Breathing Space: Sunblinded Three (Sunblinded Trilogy Book 3)

by S. J. Higbee

  “Chief? You solid?” asked Eileen.

  “I’m fine. Though like everyone else, I could do with more sleep than I’m getting right now.” I stifled a yawn.

  Eileen marched to the door. “Until later, then.”

  “Thanks for all your work tonight – this morning,” I corrected myself as the pink wash of a rising sun spilled through the gap in my blinds.

  She nodded and left. I could hear her greeting the guards stationed outside my door, maintaining the fiction that the Chief was sleeping peacefully in her bed.

  Which I fell into. And even the grim knowledge that Phil White and his associates wouldn’t see another dawn couldn’t keep me awake.

  *

  Five hours later, Diana sagged into her office chair, white-faced and shaking, after I broke the news that her husband had been found dead, along with a couple of his gambling friends.

  “We’re still waiting for the Accident Report, though it looks as though they’d taken it into their heads to cut across the flyer park, where they got caught in the backwash of a shuttle taking off. Seems they’d been drinking and were all somewhat warped. I’m so very sorry.”

  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, while I knelt beside her, sick with guilt.

  Eventually, she subsided. “You’re such a sweet girl. You didn’t have to come and tell me yourself…”

  Oh yes I did, cos I need to know if you’re part of this vile racket, as well. “Least I could do…” I hesitated. “It was… well – a surprise that he was out so late…”

  Her face dragged into the worried expression I’d grown accustomed to seeing, these days. “He hated me working so hard. Thought it reflected badly on him.” Her slow, sad sigh was somehow worse than her weeping. “Truth be told, we weren’t getting on all that well. We’d had another fight. He told me he wanted to cut free of me and the children and then stormed off…” She stared at a vidpic on the office wall of a younger, laughing version of Phil raising a glass at the pic-snapper. “He used to be so handsome. Called me his princess and promised that if only I’d stick by his side, he’d make me his queen…”

  Were you partners in crime? “If you’d said something, we’d have found ways to ease things for you.”

  She hunched forward, her voice low and shamed, “And say – what? Please can I have some time off to figure how to pay the bills while my husband gambles away our wages and screams abuse at me the minute I walk through the door?”

  I let out a sigh, partly in sympathy, mostly of relief. If she’d truly been part of the plot with him, surely she wouldn’t have mentioned his gambling, or their marital problems It would provide her with too much motive.

  I put my arm around her shoulders. “This is awkward. If I had any choice in the matter, I’d stop it in a heartbeat – but you know what the Enforcers are like…” I paused as she tensed under my arm. She would, whether innocent or guilty. Everyone is terrified of them.

  “Enforcers?” her voice was a horrified whisper.

  “While it looks like a drunken accident, they were in a Forbidden zone. The Enforcers have to consider all the possibilities. So they’re insisting on scanbotting all close relatives of the victims.”

  “Not the children! Please, Liz – don’t let them go through that on top of losing their Daddy…”

  And if she were guilty, would that be her first reaction? I don’t think so. “I’ll see what I can do. Again, I’m sorrier than I can say about this whole mess…” Something I can finally say with absolute truth – cos I’m really, really sorry.

  I stayed with her while the crime-tech came in and scan-bots ran over her, processing every speck of dust, hair and DNA on her person. A team were also visiting the White household, setting loose hundreds of the insect-sized bots through the place as she was being examined in her office. While they found more of my DNA on her clothes and skin than Phil’s and traces of dust from her office, home, the Procurement warehouse – there wasn’t a scrap of anything linking her to Phil’s gambling companions. And while there was plenty of microbial evidence linking Phil and his possessions to the Procurement warehouse, the flyer park and the shuttle pilot in their house, there was nothing that absolutely linked Diana to any of it.

  Which doesn’t necessarily clear her, but does make it less likely that she was involved. Feeling horrible, I ordered a twenty-four-hour watch on Diana, in case she was guilty, after all. It certainly didn’t look good with her husband being the main perpetrator.

  I couldn’t shake the suspicion that we were missing something. The steady theft of our most effective new ordnance had been a complex, subtle operation, requiring patience and intelligence and Phil hadn’t demonstrated sufficient quantities of either to be the mastermind. While I was almost positive Diana wasn’t implicated, at the very least we needed to be able to prove her innocence when inevitable suspicions would be raised by the likes of Logan Beck, who’d pounce on this whole affair with the relish of a mouse-hungry cat. Which was how I justified to myself authorising the spying on my close work colleague and staunchest ally.

  I also got Axil to organise a couple of loyal maintenance grunts to go into the tunnels and raise a report on exactly how and when our monitoring systems had been disabled – then give someone the task of combing through the files to see who the culprits could be. Maybe even flush out another of Eddy’s spies – unless, of course, it was a sneaky move by George to discredit me…

  I could see how Norman’s paranoia arose. A couple more decades of living like this, and I’d probably be just like him, with the hair-trigger temper to match. I was already far too short-fused, these days.

  *

  “Can I ask this Council to pause and reflect for a nanosec. Do we really want to change the whole ethos and purpose of the Peace and Prosperity Corps in such a fundamental fashion?” Chairman Beck’s question verged on the querulous, as if he already knew he was defeated.

  While I sat back, bathing in the Council’s delighted approval for a stimming change.

  The Sector Two Justice Federation, to give it its official name, had held a Conference to formally agree a sum each signatory would contribute to a force as yet to be agreed by all Federation members. I was invited to be present at the last vir-meeting of this weekend Conference, along with Jasen, to present the case for the Peace and Prosperity Corps taking on the Contract. After I’d made our opening speech, the Ceran Governor intervened with a motion that the Peace and Prosperity Corps be adopted as the Justice Federation’s enforcers. The motion was immediately seconded and passed. It seemed this part of the Conference was all about rubberstamping a decision already made behind the scenes – I’d spent far too many hours attending such meetings not to spot such a manoeuvre. All we’d had to do was virtually show up at the appointed time.

  Not something I was about to mention to The Council, during this special meeting convened to hear the result of our Presentation. And the only person who seemed unhappy about the outcome – predictably – was Chairman Logan Beck.

  “Let’s face it, while General Norman’s vision had worked very successfully for a number of years, after all, it paid for this…” I gestured to the Council Chamber. “In recent years, it’s been getting increasingly hard...”

  Thanks to those gutless wonders running Earth caving in to those godless Eaties and their exclusion zone.

  Seal it shut, Jessica! It took me a moment to gather my thoughts after her rant interrupted my rehearsed speech. “These last few years have been a constant struggle to pay the bills…”

  Clearing his throat, Florian Starsearcher got to his feet. “If I may intervene at this point, Chairman. The Chief is absolutely correct. In fact, I’d go further – there have been times during the last five years when the P’s have been perilously close to going under—”

  “Point of order, Councilmember Starsearcher! Please allow the Chief to continue with her Report.” Chairman Beck rapped his gavel with more force than was necessary.

  I repeate
d the eye-watering sum we’d be getting, adding, “The Justice Federation clearly want Eddy’s head on a stick almost as much as we do – and are prepared to pay for it. If we conduct ourselves suitably during the Erato Campaign, the Peace and Prosperity Corps will be on a one-year probation as the Sector Two police force.”

  As scattered clapping pattered around the Council Chamber, I glanced at Diana’s empty chair, wishing she’d felt able to attend to witness the culmination of my vision for the P’s. However, she was up to her neck with planning Phil’s funeral, supporting her children and coping with her grief.

  I hadn’t quite finished. “We wouldn’t have such favourable terms without Admiral Starcaster’s excellent support. Whenever those dirtsiders had any questions, Jasen had the answers. I propose that this Council especially note his outstanding contribution to this result.”

  Chairman Beck said, “Any seconder for the Chief’s proposal?”

  “I’ll second the Chief’s proposal.” Florian Starsearcher jumped up. “It seems that Admiral Starcaster is an excellent ambassador for the Peace and Prosperity Corps – a talent we should perhaps capitalise on in the future.”

  I kept my face blank as he sat down again, conscious of Beck’s sudden scrutiny. I’d been aware of his gaze a great deal since I’d stabbed George.

  I stood up, again. “Admiral Starcaster has a special request. He would rather stay on Predominant with his tactical team throughout the Erato Campaign, to be able to respond to any moves coming from Eddy. We all know the perpetrator is capable of a certain low cunning. Therefore, Jasen needs a ground commander to lead our people and I agreed to bring this to the Council to discuss any suitable candidates. It’ll need to be someone with experience who has the Council’s confidence.”

  “I would be happy to be considered,” said Chairman Logan Beck.

  Immediately Councilman Andy Bulstrode seconded the motion and the rest of the Council voted Beck as the Ground Commander.

  Florian Starsearcher jumped to his feet as Beck was still beaming at everyone around the table, and announced, “I propose Elizabeth Sarah Jane Violet Norman as acting Chairman of the Council in Chairman Beck’s absence.” And for once he sat back down without wearing his mouth out further on the subject.

  So Florian Starsearcher did notice Logan Beck’s open contempt at the last meeting – and is now getting his revenge.

  Chairman Beck stared at Florian reproachfully, before recollecting his duty. “Seconders for the motion to nominate Councilman Elizabeth Sarah Jane Violet Norman as acting Chairman.”

  As Manfred Virgo immediately raised his hand, I recalled that he and Florian often went drinking together after the meetings.

  “Congratulations, Chief,” Chairman Beck said, trying for a smile. “I’ll transfer across all the necessary admin before I leave for Erato. Meeting adjourned!” He lingered to suck up the congratulations and back-slapping on his appointment as Ground Commander.

  I didn’t hang around, having plenty of chores waiting for my attention, especially with the prospect of yet more parchwork silting up my workdesk. Whereas Logan Beck would get the chance to fight our enemies, including Eddy.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Those of us remaining at Restormel sweated blood to nail in place all the thousand details necessary to prepare our people for the campaign against Erato, by keeping them properly equipped and ensuring our supply lines were robust. So it didn’t help that Diana was still on compassionate leave. I didn’t attend Phil’s funeral – fortunately the General established the custom that no matter their family connections, unless personnel were top-ranking officers in the P’s command chain; had died in action; or were holders of the P’s Medal of Honour, then the Chief didn’t attend their funeral. However, I sent a floral tribute and hoped Diana understood my position.

  When I look back at those three weeks surrounding the Erato Campaign, it’s a blur. And because of the insane workload during that period, I let my Journal lapse, so I can’t even refer back to it. Certain events, though, stand out from the general haziness…

  Diana returned to Procurement the day after Phil’s funeral, set-faced and dead-eyed, yet unswerving in her dedication. Although my welcome, whenever I ventured down in the warehouse or Procurement admin, was more of a tight nod than the wide smile and perfumed embrace I was accustomed to. Until the day I walked through the door to jagged, voice-cracking sobs that were hurtful to hear. The sound of a broken heart.

  Breathe. Don’t think about Tomas. Or Wynn. Never, never think about Wynn.

  “Diana…” Peter muttered behind me, while Constanza and Chas hung back. Everyone in the Department was staring at Diana’s office, though no one moved as I marched through the Procurement section. I punched the button and the door slid open. Diana was slumped against Axil, juddering with the force of her weeping. While he gently rocked her, muttering comfort noises in a rumbling baritone.

  I hastily stepped back, shutting the door. “Someone could’ve warned me Axil was in there with her!”

  “Apologies, Chief – I figured you knew he was with her and it was a major emergency,” replied Finley.

  It was a fair assumption, given the torrent of orders and requisitions raining down on Procurement. As it was, I did have several dozen items I wanted to ensure we’d stockpiled, so I headed for Finley’s workdesk instead. “Then, let’s see if you can sort these for me, please…”

  Constanza and Ralph requested permission to join the Erato Campaign. I discussed the situation with Peter, who came up with a list of retired Black Shadows he trusted who’d been part of Norman’s protection team and had kept themselves fit. So Constanza and Ralph went, profusely grateful that I was sending them out into danger.

  I would have gone along to see them off, however the Chief didn’t do such things. Until it was arranged for them to debark from Restormel on the same shuttle as Logan Beck as they were all travelling on Pugnacious, anyway. Tradition deemed it suitable that the Chief saw off the Ground Commander with a dignified handshake and wishes for a good fight.

  Beck, unbearably smug, snapped off a salute. “Look after the shop, Chief. We’ll sort out those vile crims, don’t you worry.”

  “For sure. Stay safe. There’s some changes coming up when you get back.” It made my day when his complacent grin faltered, before his escort closed up and he was marched away.

  Suddenly I was engulfed in a hard hug by Constanza, and then Ralph. My guards. My constant companions three half-days a week and every other week-end…

  “Give’em hell,” I managed, before they, too, formed up. Peter, Chris and me watched the squad march aboard the shuttle with the whole embarkation executed by numbers, probably because I was there. To this day I feel bad that maybe there were friends and family whose farewells were cut short due to my presence.

  In amongst all this, I was also besieged by journos from the whole of humanspace, wanting to discuss the new role the Peace and Prosperity Corps was adopting in Sector Two. Indeed, giving interviews became so routine, I stopped feeling sick with nerves. Most of what I had to say was a tissue of half-lies and evasions of course, because I couldn’t so much as hint at the Erato Campaign.

  Fortunately, everyone was accustomed to the slow pace of diplomacy within Sector Two, so when I kept repeating that we were in talks with the new Justice Federation about the possibility of moving against the criminals responsible for the Hawking Atrocity, no one queried the fact that nothing seemed to be happening. And after Hawking, although several regular visiting journos grumbled, no one really questioned our prohibition on all non-P’s personnel as Restormel was on a ‘heightened Security alert’. This meant all the interviews were holo’d – another major advantage.

  When I recall those frantic three weeks, what I remember most clearly is the constant dread. We were going to war. People I’d worked, played and sweated alongside, whom I regarded as trusted companions, were off to face danger while I was staying behind. It felt wrong on so many levels I didn’t wa
nt to think about it, so I didn’t, which didn’t stop the feeling of wrongness. It prevented me eating big meals and sleeping well and drove me far too often to midnight bouts on BalanceJoust. Though even that pleasure was compromised, as I didn’t fight on any setting higher than Skill Level Six, after Chris persuaded me morale would suffer if the Chief wandered around with cracked fingers and black eyes at this crucial time.

  *

  It only took the techs half a day to tweak the vid bank installed in the Council Chamber, so it was slaved to the same feeds as the Ops Room on Predominant. Although I vetoed the smell option, recalling only too clearly the disgusting stench it had left in the Ops Room for days after.

  When the Erato Campaign began, The Council were able to watch our armada approach that ratsnest and – finally – take on their defences with sufficient lethal weaponry of our own. It was a Wednesday, I recall. Initially, there was none of the pent drama unfolding when we broke through Basement Level on Hawking. Erato was merely a smudge on a number of the screens, while closing speeds and relative positions were constantly exchanged on the coms-chat. All vital information, of course. However, after several hours of hearing these exchanges most of us became if not bored, then less tense to the extent that I even relaxed sufficiently to eat half a pizza.

  Hannah Starseeker, a retired Hunter-class captain, was the only one who remained twitchily fixated on the vu-screens. When Erato was filling most of our screens and we could clearly see the defence grid of looted ships circling the pirate enclave, a bright pinprick of light flickered for a long second, followed by a sudden exchange of coms-chat.

  “It’s started,” said Hannah.

  I’d seen footage of ships firing upon each other, of course I had. As the daughter of a merchanting captain, I’d been raised on tales of bloodthirsty pirate attacks. And we’d exchanged a brief salvo when I’d joined the crew of Peacebringer Two during my LiveAction sortie – not that I’d been anywhere near the Bridgedeck to see it. Nothing that prepared me for the brief spears of light stabbing through the old cold blackness of space, while knowing that behind those silent eye-blotching blasts came bloodshed and death. And that it had occurred twenty-one hours and fourteen minutes previously, anyhow…