Star Cops

by Chris Boucher

  Nathan said, “We appreciate the offer,” and thought, Christ he really means it – unjust – “but you’d better stay in the communications center, and act as base control.”

  Then, to forestall further argument, he pushed himself off and floated down the link-tube in the direction of the module which contained the ISPF office.

  “The thing of it is, we’re not insured for volunteers, Willem,” Theroux said, and set off after Nathan.

  “What the fucking hell are you doing here?” Nathan demanded, furiously relieved when he ducked a look through the office doorway and found that Sergeant Corman was the armed intruder. She was asleep at the workstation, held in place by the Velcro seat pads while her upper body floated, arms outstretched, head lolling. She looked as though she had drowned in dry water. “Corman?”

  Corman woke up with a start. “You’re here at last, sir,” she said and got to her feet. She came loose from the seat, began to drift upwards. “Oh no. How do you cope with this?”

  “I don’t,” Nathan said curtly. “You’re not still trying to follow me, are you, Sergeant?”

  “I feel so sick.”

  Theroux took a pack of chocolate from the breast pocket of his coverall and proffered it. “Eat some,” he said, “you’ll feel better.”

  Corman peered at the label suspiciously. “Sweets?” she said. “Do I know you?”

  At the communications console Nathan said, “Inspector Theroux; Sergeant Corman,” then keyed the direct line to traffic control. “Okay, Willem, it was a false alarm.”

  “Thanks,” said Corman, and accepted the chocolate. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan watched her break open the packet and begin to eat hungrily.

  “A false alarm? I don’t understand.”

  “That’s it exactly: a misunderstanding. Everything will be explained in due course.” He killed the connection, and looked directly at Corman. “Like now?” he said.

  “I was following the killer.”

  Nathan concentrated on keeping his face and voice expressionless. “You’ve identified him?”

  Corman took another bite of chocolate and said, “He came here.”

  “To the station?” said Theroux.

  “To this office. He came to this office.”

  Theroux was making no effort to disguise his scepticism. “Why would he do that, for Chrissakes?”

  Nathan said quietly, “Looking for me, d’you think? Where is he now?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “He’s vanished.”

  “What’s his name?” Nathan asked.

  “Smith.”

  “Smith?” Theroux commented, with heavy irony.

  “John Smith,” said Corman.

  Theroux said, “That’s original.”

  “It’s his real name, apparently.”

  Nathan asked, “What’s he got against me?”

  “He was a construction engineer working on some project out here.”

  “He’s one of ours,” said Theroux.

  “He’s not a Star Cop, no.”

  “I meant, he’s high frontier. A spacejock.”

  She nodded. “Until a Moonbase Star Cop busted him.” Then it was her turn to be derisive. “A spacejock?”

  Theroux ignored it. “When was this?” he asked.

  “A while ago. The details are a bit vague.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  “As far as we can find out your part-time policeman charged him with some sort of misdemeanour and that was the end of his career out here. Even though he was ultimately cleared.”

  Nathan said thoughtfully, “He blames the Star Cops. Decides to revenge himself on the headman.” It was a motive, of sorts. Who could tell with a psychopath? Maybe it was even a bit too rational.

  Theroux looked at Nathan, and raised one eyebrow. He couldn’t really mean what he just said. Shit, it was ludicrous. But Nathan wouldn’t catch his eye.

  “That’s what it looks like,” Corman said. “Listen I’m sorry to have been so melodramatic, sir.” She gestured vaguely at the office. “I needed to get you here quickly, without a lot of arguments and explanations.”

  “Why?” Theroux asked.

  “I should have thought that was obvious,” she said.

  “Not to me.”

  Before she could respond Vanhalsen was back on the communicator. “Commander Spring?”

  “Yes, Willem?”

  “There is an orbit shuttle heading out from the station. It is unauthorized and not cleared for transit. It refuses to acknowledge my signals.”

  “It’s him,” said Corman eagerly. “It’s our man.”

  Nathan‘s reaction seemed almost automatic. “David? Take Sergeant Corman and get us a shuttle prepped. Willem, we shall need transit clearance to follow him.”

  For the first time since they had arrived, Theroux used the walking strip, and he indicated that Corman should do the same.

  “I’ll get onto it.” Vanhalsen sounded pleased. “Real cops-and-robbers stuff, eh?”

  “We’re an old-fashioned outfit at heart,” Nathan said.

  When Corman had made her uncertain way into the link-tube, Theroux said, “You carry on walking in that direction, slow and easy. I’ll be right with you,” and he turned back into the office.

  “Something wrong?” Nathan asked.

  Theroux glanced out of the doorway and, satisfied that she was still moving, slid the door curtain closed, and said softly, “Yeah, there’s something wrong. None of these stations are secure but you can’t just wander in, Nathan. They had to have some kind of authorization, she and this Smith guy both.”

  “His would be forged but why hers, is that what you mean?”

  “And Moonbase never had any Star Cops.”

  Nathan nodded. “She’s certainly faking space sickness,” he said, and smiled tiredly. “Take it from one who knows.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Just what I said. Seems she’s gone to a lot of trouble to get us to chase that shuttle. Be a shame to disappoint her at this late stage.”

  “Okay,” Theroux said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Nathan said, “I always know what I’m doing, David,” and thought, I’m just not sure why I’m doing it any more.

  When Nathan hopped through the entrance hatch into the traffic control and communications module, he was relieved to find Vanhalsen was working alone; it made things simpler. “No back-up, Willem?” he asked.

  Vanhalsen looked up from his mixer-screen. “I have logged your clearance, Commander. I should have confirmation by the time you are suited up.”

  “I wasn’t pushing.”

  “The standard alert has made things difficult. If the Americans would only give a little, then maybe we could all get some sleep.”

  “I wanted a private word with you,” said Nathan.

  “The explanation at last?” Vanhalsen asked.

  Nathan shrugged and said, “Soon, I think. No, at the moment I’m recruiting. I want you to give serious consideration to joining the ISPF.”

  The Dutchman frowned slightly. “I don’t think I would make a good policeman.”

  “It’s a decent enough profession,” said Nathan. “If it’s pursued decently by decent men. Think about it. In the meantime, I need a favour.”

  Vanhalsen’s smile was mildly mournful. “Is this a test?” he asked.

  “This is a theory.”

  “I don’t do auditions, Commander.”

  “Nathan,” said Nathan. “Call me Nathan.”

  “I don’t do auditions, Nathan.”

  “I have a theory Willem, about where our friend in the shuttle is heading. I want you to arrange a reception for them.”


  “Is there a reason you do not you do it yourself?” Vanhalsen asked politely.

  Nathan smiled. Maybe recruiting this man wouldn’t be such a bright idea after all.

  Soundlessly, the fuel burned and the orbit shuttle accelerated silently out from the station. From inside the small craft the chemical reaction in the drive was audible as a low rushing, like dust on a drum.

  “How long before we see him?” Corman asked, peering first at the screens and then directly out through the forward observation ports. She was sitting, lightly strapped in place, in the auxiliary observation frame – known as the Kibitzer’s Cradle – just behind and between the pilot and co-pilot positions. Like Nathan and Theroux, she was fully space-suited apart from the helmet which was clipped in a rack within the regulation reach of either arm.

  Theroux killed the engine burn and said, “Depends how good your eyes are.”

  “Burn confirmed, trajectory is stable, fuel status is positive sixty-seven percent, board is green confirm please,” Vanhalsen intoned from the pilot’s communications screen.

  “Confirmed all green,” said Theroux. “Thank you Eurostat Control.”

  Nathan cut in the co-pilot’s mic and said, “We’ll be in touch, Willem.”

  “Take care, Nathan. Eurostat Control listening out.”

  “I didn’t realize it was a silly question,” Corman said. “I’m new to all this.”

  “I don’t mind sacrificing fuel margin, David,” Nathan said. “Get a sight of him as early as possible.”

  “You sure? It’s risky.”

  “Not as risky as what he’s trying to do.” Nathan turned his head to look Corman in the face. “Wouldn’t you say so, Sergeant?”

  “I might,” she said. “If I knew what that was.”

  She said it without the slightest hesitation or change of expression that Nathan could detect. Not a flicker, he thought. Have I got this wrong too? Can she really be that controlled about it?

  The second burn used up most of the fuel in the safety reserve, but it was only a matter of minutes before their onboard radar showed that they were rapidly overhauling the other shuttle. It was Corman, watching fixedly through the forward ports, who got the first naked-eye sighting. “There he is,” she said, and then dropping her voice, “There. Look.”

  The fleeing shuttle was tiny, bright against the sharp blackness. Almost motionless with distance, it seemed to hang just above the long curve of the planet.

  “It is him, isn’t it?” She was whispering now.

  “It’s him okay,” said Theroux.

  Nathan glanced back at Corman. Why was she whispering? Was it for his benefit? Was it a coincidence? Was it genuine excitement? What?

  “What do you want to do, Nathan?” Theroux asked. “You want me to plot an intercept? We got fuel margin for manoeuvre. Some.”

  “No rush,” said Nathan.

  “Now there’s no rush? Did I miss something?”

  “He’s almost where he wants to be. That is right isn’t it, Corman?”

  Corman looked puzzled. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  Nathan rubbed his eyes and yawned. God he was so tired. Not so much tired of games and tired of bullshit, though he was tired of them, but more just bone bloody weary. He yawned again. “No? It’s coming above the horizon now,” he said.

  “Jesus H Christ,” Theroux said as he looked up from the instruments and stared ahead. “It’s the US unmanned.”

  Given the fuss it was causing, the secret station was not a particularly impressive piece of hardware. The original, graphically-enhanced news visuals had done it more than justice, making it appear large and bristling with hidden menace.

  “Looks bigger on screen, huh?” said Theroux ironically.

  In reality, it was the equivalent of maybe three standard modules; not big enough to house even a small working crew for more than a routine maintenance tour.

  “The news bulletins made it look more threatening, too,” murmured Corman.

  Its appearance gave no sign of what its function might be, and heavy security screening made it impossible to penetrate electronically. The radar profile was a blank exclusion zone.

  “Secrets are always threatening,” said Nathan. “The unknown terrifies, but you can’t be frightened of what you understand.”

  “What I don’t understand is why this guy Smith is headed there,” Theroux said, since it was becoming obvious now that the other shuttle was on a direct course for the station.

  “What does it matter?” Corman’s voice was suddenly harder. “You’ve got the bastard!”

  “Which one of us is stupid, Corman, you or me?” Nathan asked without looking at her. And then, without waiting for an answer, he said to Theroux, “This is as close as we want to go. Can you hold us here more or less?”

  Theroux said, “Sure, no problem,” and began the braking manoeuvres.

  “What?” demanded Corman. “You mean you’re going to let him get away?” Her reaction had just the right mixture of shocked puzzlement and hurt disbelief. Nathan was ready to believe her, to accept that it was all just a paranoid fantasy, and then she said, “After all he’s done to you?”

  He thought, after all he’s done to me, and he flicked on the co-pilot’s communication set and told it, “Link one, Eurostat Charles De Gaulle, Commander Spring for Duty Traffic Controller.” While he waited for the signal to be relayed, by whatever priority satellite or ground station channels were available, he said calmly, “That’s the reason for all he’s done to me, isn’t it? So that he could go to ground on that station, and be absolutely certain that the Star Cop would go in and arrest him.”

  “You’re not serious, are you?” said Theroux, realizing as he said it that he could have chosen his words better. Christ, the man wouldn’t joke about it, would he?

  “Do you think I’d joke about it?” Nathan asked, still calm.

  “So what are my countrymen going to do about a sudden rush of day-trippers arriving at one of their most sensitive locations?”

  “Not one damn thing. We’re the police. Politically neutral. With a legitimate reason for going in there.”

  “Eurostat Charles De Gaulle, Duty Controller Vanhalsen, yes Commander?”

  “It’s a go, Willem. Repeat: It’s a go, Willem.”

  “Very well. Eurostat listening out.”

  “You see, David,” Nathan went on, “the Americans could protest till they were red white and blue in the face, but that’s all folks, and by now I should be loony-toons enough to do it. Shouldn’t I, Corman?” As he spoke it occurred to him that he should be angry, but there was nothing. The sensation he had was weirdly detached, the oddest feeling of objectivity. It wasn’t deliberate and it wasn’t correct, it was simply that all this didn’t touch him, it seemed to have no connection with him. Then he turned to look at Corman and found that in the same detached, unconnected way, he wanted to kill her with his bare hands. “Speak to me, Corman,” he said softly. “Say something careful. Your life is hanging by a thread.”

  Theroux reached out and touched Nathan’s arm. “Nathan? Take it easy.”

  Nathan saw the nervous concern in his eyes and said, “Yes. I’m all right.”

  Theroux said, “I’m still not sure I see the point, Nathan?”

  Is he humouring me, Nathan thought, or does he really not see it? Surely it’s obvious. “We bring him out. He brings out what he’s learned about the station.”

  “You mean he’s a spy?”

  “When did you spot it?” Corman asked, suddenly relaxed and businesslike.

  Nathan matched her tone. “Box traced one of the calls he made to me. It was charged to the Adam Smith Nexus. It’s a cultural foundation.”

  Corman nodded. “It’s a Japanese cover.”

 
; “That was Box’s estimation. But then Box is just a computer.”

  Corman frowned. “It is theirs, I promise you.”

  Nathan smiled thinly. “And if anything went wrong, they could be blamed – but it was all too messy and complicated for them. They work at elaborate simplicity. That bastard’s not a Japanese agent, is he? He’s one of ours. A Brit. Just like you are.”

  Corman took out her Europol ID and thumbed the corner. The standard format disappeared and in its place her security service credentials were displayed. Nathan used the authentication loop in his own ID to confirm what was there.

  “It seems that Sergeant Corman has authority over us and all our works, David,” Nathan said showing him the plate.

  “If you’re satisfied, gentlemen,” said Corman, “shall we go and arrest John Smith?” The request was an order, casual enough to show that she was used to unhesitating obedience.

  Theroux was unmoved. “It’s your call, Nathan,” he said.

  “I need to know more about him,” said Nathan.

  Corman said, “No you don’t, Commander.”

  Nathan was struck by the way the use of his rank was now, without any change of inflexion, a deliberate reminder of her authority. Did she know how close to death she might be? he wondered. “You want me to justify my actions, presumably?” he said.

  She thought for a moment, and then clearly came to the conclusion that she could afford to indulge him. “All right. He’s one of our best. A borderline psychotic, but then all the good ones are.”

  “Christ, I’d say this guy went south of the border a while back,” Theroux muttered.

  “The whole strategy was his. He’s sharp. Of course, he did almost blow it, that night in the park. Killing has always… over-excited him.”

  Before she could go on, a vivid flash of white light splashed into the shuttle cabin through the forward ports. Instinctively, she and Theroux both glanced away from the brightness, but Nathan gazed into it.

  “That must have been a real thrill, then,” he said, and laughed a short, mirthless laugh. “The Americans seem to have killed him.”