Chapter 7

Arran left the stoop. This late at night the town was usually mostly deserted. He might not have to face anyone else until morning. He wasn’t interested in showing off his stump. Most would be indoors to rest before the Equinox celebrations, if there even were any with all the commotion Arran had caused. He ruminated on his lack of duties the next day, and what he would do without pin-the-peacekeeper.  He revolved head-over and ducked straight down into the Hollow, passing Lees, whose eyes tracked his. Dulled accusation crossed his features. Arran waved his stump. He’d see Lees later. Now that the fun was over, he thought about one final check he’d like to make. The last stop on his route was also on his way home.  The Hollow was empty. The whole way from end to end was silent and Arran left little puffing trails as he drifted past the underflat.  He batted away a moth with the back of his hand going past the bio-labs. The combination of different moulds and fungi cultured together in there created a smell that was always damn leaking through the sealed doors to the frontage nestled squat beneath the walkway’s baroque overhang. Small bugs floated around the plants Leopold was growing from pots underneath it, spreading ones dangling tendrils of wild colour that were muted in the evening’s soft light. Leopold was not there. He might be wise and staying quiet due to the commotion. The hatch door to his office was locked. The wheel-handle was bolted.  Nobody called out to Arran in the Hollow. Eyes blinked at him from the recesses of the underflat, those eyes retreated and wary of their guncrazed peacekeeper. The sentencing was big news. The fights were bigger. To think, the peacekeeper going two rounds with the Mayor.  Usually he might hear a call or two, but tonight the Hollow was emptying early, and it left a ringing silence.  The news was surely out. Today had begun when Leopold had whispered to Arran about the transports. Leopold, of all people, had known about the transports before anyone. Leopold never even knew what day it was. Then he’d busted the whole thing up. But it wasn’t his fault. Odelford should never have slaughtered that boy. He was asking for retribution.  Arran exhaled a lungful of smoke and oriented for the change in axis through the station’s midline. A subtle weightlessness took him, the feeling almost too precise, and as the mezcal in his belly rolled hot a lurching motion righted him, slowly, facing him towards the freight yard.  When he’d come to NEWSTEAD-SIX they’d given him a temporary spot above the yard, where he’d watch ships arrive and depart when the station was busier. All the odd ships from strange civilisations shunting along mag-rails then passed into the yards or through the Hollow. It was entertaining for him, and it allowed him to keep an eye on trouble. Trouble like the contraband he hadn’t noticed passing right below his nose.  He’d stop by and see to the last of that trouble.  The long eastern transit rail lined up down the Hollow and the big exchange at the end. The machines in there that docked the massive freighters and handled the cargo were packed away.  They’d come in sliding across a heavy electromagnetic conduit, the transit rail, that ran the length of the yards. The crane arms were built to reach over it, those folded away. Arran swept under the shadow of the transit rail and noticed it was warm. Not unusual for the early evening after the day’s transports were loaded and sent, if there were any to go that day.  But not today. Today he had ordered the transports seized and a hold order sent across the terminal. The foreman was under orders to watch the transports. Galt was under orders to prevent any movement.  He tapped the radio mic in his ear and opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He didn’t need his voice travelling over main channels, not if he wanted to keep his commission. He didn’t need to be seen doing duties while suspended. He tapped it off.  He’d find that foreman asleep or yapping with the night workers, if he was still there at all. Seeing no movement from the sky he descended towards the yard, coming in through the reticulated cranes and bulky docking clamps into the dark of the parked transport shuttles. He slid into the close rows lined up in from the head of the port. They could be shunted out to the switch and loaded with cargo, then hooked to the transit rail which boosted them out of the station.  He went straight to the bays that held the farmer’s leased transports, keeping low beneath the rows of square craft to avoid detection.  He didn’t want the foreman to know he was coming. He’d just sidle up quiet-like and say hello.  Beneath him through sections of bare girders and clamping mechanisms and shunting props was a straight drop through to the panes. Translucent blue oils and black grease gleamed across the working parts struck by moonlight. Arran kept to the shadows of the bulky transports and filtered between them.  Once he’d found the right bay he felt no surprise at seeing the transports unattended. The foreman was missing, but the three contraband transports were still hitched together with heavy black chain. He sniffed the air for tarylase. Clean.  Arran put his boot up on a hitch and a hand on his hip, ruminating on the difficulty of finding good help. At least the transports hadn’t been moved. He looked at the Odelford company logo stamped in reflective white paint on the side of the shuttle. They weren’t extravagant shuttles, like the slicker coach shuttles. These were just hard, dirty rocket sleds. They weren’t pretty, but they could take an impact from a small asteroid and keep on course without a human pilot to wrestle them back on course. They weren’t easy to get out of the yards, so the foreman must not have figured they were going anywhere.  He stepped up on the hitch to check inside. It was odd he didn’t smell anything.  ‘Maybe you should have slipped him a few credits, peacekeeper.’  The voice made him turn. Female, familiar. She appeared from the shadows of a nearby transport and stopped beside a buffer stop.  How had the woman snuck up on him? ‘Hello, Holly,’ he said, in lieu of quicker words. What was the Mayor’s chief aide doing here, at this hour? Had she dismissed the foreman?  ‘He’s been gone about half an hour,’ she said as Arran looked her up and down, wondering how he hadn’t noticed her. Maybe it was her height. She was short, which had kept her out of his regular sight.  Holly looked like she’d just come from the office, after pulling on a black shawl to cover her shoulders. Her dress was teal, close-fitting, and went to her knees. Her blonde hair was kept back by a simple black band. It was a cool evening, and she drew the lapel of the shawl around her folded arms stepping toward him.  ‘You’re out late,’ he said.  She held the coat around her and dismissed his attempt at smalltalk. ‘It’s not important.’ Her attention was focused on his hand. ‘That looks nasty. I didn’t see him before he went off to Odelford’s. I could have calmed him down. I’m sorry.’  He said, ‘You didn’t know what I was doing.’  ‘I still don’t.’ Her eyes traced the bandage and the messy gore-stain at the end of it. She hmmed.  ‘What are you doing here, Holly? Did you just come out here to see me?’  ‘Look inside the farmer’s shuttle.’ She indicated towards the closest transport.  Arran, his brow furrowed, stood back up on the hitch and hit the button on the transport’s lid. With a hydraulic hiss the container body unsealed and the lid extended away on two narrow pistons.  The lid folded over on itself and collapsed into a slot. Holly watched Arran’s expression.  The cargo transport was empty. Arran put his hand and stump on the edge and leaned in. ‘What?’ Every corner of the container was bare. Dim trailing lights around the rim blinked to life, confirming it. He leaned out and looked down at Holly, his disbelief confirmed. ‘The hell?’  Holly said, ‘All three of them, I’m certain.’  Arran sniffed for the volatile bodyjuice smell but there was none. ‘Odelford’s cargo was never in here.’ He frowned and stood down off the hitch onto air and circled around to face Holly, her hip cocked.  ‘The case is blown.’  Holly shifted her shawl around her shoulders. ‘There’s been interference.’  ’How do you know?’  She was reluctant to say. Arran stepped down off the hitch and turned to face her. ‘Tell me. You didn’t step out of the shadows for nothing.  ’Oh alright. I was working, at my desk, and a release came through my terminal for the freight yard. Under the Mayor’s seal.’  ‘Even though I put the hold order on? Is that normal?’  ’More than that, he never signs yard orders. Those go through station control, and monthly I file a report. That gets my stamp before going off to accounts. Our office doesn’t manage that stuff at all. This order went around me, straight to Shipmaster Galt, and the shipmaster gave it to the foreman.’ She pointed towards the main office, a long building with one side an open garage. Shuttles were in there to be repaired through daylight hours. ‘Not long after, three transports came off the southern tracks.’ They would have slid out of town without a sound, and under cover of darkness.  ‘That was my impounded cargo! Who gives a damn about the shuttle it was in. They send it right off the minute I’m put on suspension? Why?’  ‘Keep your voice down,’ she said. ‘That’s what happened, peacekeeper. That’s what came across my screen.’  ‘He’s going to have a lot to answer for.’ Anger rose up within him. He’d go find the Mayor immediately. Arran sucked through his teeth. ‘Galt, too,’ he said. ‘Shipmaster Galt. You greedy cunt, I knew it.’  ‘No.’ He paused. He was tensed, ready to fly off. The authority in Holly’s voice surprised him. ‘Stop.’  They were alone with the blocky, cut shapes of the cargo transports around them, an emptiness amplified by the lateness of the evening and the industrial setting.  ‘Holly. Do you want me to investigate?’  ‘Politics in the Mayor’s office?’ She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to start a wildfire. Not after everything else you’ve done, Gods.’  Arran blinked. ‘So what are you doing here, Holly? Why did you tell me this, exactly, if you don’t want to see action? I’m on suspension.’ He waved his stump. ‘Your boss took my hand.’  ‘Look, Arran, I just need more time to think. I’d ask you to not investigate this matter of the cargo, based on what you were going to see anyway, I knew you weren’t going to ignore it-’  ‘Like hell-’ He’d given a direct instruction in an ongoing judicial matter. That was Arran’s impounded cargo.  ‘Please, Arran. Just be patient. I’m sure the Mayor has his reasons.’  ’If this isn’t one big steaming marmotha turd.’ Patience let lawbreakers continue to spread their influence like rot in a wound. The lawman in him wanted nothing more than to rustle up the Mayor. There had to be a reason he let the contraband out.  Arran was reminded of his role as a peacekeeper and exhaled. He didn’t want to buck the suspension. He just wanted answers. He said, ‘The Mayor will be suspicious if I don’t investigate.’ He put his thumb in his belt, considering. ‘Tell me why you’ve told me this. If you don’t want to raise suspicion, I need to act.’  ‘No, no act. I don’t need you to act.’  ‘You won’t believe it, but I can even be discreet.’  ‘You tackled him out a window not two hours ago. Would it be wise to go at him again?’  Arran paused. She was right. Besides the Mayor, if he listed everyone aboard the station with the influence to run a smuggling ring out of the station, Shipmaster Galt would be at the top of that list regardless of the direct order he’d had from the Mayor. He suppressed a groan. ‘If I have to, I’ll go for Galt, first.’  For now his case was busted. None of this would look good to the DC. He’d have to take this up with Galt himself, at some point. He breathed out of his nose. Of course Odelford had help from the shipwrights, the pay would have been too good to turn down, but this meant the crime went all the way to the top. But why the Mayor? He had specifically agreed to let Arran work the case, which Arran admitted was unusual for a Mayor. But the Mayor said he believed in small politics.  ‘So the transports went out anyway. Of course they did.’ It didn’t taste good. He spat off to the side. ‘Trade is the lifeblood of this station, I guess. It’d be a perfect circle if Odelford hadn’t killed Wilson Graney over it.’  Holly had been involved in small town politics for a lot longer than Arran, who had spent most of his life turning lawbreakers into waste product. The station had different expectations. ‘Yeah,’ she said, flatly. ‘That’s why you can’t go after anyone. Yet. I need more time to figure things out.’  Arran sighed. It was heavier than the rest. He leaned against the empty shuttle. ‘Between this, my hand, and the district chief arriving, I don’t think I’m going to have a very good Equinox.’ They had the murder of the child pinned to Odelford, but now everything around it was messy. Bad policework. What a DC most loathed.  ‘I don’t think anybody’s going to be talking about much else at all during the festivities. Just promise me you won’t go after Galt or the Mayor in some dramatic fashion.’  He made to leave. He couldn’t not investigate. ‘I’m just going to do a little looking for now.’  Holly reached out to grab his arm. ‘Wait,’ she said. She caught it before he could lift off and swoop overfield, now that he knew the yards were empty.  ‘You don’t want to turn over too many stones, not after what you did to Odelford. There’s few left who can cover you before the Council… and everyone else.’  ‘I’ll be careful,’ he said. ‘Why’d you show yourself, Holly?’  ‘Caution,’ she said. ‘There’s been something up with the Mayor lately. He takes a lot of private meetings with Marlebone.’  ‘Marlebone?’ That was the second time he’d heard the name tonight. It was not a name he heard very often. Marlebone was a shut-in who lived in a cavern inside the underflat. Marlebone was known for her oracular skills. She was known to give out a prophecy or two, to those stout pilgrims who found their way to her oraculary. They were little more than parlour tricks, so he wondered why the Mayor had developed a fascination with them.  ‘I think he’s concerned about something. He seems… controlled. Just don’t push him too far. Just keep an eye on him.’  He was distracted by the movement of an Obel trawling across the night sky and he watched it, a bare dark shape in slow orbit around them. The evening was late, and the sight of it made him want to rest. Such were the rhythms of life out here on the prism. He knew what he would do in the morning. The first thing would be to poke around Galt’s business. That snake had probably made sure the cargo was on the wrong tracks in the first place.  ‘I’ve some other business to attend to,’ she said. ‘I say this is concluded.’  Arran’s protest choked in his throat. He managed to splutter ‘a real fucking assistance-’ but stopped. His senses sharpened. The hairs rose on his neck. Danger. A distant sound he had thought the ambient noise of a nighttime station was rising into clamour. Someone at the church was trying to wake the station up.