Penance (RN: Book 2) (23 page)

Denz considered this information. Whilst even from the first instant he never considered this some form of accident or unintentional foul play, the news of human remains deliberately hidden about the ship added such a psychopathic twist to the situation, that surely someone capable of such actions should have been spotted beforehand. He found himself imagining a grinning Hyde like monstrosity skulking the hallways for easy prey, only to transform to the most diligent Jekyll the moment an officer neared.

“I don’t understand how anyone capable of such actions slipped by the screens. I know we’re pressed for crew, doctor, but surely we’re not pressing them directly from Bedlam to fill quotas?”

“Oh please, Commander. Despite what you may think in regards to our need to fill quotas, you’re well aware that we screen every crew member for susceptibility to TIP before being assigned to a ship. Anyone capable of actions such as these by direct motive would ordinarily never make it into the service. However, transit stress is still greatly misunderstood and can affect even the psychologically stable in ways that we can’t predict. Besides, what makes you think it was only one person?”

Denz stared at the young doctor in an analytical stupor. It had never occurred to him that more than one person may be involved. The ramifications of there being two or more felons changed odds and complicated investigations beyond immediate consideration. One thing was for certain though, whoever they were they were still on the ship. The overloading of the LAW and the discovery of the body were too coincidental in both time and location, so they may have triggered the explosion hoping to destroy evidence and or cover their tracks. But as the chief engineer had said multiple times, the ship had been saved by the blow off panels venting the overpressure before critical structural damage had occurred. If the commander of the ship never knew about the blow off panels then there was every chance the murderers never knew either. So their plans had been foiled by a design oversight with the evidence remaining, which meant that they’d either try something else or try to find a way off the ship.

This was all becoming a little too much for Denz. He was the commander of a war ship, not someone who challenged Holmsian theories in speculative reasoning. He had no time, place or, and if he only admitted it to himself, the intellectual prowess to solve this on a local basis and would have to defer to fleet legal on Trent station for further investigation.

“What makes you think there was more than one person?”

“Well,” the doctor scratched his lip as he considered. He was a young man, much younger than Denz and remarkably mature for his not even thirty years. Like many officers with influence, he had gained his assignment to the Bristol through favour to obtain the required second milk run to check for any susceptibility to gate weariness. In addition, it didn’t hurt that it also bumped up his flight hours so he could qualify for a more prestigious post on the return leg. It was probable that he had considered this voyage as something of a soft trip, maybe a few bumps and scratches, but certainly no battle wounds or murders to deal with. Boy, would he have some stories to tell.

“There’s more than one set of bite marks, that much is obvious from a visual inspection of what skin remains unexcoriated. Also, preliminary toxicology indicates more than one type of semen is present.”

“Semen!” Denz fixed on the doctor as if he had announced he held the perpetrators passports. “You mean you have DNA evidence of who did this?”

“Not exactly, sir, no.”

Denz tried to hide his disappointment, yet it was evident to anyone nearby on hearing his barley covered curse. “You have semen, but no DNA?”

The doctor’s own frustrations began to show, “Commander, you have to understand that as a combat vessel, the Bristol simply does not have the equipment necessary to perform complex tasks such as DNA verification. I have at least three separate samples of DNA from which I can determine one of the suspects is a non secretor, but the other two samples are corrupt. Why? I don’t know. But I suspect there’s another agent at work here. Possibly some drug or adulterant that preliminary toxicology cannot identify. We’ll need the resources of the forensics lab aboard Trent to be more specific. The same goes for any DNA found in and around the area.”

“So you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do?”

“I’m telling you exactly that, sir.”

Denz felt as if he would explode from frustration, but arguing was pointless as the doctor was correct. They needed the forensic facilities of a quarter station to process any evidence found, a facility even the enormous Formidable never possessed.

So what now?
Denz quizzed inwardly. He had a killer, possibly killers, loose on his ship and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. For a short moment he found himself mentally thumbing through the detective novels he half read in his youth, hoping to reference a possible strategy to corner the miscreant. He quit the absurd action the moment he realised he was doing it, but it did highlight his desperations in finding a solution.

Locking down the ship was the immediate answer, but how do you restrict people to their quarters and immediate places of work, when you needed every able body repairing the damn ship! Maybe check for video evidence? This would be a good idea if the lower three decks possessed their correct complement of surveillance cameras, with most of thos installed not being connected. The cameras were another victim of the Bristol’s hurried launch, and now relegated to just one of the many systems that were supposed to keep the engineering teams occupied.

Denz gave passing thought to speaking to Callows, the ships on demand security officer, or recalling Canthouse. However, Callows had no magisterial powers with his position being little more than a judicial requirement that made apprehensions legal, and he had been relying on his first officer a little too much for command decisions lately. Calling Canthouse back would be a sure sign of weakness on his part. Besides, Malcolm had his hands full with the retrieval of the mineral oil and unity device, so best leave him be.

The absurdity of so many things going wrong in so short a period made his head spin. Maybe Avery was right? Maybe the ship was cursed! Maybe they had gated beyond the veil, slipped through some fault in the space fabric to a place where their sufferings were some form of infernal theatrical presentation to amuse those that hovered in the shadows outside the light of life.

No. He was being preposterous. Such imaginings were the desultory conclusions of a mad man given crayon and paper. He’d never been the same since his imprisonment by The Koll, as God knows what they did to him during the blank spaces in his memory. Now more than ever he was determined to purge his mind of such absurd notions as demons beyond the veil, the maker of which hovered on the edge of his consciousness like some stealth computer virus only to morph into the benign when detected. He concentrated hard, scouring his mind as if tossing junk from an abandoned attic, sweeping the room of all fears and madness until he found himself before that one dark corner even grandpa avoided.

The atramentous dwelt within the elbow between chimney breast and brick wall, and hung from the roof truces like a vast alien cocoon. Its obsidian form swelling at his attention with the floorboards creaking and truces complaining as it unfolded across the wall like a Raven expanding its wings, so it towered over him.

It was dark beyond description. Anti-light. A step beyond an event horizon that threatened to suck eyes from sockets, and something sinister dwelt here.

This was it.

This was where the nightmare maker lived. The part of his mind he knew existed but had always skirted, had always avoided like that one dark alleyway in an otherwise pleasant neighbourhood. A place your eyes naturally shied away from, for to look directly would mean a terrible irresistible invite. The attic floor became a stage where he stood spot lit as the theatre curtains drew open to reveal a dread so potent he withered before it, and then he realised. What if it was him? What if he were the maker! What if all these incredible events were the fantastic imaginings of a delusional mind? What if he lay shackled to the wall of some god forsaken Koll cave and this scenario was the fevered creation of an intellect slowly dissolving?

So complete was this conviction that he refused to open his eyes for fear of seeing what new and ghoulish imagining might await him.

“Are you alright, commander?”

With those words the curtains silently closed, the encroaching shadows receded and normalcy returned. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the distinct feeling that his spirit guide had placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his slow slide into darker places.

Denz smiled wearily, “I’m fine, doctor. Thank you. It’s been an eventful few days. So much has happened this trip that I haven’t had much sleep.”

“Would you like to sit? I can give you something to help you relax if you’d like?” The doctor gestured toward a nearby desk with the attendant roller chair.

The commander stiffened, the officer glint returning to his eye.“That won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly fine.” However, as much as Denz’s smile and posture may have translated some return to form, somewhere deep within the curtains simpered and teased apart and he had to command his mind with unusual force to remain focused. It was only on scanning the six occupied cots to distract himself that he realised something was missing. With a directionless finger crooked at the cots, he said, “Where are Lieutenant Avery and the chief engineer?”

The doctor took a deep resigned breath, something he did when about to state the perfectly self evident.

“The accident caused a lot of injuries. Too many for me to monitor with the amenities I have, so I have confined Mr Avery to his quarters as there is little I can do for him here. He is sedated. But only mildly as he has calmed considerably since being admitted. I believe he is suffering a temporary episode and may recover fully with no further issues. However, before any chance of his returning to duty he will have to undergo a psychiatric evaluation on Trent as a formality. As for the Chief …well!”

The doctor smiled as he considered the engineer. “The Chief will need to return to the core system as soon as possible, as he took a step too far and there’ll be no coming back for him. The only test I can do shows he’s a solid five on the BPRS, and there’s simply nothing we can do for him here. I haven’t experienced many cases like his, but his is the worst I’ve seen. I reviewed his case files and there appears to be some pre-existing history for this condition, so what the hell he is doing out here I have no idea.” He gave the commander an inquiring look.

“Don’t look at me, doctor, I have less idea than you,” Denz said defensively, “He was assigned to the ship long before I was, and I’d never met him before resuming command. Where is he now?”

“He came in here demanding to check every system and device for a surprise inspection. But his fettling started bothering the patients as he even tried turning them out of their beds so he could check beneath. He quickly became a pain in the arse, so I gave him a computer tablet and asked him to design me a new medical scanner. He’s been in the mess since designing something that looks like a time machine.”

A brief shame flashed over Denz for sending the chief to an obviously overworked infirmary to bother the sick and injured. “Is he any danger?”

“Not even to himself. He’s not even sedated and is perfectly happy chatting with the crew and doing what he’s at, so I’ll leave him the way he is for the time being.”

Denz nodded in understanding, “And the other patients?”

“Well …”

The doctor spent twenty minutes moving from patient to patient explaining their injuries, which ranged from a broken hip to a severe concussion that resulted in a low coma.

They were discussing recovery of the coma patient when a sweating red faced crewman arrived at the door clutching a tablet. Panting he said, “Commander! I was sent to find you. There’s been an incident.”

The data chip arced through the air to land with a plastic
schnik
on a growing pile, which threatened to over flow the desk and spill to the floor. Stavener up ended the metal box he was searching through to ensure it contained nothing more of value, and cast it aside to join others in an ungainly heap.

Retrieving a previously sourced shoulder bag, he placed it on the console next to the data chips, and greedily shoveling them in with both hands like a fraudulent gambler making off with his illicit winnings. He topped them off with several binders of information and other electronic items he had found during his searching, only to curse in frustration when the bag refused to accept anymore without spilling open, and with an equivalent amount still remaining on the console top.

It was obvious from the state of their command area that the bandits had left in some urgency; grabbing what they could in no sort of order as they left, and leaving behind a gold mine of information.

From what his cursory examination of the recovered data chips had revealed, many of the suppositions in regards to their plans had been proved mostly right. The bandits had sourced the FTL drive from LN0R, but left no idea as to how. They had had no idea what the unity devices were and had bought the information from an as of yet undisclosed source in the WIA. Since then they had been using it to capture and loot ships from all over the EDP spectrum.

What he still personally hoped to resolve was how they had recovered the FTL drive, who had sold them the information and what their future intentions were as those chips were either encrypted or missing.

Stavener scavenged a large thin walled plastic carton that would serve, and was loading the other items when the comms engineer entered the room with a number of coiled LAN cables looped over his left arm.

“Did you confirm it?” Stavener asked.

The man dropped the coils onto a growing pile near the door. “Yes. The top blue cable definitely goes to the comm amplifier, but I’ve no idea how or what they used to control it. The lower one went to the electrical junction box, but it wasn’t connected. From the stripped and burnt wires it looked as if they had some trouble figuring out what powered it.”

“It doesn’t need –“ Stavener bit his tongue to prevent himself from again rattling off information.

“It doesn’t what?” Yoshcenti said, with a wide cheeked smile and inclination of the head.

“Nothing.” Stavener said tamping the last of the items into the near overflowing carton with flattened hands. “Where’s the unit?”

“On the shuttle. Do you want me to take the cables?”

“No, take this box and place it as close to my seat as possible. And don’t drop this one, for Christ’s sake!”

“Accidents happen.”

Not with a six billion pound comm unit, they
don’t. Stavener grumbled under his breath. Yoshcenti’s thin faced fat cheeked smile was beginning to bug him and he couldn’t wait to be rid of the man.

“What’s the state of the Brunel?”

“They’ve loaded their primary cargo and are rooting about like you.”

“OK, when you come back start looking through those cabinets for more data –“

A radio crackled. “Stavener, report status!”

The operations man took the communicator from his belt, “Primary mission accomplished and we’re starting a second sweep for –“

“Negative! Return to the boat.” Canthouse’s voice carried an urgency he had not heard before.

Stavener shared an edgy look with Yoshcenti who had lost his pleasant smile, and stood with his mouth frog like as if told he’d been outsourced. “But we haven’t finished our –“

“Negative. Return to the boat, now! Egress one.”

Egress one was only used during the most hostile of withdrawal situations. A shiver ran down Stavener’s spine as he asked, “Why?”

“They’re back!”

Stavener shouldered the bag and made a
gimme gimme
gesture to Yoshcenti who passed him the box. “Grab the cables,” he said as he hurried past and out the door.

***

“Move!” McWhitney bellowed as he ducked through the bulkhead with a stern faced Denz following in close pursuit. Crewmen pressed themselves against the metal walls as the two officers hurried past toward the mid-bilges area. The men raced down narrow passageways, through bulkheads and areas of the ship Denz never even knew existed, until arriving at a small room with a metal door on the opposite wall.

Hewton and Acting-Lieutenant Callows awaited their arrival.

“Report!” Denz barked, pushing past McWhittney as he entered the room.

Callows took a step forward, “Commander, we have a hostage situation involving three abductors and two hostages. We believe the men to be the ones responsible for the incident with Leading Hand, Esta Brula.” The short Irish man explained in his usual calm tone.

“Who have they taken?” Denz glanced between the men when no immediate answer was forthcoming. “Well?”

“Sir, the captives are Specialist, Celia Hempsey, General Hempsey’s daughter and …and Senior Petty Officer, Rachel Cummings.” Callows raised his hands as if to push a car, when in reality he was preparing to restrain Denz from flying to the door. When this didn’t happen he lowered them.

To everyone’s surprise, Denz responded with little more than a grunt and an acknowledging bob of the head. Yet internally he had become entirely disconnected. The moment he had asked
Who,
he knew one of them would be Cummings, and iIt was as if the white gloved hands of some shadowed advisor were passing him notes on events yet to occur and he unfolded it to see her name. He had genuine affection for Rachel, but the immediate desires to react and protect had accelerated at such a rate that they had torn themselves apart like a dragster blowing its transmission, leaving him feeling hollow and impudent.

“What do they want?”

“They’ve made no demands. We’ve tried communicating with them, but they won’t even acknowledge our presence.”

“Where?”

“In the LAW pre-fire chamber, Commander,” Callows pointed to the door. “This room here.”

Denz moved to look through the portal only to be bodily blocked by the barrel chested Hewton. He glared up at the big man, his eyes burning and lips peeling back with such anger that when he said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tom!” The much larger man looked genuinely shocked.

“Commander! Please. I just need to tell you. These men ... They’re using some form of drug or hallucinogen. They’re giving it to the women. They’re using on them …they’re using it on the women as they…” Tears appeared in Hewton’s eyes, his mouth flapped wordless as he tried to translate the debauchery he had witnessed to a friend who had a loved one amongst them.

Denz could feel the living emotion shaking his great frame , and he smiled his understanding as he gently squeezed Hewton’s bicep to ease the big man aside. Denz looked through the glass portal, only to wish he hadn’t.

The commander stepped back smartly, his face shock white and horror filled eyes fixed on the small glass window as if he’d glimpsed through the keyhole to hell.

“Open it.”

“Sir, we can’t it’s a –“ Callows began.

“Open – it - now!” Denz said through clenched teeth, his red rimmed eyes filled with such unadulterated savagery that Callows raised his hands again.

“It’s a secure area, sir. We don’t have the codes. Only Lieutenant Avery can open it.”

Denz glanced toward the fifty symbol keypad etched with Koll glyphs, “Get Avery. Bring him here.”

“We sent for him, sir. But he’s not in his quarters. We can’t find him,”

“Thermal gun: cut it open!”

“It’ll do no good. It’s Teride: a Koll metal. We can’t cut it.”

“Explosives: blow it open.”

“The concussive blast will kill everyone insi –“

Den’s fingers found Callows’ throat with such swift brutality that he lifted the man from the floor and against the wall before anyone realised what had happened. Denz looked subhuman, he smiled a Cheshire cat smile, the skin on his face almost translucent like latex stretched over a naked skull, his eyes red raw orbs protruding from the sockets with his lips bloodless and joker like as he said, “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care how you do it. Just open – the fucking – door!” He sounded cool, calm and wholly possessed by unshackled insanity.

Denz ignored the comments from behind, the hands pulling at him, the voices urging him to let go as he glared at the terrified Callows, but he paid them no heed.
Someone needed to suffer for what he had witnessed, so why not this man, and
– the demon left him and Denz broke. He fell to his knees, his body shuddering and tears streaming at what he had witnessed, at what he had seen being done to his woman and he was powerless to stop it. He had felt a good few miseries in his time, but seeing her crying naked form astride that tattooed man, the pointed metal tracing her body was …it was.

He found his feet in an instant, his hands hammering the cold metal as he screamed at them through the window. Three men were covered with blood and excreta so as to look as if they’d been rolling in it like dogs. The limp blonde form on the floor, a fat man hunched over her head, her legs spasming as his bloody fingers gouged. The skeleton thin man unravelling grey-purple intestines from her abdomen sliced chest to pelvis; pulling at them until everything came out and he looped the whole grizzly mess around his neck like grizzly Hawaiian garlands.

The large tattooed man smiled on seeing Denz observing them. Snatching Cummings by the hair, he angled her face toward the window, shaking her violently, slapping and hitting so she opened her drooping drug misted eyes, so she could see directly into the wide horrified gaze of her lover. The man pulled her close, his blood shot grey eyes fixed on Denz as he whispered to her, as he told her what he was going to do to her, as he bit off the top of her ear and spat the bloody crescent toward the crazed man whose fists hammered at the glass. The bloody smile gleeful as the knife roamed the l screaming woman’s body, the tip leaving bloody cat scratches as it moved between her breasts, around the pale protuberant belly, moving up, then down, a flick of the wrist, what should be in coming out and Denz exploded.

The ricochet entered McWhitney’s head just below his left eye to which he simply said, “Oh!”, and fell to the floor.

Denz pumped the trigger of Callows’ side arm, the snub nose inches from the toughened glass as he screamed his torment with two more ricochets finding none fatal marks before they took him down.

He had no knowledge of the screaming klaxons or the man at the door saying they needed him on the bridge. All he knew were the restraining hands and the pressure of bodies, with his ranting cries of inconceivable hurt echoing down the corridor.

***

“What do you mean he can’t be located?” Canthouse cried into his communicator as he beckoned to the running Stavener with full arm swings.

“Sir, there’ been an incident on board. Commander Denz attended and no longer answers the comm.” Guimar responded.

“C’mon, man, c’mon,” Canthouse shouted at the panting, sweaty faced Stavener as he lumbered toward the shuttle door with the box clutched to his chest. Crew members instantly relieved Stavener and Yoshcenti of their loads, urgently beckoning them to board as the fuel pumps whined like over sped turbines.

“Get in now as we can’t leave with your boat attached to ours,” Canthouse shoved Yoshcenti inside, even though he needed little encouragement.

“What’s wrong, LC?” Stavener asked boarding the Brunel.

“Our friends are back and they’ve brought big brother.” Canthouse secured the door and ushered Stavener through to the Bayden-Powell, unceremoniously sliding the door shut in his face before he could utter a word.

A crewman yanked Stavener further into the shuttle as another man secured their door and yelled, “Sealed!” into his headset. The Bayden-Powell unlatched throwing the operations officer first sideways and then backwards as they powered away from the Jeremiah with the Brunel in hot pursuit.

Stavener manhandled himself to the cockpit where he fell into the co-pilot’s position just as the pilot fire-walled the twin throttle levers and ignited the emergency boosters, with the operations officer making a strangled
oooohhhhh
as they surged towards the Bristol.

“What the hell is going on?” he cried as he secured his restraints.

“Our rednecks have returned with the whole clan. Looks like they brought Big Bubba, too.” The pilot tapped a center console screen that displayed sensor data relayed from the Bristol. What looked like a bees swarming around a large solid object occupied the top of the screen.

A million questions ran through Stavener’s head, questions he knew that pilot had no answer to. “How long until that thing reaches the Bristol?”

“Eleven minutes.”

“How long until we reach the Bristol?” Stavener asked dreading the answer.

“Eight minutes.”

Stavener nodded, “Eight minutes. That’s good. Then we can leave.”