by Greg Curtis
Inside the room was crowded with more officers, all of them staring intently at a holo on the back wall. All of them abruptly turned to her as she walked in followed by the Major.
“Who's that?” There was no polite greeting, neither a nod nor a smile. An officer just pointed to a figure on the holo, a man in a police uniform, and snapped the question at her.
“I'm not sure,” she replied, which was the truth. She understood the significance of the question because the unidentified man was speaking with the policebot XC 208, the one which had gone rogue. They were desperately hunting through every shred of a recording showing the bot interacting with anyone in the days before the attack. This recording was from the bot storage bay where it was being recharged. It was a place where few officers and fewer detectives would go, so it was no surprise that she didn't recognise the man. “Can you enlarge and sharpen a little bit and maybe play it a bit to get a better image of his face?”
They did as she asked and immediately the officer's head came a little closer. However the quality of the image was very poor. She surmised that this was a piece of accidentally recorded video. It was out of focus and there was only so much they could do to enhance it. She still didn't know the man, but the one thing she did know was that it wasn't 208's detective. Ambrose was a larger man with blond hair and she told them as much.
“Thank you Detective Samara. That will be all.” The Major abruptly decided he’d heard enough from her.
And just like that she’d been dismissed. Her excitement for the morning was over. Back to the games at her workstation.
It was obvious they would be extending the search by hunting through endless piles of recordings looking for more images of the mysterious officer. When had he entered the station and when did he leave? Attempting to source a better picture, maybe even a badge. Now that they had a face no matter how fuzzy, they could work with it. She could help with that, but she wouldn’t be allowed to.
There was no point in arguing about it though. They had a lead and they were going to hunt it down. She should be happy about that.
Slowly making her way back to her desk, past the platoon of military police now stationed around her, another thought troubled her. They had a lead, plus they had all the toys that they could ever need to help them hunt down that officer. And when the take down finally happened, they had all the toys for that as well. But what if they were wrong? Despite all the gadgets and resources they had, and all the confidence they exuded, what if they simply weren't ready to face their enemy?
Annalisse couldn't help but wonder if they were as prepared for the bomber as they believed they were. If they, or for that matter anyone else, really knew what they were up against. If the man could hack his way into very high-security police databases and reprogram policebots - who was to say he couldn't do the same to them? Suddenly she knew that they were over-confident, believing that their toys and procedures would protect them, that they would have the offender in custody soon. Most of all believing that the bomber couldn't possibly come after them.
What if they were wrong?
Settling down at her nasty little work station surrounded by all the special people who were almost buzzing with confidence, she shuddered. She had been one of them not so long before. Everything had appeared to be in hand. And then the bomber had taught her a lesson in humility. But she couldn't tell them that. They wouldn't listen.
But she was never taking her vest off again.
Chapter Nine
“You're sure about this, ship? Astrometrics couldn't be off?”
“Of course I'm sure. But if you like I can open the back hatch and you can stand there and study it yourself with your own eyes!” The ship didn't like being questioned and it let him know it.
It didn't like much lately, and Carm was being told so in less than flattering terms most days. The arguments had been unpleasant.
“Alright. I apologise. It just seems amazingly fortunate. That's all. And we haven't exactly been blessed with good fortune recently.”
“Oh shards! Primitive superstition! Is there any part of that mush brain of yours that isn't short-circuiting?”
Carm didn't respond. Instead he kept looking at the surprisingly beautiful green-blue orb on the holo and checking the results of the analyses flashing up beside it. Outcomes that almost seemed to confirm that the religious were right – there was a God.
As he scrutinised the image, Carm felt a new emotion flow inside him, one he didn't recognise. It was something akin to happiness, or maybe it was hope. It had been a long time since he’d known that particular feeling. Finally luck was in his favour.
Only seven jumps in and already they’d found a planet with an atmosphere. It wasn't a good one however – the massive slug of methane in it would make it unbreathable without filters and the high sulphur content meant it was corrosive. It would sting the eyes and stink too, but it would do.
There was oxygen, carbon dioxide, and nitrogen in sufficient quantities that after contaminants had been removed the onboard stores could be replenished. There was water in addition, even though it would have to be filtered and distilled. To complete the picture the planet was covered in vegetation. That meant food. It was extremely unlikely to be edible, but with some work it could be converted into organics which algae could then convert into edible protein. It wasn't going to be steak and cheese, but the textured vegetable protein it would become would make a passable imitation when the frozen stores ran out.
There were no signs of civilisation– but he hadn't expected any. No high levels of carbon dioxide had been found from the combustion processes. Neither were there any radioactive hot spots, cities, nor transmissions. The world was one of jungle and ocean.
Air, water and food, and all on a planet only a weeks' flight by EM drive and which the ship could safely land on. In a couple of weeks the ship would be fully restocked and three of his most pressing worries would have been taken care of.
He'd been lucky finding the world – only one in a hundred systems possessed a planet with any useful atmosphere. This one was tolerable so far as gravity and temperature went. Even the radiation was within limits. This was the type of world which could be colonised with a little terraforming. It was a potentially valuable find – if he could ever get back to the Commonwealth to lodge the claim. It could be worth a million credits or more.
Since he appeared to be on a winning streak Carm thought perhaps he should also do some mineralogical scanning while there. Repairing the hull had used up nearly all the ingots in store so it would be good to restock them as well. Aluminium would be especially welcome.
“Ship, complete locking in the translation coordinates, get what you can through the astrogation computers, and then set a course for that planet.” Normally he would have had the ship stay where it was and use the astrogation system non-stop for two days in the hope of finding their position while simultaneously performing a bow to stern systems check. But there seemed little point as they wouldn't find anything and the ship was running smoothly. Fixing the translation coordinates was vital since without them they wouldn't be able to jump back to the other six systems they'd mapped but the rest could wait.
Having given the AI his instructions Carm thought about getting coffee. Good news should be rewarded with good coffee – though in this case it would have to be of the mediocre variety and in poor company. Kendra was still where he’d left her but he’d turned off the batteries keeping her neural cortex and vocal processor running. He was still bothered by the sight of her. Maybe it was time to move the now completely dormant android into storage.
Despite his hopes she’d failed to provide him with much information. It had always been a faint prospect he supposed. She’d sent the message she'd mentioned and he’d found the records. But he had no way of knowing who she'd sent it to. That was why she'd told him about it he guessed - she’d been attempting to win his trust for as little as possible.
&nbs
p; She'd told him nothing more, and he didn't expect her to. She hadn't believed him when he'd said the message had been lost. And he guessed that even as damaged as she was, she could still do a basic voice stress analysis and spot the deception.
Maybe this world would be a good place to leave her. It wouldn't feel like he was killing her. She could remain dormant in her packing crate coffin for the next thousand years, a sort of sleeping beauty awaiting her prince. Or maybe the wicked witch – he wasn't sure which one she was.
Screw it, he decided, he needed coffee. He could cover her plastic packing crate with a sheet or tarp. Telling the ship to flash everything to the galley he made to leave the bridge.
“You should get some rest Carmichael. A good eight hours is indicated.”
“I've rested enough,” Carm responded automatically, the same way he’d done at least a dozen times. It wasn't true, he was very tired. He just couldn't sleep. He was far too exhausted for that. The last time he'd slept he'd woken to find himself doubled over a work bench in fabrication with a painfully stiff back and drool coming out of his mouth. But he simply couldn't find it within himself to find his bed.
“Regulations state—”
“Screw the regulations! Out here I am the regulations. If or when we get back to somewhere good you can write me up. Report me to the Guild to your mechanical heart's content. Until then, let it be.” He knew the ship was only doing its job, to keep its captain alive and in good health. Carm had no doubt it would report his failings to the relevant authorities, and it would feel justified in doing so. It would probably expect them to write a note of censure and perhaps even order a medical and time off work.
“Letting it be, but you should know that you're running a slight fever and losing weight. You need to spend more time in the gym and eat better. And a check-up with the medbot might be a good idea as well.”
“Understood.” There was no point in arguing with a machine. He was just thankful that for the moment it seemed to have given up on sarcasm in favour of caring. Of course, he realised, that might mean the ship was actually worried about him. “I'll go and eat something now. I might even have a nap.”
He fully intended to but he had no doubt that he'd forget and the ship would start nagging him again. That was its job. But the true problem wasn't his health. It was the death of his hopes and the knowledge he'd never see his family again. Or that he'd never talk to another human being. There was no medicine for that.
“Good. And if you'd like I could have that malfunctioning eyesore removed from the common area so that you don't have to look at it.”
Carm laughed a little at that. It wasn't the first time the ship had suggested getting rid of Kendra. The ship had switched its frustrations to Kendra. It appeared to think that the android was an embarrassment to machine kind unless it was just practising its own version of caring for his mental health. It didn't need a crazy captain.
“No thanks. She still may be useful.” She wouldn't be. He knew that. The android's only function now was to destroy him any way it could. But Kendra was still the closest thing to a human being he’d encounter so once she was gone, he’d be alone. But the mechanical intelligence of the ship wouldn’t understand that.
“That defective pile of short circuits was never useful!”
“True. But this is her chance to become so,” Carm said as he reached the door leading from the bridge to the rest of the ship.
“It won't take it. Whoever reprogrammed that bucket of bolts made certain of that. It's only purpose is to kill you.”
“I know. And that's the advantage I have over her. Concentrate on the coordinates and then plot a course.”
“As you wish,” the ship sighed. “But a please would be welcome every now and then.”
“Please.” And with that Carm finally escaped the bridge, the door squeaking shut behind him. He needed coffee and he needed a more stable ship. And he needed a better plan for dealing with Kendra.
Most of all though he needed to get drunk.
Chapter Ten
The meeting room overflowed with officers from both the ALEB and the Navy. Every seat was taken with more people standing. Half a dozen technicians were sitting at stations arrayed against a wall, tapping holographic keys and talking with people in the field while displays from military bots showed live feeds of what was happening. The meeting room had become a command centre.
Annalisse wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand the room had been repaired and the ceiling had been replaced with a fresh patch of clean white tiles. The carpets were new too, the light blue shag reasonably refreshing after the threadbare brown rugs they’d replaced. The walls had also been painted, the smell still overpowering. Conversely, sitting here felt a little disrespectful to those who had died in it only a couple of weeks before. Plus it was nerve wrecking as every minute or two she looked up expecting to see someone on fire. She hated being there.
Mostly, though, she didn't like why she was here.
It had taken them two weeks to track down the strange officer who’d spoken to 208. Thirty-four days had passed since the bombing. Annalisse was appalled by that: it was far too slow. But she was also worried. These military police were the best the Navy had, and they’d come with the best technicians. They had all the equipment. And yet it had taken them two weeks to track the suspect down and come up with a name. And even after all that there was no evidence that he was working for the bomber let alone the man himself. No hard evidence anyway.
Really she was mostly frustrated that she wasn’t a part of the investigation. She was still confined to her desk and spending her days playing stupid games. They weren't trusted enough to help and neither were they free to carry out other duties. They weren't even kept informed. The only reason she knew anything was that she listened in on conversations around the office.
Annalisse would have thought that when they'd found out that the man wasn't an officer of the ALEB they would have been off the hook. That wasn't the case. Someone had still got the man a uniform along with a fake badge, and had let him into the station. Someone had programmed the doors to give him access to secure areas. There could still be traitors among them.
Still it was all finally coming to an end. After chasing down a digital trail, tracking a man through a thousand different cameras, they had a name and a face. And most important of all, they had a location. Even now military officers were preparing to take him down. Then they would question him until the stars burnt out. She knew that because the Major had invited her and other police officers to watch the whole thing from the newly repaired meeting room. Actually they hadn't been invited – they’d been ordered to attend. It was a subtle hint that the Navy was better at this sort of thing than ALEB and they needed to lift their game. Actually it wasn't that subtle.
Anyway, what sort of a name was Barclay? She pondered on that while observing the feeds displaying what the Navy had found. It was an unusual name. Barclay Hamilton the Fourth. It almost felt made up, as if it had been taken from an ancient holo or a period drama from ancient Earth.
The rest of the story didn't make sense either. The suspect ran a soil reclamation plant. The holos were currently showing the installation, focusing on the lengthy rows of composting soil almost completely surrounding the plant. It was good work, a respectable occupation that brought in good credits. Vital work too, as Aquaria was slowly being terraformed from the alien mudball it had been into a new Earth. On top of that it was skilled work, the process being very complex as they took in endless amounts of soil, dried it and killed off any native microbes. Then they composted it, and eventually the soil was sent out to become the foundation of farms and orchards.
But why would someone who spent his days converting barren alien soil into good rich loam suddenly don a police uniform and start reprogramming policebots to become murderers? That was what she didn't understand.
He had no reason to be a malcontent, quite the oppos
ite in fact. He had a good income; he was respected, with a wife and kids, a regular voter and a member of his local ‘beautify the neighbourhood’ committee. He was a fine upstanding citizen in other words. Cautiously, and almost wishing she wasn't doing it, Annalisse raised her hand.
“Detective Samara.” There was more than a hint of annoyance in the major's voice as he recognised her.
“You know that this doesn't track, sir.” She shouldn't have said it. The instant the words left her mouth Annalisse knew she should have kept quiet. This wasn't the place. And she knew it even more when she saw the Major's face freeze. She wasn't his favourite police officer, and he didn't like any of them to begin with.
“It doesn't track Detective Samara?”
“This man has no motive, no reason for rebelling. Everything about him says that he's a well-adjusted, happy individual who likes living in New Andreas. He has no political agenda. No cause. No extremist religious affiliation. Nothing that says he is a malcontent or radical.” She forced herself to set out her doubts.
“Your point being?”
“That maybe he's not our man.” She really shouldn't have said that. Military heads swivelled to face her and all of them looked upset. This was their big moment, the chance for them to end the terrorist threat once and for all and in the process complete the humiliation of the local police. They didn't want to have it rubbished by a failed police officer.
“Then when we capture and question him, we'll find that out.” The Major was direct.
Was that going to happen she wondered? There were thirty military police and their bots all about to advance on the man's position, all of them heavily armed. And all of them were ready to shoot.
The sight of them on the holo abruptly prompted a thought.
“Doctor Simons!” She blurted it out, the comparison striking her.
“What about him Detective Samara?”
