and he wanted to speak with you. You down for another visit to our lovely precinct?’ He pronounced LT: el-tee.

  I was lying on the couch and rubbed the spot where Kitterman had punched me the night before. ‘Sure, why not,’ I said at last.

  ‘Great! I’ll pick you up in thirty.’

  He hung up before I had a chance to propose a time much later in the day.

  *

  In light of how badly things had gone with the Kitterman case, I decided to lay out all my cards for the police. Well maybe not all of them, but enough of them to maybe convince Ashdown’s boss of what’d been going on at MARA Corporation.

  Thirty minutes gave me just enough time to shower and dump the video images from last night onto my MIX12. A quick survey of what I had didn’t fill me with confidence. Kitterman’s flat cap obscured most of the photos. I couldn’t use any of the CCTV footage for obvious reasons. Ashdown may have gotten a look at him, but if that helped, I didn’t know.

  If you had Nolan sitting in an interview room, or better yet a courtroom, you might be able to make a convincing argument. But with him cruising around space, and even with Ashdown’s account, I doubt anyone would believe he had returned from the grave. Trying to get his lieutenant to buy it may have been a fool’s errand, but I had to try.

  I waited outside for Ashdown to show. He stopped in front of me and opened the passenger door. Immediately, I was hit with the smell of coffee. A bag of doughnuts all but waved hello to me from the passenger seat. I grabbed the doughnuts and took their place. A cup of Joe steamed away in a holder.

  ‘Based on the way you sounded over the phone, I thought you might need these.’

  ‘If I had any friends, Ash, I’d put you right near the top.’

  The detective hammered the accelerator and we raced off in the general direction of RD1. ‘That’s a big if, Helm. You aren’t the most likeable person I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Pot calling the kettle black,’ I replied with a mouthful of doughnut.

  ‘Shut up and eat.’

  We drove in silence while I ate. When I’d finished we were close to Metro HQ.

  ‘Do you think your boss’ll believe what happened?’

  ‘You mean Nolan Kitterman returns from the dead, pays a visit to his daughter, and you chase him through the streets of New London?’

  ‘Something like that, yeah.’

  ‘Depends on what else you’ve got.’

  I glanced down at the MIX12. ‘A few things.’

  We stopped outside the main entrance in an area marked ‘Police Vehicles Only’. A few minutes later, Ashdown knocked on the doorframe of his superior’s office. The door was open but Ashdown knocked anyway.

  ‘Detective Ashdown, please come in.’ The lieutenant didn’t look up from a MIX11. We sat in the two chairs opposite his desk.

  When he’d finished whatever it was he was doing he looked up and smiled.

  ‘Daniel Helmqvist is it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Lieutenant Stone, but everyone calls me Wave.’ He leaned across the desk to shake hands. I leaned in as well and met him halfway.

  ‘Nice to meet you, lieutenant.’

  I’d put him in his early fifties. His short, wavy, auburn hair came with a pair of matching sideburns and a thick moustache. He looked like he’d travelled through time to our century from the Age of Disco and decided he liked it too much here to leave.

  Lieutenant Stone rocked back in his chair. ‘I have read Detective Ashdown’s report concerning last night’s activities, but I have a few questions you might be able to clear up for me.’

  ‘What would you like to know?’

  ‘Can you take me through your steps prior to contacting Detective Ashdown?’

  He only meant that night. I knew that. However, like I said, I decided to tell them more. My client was alive – in so far as a machine is alive – but I didn’t really have a case anymore. Or so I thought. Therefore, in as vague terms as possible, I laid it all out there. I didn’t mention my client, my illegal activities or what was really on the datapad. I spun it as a recovery of stolen property.

  When I finished the tale, he looked at me and reflected on what he had heard. At last, all he said was what I’d already heard, ‘Nolan Kitterman is dead.’

  Ashdown chimed in to my aid. ‘With all due respect, sir, the suspect we pursued last night bore a striking resemblance to Nolan Kitterman.’

  ‘Why did you leave that out of your report?’

  John flushed a bit. ‘I didn’t think you’d take it seriously. That you’d think it was some sort of joke.’

  Lieutenant Stone’s gaze bounced from Ashdown to myself and back to him. He had a very easy manner about him. ‘You’re right. I would have taken it to be some sort of typo, or possibly even a joke. The man is dead.’

  I pulled out my MIX12. ‘Lieutenant, if you can enable your MIX’s Cargo Drop feature to Everyone, I can swipe a video to your tablet.’

  He jabbed the touchscreen on his tablet a few times. Lieutenant Dave Stone appeared in my list of available Cargo Drop users. When I saw his first name, his nickname, Wave, made a bit more sense. I selected his name, grabbed the video feed from last night with my index finger and digitally flicked it towards his machine.

  He sent the video to a smart-glass screen on his wall to allow all three of us to watch it plus a slide show of zoomed-in still shots I had added because you never know what might help and what might not. I provided commentary.

  ‘A very unusual angle, Mr Helmqvist.’

  ‘Call me Dan.’

  ‘Okay. Were they through a skylight?’

  Crimson patches grew on my cheeks. ‘Umm… yeah. It was a stakeout.’ I couldn’t let this turn into a conversation about me trespassing so I continued. ‘But right here…’ I hopped out of my seat and began pointing at still images. ‘That’s Mara Kitterman. And this is Nolan Kitterman.’

  ‘I can see that that is Mara but I’m not buying that that other person is Nolan. I just don’t see it.’

  Ashdown added his two cents. ‘His clothing matches the guy we chased into the salvage yard.’

  ‘Do you think this is Nolan Kitterman, returned from the grave, Detective?’

  Stone had put John in a tight spot. His next answer would either help me or hurt me. My gut told me, John would look out for his career before he tried to help a guy to whom he owed no loyalty.

  ‘I dunno, Lieutenant. He fits the description of how Nolan Kitterman looks in all the media photos at the time of his death. But this guy was also fast and very strong. I believe he could have used lethal force last night but didn’t. Does that all add up to Mara Kitterman’s father pulling a Lazarus? I dunno. There is too much circumstantial evidence to say yes.’

  I fell back into my chair in a slump. My only chance at getting some traction in my case had vanished like that rocket ship last night. In vain, I pressed on. ‘At the very least, you can make a connection between the suspect and Mara Kitterman. The detective admitted they are the same pers
on.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And? And? He assaulted Detective Ashdown. Surely that is enough to question Kitterman’s relationship with this man?!’

  Stone looked back at Ashdown. Ashdown gave him an ‘I’d rather not be involved with this’ shrug.

  The lieutenant redirected his attentions to me. ‘All you’ve shown me is a video of a man whose features cannot be ID’d, obtained through suspicious means. I’m not going to go to one of the most influential people in this city with half-baked accusations of theft, and a dead guy who happens to be her father running through our streets, belting police officers with large pieces of scrap metal. I like my job, thank-you-very-much. I believe everyone in this precinct likes their job far too much to go down that path.’

  The finality of Stone’s verdict, the acknowledgement of how poorly I had conducted my investigation, the last words of Nolan Kitterman, all rang in my head like a church bell mourning the lost. I struggled against the anger welling up inside of me and stood to make my exit.

  ‘Fine,’ I choked out.

  Ashdown and Lt Stone rose from their seats as well. Stone’s polite demeanour never changed. Even though he had shut me down with practised skill, he never wavered from being polite. ‘I appreciate you taking the time to chat with us, Dan. Detective Ashdown can show you out.’

  You’re welcome somehow escaped my lips before I could get out of his office.

  We rode down in the elevator in silence. Neither Ashdown nor I had anything to say to each other. When we hit the ground floor, I stepped out. He did not.

  ‘Stay outta trouble, Helm,’ he said once more.

  Instead of a witty retort, I kept going without looking back.

  28

  With Nolan Kitterman in the wind, a police department who didn’t believe me and nothing to connect Mara to a terrorist attack on Earth, I had a couple of loose ends to tie up before I could close this case.