“Godbenighted routine bureaucratic bullshit,” he muttered, regretting that free-fall made kicking the furniture difficult. “Why doesn’t it rubber stamp its own fucking decisions, and leave me the fuck out of it?”
As required by the manual, he had just been to the sickbay and viewed the mortal remains of Gunter Stein, the unfortunate engineering supervisor who had died a routine death while on an outside structural inspection. He had recorded, also required by the manual, his personal confirmation of the computer’s forensic analysis and conclusion that death was as the result of suit failure. He confirmed – or, more accurately, he did not deny – the probability that an initial malfunction of the waste gas elimination system had already rendered Stein unconscious and unable to call for help when the main and fatal failure had occurred. Since the manual did not require it, Theroux had not recorded his feeling that the computer analysis was a bunch of crap.
“You have got some special balls,” snarled the Commander, leaning in so that his face loomed forward on Nathan’s screen in what he fondly imagined was a thoroughly intimidating way.
Nathan smiled back at him. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.” It was difficult, he thought, to be intimidating when you took that much trouble to hide your age with makeup, hair-transplants and face-tucks.
“It’s not a compliment.”
“I realize that. I meant I appreciate the point.” As Nathan expected, in huge close-up the Commander’s unnaturally tanned and taut face now began to flush with fury, and his scalp tightened sweatily so that the carefully worked hair looked oddly tufty all of a sudden. A part of Nathan felt sorry for him – and anyway, winding up his superior was becoming too easy to be entertaining these days. “I meant I understand, sir.”
“You have absolutely no evidence,” the Commander spluttered. “Nothing! Worse than that, worse than that, what evidence you do have points in entirely the opposite direction!”
“Is this the ‘absolutely no evidence’ I have,” Nathan said, conscious that it was a cheap shot, “or is this some other evidence?”
“Not up to your usual standard, Nathan.” The Commander smiled thinly. He had his temper back under control, and it had happened very quickly. “But then, neither is the impulse to waste valuable resources investigating an accidental death.”
Nathan shook his head, aware that he was over-emphasizing a lie. “It wasn’t an impulse.”
“If I were you, I’d settle for that,” the Commander said. “The alternative would seem to be deliberate stupidity.”
“Can you be deliberately stupid? Stupidity is something you can’t help, surely. Sir.” It was the fractional pause before that final ‘sir’ that made it offensive.
The Commander rose above the insult. “Be very careful, Nathan,” he said. “I’ve allowed you to go your own way far more than anyone else. But now you’re a long way out, with a long way to fall.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do.”
Nathan knew he had missed something. The man had something else on his mind. With a deliberately dismissive edge to his voice he said, “Whatever. This is all beside the point, isn’t it? I’m quite convinced the death wasn’t accidental,” and watched the Commander’s face closely.
The response was irritatingly bland and confident. “The computer disagrees with you. And I agree with the computer.”
“Which leaves us with the question of what the hell it is you pay me for,” Nathan said. “Or does the computer have an answer for that as well?”
“Doesn’t it occur to you that second-guessing a machine projection with a probability which is as close to certain as…”, he breathed deeply as though searching for some appropriate analogy.
“…as anything the Accounts Committee could hope for, yes, sir, you don’t have to spell it out for me.”
“If that were true, Nathan, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”
“The computer reached a premature conclusion.”
The Commander smirked. “It rushed things because it was anxious to prove that it’s cleverer than you, presumably.”
“There isn’t enough evidence for the conclusion it’s drawn,” Nathan said, and thought there is, actually, and that shouldn’t be a problem, so why is it a problem?
“To err is human,” the Commander snorted, “but it’s quicker with a machine.”
For some reason that still wasn’t evident, the man seemed to be enjoying himself. Nathan decided to try a deliberate flash of anger. “I’m serious! The fucking thing’s not clairvoyant!”
“And you are?”
“I ask questions. It’s called police work. Or it was before the rubber stamp brigade took over.”
“I’ll tell you what else the computer isn’t, Chief Superintendent. It isn’t arrogant. It isn’t ambitious. And it certainly isn’t insolent and insubordinate!”
“It isn’t right, either,” Nathan said calmly.
This time the Commander paused before responding, and it seemed almost as though he was reminding himself of something – like an unhappy kid remembering that Christmas wasn’t too far away. Eventually, he said, “I’ve had Lincoln recalled to base.”
Nathan glanced at the time-code in the corner of the screen. “He can’t have finished the scan. Not unless he sprinted round that reservoir.”
“I don’t know. Lincoln’s never struck me as the sprinting type. But I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“It wasn’t relevant.”
Nathan nodded, real anger this time draining colour and expression from his face. “You simply countermanded the order. My direct order to one of my subordinates?”
“I simply withdrew the authorization, Nathan. An authorization which you hadn’t bothered to obtain in the first place.”
“You know as well as I do that evidence can disappear in the time it takes to get authorization.”
“The Great Pyramid could disappear in the time it would take to get authorization for that particular investigation. Now the subject is closed. And so is the case.”
“Is that all, Commander?” Nathan reached for the screen override.
“Not quite,” said the Commander.
Nathan made a point of not withdrawing his hand from the control, and said, “Only I have some free time coming, and I’d like to take it now.”
“A meeting, Chief Superintendent Spring. My office. Tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong with a screen conference?”
“It isn’t a conference.” The Commander smiled. Christmas looked to be getting closer all the time. “It’s just you and me, Nathan.”
“Can’t we deal with it now?”
“No.”
“The circuit is secure, sir. Digit encryption was reset yesterday.”
“My office. Shall we say oh-eight-thirty?”
“In the morning?” Nathan couldn’t keep the discomfiture out of his voice. The bastard would be suggesting American-style breakfast meetings next, he thought.
“I suggest we talk over breakfast,” the Commander said. He was positively beaming as he broke the connection.
“It was the expression on his face.”
“Stein’s face?” Simon Butler looked up from the main communications and traffic control screen and smiled. He seemed to find his friend’s police work endlessly amusing.
“Someone else die while I was down in med-lab?” snapped Theroux. “What else have we been talking about here?”
Butler yawned. “Sorry, my mind wandered for a moment. Orbital trajectories, flight vectors… that sort of thing.” He pushed a hand through his unruly, non-regulation curls, and scratched his scalp vigorously. “Irritating the way my work can interfere with your hobbies, I realize.”
&
nbsp; Theroux reached across the cramped cylindrical cabin, touched a screen and rechecked the various countdown displays. Everything was running according to schedule. “All on the money, and in the green routine,” he intoned and then said, “Unless I’m missing something?”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Like if I’m boring you, for instance. You only have to say so, Simon.”
“Boring, you? Boring, police work?” He threw up his hands in mock horror. “Heaven forefend. And perish the thought.”
“Fine.” Theroux nodded. “You only had to say.”
Butler looked pained. “You’re not going to sulk, are you?” he said. “I hate it when you sulk.”
Theroux shook his head. “Not sulking,” he said sulkily. “Let’s talk about something else.” He unclipped a self-chill squeezey-pack from the refreshments rack, broke the seal and took a suck of fruit concentrate before it had cooled properly. “Anything exciting happen while I was away having fun?”
Butler sighed. “At least Stein had a face,” he said. “Your next case could be a full decompression. Now there is an appetizing thought.” He smiled broadly. “In space, no-one can hear you squelch.”
Theroux was not to be placated. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it. Really we don’t.”
“Oh fine,” Butler shrugged, “if that’s how you feel…”
After a moment’s silence Theroux said, “The thing of it was, the expression on the guy’s face was not… natural.”
“Define natural.”
“What do you want me to say? Relaxed. Normal.”
Butler yawned copiously. “I know that sooner or later, death is as inevitable as sunrise, David old thing, but I don’t imagine that means one greets it like the dawn.” He nodded in the direction of the rack. “Flip one of those coffees over will you.”
Theroux pulled a coffee tub and passed it across, making sure he did not release it until Butler had it in his hand. “Stop testing me,” he said.
Butler said, “Your devotion to rules – any and all rules – is just a bit obsessive. You do know that, don’t you?”
“So I’m a zero-tolerance cop.”
“As opposed to an anal-retentive mummy’s boy?”
Theroux gestured a casual two fingers at him. It was an English insult he found more satisfying than simply flipping the bird – it was more exotic, somehow. “Stein was scared shitless,” he said. “And mad as hell. Both at the same time.”
Butler raised one eyebrow and smirked. It was his favourite wry Englishman pose. “You do surprise me,” he said.
Theroux shook his head. “He was supposed to be dead before he knew he was dying. Why did he look angry and frightened, can you tell me that?”
“Maybe it was his natural expression. At rest I mean.”
“Listen, whatever else this guy was, at rest he was not.”
Butler’s smirk widened into a grin. “Shouldn’t let superstitious primitives like you look at corpses, really. It unsettles you. You’ll be rattling bones and waving chicken feathers about the place before you can say…” he paused for a moment, as called for by the rules of the trivia game they had devised to pass the slow shifts, then said, “‘We have the motive, which is money, and the body, which is dead’. I’ll give you five points for the film and five for the actor.”
Theroux glowered. “For Chrissakes Simon, someone died.”
“Is that a counter quote? Are you bidding?”
“Don’t you think maybe it’s important?”
Butler stopped grinning and nodded solemnly. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he said. “Ten points for the film and ten points for the actor. Fifteen? That’s my final bid.”
Theroux ignored him, and switched his back-up monitor screen from scanning radar to the station personnel file. A soft electronic bleep registered the change. “You know how many guys we’ve lost recently?” he asked.
Butler said, “You know how many points you’ve lost recently?”
There was another bleep: the warnings were set to get louder and more frequent the longer the screen was off-line. It bleeped again, and again Theroux found himself depressed by the computer’s unwaveringly routine systems. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered.
Butler sniffed theatrically. “Smells like a diversion to me,” he said. “The bid is fifteen. You don’t know it do you? Twenty. Twenty points apiece. The bid is twenty. Better speak. I’m going to wipe you out.” He was smirking now. “And you know what a bad winner I am.”
“In The Heat Of The Night. Rod Steiger,” Theroux said.
Butler was crestfallen. “Oh. Shit. You were bluffing.”
“Simon,” Theroux said flatly, “I just want you to shut the fuck up so I can think.”
Butler sighed. “The dark-skinned races are so moody, aren’t they? Great sense of rhythm, no sense of proportion.”
But Theroux was not really listening, so there was no chance that he would react. He was looking at the list of fatalities for the last three tours of duty. “Too damn many,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry?” Butler looked politely interested, another of his stock, typical Englishman poses.
“Four deaths in nine months.”
“All suit failures?”
Theroux nodded. “Yeah.” He flicked the screen back to the real-time scanning display and killed the increasingly shrill alarm.
“All krauts?”
“What?”
“Were they all Germans?”
“No, they weren’t all Germans. What’s their nationality got to do with anything?”
Butler shrugged. “Possible explanation that’s all.”
“Possible explanation? What possible explanation?” Theroux couldn’t see a promising link, let alone a possible explanation. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It occurred to me,” Butler said, “that God might have it in for our Teutonic cousins.”
Theroux tried not to sound disappointed and disapproving at what was just one more of Butler’s bad taste jokes. “That’s pretty sick isn’t it?” he said, sounding disappointed and disapproving. “Even for you.”
“I hope so,” Butler smiled. “They’re such humourless buggers, don’t you think? Krauts?”
Theroux snorted, unable – as ever – to stay mad at his friend. “Do you believe half of what you say, Simon?” he asked.
Butler beamed. “About that, yes. Which makes me more reliable than the average.”
Theroux shook his head. “You think?”
“Well, not more reliable than the average Star Cop of course.”
“We agreed you wouldn’t call me that, you smartass sonofabitch.”
“And much less reliable than a computer.”
An odd thought struck Theroux. “You think?” he said thoughtfully.
“You’re repeating yourself,” Butler said.
It was a bothering thought, contained in an obvious question. “How does a computer understand what a guy’s face means?” he asked.
“It doesn’t,” Butler volunteered. “That’s the great strength of the computer. What can’t smile can’t lie.” And then he smiled, as if to emphasize the point.
Chapter 2
The full-frame vision screens, which replaced three walls of the Commander’s office cubicle, were new and were playing calm vistas of idyllic English countryside viewed from treetop level. Since they were sitting on the thirty-fourth floor of Europol’s inner-city headquarters Nathan found this slightly disorientating. He was not sure whether the effect was deliberate so he put aside his irritation at being called in for a face-to-face and offered a show of polite interest instead. “Very pleasant, sir. But don’t you find them a bit distracting?”
The Commander shook his head.
“It’s a feedback system. Cost a bloody fortune to set up. It’s tuned to my particular brainwave patterns.”
Nathan said, “I can’t think why that should have been expensive,” and then smiled.
On the wall-screens, a small cloud drifted across the sun as the Commander smiled back thinly. “You can never resist it, can you?”
“I’m sorry – I just meant the technology isn’t really new.”
“You’re not sorry. And that’s not what you meant!”
The clouds were now thickening and getting darker by the moment. “The feedback system does what, exactly?” Nathan asked, watching the gathering storm with genuine interest.
The Commander glanced round at the screens, flexing his neck stiffly as he turned his head. Then he closed his eyes and took a couple of deep, slow breaths. “It responds to my moods,” he said, as the sun came out over broad-leaf woods, and meadows filled with wild flowers.
“You’re feeling bucolic, sir?”
“Relaxed, Nathan. I’m feeling relaxed,” said the Commander, opening his eyes again. “It’s supposed to be good for your health.”
“The countryside.”
“Being in touch with your responses. Controlling your…”
“Temper?”
“Mood swings!” snapped the Commander as the sun hazed over again.
Nathan nodded. “Fascinating.” He felt better. Clearly the screens were not a further product of the Interrogation Section. Or if they were, then it was another fine mess they’d gotten everyone into. “So what was it you wanted to discuss, sir?” he asked.
The sun came out with a sudden bright intensity, and the cubicle was momentarily vivid with warm light. “How’s your case load at the moment? Anything you can’t leave?” asked the Commander.
Star Cops Page 2
