The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Read online

  “I see. That leaves us in a very difficult position,” said Jewkes, slowly. “I assume you have assets?”

  “Assets?”

  “A vehicle, home, something of that nature?”

  “A car, but…” Jimmy shook his head.

  “You realize we’d be quite within our rights to send in the debt collector and recoup what we can?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Law requires that we leave you clothes to wear, a mattress to sleep on the means to wash and feed yourself but we are entitled to claim any other property to dispose of as we see fit. Please understand me, Mr. Franks, it is a course of action that we are quite prepared to pursue. However… if you are amenable, there is perhaps another way that we could settle the matter.”

  “Anything,” said Jimmy in desperation.

  “Very well,” said Jewkes. He pressed a button on his desk and another man entered the room. “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Hobbs, a business associate of ours. He has a proposition for you.”

  Hobbs sat on one of the comfortable sofas in the centre of Jewkes’ office and placed an attaché case on the table. “Mr. Franks,” he said. “We understand that you are employed at Harland Shipyards.”

  “That’s right.”

  “As a mechanical engineer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jimmy… May I call you Jimmy?” Jimmy nodded. “We wondered if you might consider doing a small job for us.”

  “A job? What kind of job?”

  “In a few days a cargo vessel will arrive at your shipyard. The vessel in question is the Oceana. You are aware of the fact?”

  “Yes. She’s coming in for a minor refit.”

  Hobbs opened the attaché case and withdrew a package. “These are parts relating to the hyper-drive system on the Oceana. We need you to remove the original parts and replace them with these.”

  “What kind of parts?”

  “Let’s just call them an upgrade.”

  “And... if I do?”

  “Your debt at the casino will be settled.”

  Jimmy took the proffered package in his hands. It was surprisingly light.

  “You’ll find detailed instructions of how to install the upgrade inside the package,” said Hobbs.

  “Exactly what kind of upgrade is it?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, it’s a twenty five thousand credit upgrade. And one that comes with no questions asked.”

  “And if I refuse the offer?”

  “Jimmy. Mr. Hobbs isn’t a man you say no to,” said Dan Bucker urgently. Jimmy looked into Hobbs’ eyes and found himself in agreement.

  “OK, I’ll do it.”

  “Good. That’s settled then,” said Hobbs as four glasses magically appeared on the table. “To a successful venture.”

  “Cheers,” said Jimmy. He raised the glass of brandy to his lips and was about to take a sip when Hobbs spoke again.

  “A word of warning though, Jimmy. If something goes wrong and you get caught, this meeting never took place and we’ve never met. You mind me now,” he said coldly.

  Jimmy looked up from the brandy glass and glanced from Hobbs to the package on the table, fervently wishing that he had never set eyes on either of them.

  * * *

  Three weeks later the MV Oceana was back in her element, cruising silently though deep space. The officer of the watch paced slowly around the bridge, checking each console as he passed by.

  She’s definitely running more smoothly, he thought. Amazing what a refit could do, though it was a pity it had all been completed so soon – he could have used a few extra days leave. He was about to sit back down in the captain’s chair when the engineering officer called to him.

  “Sir, I’m getting some odd readings from the engine core.”

  “What have you got?” said the watch officer, peering over the engineer’s shoulder.

  “Getting the occasional power spike… manifold pressures are fluctuating too.”

  “Trouble with the injectors?”

  “Wouldn’t have thought so… Might explain the manifold pressures but not the power spikes. We’re getting some vibration, too.”

  “Are we still within normal parameters?”

  “Just about,” said the engineer with a nod.

  “Keep an eye on it. I’d better inform the captain.”

  A short time later Captain Carberry was on the bridge. Never in the best of moods when awoken from his slumbers, he stomped over to the console and grunted at the duty officers. The engineer noted that the captain was wearing a pair of threadbare carpet slippers and was dressed in an old pair of cotton pyjamas. The only concession to his rank was his master’s hat which was pushed over at a jaunty angle.

  Carberry tapped a few gauges and scratched his stubbled chin as he tried to make sense of the readings. “The core temperature is high... and rising,” he said. It was indeed.

  “Should we initiate an engine shut-down?”

  Carberry gazed at the console, his arms folded and his chin sunk down into his chest. An engine shut-down meant a delay, and a delay meant trouble from his employers, not to mention the loss of his bonus. He was still weighing up his options when an alarm sprang into life, the frantic buzzing and flashing amber light jerking his chin from its resting place.

  ‘Warning! Containment fields destabilizing. Initiate engine shut-down immediately.’

  “Take us out of super-space,” he said, the decision made for him.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” said the con officer. The ship shuddered as it emerged into real space, less than half way to its destination and light years from the nearest port.

  “Get the engines shut down and let’s see if we can sort this trouble out,” said Carberry.

  “I… I can’t, sir,” said the engineer, stabbing away at the controls. “The shut-down sequence is unresponsive.”

  “Go to backup.”

  “It’s… It’s off-line. Everything’s off-line.”

  “Everything? What do you mean? We’ve got triple redundant backup systems with additional fail-safes. Something has to be working!”

  “Sorry, sir. Nothing.”

  “Can you do a manual shutdown?”

  “Captain, the core temperatures are approaching critical. There’s no time…”

  ‘Warning! Containment fields failing. Core detonation imminent. Repeat, core detonation imminent.’

  Captain Carberry looked around at his small, twelve man crew, all of whom had by now joined them on the bridge. He looked down at the console once more and then resigned himself the phrase that no captain ever wished to utter. “Abandon ship,” he said. “Drop a buoy to warn other shipping to steer clear of the area and then get to the shuttle. Quick as you can, men.”

  A few minutes later he took his last look at the MV Oceana as the freighter’s shuttle cleared the hangar bay and moved into open space. He waited the few seconds for the jump-drive to power up and then engaged the engines. “Jumping… now.”

  As the stars blurred and the shuttle blasted off into super space, the engineering officer stole a look at the captain’s face. He wasn’t sure which Captain Carberry would find more uncomfortable, having to report the loss of his ship, or arriving in port clad only in his nightwear, a teddy bear motif sitting proudly on the jacket pocket.

  No sooner had the shuttle disappeared than another vessel dropped out of super-space a few thousand miles abeam of the Oceana. Sleek and predatory, the Reaper held its position for a few minutes before moving alongside the Oceana and docking at an airlock just below its bridge. Three men quickly boarded the stricken freighter after which the Reaper immediately broke away and resumed its position on the Oceana’s port side.

  As the group entered the Oceana’s bridge the ship’s computer was still broadcasting its warning.

  ‘Danger! Containment of the core has failed. Detonation will occur in fifteen seconds’.

  “Fifteen seconds?” said Sig Larson, the group’s leader. “My goo
dness. I trust you gentlemen haven’t made any plans for this evening.”

  ‘Core will detonate in five, four, three, two, one… zero.’ All three tensed as the counter reached zero, a reaction for which even the most trusting of souls could be forgiven.

  ‘Be advised the core has exploded and the ship totally destroyed. We apologise for any inconvenience and hope you enjoy the rest of your day’.

  “Looks like someone has a sense of humour,” said Larson as a few chuckles broke out. “Davies, get down to engineering and replace that ‘upgrade’. Barnes, take the helm. The sooner we’re away from here the better.”

  Fifteen minutes later Davies returned from engineering with a thumbs up. Larson immediately hailed the Reaper. “Team 1 to base. Ready to roll. Deploy package and prepare to jump on my mark.”

  “Roger, Team 1,” came the reply. As Larson watched through the bridge windows a bulky object detached from the belly of the Reaper and drifted slowly away. Satisfied, he returned to the com. “Jumping in three, two, one… mark.”

  Watching a single vessel make the jump into super-space was an awesome sight, the ship disappearing in a brilliant halo of light. Watching two ships transit in tandem would have been a glory to behold, but the only witnesses to the event were the buoy dropped by the Oceana and the package released by the Reaper. The package drifted slowly end over end for several minutes before erupting in a flash of incandescence, filling the area with radiation and simulating the effects of an erupting engine core.

  By that time, Sig Larson was leaning back in the captain’s chair aboard the Oceana, a very satisfied look on his face. Within twenty four hours the Oceana would be docked at an isolated facility where, after a few cosmetic changes, she would be re-flagged and re-registered through a number of intermediate companies. After that she’d be sold off through yet more intermediaries, half of which would be dissolved just as soon as the payment was made. The Delph Consortium would be richer by several million credits and Larson and his crew could look forward to a hefty bonus and a period of rest and recreation before they were called upon again.

  * * *

  When news broke that the Oceana had been lost so soon after its refit, Harland Shipyards immediately launched an in-depth enquiry. CCTV footage was scrutinised, shift reports and worksheets were pored over, employees were interviewed and parts were inventoried and checked. No stone was left unturned and the whole procedure was repeated by the Civil Aviation Authority which turned over a good few stones of its own. Over the next couple of months Jimmy Franks developed severe heart palpitations every time someone called his name or knocked on his door.

  Worse was to follow when MV Lines and their insurers appeared on the scene. At least the civil aviation guys were, well... civil. By contrast, MV Lines seemed more interested in finding a suitable candidate to nail to a cross. It was a further three months before things died down enough for Jimmy begin sleeping soundly once again. He was beginning to think he had gotten away with it completely when one evening there was indeed a knock at the door. Jimmy answered it to find a pair of serious looking gentlemen standing on his doorstep.

  “May we come in,” said one, pushing Jimmy aside and sauntering into the lounge area. Jimmy just gaped as the second closed the door gently, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and propelled him inside. “Oh, nice place,” he said, looking around.

  It wasn’t. It was a nondescript apartment full of even more nondescript furniture, all of which might have been vaguely presentable if only Jimmy had been possessed of an eye for décor and the ability to clean up once in a while. Unfortunately, Jimmy was blessed with neither. Still, thought the visitor, there was no need to be impolite.

  “Can I get you anything,” said Jimmy. It was the only thing he could think of saying.

  “No thanks,” said the older of the two. Half a head taller than Jimmy, he had close cropped greying hair, great bushy eyebrows and a large hooked nose. Square shouldered and barrel-chested, he had a great paunch that flowed over his belt. The thing that struck Jimmy the most was the size of the man’s hands; great, huge things with fingers like bunches of bananas. The man settled himself down on the single armchair in the centre of the room and stretched out his legs. “We just dropped in to see how you were getting on,” he continued. “Mr. Hobbs sends his regards. Very pleased with you, he is.”

  “Very pleased indeed,” said his partner, a younger man. Equally large – but without the paunch, he had black, slicked back hair and a rugged, chiselled face. Jimmy watched as he began wandering around the room, opening drawers and cupboards and peering inside. “Says you have a bright future. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  “His very words. And by the way, Jimmy, this is Chumly and I’m Sam. Think you can remember that?”

  “Err, yeah… Chumly and Sam,” repeated Jimmy obediently.

  “So, did you have any trouble?” said Sam.

  “Any what?”

  “Trouble, Jimmy. Did you have any trouble at work? Anyone sniffing round… asking awkward questions? That kind of thing?”

  “No… well, I got interviewed like everyone else.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” said Jimmy dumbly.

  “And what did you say?”

  “Nothing, honest. I never said a word. Believe me.”

  “Oh, we believe you, don’t we, Chumly?”

  “Course we do,” said Chumly, giving up his inspection of Jimmy’s cupboards and leaning up against the doorframe.

  “Because if you lie to us, Jimmy, we absolutely will find out. And you won’t like what will happen after that. You won’t like it at all.”

  “You’ve got my word. I’ll never say a thing, I promise. I just... I just want it all to end. I want out.”

  “Out...? Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy... I don’t think you’ve quite got the hang of this.”

  “Hang of what?”

  “Let me explain it to you,” said Sam. “This is not like blackjack or a game of craps. You don’t get to walk away whenever you feel like it. Once you’re in the game, you are in. And you, Jimmy, are most definitely in. Got me?”

  As Jimmy baulked at the question Chumly straightened up from his slouch against the doorframe and slipped a hand inside his coat. Jimmy didn’t wait to find out what might come out.

  “OK… I’m in, I’m in,” he said hurriedly.

  “Glad we got that sorted out,” said Sam, rising from the chair. “Well, can’t stand around talking all day. Things to do, places to go. Chumly, get the car.”

  “On my way. See you, Jimmy,” said Chumly as he left.

  “Oh, by the way, Jimmy,” said Sam, twirling his hat on one of his enormous fingers. “There’s a ship called the Blaise due in next month. You might want to study up on her electrical systems. Particularly where–” He paused to look at a memo written on the palm of his hand. “Conduit 27A meets data node 14. Can’t say it means much to me but I’m sure a clever chap like you can figure it out.” Then noting the crestfallen look on Jimmy’s face he walked over and stuffed a wad of banknotes into his breast pocket. “This is your share of the cut. Why don’t you get yourself down the Cascades and have a bit of fun. Take your mind off things… Oh, and Jimmy?”

  “Yes?”

  “One more thing. If you do go down the Cascades, stay away from Alice. Seems that Chumly has taken a liking to her. Take my advice – you don’t want to get between a dog and his bone.”

  CHAPTER 2: Tartan Paint

  Three years later…

  High Court, San Francisco, Earth.

  “All rise! This court is now in session. The Most Honorable Lord Chief Justice Sir Horatius Haveloy-Basham presiding.”

  “What a mouthful,” said Commodore Jacks to his defense attorney as they rose from the defendant’s bench. “Would not a simple ‘Judge’ suffice?”

  “Shh!” warned his attorney.

  No sooner had everyone returned to their seats than the bailiff said, “The defendant will rise!” Jacks rose to his feet
and stood tall, back straight and head held high.

  “Daniel Rodham Jacks,” began the judge.

  “Commodore,” said Jacks.

  “A rank which is unlikely to survive the day, I fear. Do you wish to make a statement before sentence is passed?” Defending council shot Jacks a warning look, giving his head a subtle but most definite shake.

  “I do,” said Jacks, causing his attorney to wince and begin an earnest study the floorboards beneath his feet. “Your honor, ladies and gentleman of the court, and…” he waved an expansive arm at the audience seated above and behind him, “the assembled paparazzi in the public gallery. I am guilty as charged. Indeed, it is a matter of record that I have on many occasions admitted as much. I have withheld no information and have at all times upheld my oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Precisely what has been achieved by dragging out these proceedings over several months is quite beyond me… apart from the obvious, in that it has provided the state with the perfect opportunity to squander vast amounts of tax-payer’s money while at the same time providing employment for otherwise unemployable people. The system is flawed, the bureaucracy governing the apparatus by which justice is dispensed bloated beyond all reasonable measure, and the apparatus itself nothing more than a narcissistic music hall production pandering to the tabloid press.”

  “Have you finished?” said the judge.

  “Not quite,” said Jacks, looking up at the purple robed judiciary. “And you, my lord, are a pompous ass. Now, can we please get on with things?”

  “Ever the showman,” said a tall, lithe man sitting at the back of the public gallery.

  “That he is, sir.”

  “Wonder if he’ll still be as chipper after hearing his sentence?”

  “Soon find out,” whispered Detective Sergeant Mullins as Sir Horatius looked down at his notes and began his summation.

  “In passing sentence I have been obliged to consider not only the seriousness of your crimes…”

  “What’s your guess, sir?”

  “…but also the complete lack of remorse that you have shown for the plight of your victims.”

  Detective Chief Inspector Burns pursed his lips and began making a few mental calculations. “Three counts of murder in the first degree, treason, sabotage, kidnapping, grand theft… not to mention about twenty five assorted lesser charges.”