In Custody

by Edward M. Erdelac

Considine sat wedged on the damp bench, head bowed beneath the leaky bulkhead of the sub-ferry between Jelly and Haj, their body armor jabbing his sore joints and leg painfully.

“You look like you’ve been shook in a box of nails, Inspector,” Jelly observed.

“I don’t feel much better than that, Jelly.”

“Don’t talk to the prisoner, Jelly,” Haj said.

“Come on, Haj,” Jelly whined. “A couple days ago we were working for him. The Inspector’s no crook.”

“What exactly did they tell you, Haj?”

“You killed a guy up on Avenir. Some guy at Morgenstar Munitions. Fed him to an autochef, then stole a company fighter and crashed it out in the desert.”

“That guy fell in the autochef himself, the clumsy sod,” said Considine. “And he killed Brendermeyer.”

Haj and Jelly both looked at him at that.

“Brendermeyer’s dead?” Haj repeated.

“Blown up, with the same Morgenstar Munitions detonite we confiscated from Croix. Croix got it from Orin Bantry, the fellow who got turned into meat paste. He was supposed to blow up the angels.”

“Blow up the angels?” Jelly perked up.

“The ones on the edge of the Boatic Trench. They’re keeping something at bay. Something big and mean down there. This creature, it thinks the world is going to end, or at least it’s telling people it is, mentally or somesuch. It wants to get on the Avenir and high tail it.”

“Go on,” said Haj shaking his head. “So this Bantry fella was what? Mind controlled?”

“No, he was a fanatic. Like his boss. Morgenstar.”

“Aloysius Morgenstar?” Haj said, and now he laughed. “That’s a big one, Inspector.”

“Morgenstar serves Rahab?” Jelly ventured.

Considine looked sharply at Jelly and narrowed his eyes. He nodded once.

Jelly drew his pneumatic pistol and pointed it at Haj.

“What’re you on, Galveston?” Haj exclaimed, flinching back. “Put that thing away!”

“Take yours out and give it to the Inspector,” Jelly ordered.

“You scrambled?” Haj chuckled nervously.

“I mean it, Haj. Two fingers.”

Haj grimaced and pinched the end of his pistol, slid it from its holster and dangled it before Considine, who took it and primed it.

“Thanks, Haj.”

“Don’t mention it,” Haj murmured.

“When we dock, you stay on board, ride the ferry back,” Jelly told Haj, reaching forward and plucking his communicator off his vest.

“Your stupid beliefs are gonna get you thrown in the brig with him, Jelly,” Haj warned.

“Better company than you at least,” Considine quipped. “Jelly, what do you know about this Rahab thing?”

“The angels tell us it’s evil, and it trades powerful visions for a man’s life force. They’ve watched over it for a long time. It takes all of them to keep it down there. And it’s not alone. There are others like it. Demons.”

“This is such detritus,” Haj whispered.

“Then don’t listen!” Considine snapped. “But shut up.”

“So yeah,” Jelly said, “the angels guard Rahab and the demons.”

“What about the cataclysm? Is it real?”

“The priests tell us nothing lasts forever, but that if it does come, Rahab has to be at the center of it, or his evil will spread to other worlds, and follow mankind wherever he goes.”

“They were going to make me do it,” Considine said. “They use these organisms, implant them in your bodies, they did it to Croix. They’ve got another sub, all wired to blow and waiting in Zirconia. I’ve seen it,” he said, tapping his own temple and recalling the image the pilot organism had placed in his mind. “I remember…it’s in the southwest dock. A one man affair. Blue, with a red stripe. The number….the number AA-32. Call ahead and have it impounded.”

Jelly nodded and flipped open his communicator.

“You’re as crazy as Croix was,” said Haj, shaking his head. “What the hell happened to you up there, Inspector?”

“I guess I was illuminated, Haj.”

Jelly had been talking the whole time. Now he closed his channel and looked over at Considine.

“I called the southwest dock controller. He said that sub left Zirconia ten minutes ago.”

“Damn it! Did he get a look at the pilot?”

“He said it was Aloysius Morgenstar.”

Parting

by Edward M. Erdelac -

Considine’s fear that the downing of the fighter would bring the rest of Morgenstar’s air force, while not unfounded, proved inconsequential.

Yulaura took full advantage of the gritty, cluttered skies, driving the rover down through low canyons and grumbling along beneath rocky overhangs, rendering them nearly invisible from the air.

They did see a pair of fighters circle like carrion flyers far overhead, but the downing of their comrade had perhaps made the others wary about flying too low.

It was a circuitous route, but in two hours time the rover came to a stop at the edge of the ocean, where the old sub-ferry station waited, along with a single Morgenstar fighter, sitting on the shore.

“Looks like they wised up,” said Yulaura. “Or one of ‘em did. What now?”

“They haven’t seen this rover,” said Dressler. “As far as they know, we’re just a bunch of grit-breathers looking for passage to Zirconia. Give him a spare suit and a mask and let’s park this thing. We’ll wait till the sub-ferry docks and then go.”

Considine donned a too-tight exposure suit and desert robes and a mask as Yulaura pulled the rover into the holding lot.

They waited a half an hour before the tower of the sub-ferry broke the surface of the water and pulled into the dock.

“You sure he’s worth all this trouble?” she asked Dressler.

“Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t, but there’s still the compensation to be had. And that’s worth the time, yes, unless you wanna live in the rover from now on.”

Yulaura sighed as Lyn pulled on her facemask again.

“Well I don’t wanna live in this thing,” said the girl.

They stepped out into the whipping, volcanic winds, and walked to the shelter of the station.

They were the only waiting passenger except for the Morgenstar pilot lounging on a bench in his flightsuit. He was a clean-cut, angular fellow, not one of these bruiser security officers, but he had a stingshot pistol strapped to his thigh, and when they came in out of the wind, he stood up.

The ferry-attendant, a bored looking old woman, announced the arrival of the ferry through her squelchy public address, and stood up tiredly to take their money.

The pilot walked towards them, his hand on his pistol.

The doors to the ferry opened, and Considine was delighted to see two familiar faces step off, along with a crowd of people bound for elsewhere.

Considine stepped to the two uniformed Enforcers and pulled off his facemask.

“Haj! Jelly!” he exclaimed.

It was Jelly Galveston and Haj, two of his own team. They looked startled to see him and stared bemused at his clothes.

Considine glanced back at the Morgenstar pilot and saw him hesitate, then move his hand away from his pistol and trot back outside, heading for his fighter and communications line no doubt.

“Inspector?” Jelly said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Haj drew his pneumatic sidearm and covered Considine.

“You’re under arrest, Considine.”

Considine raised his hands slowly, and looked over at Dressler, Lyn, and Yulaura with what he hoped was an apologetic expression.

“I’ll sort this out, I promise.”

Dressler and Lyn started forward, but Yulaura grabbed them both by the elbows.

“Sure,” she said. “Be sure and contact us when you do.”

She pulled them back, turned them around, and walked back outside.

Match

by Edward M. Erdelac -

Considine opened the door to the interrogation room and stepped in.

“Alright Ms. Pacoy, I understand you’ve got a match.”

She was sitting at the table where he’d left her, a pixviewer in hands. She turned it to him, screen glowing in the dim room.

“That’s him. That’s the one that loaded the cargo on Avenir.”

Considine took the pixviewer and regarded the face and file in front of him.

“Alright, you can go, Ms. Pacoy. Let’s keep a closer eye on our cargo bay, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jelly stepped aside to let her leave the room.

“Orin Bantry,” Considine read, skimming the details of the man’s personnel file. He was rusty-bearded, balding on top, green eyes.

“Should I call it in, Inspector?” Jelly asked.

“No Jelly,” Considine said. “I think I’ll handle this one personally. You can go back to the garage.”

“Alright,” Jelly said.

Orin Bantry, thirty-four years old. He’d been with Morgenstar Munitions for seventeen years, was a Cover by birth, his father a miner on Sheba, mother a teacher on the space station, one of the glorified tutors who passed a rudimentary education on to the kids of the Sheba miners. They had to know how to read their oxygen regulators, didn’t they? How to seal a pressure suit and operate a drill.

Humble background, yes. He’d made the jump to Avenir as part of Morgenstar’s outreach program, basically a quota filling, much publicized hiring process the company ran every year to keep the Sheban miners from thinking they were a slave class. One lucky soul in a million got a cush job, got to live on Avenir.

Bantry’s job hadn’t been exactly cush, as the program put most Shebans and Covers into the freight depot, packing detonite and hauling crates. He’d apparently been one of the few to display genuine career aptitude. He wasn’t just a leg-upper. Worked his way up from freight to R&D, concocting the zero-G explosive devices his family used to safely blow holes in Sheba without scattering the miners into infinity.

But after eight years of being a hands on worker, he’d been promoted only a few months ago to administrative assistant to Aloysius Morgenstar himself, latest in a long line of corporate heads who could trace their lineage back to the founding of the company.

And now he was smuggling detonite to a whacko ex-grit breather on Zirconia.

But why? And why the confluence of two one-in-a-million individuals? A topsy bug hunter who made the jump to kelp farming and a brilliant chemist who’d been dug out of Sheba….two caste jumpers.

Something in his jaw pained him. That little man, that homunculus he used to joke about. The one that kicked him in the tooth when something wasn’t right.

He made his way back to his office and keyed in Gorsh again.

“Stanlon!” Gorsh in his clean suit, in his nice Peace Council office. “We’ll have the extradition crew ready in about ten minutes, so have Croix ready in about thirty?”

“I’m afraid there’s going to be a delay,” Considine said. “ZMB has quarantined the suspect for the time being. Seems he’s riddled with all sorts of viruses.”

“What! I’ve already put the extradition in motion.”

“I know, but you know how ZMB is. They’re adamant about scanning him.”

“Scanning him?” Gorsh repeated, a little nervously it seemed. “Under no circumstances!”

“Sir?”

“That is, I won’t have the delay. The wheels are already in motion.”

“Well I’m sorry, but we’ve no jurisdiction over the Medical Bureau, as you know. The doctor told me there’s a danger of contamination, and you know how touchy the sea monkeys are down here about germs. Nothing short of a squad of Enforcers is going to get him released early.”

“Damn!” said Gorsh. Something certainly wasn’t going his way.

“May I make a suggestion? How would it be if I maintained a close watch on the whole thing personally, and brought Croix up myself as soon as he’s released?” said Considine.

Gorsh was chewing his lips. What was the matter with him? Why did he want Croix so badly?

“Very well, Stanlon,” said Gorsh, straightening his tunic. “But I want you to keep a very close eye. And I want the results of the scan transmitted to my office as soon as….no, wait. I want you to bring me the results. And impress upon the ZMB the need for candor. We’re building a case, here after all, and anything, any narcotics in his system, for instance, any abnormalities at all, could be admissible as evidence.”

“You want the results kept secret?”

“Dammit, Stanlon….yes.”

“Alright….sir. I’ll advice discretion.”

“Do more than advise it.”

“Gorsh, do you expect some abnormality to show up in the scan?”

“I don’t know of course. Don’t be ridiculous. Look, we’ve had some botched sentences up here lately. Lot of angry relatives, influential people petitioning the Peace Council. I just want this to go very smoothly.”

“I see. Alright.”

“Alright. Stay on top of it, and call me as soon as he’s released, or if there are any complications.”

“I’ll do that.”

Gorsh winked out again.

Well something was surely going on here. He’d felt it prudent not to mention the doctor’s diagnosis that Croix was dying from his ailments.

Croix. What was it about the man that agitated Gorsh? Well, Considine’s purpose in delivering the man personally was two-fold. He could continue this investigation better on Avenir.

Now all Croix had to do was survive long enough to make the trip.

The Trouble With Croix

by Edward M. Erdelac -

“He’s dying,” said the Doctor outside the interrogation room where Croix was sitting peaceably.

Considine wasn’t overly surprised. The man looked almost as if he’d died already. Lung deterioration was a common cause of death to Topsies. They worked half their lives to get out of the poison air only to find it had already killed them long ago. Sometimes the knowledge drove them to a nihilistic kind of crime. It made a kind of sense. He just wished he knew what Considine’s target had been.

“What of? Not his injuries, surely.”

“Without a complete scan I can’t say, but by his symptoms, a multitude of things.”

“A multitude?”

“Pneumonia, syphilis, orange and yellow fevers….”

“What?” Enforcer Brendermyer interjected. “Is he contagious?”

“Oh yeah. But most of the things he’s got we’ve all had inoculations for. The thing is, he should’ve had them too prior to entering the city.”

“Couldn’t he have slipped the requirements?”

“Not on your life. The Zirconia Medical Bureau is extremely tough on topsy immigration. Even the crooks don’t bypass the physical requirements. Nobody wants some nasty bug bite disease running rampant in Zironia. Could deep six the whole population.”

“How could he have contracted multiple viral infections?” Considine wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” admitted the doctor. “I’m going to have to request that he submit to a full scan back at the Medical Bureau before I release him to psychiatric care. I’ve got to catalog all he’s got, make sure he’s safe to move.”

“He’s not going to psych. The Peace Council’s requested he be extradited to Avenir.”

“Well he’s not going anywhere till he’s released medically.”

“Alright, Doctor. Can you arrange transport?”

“I’ve already alerted the ZMB. They’re sending a haz-mat team to bubblewrap him and take him back.”

“Fine.” He would have to tell Gorsh Croix wouldn’t be ready in two hours.

Considine looked through the porthole in the door at Croix. The man smiled at him, a little wearily, but still present of mind.

“Could his condition affect his mind, Doctor?”

“Definitely.”

“Will you alert me once the scan’s complete?”

“Sure thing.”

Jelly came tromping down the corridor in his Enforcer gear.

“Hey Inspector, that freight jockey’s gone through the personnel pix from Morgenstar, says she thinks she’s got a match.

“Thank you, Jelly,” Considine said, going off toward the room they’d left her in.

“Hey Inspector!” Brendermyer called.

“What?”

“The club! My gig! Can I go or what?”

“Once the ZMB comes and picks him up, and as long as the Doctor checks you out, it’s alright with me.”

“I’m not gonna have time to change out of all this crap,” he said, gesturing to his tactical wear.

Considine shrugged.

“Maybe it’ll improve your act. Make it a gimmick. Brendermyer: The Laughing Enforcer.”

Jelly at least, chuckled.