Shadows of Golstar (20 page)

So far, the voyage had taken a little more than two
standard months. Owens spent the first month studying Golstar’s language. Based
on snippets of momentary breaks in Golstar’s coded communications, intelligence
agencies had concluded the people of Golstar used an archaic form of English.
Fortunately, the primary trade language used in Confederated Planets had its
roots in the ancient language. His sessions in the hypno-trainer insured he
would be fluent by the time he arrived in the Golstar system. He didn’t want to
think about how he would be hamstrung if it turned out they spoke something
else entirely.

The remainder of the time, he spent with the prepared
briefings on the current state of diplomacy practiced in Confederated Planets.
It was unfortunate that the briefings had not been formatted for
hypno-training. Forced to learn the old-fashioned way, he found the subject was
much harder than the language lessons. He had trouble accepting the verbal
chess play that was often required in diplomatic missions, and was confounded
by the sensitivity required when dealing with unknown customs. Even after the
countless hours of study and review, he felt less than fluent on the subject.

Three more ship days and the
Sherlock Holmes
would finally reach the border of the quarantine zone. It would take another
two weeks to get to the outer planet in the Golstar system from there.

Owens rose from his chair and stretched. He rubbed his
eyes and killed the holo-screen in his quarters, abruptly silencing in
mid-sentence, Reynaud’s speech on the proper way to address royalty in comparison
to elected officials. Enough of that, he thought. He could use some fresh air
and a nice long walk by a wooded lake. He stifled a yawn and shrugged. He had
never been in space for this long a period and he was more than ready to set
his feet back on a planet, any planet.

Hec’s gruff voice broke the silence and informed him,
by the AI’s reckoning, their distant escort would now depart. They were back on
their own. Owens felt a little unsettled. The military ships had never made
contact, but knowing they were out there provided some sense of security. He
knew Hec was actively monitoring the surrounding space, looking for anything
that could conceal an ambush. It would be another six hours before their next
entrance into subspace.

He dropped into the chair and leaned back. The chair
rocked and squeaked in protest. Although it sounded like it was ready to
collapse, Owens was confident it would withstand his weight. As with
practically everything else in the
Holmes
, the chair had been
strengthened. When I’m around, he thought, everything has to be reinforced. He
flexed his large biceps and sighed ruefully. It was too bad people couldn’t be
reinforced to withstand his Loder physiology as well. That musing led to
another.

He tried to shunt aside the thoughts that often crept
into his mind at down-times like these, but again he found himself mired in the
principal event that led to his leaving the police force. Publicly, he often
attributed his departure to disaffection with the bureaucracy found in law enforcement
and a desire to be his own boss. Although he had no love for the
politicians-in-cop’s-clothing, he knew he would probably still be there if the
Lawrence incident hadn’t happened. 

● ● ●

Ten years before, the day had begun as routine, like
most of Owens’ days on the force. He and his partner answered two calls that
morning, following leads on illicit shipments of computer processor templates.
His partner, Fred Starling had been a detective for sixteen years while Owens
had been promoted only three years before. They normally worked out of vice,
but for the last three months, they had been assigned to an organized-crime
unit led by a special government investigative taskforce.

A syndicate, headed by twin brothers was believed to
be responsible for a number of recent thefts involving sensitive electronic
circuit boards used in sophisticated weapons guidance systems. In the wrong
hands, the equipment could be used for a number of illegal operations. The use
of weapons equipped with the stolen electronics could also result in
devastating collateral damage to unsuspecting communities.

They had been partners for eleven months. Owens was
driving as usual. As the senior partner, Starling took the lead in their investigations
while Owens was given all the tasks Starling didn’t like, driving being one
particularly distasteful to the older detective. Police vehicles were not
equipped with AIs, so Owens had to focus his attention on the street. Staring
at a handheld digi-pad, Starling was reviewing his notes on their current
assignment.

Starling scratched his paunch and looked over at
Owens. His small dark eyes were half hidden beneath caterpillar eyebrows. He
yawned dramatically and said, “Through brilliant detective work, I’ve been able
to cross-reference the receipt printout you found under that empty cargo cube
back to the Stone Billings Corporation.”

“Nice work, partner.” Owens smiled.

“Yeah, it traces back to a purchase they made two days
ago for anti-static packing material; a bunch of it. It could be a link to the
Lawrence brothers.” Although average in stature, he spoke in a deep gravelly
baritone.

“Stone Billings,” Owens slowed for traffic, “Isn’t
their primary business, major resource reclamation projects for the
government?”

“Hey, I know it might be a stretch, but it’s all we
got.” Starling defended.

“No, what I meant was what would
they
need the
packing for and in such a large quantity? They’re basically a big contracting
firm that acts as a clearinghouse for subcontracting reclamation work. They’ve
been around for centuries doing this kind of work for the government. A large
order for packing materials unrelated to their lines of business is unusual, so
I think you might be right. This could be a solid lead.”

“Do I see smoke coming out of your ears?” Then
Starling added, “But your thinking is tracking with mine. God, wouldn’t it be
great if this was the lead we’ve been looking for?” Often, a seemingly minor
mistake would provide a critical key in solving a case. “But let’s keep this
one to ourselves, for the time being. If it turns out to be a false lead, I’d
prefer not to provide the Gee-Gees with any more ammunition for their reports.”

Owens grinned. The term ‘Gee-Gees’ was Starling-speak
for ‘Government Goons.’ The Gee-Gees in this case were the Confederated Planets
Investigations Bureau agents who were leading the taskforce. Starling said,
“Let’s check them out after lunch. Maybe we’ll get lucky and actually break the
case. I’d dearly love to rub the Gee-Gees’ faces in it. If nothing pans out,
then we’ll put it in a report and the Gee-Gees can order up a standard
surveillance setup if they think it’s worth it.” Starling patted his round
stomach with mock affection, “Now let’s get some lunch, Precious needs to be
fed.”

After a quick lunch at Starling’s favorite greasy
spoon, he directed Owens to the passenger side of their vehicle. “You’re in
luck today, Owens my lad; I feel like driving. Uh, and while I’m at it, we’re
going to need the layout of the Stone Billings building. Why don’t you pull a
building profile at the address?”

Owens smiled. Starling liked working with data
terminals even less than he did driving. Owen pushed a button on the dash and
the com-link’s keyboard slid out of its slot. As usual, the vehicle’s voice
interface was on the fritz. He laboriously typed a query into the database at
headquarters. He was forced to give his current assignment ID to get access. If
the Gee-Gees were alert, they might question this line of investigation. Owens
mentally shrugged; he doubted they would ever lower themselves to look at the
database access records. He quickly found what Starling had asked for.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the front of a
large blocky building crowned with the Stone Billings Corporation’s logo; one
of many scattered across the continent. The impellers gradually shunted down
and the vehicle gently settled to the pavement. Tapping a number of membrane
switches, Starling completed the engine shut down. The last indicator winked
out and Starling muttered, “I hate driving these mobile junk piles.” He turned
to Owens. “What do ya got? Did you run the building profile?”

“Yeah, I accessed our database and looks like at this
time of day, there are six security types overseeing ten patrol ‘bots.
According to the current log-in roster, there are about eight hundred
overachievers working in the building right now. Most of the floors are taken
up by processing and tracking computers.”

“That’s a lot of security,” Starling scratched his
chin.

“The records show they had a major break-in about a
year and a half ago. A bunch of disgruntled ex-employees stormed the place.
They were laid off when the company lost some government contracts. They staged
an old-fashioned sit-in. I remember because I got called in to help out. I seem
to recall you were on vacation at the time.”

Starling smiled, “Oh yeah; I went to that resort off
the Crystal peninsula. I got in some pretty good fishing. Yeah, I remember it
now; they really trashed a couple of floors. It made a real splash in the local
media.”

“Well, since then it looks like the company decided to
beef up their security, though I can’t say I have much faith in the class four
‘bots that they use. They spend more time in the shop than they do on duty.
Anyway, your digi-pad should now have the building schematics.” Owens tapped
his own digi-pad.

Starling looked down at the small device in his hands.
“Great, it’s time to make some good use of our flat feet.” Starling and Owens
left the vehicle. “If we get any static, we’ll invoke our ‘Right of Access’ to
gain entrance. Now let’s get to it. If we get finished early enough, I might
get home in time to catch the second half of the game.” They started walking
toward the entrance.

They entered a wide set of glass doors and headed for
a prominent security station marked ‘Visitors.’ They inserted their badge cards
into slots designated for official business and allowed their retinas to be
flashed for ID confirmation. The bored guard sitting at the main desk returned
their cards and asked what their business was.

Starling had a cover story ready and responded by
saying it was just a routine investigation. He told the guard they were
following up on complaints that a number of transport companies had joined
together and were substituting legitimately ordered name-branded goods with
shoddy facsimiles. These transport companies were reselling the genuine
name-brands at a tidy profit.

He went on to say their investigation had led them to
a number of companies unaware they had been getting products that were
counterfeit; Stone Billings was a likely target and could be one of the
companies getting the bogus goods. Starling asked to see the head of ‘Shipping
and Receiving.’

As a standard security procedure, the guard had been
recording the conversation. He pressed a recessed button on his console and
forwarded the recording to the shipping department. The guard received a
response on his screen within a few minutes. He told Starling and Owens to have
a seat and someone would soon be down to escort them to the General Manager of
Shipping and Receiving.

They sat down in the middle of a line of
comfortable-looking chairs. Owens turned to Starling, who was watching a
security robot trundle across the floor and disappear through a door marked
‘employees.’ “Why didn’t we just get a court order to access their records? We
didn’t have to come here in person.”

Starling fingered his tie, frowning down at a new food
stain. “Can’t; while we’re on this assignment, everything has to be cleared by
the Gee-Gees. Besides, why piss off a corporation unnecessarily? The more I
think about it, the more I think this is a red herring anyway. Let’s see if we
can sell the tired-cops-going-through-the-motions routine. If they buy it and
we don’t find anything, then there’s no harm.”

“I didn’t know you were a politician too.”

He grinned, “Hey, it can’t hurt. Maybe I’ll run for
office after I retire from the force.” He looked up at the sound of approaching
footsteps. “Here comes a suit. It’s about damned time.”

They saw a nondescript man in business attire walking
towards them. They rose and were greeted by the General Manager’s assistant.
The assistant led them to a lift and took them up to the twenty-fifth floor. A
heavyset man in a baggy, one-piece over-suit greeted them and introduced
himself as Jonas Wallenberg, head of Procurement, Shipping and Receiving.

Business cards were exchanged and Starling immediately
launched into an embellished version of the story he told the guard. He told
Wallenberg they had discovered that special packing for sensitive equipment had
been switched with an inferior substitute. A number of companies had lost
millions in damaged equipment using the fake packaging.  He ended with
showing the tattered printout of the receipt. 

Wallenberg frowned. “That’s strange; I’m not aware we
use this type of packaging.” He squinted at the flimsy, scanning it quickly and
shook his head; his double chin jiggled. “Here, look at this.” With a pudgy
finger, he pointed out the invoice number did not match the numbering hierarchy
that Stone Billings used. Then he shrugged, “It is strange that it has our name
and address.” Wallenberg went on and assured them he would look into it, but
expressed doubt that he would find anything useful to their investigation. Then
he paused for a moment, obviously struck by a sudden thought. He asked them to
take a seat in his office.