Gumshoes and Gamma Rays: The Indie Space Anthology, #1

By The Indie Space Anthology

A collection of thrilling Sci-fi detective tales!

 

Company Man, by Kit Sun Cheah

 

When space pirates raid an asteroid mine in Saturn's orbit, Seder-Krupp hires a bounty hunter to run them down. Caught between ruthless killers and corporate intrigue, he must find a way to secure justice and keep his soul intact.

 

Entanglement, by TJ Marquis

 

A beautiful woman brings Inspector Jim Sours his latest case. The solar-system spanning internet, to which nearly everyone is connected, has determined that someone she loves committed a murder. The problem is, the suspect's physical presence at the scene was impossible.

 

Expand, by Jon Parker

 

Detective Owen Cooper is investigating a series of strange occurrences involving the spontaneous appearances of large discs which cause death and destruction everywhere they manifest. He's never seen anything like it before, and rumors that it's all being caused by alien technology are only making it more complicated. Cooper is at a loss when he sees an oddly beautiful woman in strange garb at the scene of one of the appearances. She's faster than she should be and speaks of far-flung galaxies, alliances, and death. The fate of humanity is in Cooper's hands as he's left with a great Damoclesian question hanging overhead… Can he trust her?

 

Revelation, by Jordan Syratt

 

Troubled by a young man's suicide, a seasoned New York City detective decides to delve deeper into its mysterious cirumcumstances. Desperate for answers, his investigations lead him down a dark rabbit hole that threatens to consume him.

 

Double Deception, by E.J. Robison

 

Shera Nox, famed intergalactic detective, isn't taking on any more cases…until she hears that an entire planet has gone missing. But when a fellow detective and her own ship disappear too, Shera realizes that this case is much more complex–and dangerous–than she first thought. 

According To John, by Jeff Hendricks

 

In the future, children aren't granted personhood until they hit puberty, and the government allows them a place in society. Things are going well for State Assimilation Detective John, until he discovers his own son is up next for culling. John realizes he must either beat the system, or end up sacrificing himself to save his son.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: TJ Marquis
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215453636

Book preview

Company Man

By Kit Sun Cheah

THE BUREAUCRAT BEFORE me was every corporate and government official I have ever known, distilled into a single biological planetoid. He was a living tub of lard, his hand-tailored suit straining to contain his mass. His overbuilt leather chair groaned under his weight. Black beady eyes like rotting raisins embedded in half-baked cookie dough squinted through frameless smartglasses.

Your visit is most irregular, Lee Humphrey said, his voice high and whiny and officious.

You’re a busy man. I won’t take up much of your precious time, I said agreeably.

He harrumphed, adjusting his glasses with a hand as huge as a ham hock. His other hand swept across his expansive desk, rearranging the mounds of files and papers that sprawled across the grease-stained fine-grained redwood.

Furniture like his could only have come all the way from Earth, imported at massive expense. It wasn’t something a civil servant could afford, even if he were the President of the Vulcan Station Space Port. Then again, out here in the Saturn system, where helium-3 scoopships gobbled down a king’s ransom with every dive into the gas giant, where methane rained from the heavens and seas of hydrocarbons covered the surface of Titan, all Terran ideas of wealth evaporated like ice exposed to the sun.

Trillionnaires made their fortunes in the he-three rush. Megacorps grew richer than countries solely by recovering the surface organics of Titan. Working the rings and lesser moons, paupers from Earth became princes of space. Humphrey controlled the flow of goods, services, and people in and out of Vulcan. Wealth meant little to a man who controlled the destinies of the fifty thousand people who called Vulcan home, all of whom depended on access to space. His mass alone was a status symbol. In a universe where the tyranny of the rocket equation ruled supreme, where the prices of all things were calculated by the time, material, and fuel it took to produce and ship them across interplanetary distances, he could afford to mass as much as three people.

I knew the kind of man Humphrey was. I’d dressed to impress.

My gray skinsuit was the suit of the working class, of the miners and spacers who got their hands dirty for a living. Over that, I wore a black duster for warmth and concealment. My boots were rated for microgravity, their gecko pads capable of sticking to any surface. My heavy-duty smartglasses were set to transparency mode, letting Humphreys read my eyes.

I could hear the gears turning in Humphrey’s head. He saw a black collar, one of the teeming millions who ventured into the void to win a living from the most hostile environment known to man. What would such a person want with him? How could a black collar even arrange a meeting with him, the most powerful white-collar in this little world? Didn’t he have functionaries to prevent this very occasion?

My staff told me you would only speak to me, Humphrey said.

I have a problem only you can help me with, I replied.

And what is this problem you’re facing, Mister...?

It isn’t my problem. It is my client’s problem.

Who is your client?

Seder-Pitt Holdings.

Humphrey blinked.

No one in the Solar System could afford to be ignorant of Seder-Pitt. Seder-Pitt freighters carried vital cargoes of food, water, and medicine across the colonies. Warships designed by Seder-Pitt served in the fleets of every space power. Seder-Pitt mines extracted metals, minerals, and ice, raw materials for Seder-Pitt refineries and factories, where they would be transformed into fuel and propellant and feedstock for Seder-Pitt clients and subsidiaries.

You’re a company man, Humphrey said.

By way of answer, I fished my badge from my pocket and held it out.

The titanium shield clunked against the ancient wood. Rays etched into the surface of the shield radiated from an exploding star. Scrolls ran across the crest and compartment, bearing embossed words gleaming in lustrous silver.

SOLAR SYSTEM BOUNTY HUNTER UNION

Humphrey’s eyes widened.

You’re a bounty hunter, he whispered.

I nodded, returning the badge to its place.

Law enforcement across interplanetary distances was impossible for all but the most well-funded of space powers. Even if a space force were willing to spend prodigious amounts of remass to chase a criminal across millions of kilometers, it would take weeks, even months, for the fastest torch ship to arrive at the scene of the crime.

Local law enforcement entities were usually more concerned with events within their jurisdictions, caring little about most crimes elsewhere so long as the offender didn’t bring trouble into their orbits. Extradition treaties were barely enforceable, little more than suggestions and common courtesy. Only nations with space forces large enough to maintain a presence across inhabited space could begin the quixotic task of interplanetary law enforcement.

For everybody else, there were bounty hunters.

He gave me a second look. A myriad of microexpressions spilled across his face. Now he pieced together the puzzle. Now he understood how I had bypassed his staff and why I was dressed the way I was. Now he wondered what I had under my coat and why I was here.

How can I help you? Humphrey asked.

Sweat popped across his forehead. His lips twisted into a weak smile. His eyes glowed fever-bright in a desperate attempt to distract me from the darkness in their depths. Whatever he was thinking, he was wrong.

I’m not here for you today, I said gently. Not you or your staff. I am representing Seder-Pitt in a matter of grave concern. My employers would greatly appreciate your assistance.

I loaded ‘appreciate’ with a little extra mass, an unspoken connotation, just enough weight to speak to what lay inside him.

Just like that, his manner became cloyingly obsequious.

What does Seder-Pitt require help with? he asked.

"Ten days ago, pirates struck 8451 Delros, an S-P combination asteroid mine and refinery located in Saturn orbit. They posed as a supply ship on a routine run. The second they docked at the facility, they overpowered local security and launched a smash-and-grab raid.

"The pirates destroyed vital infrastructure. Machinery for processing raw materials. Radios and communications lasers. The mass driver. The life support system. When they were done, they made off with a haul of refined materials.

"Two days ago, the pirates pulled into Vulcan Station.

The pirates killed eight people and left over two hundred to die. Not only that, 8451 Delros is a C-type asteroid, one rich in potassium. Now we believe they are seeking a buyer for their goods.

I left my tone light and understated, yet heavy with implication. The pirates weren’t just ruthless. Greedy, too.

And insane.

Phosphorus was essential for life. It was a critical ingredient for manufacturing fertilizer. Most of the solar system’s reserves of phosphorus were concentrated on Earth, with a tiny scattering on Luna. Beyond that, the only known sources of phosphorus were the rare few comets and C-type asteroids that harbored the mineral in significant quantities. Out in the void, phosphorus was worth five times its weight in gold.

S-P enjoyed a near-monopoly on phosphorus mined in space, so much so people said S-P stood for Solar Phosphorus. To maintain that monopoly, they bought out prospectors who struck phosphorus, acquired lesser companies that owned P-bearing C-types and comets, and lobbied space powers to protect the phosphorus shipping routes.

And, on occasion, hired men and fleets to punish those who challenged them.

Those... animals, Humphrey whispered.

I didn’t tell him that the stranded miners had made it to other ships stationed at the asteroid, that they had evacuated to other independent stations nearby and alerted their bosses. That would undermine the message.

We believe the pirates are still on Vulcan, I continued. The easy way to resolve this is for S-P to impose a blockade on the station, then comb every house and every street until they find the pirates and the stolen goods. Every mercenary company in Saturn orbit is scrambling to land that contract with S-P. But I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?

Humphrey shook his head. His fat wobbled with him.

No, not at all. The disruption, the costs, the risks—

Exactly. So we can do this the easier way.

Which is?

I want access to your records. I need to know where the ship went. Who the ship belongs to. Where I can find the crew.

That information is confidential—

We can always do it the easy way. S-P doesn’t care, so long as the pirates are found and brought to justice. Of course, it will mean a thorough investigation of the spaceport, and everyone who works here. Not only that, life on Vulcan will grind to a halt. No one enters, no one leaves. Not until it’s over. It could take weeks, months, years. S-P can afford to keep throwing money at the problem until it goes away. Can you?

Humphrey paled. He armed sweat off his forehead and adjusted his tie.

I’m sure it doesn’t have to come to that, he said.

It won’t if you choose the easier way. All I need is information about the ship and the pirates. I’m not interested in anything else going on in Vulcan.

What happens if you find the pirates?

When we find the pirates, they go away. The problem will be solved. Quietly. No one needs to know. Life on Vulcan continues as normal.

How many pirates are there?

Six. At least.

But there’s only one of you.

I smiled thinly.

I’ll worry about that. You just need to worry about Vulcan. And S-P.

Humphrey exhaled sharply.

You’ll have your data. All the data you need.

Thank you, I said.

Sweat stained his collar and armpits.

Make sure S-P knows we’ve been cooperative, Humphrey said. We don’t want any trouble, and we’ll keep it that way, yeah?

Of course.

THE PIRATES WERE GONE.

I peeled off my smartglasses, set them on my table, and massaged the bridge of my nose. I’d been navigating schedules and records for hours on end. Three times I pored over the raw data, and three times the results were the same.

Nothing.

SP Rainier 38, the ship the pirates had used, was gone without a trace, so thoroughly disappeared it was as if it had never pulled up into Vulcan Station to begin with. Which made no sense whatsoever.

There was no stealth in space. Radiators and drive plumes threw out huge amounts of heat. An observatory on Earth could track a chemical rocket in Pluto orbit. SP Rainier 38 was a nuclear fusion ship, its thermal radiation visible from every inhabited point in the Solar System. There was no way to hide that heat. Every station from Mercury to Minmas had tracked the ship to Vulcan Station, located in orbit around the moon of Enceladus.

And then... she disappeared.

I wasn’t getting anywhere. I sighed. Stood. Stretched. Paced the floor.

S-P was generous to its employees. With the expense account I had for this job, I could have afforded a Presidential Suite at the Millennium, the best and only five-star hotel in town. Instead, I’d opted for a single room at Starways, a hotel just a few steps up from a hovel.

Space piracy was a Darwinian game. You can’t hide. Only run. You had to keep one step ahead of everyone chasing you—and take out anyone who got too close. Everybody in the Guild knows somebody who knew somebody who got careless or just plain unlucky, a hunter whose quarry turned the tables on them. A company man would stay at the Millennium, which meant every criminal syndicate in Vulcan would have eyes on the hotel. But not Starways.

I hoped.

The room further reduced my risk profile. There was a bed, a bathroom, a work table. That’s all. None of the luxuries a company man would demand, or be used to. It was a room for a short-term visit, for an anonymous spacer in between contracts, a bounty hunter on the prowl.

I flung the windows open and looked out. Streets and alleys and structures sprawled up and away from me, following the grand sweep of a gigantic curved plane, terminating at the edges of a band of absolute blackness. Dazzling lights burned into my eyes from every direction, every angle. Crowds flocked to clubs, bars, pubs. High overhead, a skycar flipped through a one-eighty spin to orient its nacelles to the ground below.

Vulcan was a Bernal sphere. A hollow sphere slowly rotating around its axis, offering half a gravity. The people of Vulcan inhabited the equatorial region along the inner surface, a wide band of concrete and glass and steel resembling a huge valley wrapped around like a ribbon. Enormous mirror arrays collected the light of the sun and reflected it through the tough glass windows sited at the poles. Night had fallen, the mirrors turned away, the illusion of daylight now giving way to the reality of semi-night. Tiny diamonds sparkled through the windows, drives from distant rockets.

Rockets. That was key to solving this puzzle. Rockets do not simply disappear. Saturn space was awash in radar, lidar, active and passive sensors. Every object in orbit