Torn From On High: Free City Book 2 (The Free City Series)
Page 5
There were dozens of house-sized cast-offs from humanity's nearly five hundred year presence in Low Earth orbit fastened willy-nilly to the huge vessel. More than a few presumably dysfunctional satellites had been stuffed under a giant loose fitting net that stretched across one side of the Billikin. Scores of crushed and crumpled propellant tanks were lashed together with steel cables near the stern of the ship. Colossal doodads and gizmos were moored everywhere.
That amount of scrap material piled together anywhere on Earth would have been impressive; in the difficult environment of space, it was quite remarkable.
A warning buzzer interrupted Ryo's thoughts.
Keira frowned, “Well; this is a problem.”
She adjusted several settings on the patrol craft's instrument panel.
“The Billikin's automated docking interface has apparently malfunctioned.”
Ryo grinned, “After the trials and tribulations of our little expedition to the Asteroid Belt last year, manually docking with a salvage ship in Low Earth Orbit should be easy for you.”
“I guess so,” she replied reluctantly.
“See that?” Seamus's bony finger pointed towards the vessel, “Somebody has meddled with the docking ring hatch doors.”
“How are we going to get on board?”
“Not to worry, child,” the old passenger answered. “I know of a rarely used auxiliary hatch that enters into the engine room.”
After skirting around the ship, they came upon the small hatch. Keira eased the patrol craft into place with no small bit of advice from Seamus.
The threesome pried open the door.
Ryo stopped his cohorts just inside the silent engine room.
“We have no idea what's been lurking about on the Billikin; so don't take any chances.”
Seamus frowned and Keira slowly nodded.
“You two check over the engine room. I'm going up to the bridge.”
• • •
He certainly was dead, Ryo noted as he studied the Captain's body.
Takahashi had been beaten and staked-out like a most unfortunate specimen in a deranged bug collection.
The old Inspector called down the alleyway to his companions.
Keira floated warily into the Captain's sleeping compartment.
“OH! That's terrible!” she cringed as she stared at the disturbing crime scene.
Ryo poked halfheartedly at the body that was splayed out like a wide 'X' against the thin sheet metal partition wall. Stout wire encircled both ankles and one wrist, which held the body in what would have been an excruciating position, had the victim been alive.
A long and very slender dagger had been driven through Takahashi's left palm and well into the thin wall behind him to complete the 'X' arrangement of the limbs.
“How did he die?” Keira whispered.
Ryo studied the corpse for several seconds. “The autopsy will tell for sure.”
He tapped tentatively at the side of the dead man's neck just below his left ear. “I suspect that this has something to do with it.”
A small black hole, no larger than a good-sized mole, was centered on what appeared to be an odd reddish-gray bulge that stretched from the ear lobe to the shoulder.
“This is some sort of entrance wound.”
Ryo pried the rigor mortis stiffened carcass forward and peered at the back of the neck.
“DON'T LOOK,” he cautioned his cohort.
“There's a gaping hole at the base of his skull.”
Keira winced.
“There isn't any splatter behind him, so it didn't happen in here.”
He let loose the body and it floated back against the wall.
“I suspect that he was incapacitated elsewhere and then brought in here to be put on display for some reason.”
Seamus nudged his way past Keira.
“It's a sign,” the old man solemnly intoned as he studied the remains.
“Of what?” Ryo asked.
“The dagger through the palm; I guess the bastard had it coming.”
Keira stared at the razor-sharp blade, “What does it mean, Seamus?”
“Hoodlums and gangsters have used it for years,” the old man shook his head. “It means 'stop stealing my stuff,' or some such nonsense.”
“Intimidation and perhaps retribution,” Ryo frowned, “but I suspect that this ghastly tableau was meant as a warning to someone else.”
Keira shuddered, “He was murdered to teach others a lesson?”
“So it seems,” Seamus nodded.
“Well;” Ryo sighed, “to catch the thugs who are responsible, I'm afraid that we are going to have to play along with this barbaric game until they reveal their hand.”
• • •
The trio carefully searched the vessel for hours and located the many corpses of the crewmembers of the Billikin.
All had been gruesomely murdered but none of the nine others were displayed like the Captain.
With Seamus's help, Keira sorted through the ship's manifest and cross-referenced the names with the bodies scattered around the vessel.
“Someone is missing,” she tapped at the display screen.
Ryo and Seamus studied the log.
“A Retrieval Specialist named Nathan Briggs.”
“Yeah; I remember Nate,” Seamus nodded. “He was a Serf from EurAfrica just like me. The poor dog was stuck taking a beat up old runabout out to wrangle promising debris. It's the toughest job on the Billikin. Maybe he just snapped and went on a killing spree.”
“I wonder,” Ryo frowned, “where is Mr. Briggs now?”
Seamus turned to the Inspector, “I did notice that the retrieval runabout is missing.”
After nearly a minute of careful thought, Ryo finally spoke, “I think for now we have to assume that Nate Briggs is a prime suspect in these murders.”
• • •
An hour later at Ryo's request, Keira sent out an All-Points Bulletin that requested any available information about Nate Briggs while the men busied themselves elsewhere.
When her task was completed, she took one long last look at the Captain's body before she sought out her cohorts.
Keira shivered as she floated down the eerie passageway of the derelict vessel.
The young woman was certain that she would always remember the Billikin as the 'death ship.'
• • •
During the prolonged interval as they waited for the Free City Coroner to arrive at the Billikin and take over the crime scene, Ryo held a hushed conversation with Seamus amongst the clutter of the aft cargo bay.
When Keira had come upon the two men, the old Inspector had tersely and uncharacteristically warned her off. It would be best for everyone if she knew nothing of the impending trickery.
After she had reluctantly left them, Ryo continued.
He pointed at the text on the screen of his communication device, “You're OK with this?”
Seamus nodded, “I'm a worn-out old man; I don't really have anything to lose.”
“Alright then, let the deception begin.” Ryo pressed the 'send' button and the deed was done.
The two men brooded in silence for several seconds.
The pleasant chirp of Ryo's communication device broke the unwelcome reflection on the day's horrifying events.
It was Chief Inspector Helga Bennet.
She began without formalities, “We received word about ten minutes ago that Nate Briggs, or at least what's left of him, has been located. I'm sending you the location information. Tend to this right away.”
The screen changed to flashing red text.
Ryo frowned at the coordinates, “This is an odd place for a Space Debris Retrieval Specialist.”
12. News Item: Slaughter in orbit!
Dateline: 7th of August, 2446; Aboard the salvage ship Billikin in Low Earth Orbit
Adrift high above the heads of the lowly humans on Earth is a most disturbing crime scene.
Free City Investigators were called in to sif
t through the bloody mess onboard the salvage ship Billikin in Low Earth Orbit late yesterday. The immense floating boneyard of space debris has the grisly distinction of being the site of the largest mass murder onboard a near-Earth vessel in over eighty years.
Rumors have spread in the past few days that some sort of terrible fate had befallen the good ship and crew but none had predicted the gruesomeness of the deed.
While investigators at the Free City Inquisitor's Office remain maddeningly mute about the slaughter, an eyewitness account has surfaced from another source.
“The butchery was quite disturbing,” reported ninety-seven year-old Free City resident Seamus Nelson who was a former crewman onboard the Billikin. The retired Ship's Engineer accompanied investigators when they first discovered the massacre on the marooned vessel.
“There were dreadful signs of torture and one body was ritualistically displayed,” confided Mr. Nelson about the horrific massacre. He indicated that the investigators had rapidly pieced together many details at the crime scene and that arrests were likely soon.
This morning the Space Salvage Cartel, which has been supplied with significant quantities of scrap materials in the past from the Billikin, offered a hefty reward of fifty thousand Standard Units to anyone who aids in the capture of the mass murderers.
Those with any information about the atrocities onboard the Billikin are urged to contact the Free City Inquisitor's Office at once.
13. The hired companion
Sabra sat stiffly on the hard wooden bench in the hushed and nearly empty hallway just outside of the office. Many of the trinkets and baubles crowded around her low-cut attire jangled softly as she moved.
She certainly was quite a spectacle at the subdued and straitlaced institution.
The receptionist at the Connaught School for Disadvantaged Girls had made no effort to hide her distaste for Sabra when she had arrived nearly an hour earlier. Now she waited to be called into the office of the Head of the School.
Sabra thought it was amusing early on; sitting nervously, as she had occasionally done during her own childhood, to be scolded for some minor transgression by the principal or head teacher, but this was different: she was an adult now and was being generously compensated to tend to this particular matter.
Sabra silently considered whether it would be appropriate to mention the stuffy and inhospitable treatment that she'd received to her esteemed employer.
He would likely be displeased, but with whom? Sabra or the staff of the Connaught School?
Two days earlier, the mysterious redheaded woman had reappeared at the Investigations Into Alternative Lifestyles 501 classroom at the University. She had pulled Sabra aside before the instruction had begun and told her of a rare opportunity for a well-paid job.
When Sabra had dithered and expressed a reluctance to take on the responsibility, the fiery redhead just snickered, “The hundred Units that you owe me says you'll accept the job, sweetie.”
Thwarted by her lack of funds, Sabra followed the woman out of the classroom and down to the Student Union.
They nudged their way through the crowd at the sprawling food court and slipped into a small cafe. There in the back, seated alone as he thumbed through a thick stack of documents was a graying older man. He could have been a professor or senior researcher at the University, Sabra judged by his appearance and detached manner.
The redhead stood politely at the table awaiting the old man's attention with her hand clasped firmly around Sabra's wrist.
After several seconds, he looked up from the document that he'd been studying, “Yes?”
“Inspector Trop of the Inquisitor's Office?” the woman inquired.
Sabra had winced at the question; was she about to start working for a cop?
“Please;” the man smiled warmly, “call me Ryo.”
The woman bowed a bit, “Fair enough.”
She tugged Sabra to the forefront, “Ryo, this is Miss Sabra MacFarland and she is most enthusiastically seeking the hired companion position for your twelve-year-old child.”
The man grinned wryly at the introduction and beckoned Sabra to sit.
The mysterious woman hovered nearby for a minute or so before dashing off.
In an endearing and slightly befuddled way, Ryo explained to Sabra about his faltering efforts as the guardian of the young girl. The Connaught School was tending to her education and he was nurturing her as best he could in a fatherly way, but what she really needed now was a world-wise young woman as a sort of surrogate older sister.
Ryo had stared pleadingly into her eyes at one point, “Dilma could really use the help.”
And so, with only a bit more prompting, she had taken the job without even meeting the child.
The 'work' sounded absurdly easy for the amount of pay that he had offered. Sabra would fetch Dilma each day at school and then tend to her from 3 in the afternoon until 7 in the evening, entertaining her in any way that she saw fit. Occasionally she would look after Dilma for several days if an investigation took Ryo away from the city.
They were to avoid trouble “if possible,” Ryo had winked. However he would not be upset, he assured her, if they engaged in minor mischief.
Ryo tapped out an advance payment of five hundred Units for the first week's wages on a payment interface and handed her a thick stack of documents with the particulars and permissions to pick up Dilma at the Connaught School in two day's time.
“Be aware,” Ryo cautioned, “that Dilma is quite clever but terribly naive.”
• • •
Sabra stared with icy annoyance at the prim old biddy as she meticulously examined the credentials.
The Head of the Connaught School had kept her waiting for over two hours and now seemed intent on finding some technicality to thwart Sabra in her effort to take charge of Dilma.
The stern gray woman sighed and handed the documents back to Sabra, “I don't like you.”
Sabra's eyes narrowed at the comment.
Perhaps, she guessed, this was some sort of rather cruel test by the hardhearted Head of the School to discover whether she possessed the inner toughness to deal with the emotional ups and downs that twelve-year-old Dilma might present.
The old woman coldly appraised her for several seconds, “I don't like your unconventional lifestyle or appearance. I don't care for your choice in higher education. I certainly do not fancy your conspicuous body odor and your apparent lack of bathing.”
Sabra scowled at the scolding.
“I'm afraid that your paperwork is flawlessly in order and the properly notarized instructions from Inspector Trop are quite clear,” the crone huffed with annoyance, “I must turn Dilma over to a wretch that I would not trust to walk my dog.”
Sabra felt a delightful surge of adrenaline; she had quietly achieved a surprising victory over the moldering and rigid woman who typified the fading old guards of single-minded morality. Sabra had, as an unashamed member of the forward thinking Enlightenment Crusade, at least temporarily, vanquished a representative of the inflexible class system of the past.
Perhaps, as she now postulated Ryo had surmised two days earlier, she would indeed make an excellent mentor for Dilma.
• • •
A rather timid looking dark-haired girl was waiting with her school supplies at the reception desk when Sabra finally left the oppressive office of the Head of the Connaught School at 4 PM.
With an uncommon air of recently hard-won self-confidence, Sabra appraised her shy young protégé.
Dilma was much smaller and thinner than Sabra had imagined; with huge sad brown eyes, a drawn angular face dappled with hundreds of faint freckles and a brushed-back mane of long, slightly rippled coffee-colored hair to frame it all.
The girl drooped dolefully down at the approach of her new nanny.
“Hi;” Sabra summoned a broad smile, “are you Dilma?”
The youngster nodded warily.
“I am Sabra. It is nice to finally
meet you.”
The woman held out her hand in greeting.
Dilma studied the open palm for several seconds before delicately tracing the lines and furrows of Sabra's skin with her tiny fingertips.
The girl stared up at the woman in awe.
“You're very pretty,” she whispered.
“As are you.”
Dilma blushed.
Sabra hoisted the youngster's school bag, “Shall we lope about the city for a few hours?”
The girl gently fingered the dozens of tiny metal medallions and beads that jingled invitingly from Sabra's colorful corset top.
The woman marveled at the child's unrestrained curiosity, “Perhaps, if Inspector Trop sees fit, we will find you some clothes like these in a few weeks.”
Dilma eagerly nodded at the suggestion.
“But there's just one thing, Sabra.”
“What is it, sweetie?”
The girl produced a radiant smile for the first time, “Everyone calls him Ryo.”
Sabra smiled as they headed out into the cold breeze of the city, “So I've heard.”
14. News Item: Kufuzu alive?
Dateline: 8th of August, 2446; Nairobi, EurAfrica, Earth
Tantalizing rumors have surfaced in the back alleys and drinking establishments of Nairobi that Daniel Kufuzu, the Benevolent and Exalted Fourth Warlord of EurAfrica may have, by some unexplained miracle, survived last year's destruction of Arusha.
Although the EurAfrican authorities in our de facto capital of New Rome steadfastly maintain that Kufuzu was vaporized along with nine million others by the antimatter bomb that destroyed the former capital on the Maasai Steppes, the pervasiveness and fervor of this street-buzz begs for further investigation.
Speculation ranges from the reasonable suggestions that our beloved leader was, in fact, recuperating from a minor malady at the seaside palace in Morocco during the blast to the ludicrous jabber that the Exalted One has somehow been recloned as a fully cognitive adult in a secret desert laboratory.
All rumors suggest that Daniel Kufuzu will soon return to his rightful status as Warlord of EurAfrica and sweep aside the bleating bureaucrats in New Rome that have allowed the lowly serfs and slaves in our doleful Fiefdom to grumble aloud about their situation.