The Canopus Conundrum, page 1
THE CANOPUS CONUNDRUM
UNCHARTED SERIES
BOOK 2
J A MORTIMORE
Copyright © 2023 by J A Mortimore
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7393500-2-4
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7393500-3-1
Cover design by 100 Covers
Edited by Vicky Brewster
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locates is entirely coincidental
Please note: I write using British English.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Did you enjoy this book?
Author’s note: about the Uncharted series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
The lock on the storeroom door had clearly been lasered off. Hobart Atria frowned. “Clumsy job,” he commented, and then turned to look up at the holo recording point that overlooked it. That, too, had very obviously been lasered into oblivion.
Prefect Gloriana Duvall nodded in agreement, but refrained from comment. She had already formed a theory as to what had happened, but decided to wait until Hobart, her supervisor, asked her for an opinion. She felt uncomfortable in her dark blue prefect’s safesuit, and wondered if that would ever change. After being evacuated from Meridiana on the Canopus, she’d been desperate to get off the creaky old ship, and admitting to her past had seemed the best option. She wondered whether the man who stood beside her knew her secret – knew why a trained prefect had been working in the casino at the Meridiana resort when omnivorous alien blobs had forced the evacuation of the planet. She wondered whether she would have been happier if she’d escaped on one of the ships that had entered the substream before Flight Commander Zaran had ordered the gateway closed, stranding them all at least ten years’ journey from the nearest outpost of their civilisation. She wondered, not for the first time, whether the arrival of the two star cruisers – the Atria and her sister ship the Gemin – had been the impetus for the destruction that had followed.
“So what exactly is missing?” Hob pushed the door open and peered into the storage area as if he thought he could somehow identify the stolen items before being told what they were.
“Maize, barley and sugar.” The young clerk who’d been detailed to show them the evidence of the break-in looked bored by the whole business, and Glory got the impression he wasn’t impressed by prefects. “Just like the hydroponics chief explained to your boss,” he continued, obviously unaware that while Hob might not be Chief Justice, he was second-in-command of the justice team. “They left all the vegetables, so it’s not because they’re hungry, like we first thought. It doesn’t make sense!”
“Maybe it’s somebody who really, really likes muesli?” Hob suggested.
Glory winced. Her supervisor considered her thoughtfully.
“You have something to say, Prefect Glory?” he asked.
“Sir.” It was only with an effort that she resisted wincing a second time – she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to being referred to by her first name, rather than as Prefect Duvall, as she would have been on her home planet. The Elite who crewed the star cruisers, however, all took as their surname the name of their ship, so first names were the only way to tell them apart, and the naming convention carried over to non-Elite serving alongside them. “I’d say the thieves are almost bound to be planet dwellers,” she said. “I think we should check with the ship’s bakery.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry?” He gave her a long look. “Why would we do that?”
“Because I think they may be missing some yeast.” When he still looked blank, she said, “You don’t have an alcohol problem on the Atria, do you?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” He folded his arms. “Is this relevant, Prefect?”
“Sir,” she said again. “Yes, sir, I believe it is.”
“Very well.” Hob nodded his thanks to the junior clerk. “We’ll check. Do you think you can find the ship’s bakery?”
Glory frowned. “I can call up the ship’s map,” she said, “but it would be quicker if you just led the way. Sir.”
He raised an eyebrow, and turned to the clerk. “Engineering will repair your door shortly,” he told the young man. “But I suggest you remain here until such time as they get to you.”
Without further comment, he set off at a fast pace, and Glory scurried to keep up with him, wondering whether he’d actually noticed that she was considerably shorter than him and was struggling to keep up. Perhaps it was a test of her fitness, she mused; in which case she’d probably fail. Hob looked like a man who, despite his advancing years, kept himself very much in shape and probably expected his prefects to do the same. She made a mental note to schedule some time in a gym.
The passageway decanted into one of the hydroponics units, and from there they were able to access the central core of the ship. The bakery, it transpired, was quite close, and they only briefly used one of the moving walkways. Glory still hadn’t got used to the vast open cylinder at the centre of the Atria, with its rows of windows and shop fronts and its network of moving walkway belts and the faster travel pods zipping by overhead, but her efforts to keep up with Hob didn’t give her time to really take in everything the core had to offer.
Hob led the way into a further passageway redolent with the scent of baking bread. Glory scurried along behind her mentor, trying to conceal her breathlessness. As they approached, the double doors at which the hallway terminated swished open.
The prefect had expected to see the source of the delicious aroma, the various rolls arrayed in pallets awaiting delivery to the ship’s many eateries, with bakers kneading dough and sliding sheets of loaf tins in and out of ovens. The front office of the bakery, however, revealed none of those things. Four grey walls surrounded a reception desk behind which sat a woman wearing an off white safesuit. The only other item in the room was a tall, big-leafed plant in a tub in one corner. Glory smiled at the receptionist to hide her disappointment; this was nothing like any bakery she’d visited on her home planet.
Hob introduced himself and Glory, and the receptionist looked mildly concerned.
“Is there a problem, Justices?”
“We’re just looking for information. May we know your name?”
The receptionist nodded. “Technician Mora,” she introduced herself. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a visit from prefects before.”
“We’re investigating some thefts of food,” Hob told her. “My partner here seems to think you might be missing some yeast.”
“Oh?” Mora frowned. “That would be quite difficult to ascertain.”
“Because ...?” Hob wondered.
“Because yeast can reproduce asexually by mitosis ...” She paused, and smiled. “I’m guessing you want the simple version. If you feed yeast with flour and water, it reproduces and you get more of it. So we might have lost a small amount of yeast from our vats, but it wouldn’t need to be much. You can even get wild yeast from the skin of grapes and start your own culture, but you have to know what you’re doing. Why do you think we might be missing some? Have you found some?”
“Not yet,” Hob said, turning to look down at Glory, who straightened under the clear gaze of his dark eyes. “Well, Prefect?” he said. “Do you want to explain now why we’re in a bakery?”
“I admit I didn’t know you could grow your own yeast,” she said. “But with the items stolen from the hydroponics unit and a yeast culture, someone who knows how can make moonshine.”
“Moonshine?”
“Rotgut alcohol.”
“Oh.” Hob folded his arms and looked thoughtful. “I suppose that might be what’s going on. The ship’s crammed to the gunnels with refugees from Meridiana and its Wheel, so your theory that it’s a dirt hugger would make sense.”
“Planet dweller,” Glory growled. She hated the derogatory term ‘dirt hugger’, which the Elite frequently used to differentiate the star cruiser crews, who lived pretty much their entire lives in space, from the much larger population of the Interstellar Union, who were firmly located on planets along the nodes of the substream.
Hob nodded. “You’re right to correct me, Prefect,” he said. “Our culprit could well be one of your fellow planet dwellers.”
And that puts me in my place, she thought, resisting the temptation to stick her tongue out at him. She reminded herself that a prefect should always be smart and respectful, although the ethics training she’d received when she’d first enlisted on her home planet had turned out to be little more than hot air at the end of the day, for all it had sounded so impressive.
“I know that holo recorder by the damaged door was put out of action,” Glory said thoughtfully, “but I’m guessing that was the only one they damaged. Is there someone who can check the recorders in the surrounding corridors for us? We might see someone taking the stolen goods away.”
“Good.” Hob actually grinned at her, which took her by surprise as it was the first time since he’d been appointed to oversee her that he’d cracked a smile. It made him look younger, and considerably less patronising. “Our best bet is Corporal Komin.” He tapped an enquiry into his wristcom and the holo of a round-faced man appeared above it. Hob explained their request, reeling off holo recorder co-ordinates that meant little to Glory, which served to remind her how out of her depth she was on a star cruiser.
“On it,” Komin replied crisply. “If you drop by in half an hour or so I should have some results for you.”
“Thank you,” Hob said, and tapped off the holo. “Well, Prefect, we have half an hour. Is there any other channel of enquiry we could investigate during that time?”
“Not that I can think of at this point,” Glory confessed.
Hob nodded. “Then let’s go get a cup of coffee, shall we?”
One thing Glory approved of about the Atria was the even spread of coffee outlets across the huge vessel. Some of them were big lounge areas that supplied other drinks as well, including some which were mild intoxicants; many were just a cubbyhole with a couple of tables and a few chairs. Hob led the way back down to the core, and they hopped a belt going towards the front of the ship. Glory glanced around herself, noting the number of passers-by who were wearing safesuits, a few with robes of office over them. She even glimpsed a flash of command maroon.
They disembarked the belt by a planting of trees and bushes, and Hob led the way to a small but comfortable lounge area. Once they were seated, he tapped on the table edge and a column rose from the centre with a water heater, mugs and a choice of drinks. Hob helped himself to a coffee, whilst Glory contented herself with an orange flavoured tea. They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Hob said, “So, how are you feeling about being back in harness?”
Glory hesitated. “A little strange,” she admitted. “It’s ... been a while. But I was well trained. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.”
“These are strange times.” Hob sat back. “We’re leading a fleet of mismatched and overcrowded ships through sectors of space that have barely been explored. Even allowing for the replicators, resources are likely to get ... stretched. That’s why I assumed our thefts were due to hunger, or hoarding. Your idea is more interesting.”
“I guess you don’t get to deal with this kind of petty crime.” Glory sipped her drink thoughtfully. “A moonshine case wouldn’t be serious enough for a planet to ask for oversight from a star cruiser’s justice team. I looked at the Atria’s most recent crime reports, so I have a general idea of what you normally deal with. I guess there are some crimes that are more frequent planetside.”
“There’s little crime in the IUP ranks,” Hob said, “but as you’re aware, the larger proportion of the inhabitants of the Atria are civilians, including the justice team. Violent crime is unusual and acquisitive crime rare. Mostly we deal with domestic arguments and resource allocation fraud. And obviously we ensure the enforcement of interplanetary laws and adjudicate complicated legal matters. I’ve never encountered anybody making their own alcohol, though.” He smiled. “It’s a new experience. What kind of thing will we be looking for?”
“A still,” Glory said. “A primitive device for brewing alcohol. If this was a planet, I’d say look in the poorer parts of town, or out in the wilderness. Clearly you don’t have those on a starship.”
“No,” Hob agreed, “but we do have maintenance passageways, and areas that are predominantly machinery which are infrequently visited. Let’s hope Komin has some kind of a lead for us, or we could be spending a lot of time crawling through engineering ducts. He’s the ship’s Chief Data Analyst and you’ll find him a useful contact.”
Corporal Komin was waiting for them when they arrived at his office. The round face she’d seen on Hob’s holo turned out to belong to a short, portly man with a pleasant smile. The office was a confusion of machinery. Flashing holos were either lined up tidily over a paper-strewn desk or bobbing about randomly as if they’d been consulted and then forgotten.
“I have something for you,” the data analyst announced. “Not the actual offence,” he added, “but definitely your thieves. They were careful to look away from most of the pick-ups, but I tracked them back far enough that they weren’t so careful.” He pulled up a holo, and they saw three people wearing dark clothing. Two of the three were fair-haired men, sufficiently alike that they might be brothers; the third was a woman with dark hair.
“No safesuits,” Hob said. “They must be dirt — er, planet dwellers, then.”
“Or they realised they could be identified from them and didn’t wear them,” Glory said, tugging a little self-consciously at the collar of her own safesuit. She had never worn one before, and hadn’t yet got the hang of the inbuilt body monitors. Nor had she got the hang of being a prefect again, she thought gloomily, and wondered yet again what had inspired her to respond when the Lord Chief Justice had appealed for anyone with any kind of prefect experience. She guessed she just hadn’t realised how taking up the role would bring her bad memories into such sharp relief. “Can you track them forward?” she asked. “We need to know where they took what they stole.”
“Already done,” Komin said cheerfully. “Once I had a face fix, I set the system to search for them. The men are Gled and Morrin Glenn, and the lady is Thenda Bellox. They all worked at the port facility on Meridiana prior to the evacuation. And each of them carried a large box across the ship to one of the maintenance areas.” He sat back, looking pleased with himself.
“That’s brilliant,” Glory said, genuinely impressed. “You’re doing our job for us, Corporal!”
Komin shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable, and shrugged. “I try.”
“Have you got a holo of where they took their ill-gotten goods?” Hob leant over Komin’s shoulder as if he could summon the images without the aid of machinery.
“Oh, right,” Komin said, and his fingers moved across his desk. The holo that popped up showed a dimly lit area, the walls of which were obscured by pipes and ductwork, and festooned with bundled wires. Glory’s eyebrows rose. To date, she had only seen the living and working areas of the Atria, and whilst she had thought there must be more going on beneath the surface of the gigantic vessel, this was her first sight of that underworld. There was one thing definitely out of place in the area – in one corner, a large metal cylinder was balanced on blocks with pipes leading away from it to a couple of what appeared to be metal kegs.
“What’s that?” Hob pointed at the object. “I don’t remember seeing machinery like that anywhere else on the Atria.”
“It’s probably copper,” Glory said, “and that’s our still. And,” she finished, somewhat gloomily, “it’s not going to be as simple as just going and arresting the thieves.”
“Why not?” Hob asked blankly.
Glory gestured at the holo. “See the size of that? This isn’t a couple of planet dwellers having some fun; this is a commercial enterprise. And if they’re making it to sell – the question is, who’s buying? Supply and demand, Justice Hobart. If we cut off the supply, the demand will just find another fool to brew it for them. We need to try to identify the buyers before we arrest the manufacturers. We know who they are – we can pick them up any time.” She turned her attention to Komin. “Can you put together a recording that shows who they are and what they’re doing, Corporal, for evidential purposes?” she asked him.
