The Last Flight of the Argus (15 page)

“
This is the Erebus Displacer.”

“
By order of the Epsillon Council, we assume full control of Erebus space. Any requested use of the Displacer, both for incoming or outgoing traffic, must be forwarded to us for approval. Understood?”

“
U…Understood,” Jeb Smitheen stammered.

There was a brief pause.

“
Well?”

“
Yes?”

An audible sigh was heard over Jeb’s communicator speaker.

“
Would you be so kind as to forward us all incoming and outgoing craft requests?
Right now
.”

“
Oh! Yes sir.”

Jeb tapped at the computer and the requested material was sent to the military craft. Jeb considered the information on the files. There was one scheduled departure and arrival for later in the day and a few more for later in the week. Otherwise, traffic was light.

After several minutes passed without a reply, Jeb keyed the communicator.

“
Wake
, this is Erebus Displacer. Did you receive the information?”

“
Affirmative, Erebus Displacer.”

“
Uh...what should I do with regard to today's schedule?”

“
For now, no crafts may leave the area.”

“
Acknowledged. What about the inbound ship?”

There was a momentary pause.

“
Next scheduled entry is the
Wanderer
. She's a Class C small cargo vessel.”

“
Yes sir.”

“
A supply ship.”

“
Supply or scavenger. We place all small vessels under the former classification.”

“
Scavenging in the Erebus system is prohibited.”

“
Sorry, that's just our local colloquial expression. I meant she might be on a scientific mission. You know, archeology.”

“
Why classify her as a supply vessel?”

“
The powers that be prefer the more neutral term.”

“
So is this a supply craft or a...scavenger?”

“
I wouldn’t know.”

“
Why should we let her in?”

“
Guys, that’s up to you,” Jeb said. “But it’s a meager business, sir. I’m sure the pilot spent all his, or her, funds just getting here. If it makes you feel any better, I doubt they'll try anything illegal with you around.”

There was another pause.

“
Approval granted. We’ll present our recommendations about the other crafts shortly.”

“
Yes sir,” Jeb said.

Eddie
Robinson, the senior forensic technician on board the
Titus
Space Station, received the e-mail summons while in his office.

To: Eddie Robinson, TFT

Please proceed to Deck 52 for a meeting with Lieutenant Lester Daniels, EMC. Do not delay.

Robinson scratched his nose.
Epsillon Military Command?

“
At least they said please,” the elderly man chuckled. He shut his computers off and headed for the door.

Deck
52 of the
Titus
Space Station was an enormous, but mostly unused, docking space. Its purpose was to house ships that required repairs that could not be performed in zero gravity space.

Eddie Robinson found the
Wake
there, taking up almost the entire one mile of empty space. The sight was mindboggling. The few times he came down here all he saw was one cubic mile of emptiness, littered with one or two joggers who used the space as a track.

Several military officers walked around the base of the ship. One of them noticed Robinson and approached.

“
This is a restricted area,” the officer said.

“
I’m here to see Lieutenant Daniels. My name is Eddie Robinson.”

The officer’s stern tone softened.

“
We were expecting you. Come with me.”

The officer motioned Robinson toward the stairs leading up into the
Wake
.

“
You’ve got quite a ship,” Robinson said. He eyed the ships smooth surface as well as her modern, sophisticated thrusters. Try as he might, it was impossible not to also notice her fusion cannons and torpedo launchers.

“
Step inside, please.”

They walked the metal plank up and into the
Wake
, then proceeded down several spacious corridors until arriving at a large metal door. On it was a plaque that identified the space beyond as a conference room.

During the trip, Robinson kept his mouth shut while taking in everything around him. He realized, after a fashion, that the route the officer escorted him on was semi-circular. More than likely he kept Robinson away from instruments and equipment civilian eyes were not permitted to see.

Within the conference room, Robinson found a single rectangular metal table. Around it were an even dozen chairs.

“
Have a seat,” the officer said.

Robinson sat at the chair closest to him, which turned out to be the head of the table. The officer frowned at Robinson’s choice but didn't suggest he find an alternate seat. He disappeared through a door on the opposite side of the room and left the elderly forensic technician alone. Robinson stared at the room’s walls and noted that, despite appearing plain, there were many small groves and subtle indentations throughout its surface.

From his days in the Epsillon military, he knew the room was likely equipped with the latest monitors, computers, and video/radio hybrids. With the flick of a switch, panels would slide away and hidden equipment would appear like magic. Despite the plain outward appearance, this room was probably an intelligence nerve center.

After a few minutes the door on the opposite side again opened. Out stepped a man in his mid-thirties. Like most military officers, his face was lean, his posture rigid. His eyes were dark and penetrating.

“
Mr. Robinson? I’m Lieutenant Lester Daniels. I was ordered to the
Titus
Space Station to look into the destruction of the
Sandstorm
.”

“
Sandstorm
?” Robinson replied. “I thought you were here to check for possible damage to the Erebus Displacer.”

“
Not at this moment.”

“
Why would the military care—?”

“
I require an examination of all recovered wreckage.”

“
Certainly. When would you like to—”

“
Right now.”

“
Most
of the wreck is in Cargo Bay 144,” Robinson said as he tried to keep up with Daniels’ brisk pace. The elderly man spent too much time writing reports and too little time exercising.

“
Exactly how much of the
Sandstorm
have you recovered?”

“
Thirty to forty percent,” Robinson replied. “Why is the Epsillon military so interested in this?”

“
One of our citizens is dead and we have an interest in finding the cause of this death. Funny how it seems not be a terribly big concern to those aboard this space station.”

“
I beg your pardon, Lieutenant, but it’s not like that at all. I’ll grant you, few knew the guy personally, but he was a scavenger.”

“
And?”

“
They tend to fly second and third class ships, the type that make it a habit of breaking down. Just last week we had three ships we were forced to tow back into
Titus
.”

“
I see. And exactly how many of these second and third class ships have exploded into tiny little pieces for no obvious reasons in the past five years?”

Robinson considered the question, but before he could say anything Daniels provided an answer:

“
Not a single one. In fact, this is the first time in the last five
decades
that we've witnessed such an occurrence.”

“
That can’t be right.”

“
I assure you it is,” Daniels said. “Certainly there have been ship failures and accidental collisions. And there have been crew fatalities. But ships today, even those that are second or third class, have a wealth of safety features. They may suffer from breaches or system malfunctions or even fires. In worst case scenarios, they might even be crippled beyond any possibility of repair or break into several large pieces. But exploding?”

“
You said it's been five decades since something like that's happened. Did they ever find the cause of that explosion?”

“
Yes.”

“
What was it?”

“
Sabotage.”

Robinson let out a whistle.

“
Are you suggesting that's what happened to the
Sandstorm
?”

“
I’m here to collect evidence, Mr. Robinson, not make guesses.”

“
But that’s what your superiors think, right? That’s why you’re here.”

Lieutenant Daniels did not reply. Robinson shook his head and smiled.

“
Come now, Lieutenant. I’m sure when the evidence is sorted, we’ll find the
Sandstorm
had some kind of accident.”

“
Then consider my presence a way to move quickly toward this solution,” Daniels replied.

He continued walking toward the entrance of Cargo Bay 144.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The
Wanderer
, a class C small cargo vessel, exited the Erebus Displacer and began its slow approach to the
Titus
space station. It requested clearance for docking and, when granted, pulled into berth number 23.

Once locked in place, her lone occupant shut down all major systems and rose from the navigator’s chair. The pilot wore a full body space suit, something forced upon him when the heating system within his vessel malfunctioned. He walked to the storage deck but stopped before a series of cabinets. He opened one of them and pulled out a spent Accelerant cartridge.

The man took a hard look at the cartridge and returned it to its place. In the dark shadows of the storage deck he removed his space suit and headed for the docking clamp.

Lieutenant
Daniels and Eddie Robinson entered Cargo Bay 144 through one of the side doors. The cargo bay was dark and very cool. Daniels could just make out the remains of the
Sandstorm
littered on the otherwise empty bay floor.

“
How about some lights?”

“
Lights,” Robinson yelled. The lights in the bay came on in full force. Revealed before them was a very long rectangular cargo storage room. Twisted metal and charred plastic lay on the ground and took up nearly one third of the area.

“
This is it?” Daniels inquired.

“
Yes sir. As I said before, it amounts to thirty or forty percent of the
Sandstorm
.”

Daniels approached the ship's remains but made sure not to touch anything. The pieces of the doomed craft were arranged like a burned out jigsaw puzzle. Daniels made out the vessel’s general shape and could draw some obvious conclusions from the directions of the twists in her shattered metal frame.

“
The explosion likely came from the rear of the craft, perhaps from the decompression chamber,” Robinson said.

“
Agreed,” Daniels replied. “My understanding is the
Sandstorm
was a ‘64 Class E Habberlight.”

“
That’s true.”

“
Then her fuel cells were located just below the decompression chamber. If one of them was leaking, even the smallest spark might cause an explosion.”

“
So it could have been an accident after all?”

Daniels pulled a small camera from his shirt pocket and took pictures and video images of the wreckage. He did so with great care and deliberation, making sure to get a complete record of all the material on the deck. After forty-five minutes he was done. He made a call to his ship and then faced Robinson.

“
My boys will be here in a few minutes,” Daniels said.

Several
hours later, Eddie Robinson entered the Jackal Bar.

He wearily waved to his co-workers. A group of military officers, all members of the
Wake’s
crew, were enjoying a quiet break at the other side of the bar. Their table was filled with empty and half-empty bottles of beer, but their conversation was low and, unlike the scavengers, they kept entirely to themselves.

Robinson approached the center of the bar and sat at a table. A female bartender made her way toward him, but he motioned her off. Dave Maddox noticed the elderly man’s actions and approached.