After some hours, Hamilton swapped positions with Klane. They talked quietly by the elevator for a few minutes before Hamilton ascended and made his way to the security room.
Jones sat within, staring in a bored manner at the monitor screens.
“Hi.” Hamilton sighed, wearily.
Jones nodded. “Tough first shift, huh?”
“Yeah,” Hamilton agreed. “You could say that.”
“You think it was sabotage?”
Hamilton glanced around nervously. Jones gestured towards one of his devices atop the console. Hamilton nodded. “You bet. I talked with Klane just now. She hasn’t got anything in her kit that would show up on a ship scan.”
“What do you think it was, the ‘uncertain’ armament, that is?”
Hamilton shrugged. “Nuclear warhead, possibly, hidden in the launch. Something like that, at least. Though the destruction left an awful lot of energy still unspent out there. Whatever it was, it was well shielded, which is why the scan was incomplete. Nobody checks a launch over before making its parent ship ready for space.”
“Especially,” Jones added. “If that same launch was used very shortly before with no problems.”
Hamilton nodded. “Precisely. Only question is, who pressed the button to detonate it?”
“P’raps it was timed?” Jones suggested.
Hamilton shook his head. “Doubtful. To be timed, it would have had to have been placed there after we picked up Klane. If it was there before that it could have gone off prematurely if we were forced to wait for Klane. Nobody could have put it there. The lock opened onto the main corridor.”
Jones considered it for a few moments. “Maybe it was there all along, just not armed. It would have only taken a couple of minutes for someone to sneak aboard and arm it, right?”
“Hmmm,” Hamilton murmured. “That’s true. But who pushed the button? It can’t have been anyone on the bridge. I’d have noticed.”
“Maybe it was an automatic signal.”
Hamilton frowned. “I don’t follow you.”
“Picture this,” Jones began. “Our bomber, and we have to assume it was Vogerian himself, has this bomb hidden away on the shuttle way ahead of time, but disarmed. At some time during our voyage, he sneaks aboard and arms the thing. Before he leaves the survey ship to be ferried across to this ship he activates a timed transmitter, giving himself time to get his people aboard the new ship and those embarrassing old companions aboard the doomed ship. After the preset interval the transmitter sends the detonation code and Boom! No more trouble from his friends.”
Hamilton scratched his stubble infested chin. He hadn’t shaved for some days now. “It’s a good theory. Probably true, in fact. But I don’t think it was Vogerian who did it. He was truly horrified when LeGault and I reported it. You can’t fake that kind of reaction with any conviction. Particularly not if your planning to do away with a score or so more people, as well.”
Jones shrugged. “Maybe he was upset the bomb had gone off too soon?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So who was it then? Lewis?”
“I doubt it. She doesn’t strike me as the nuclear bomb sort. A bit short on smarts in that area, I should think.”
“But,” Jones pointed out. “She had access to the survey vessel for longer than most. She was part of its original crew, remember?”
“Hmm. I still don’t think it was her.”
“OK. That points the finger at LeGault or Walsh then. They’re the only other original crew.”
“It’s not LeGault. He didn’t even realise what had happened at first, I think. I don’t know about Walsh. I haven’t spoken to him. He’s on Klane’s list. I shouldn’t think so, though. Where would any of them get a nuclear bomb?”
“If they’re in league with Vogerian he’d supply them, surely?”
“You’re forgetting. Vogerian didn’t know anything about it. He was as shocked as the rest when it happened.”
Jones spread his hands. “I don’t know, then. It’s all very complex. There’s something going on that we know nothing about. Something very, very dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Hamilton agreed. “We’re being manipulated alright. But by whom?”
Jones shook his head. “How do you want to proceed?”
Hamilton shrugged. “Well, we’ve got two options right now. Firstly, we can continue our investigations quietly. Try to find out who else is involved. Or secondly we can make our suspicions about the sabotage public. See what happens then.”
“I don’t think we want to make any ship-wide announcements just yet, do you?”
Hamilton shook his head wearily. “Not really. Just stating our options, that’s all.”
“So what’s the play?” Jones asked.
Hamilton considered it. “I guess we’ll just have to keep on talking to people and watching the screens.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” Jones admitted, patting the monitors. “It’s not exactly the most inspiring job in the universe.”
“But it’s essential. This console has to be manned round the clock. We can’t afford to miss anything.”
Jones was thoughtful. “You know, it occurs to me that if Vogerian built this thing then he must have foreseen us spying on him. This is a big ship, Hamilton. A far bigger ship than it needs to be.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That there may be hidden areas that we don’t know about.”
Hamilton smiled. “Secret passages in the walls?”
“Why not? It couldn’t get any crazier than it is already.”
Hamilton sighed. “You’ve got a point there. I take it your tour of the ship didn’t reveal anything suspicious?”
Jones shook his head. “Nah. Just the stuff that’s tied into these.” He tapped the monitors again. “But, going back to my secret room idea, I think it would be a good idea if we tried to get hold of technical stats on this thing’s construction.”
“How do you propose we go about that?”
“I’ll have to get into the central computer. I don’t suppose you know where the computer room is, do you?”
“No.”
“Oh well, I’ll find it. Probably some innocuous access hatch someplace.”
“Yeah, probably.” Hamilton agreed. “Listen, I’m going to catch some sleep. Wake me in four hours and I’ll take over here. We should have made the transit by then so you won’t have to go and man the weapons console.”
“You mean I can get some sleep?”
“That’s right.”
Jones mulled it over. “How about I give you an hour?”
“Four.” Hamilton repeated. “And not a minute less.”
Hamilton retired to his cabin but, perversely, found he could not sleep despite his weariness. Instead of laying there, running ideas around his head until he got a headache, he rose and went down to the mess.
It was deserted. Those who were on the bridge with him were probably either still there or asleep in their cabins. He wondered how far away the transit point was.
“I thought you were going to sleep?” Jones voice sounded in his headset, accusingly.
“I’m hungry.” Hamilton lied, waving at the securicam.
“Well,” Jones grumbled. “Bring me up something.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And make sure it’s meat free.”
“I will. Just keep your eyes on the rest of the screens. I don’t want you to miss anything.”
“I won’t. There are seven other screens showing snapshots from over thirty cameras. How could I miss anything?”
“Well, just make sure you don’t. Remember, it’s more than just your job at stake now.”
“Alright! Alright! I get the message.”
“Good.”
Hamilton wandered over to the food dispenser. It was of an ultra-modern design, seen only on liners. Hamilton had once travelled on a liner as a security guard. He had been forced to wear a ridiculous uniform t
hat didn’t fit properly. The food dispenser had been the only good thing about the voyage. You made your selection and it was automatically made up from the ship’s stores. This one looked top-of-the-line.
He tapped in his selection and waited. In a very short time a tray of steaming food appeared from the side of the bulky machine, travelling along on its own little conveyor belt. Hamilton dragged it over to the nearest table and sat down tiredly.
An experimental bite proved the food to be tasty, but extremely hot. He put it aside to cool a little and sipped at the drink he’d ordered. It was sweet and warm and had an unusual flavour. Hamilton decided he liked it, whatever it was. He’d just pressed the first non-coffee combination that he’d seen. After the coffee he’d had from the machine in the terminal he’d decided to go caffeine free for a while.
He leaned his chin on his hand and closed his eyes briefly.
“Hey! You OK?”
Hamilton’s eyes shot open. His meal, now cold, lay before him still, as did his unfinished drink.
Glancing around, he saw that the voice belonged to Cassandra Johnson, the scientist. She held his headset in one hand.
“This was lying on the floor.” she explained. “It seems someone is upset with you.” She handed him the headset.
He donned it swiftly. “Yeah?” he inquired, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“As I was saying when you ripped the headset off and threw it on the floor,” Jones complained. “Where’s my food!”
“Take it easy, I’ll get you some.”
“Thank Christ your awake.” Klane interrupted. “That idiot was driving me crazy with his constant griping.”
“I was not griping!” Jones argued. “He promised me something to eat an hour ago and then he fell asleep. When I tried to wake him he ripped the headset off and threw it on the floor.”
“I wonder why?” Klane said, sarcastically.
“Don’t you start as well!” Jones complained.
Hamilton pulled the headset off and threw it on the table. The pair’s argument could still be faintly heard. Hamilton turned to Johnson.
“Thanks a lot.” he grumbled.
“Sorry.” she said. “It seemed like the thing to do.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “Maybe I can actually get around to eating something now.”
“Provided that you don’t fall asleep again.” she agreed.
Hamilton stood and dumped the contents of his tray into the disposal unit. Hot, it had seemed quite appetising. Cold, it just looked a disgusting mess.
Johnson had made her choice from the machine and was just collecting it when Hamilton got there.
“What’s that?” he asked, amused, looking over her shoulder.
“It’s called a cheeseburger.” she replied, obviously used to such reactions. “They used to be really popular back in my day.”
Hamilton was not convinced. “Is that meat in there?”
She smiled. “A good question. In my day, probably not a lot. With this thing,” She indicated the dispenser. “It is meat.”
“What does it taste like?”
“Here,” She offered. “Have a bite.”
Hamilton warily accepted the burger and took a tentative bite. Unidentifiable substances squished out onto his hands and chin. The taste, however, was incredible.
“How come,” he asked around the mouthful. “That I’ve eaten meat and cheese and bread together before and it never tasted like this.”
She frowned at him. “There’s a lot more to culinary delight than simply lumping the ingredients together.”
“Obviously.” he agreed, taking another, larger bite. He quickly recalled that it wasn’t his cheeseburger he was eating. Mouth full, he gestured an apology.
“That’s OK.” she replied. “I’ll get another.”
The pair sat and ate together quietly for a while. Hamilton found that he rather liked the scientist. He knew that she was from the early twenty-first century and had been frozen due to some illness. Recent Humal medical research had allowed her illness to be cured and she had been thawed out. Hamilton knew that the technique of bringing frozen bodies back to life had only become failsafe about twenty years ago. Unfortunately, those frozen were most often dead anyway. Only those that had been frozen whilst still living, though heavily sedated, had successfully been resurrected. That was, until the last five years or so. Secrets gleaned from Humal facilities had led to the breakthrough allowing practically anyone to be brought back to life after being frozen.
As such, the novelty of five and six hundred year old people had soon worn off. There were several hundred alive now. Some, he had heard, had trouble adjusting to their new world and developed all manner of psychological issues.
Hamilton finished his burger and sat back, hunger temporarily sated. He glanced back at the dispenser pensively. “Say,” he began.
“I’ll write the code down for you.” she finished.
He smiled. “Got any more interesting dishes?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment and Hamilton was struck by how pleasant her features were. Not stunning, not ugly, just pleasant. But then, he told himself, he was used to women with faces like Klane’s. The Phantom of the Opera had a pleasant face in comparison to her.
“Have you ever had pizza?” she finally asked.
Hamilton shook his head. A pizza? What the hell was that? A pizza what? She came from a completely different world. A world which Hamilton found himself suddenly interested to learn more about.
Idiot, he told himself, he had work to do. But maybe afterwards he could get to know her better. On the other hand, he reminded himself, she was on his investigation list. So maybe it was time to start investigating.
She finished her meal and they chatted idly about things of little importance, such as pizzas. Politics of various worlds and the state of the Empire were of little interest, on the whole, to Hamilton but he maintained a show of interest. Slowly, he steered the conversation around to her, her life and her interests. He found she was happy to talk about herself.
She had been born in the year twenty fifty-one, the only daughter of a middle-class family. She had, she said, been spoiled terribly by her family, but had managed to outgrow it, only to discover she had cancer. The spoiling had renewed itself and this time, feeling sorry for herself, she had allowed it to continue for some years. She had a normal kind of education but discovered an aptitude for physics. She had pursued this aptitude for many years, into her late twenties. In fact, she had buried herself in it, deliberately ignoring her illness and enduring the poor treatment available. She had attained a doctorate before her illness caused her to become bed-ridden. Some months later, she had died.
“What’s it like?” Hamilton asked. “Being dead, I mean.”
She shrugged. “I don’t really remember. A lot of my memories from before are hazy, incomplete. I just recall sort of fading away.”
After her death, she reasoned, her body had been placed in cryogenic storage, presumably at her parents’ behest. She certainly hadn’t considered the idea. Then, about five years ago, she had been brought back to life and her illness cured.
“Those early days were the most difficult,” she recalled. “I didn’t know anyone. I was in a strange environment with few people prepared to help.”
“I thought they ran orientation programs for people like you?”
She snorted. “They’re a joke! The people running it know almost nothing about the time I came from. They assumed we knew things that we didn’t.”
“Pretty hard, then?”
“You bet! It was like hell! In the end the four of us on the program did our own research much of the time. It was the only way to fill in the gaps.”
After she had settled in she had taken up her studies again, adding modern knowledge to that she had already acquired. It was difficult, but her aptitude helped. About two years ago she had passed one of the highest qualifications around in her field and had cast about f
or employment.
“It was really difficult,” She explained. “People were ready to take me on for my expertise, but suddenly they shied away when they realised that I was from the past.”
“Just another prejudice for good ‘ole mankind to embrace.” Hamilton observed.
She nodded. “I could only end up in jobs with poorly funded projects. Some of them were working towards dubious ends. Until Paul Vogerian called me about this mission, I was resigned to working for dodgy characters.”
I wouldn’t exactly call it plain sailing from here on, Hamilton thought, but said nothing.
She went on to describe how lucky she felt about having been picked by Vogerian. Hamilton listened politely, sickened at the thought of how she, like the others, had been duped. They all had, for that matter, though some of the others must suspect by now, he thought.
She fell silent after that, before prompting him for his story.
Hamilton wasn’t certain quite what she wanted to hear, so he told her most of his story, leaving out the gruesome details and the days when he thought he was going to die. In those terms, he thought, his life sounded like quite the splendid adventure. In truth, it had been a hard, dangerous and, at times, boring existence. Hamilton, however, had few regrets.
She listened silently, eyes wide at times. Afterwards, she was silent for some time.
Hamilton glanced at his watch. He had about another hour and a half left before it was his shift again. He ought to try and get some sleep but he found himself strangely unwilling to end the conversation.
“What will you do,” she asked, suddenly. “When this is all over?”
Hamilton shrugged, not having thought about it too much. The future was always uncertain. Best not to plan too far ahead had always been his credo. It never worked out as you planned, anyhow.
“Well?” she persisted.
Hamilton scratched his chin. “I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it much.”
“But when you realised how much money you could make, you must have dreamed of what you could do with it? I know I did.”
Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope Page 14
