Paw-Prints Of The Gods (6 page)

Quirinus suppressed a
smirk. While it was well known that Newbrum police officers were
traditionally big, burly types who could undoubtedly lift petite
Ostara with one finger, he could imagine her going off on a
completely random tangent when faced with a mental aptitude
conundrum. However, what she said about the bad feelings between
the locals and the displaced residents of the hollow moon was sadly
true.

“Something will come
up,” he said, feeling he should pass on some of Verdandi’s
optimism. He had already noticed that she did not look too
despondent.

“Oh, I have plans,”
Ostara told him, looking secretive. “If you fancy a drink later
I’ll tell you all about it,” she added coyly.

Quirinus smiled. “I
have to collect Zotz from school, then we’re off to stay with his
father over the break. I’m sure Wak could use some help on the
Dandridge Cole
.”

“Say hello from
me.”

“Do you want to come
with us? Another pair of hands is always welcome.”

Ostara paused, then
shook her head. “I’ve things to do here,” she told him. “Besides,
last time Wak asked for helping hands, I managed to trap him inside
an airlock and leave Ravana dangling down that horrible shaft. I
think I’ll give it a miss.”

Quirinus grinned.
“We’ll have that drink when I get back,” he promised.

* * *

Quirinus strode
through the entrance lobby of New Birmingham Chamber and out onto
the street. Verdandi’s administrative hub was aptly situated at the
geographic heart of the kilometre-wide dome of steel and glass that
protected Newbrum’s inhabitants from the alien environment of the
world outside. The buildings beneath the dome were predominantly
concrete, laid out in a concentric street pattern with Circle Park
at the centre. The crumbling tower blocks around the park were
squashed close, separated by streets barely wide enough for the
transports that brought in supplies from the spaceport and external
greenhouses. The bloated red sun of Barnard’s Star hung high above
and cast its rusty rays upon the glass to paint the city in dim
scarlet hues.

The Chamber was the
sole survivor from the initial rush of construction during the
founding of New Birmingham by Commonwealth and European colonists
barely two generations ago. The building ran in a graceful curve a
quarter of the way around the park, but the architecture of the
imposing ten-storey structure was otherwise stark and box-like,
with only the distinctive red, white and blue flag of the United
Kingdom hanging limply from the pole above the main entrance to
brighten the grey exterior. The European Space Agency’s interest in
Barnard’s Star was short-lived, for there was little in the system
worth travelling six light years for. However, after all their hard
work in building Newbrum, Bradbury Heights and the other human
enclaves on Ascension, many who had settled steadfastly refused to
abandon their new homes and so it was that the United Kingdom
reluctantly agreed to grant Ascension the status of a Commonwealth
colony.

The streets were
thronged with people and few were in a rush. Newbrum maintained
European Central Time and artificial lighting within the dome did
its best to mimic the day and night cycles of Earth. Ascension
rotated slowly backwards and was so close to Barnard’s Star it
orbited once every three Terran weeks, resulting in a day that saw
the sun rise in the west every seven Terran days. Faced with such a
confusion of daylight cycles, most people just got up out of bed
and went to work or school whenever they pleased. Newbrum was not
so much the city that never sleeps, but more one that never quite
fully woke up.

Quirinus crossed the
street and entered the park through the southern entrance, taking
care to steer clear of the small group of protesters picketing the
south-east quarter. The people waving placards, mostly employees of
big pharmaceutical companies, were residents of the much-prized
apartments overlooking the park and as such had not taken kindly to
the sprawl of temporary cabins now spoiling their view. Quirinus
had spent his first few weeks in Newbrum sharing a cramped module
in the refugee camp and felt genuinely sorry for the ex-residents
of the hollow moon who found they had no skills or expertise the
city wanted. Many had found jobs in the salvage yards or hydrogen
works, but it was work no one else cared for. Quirinus had later
secured pilot lodgings at Aston Pier for himself, Ravana and Zotz,
but now he had lost his licence even that piece of luck was about
to come to an end. Fortunately, the city made sure no one went
hungry, which was more than could be said for refugees on Earth,
where countless millions had been displaced and vast swathes of
arable land lost due to climate change.

Circle Park was a
pleasant, tree-lined grassy space, split into four by
north-to-south and east-to-west paths radiating from a tiny duck
pond at the centre. The trees were imported Alpine species that
grew tall in the low gravity of Ascension, which was around half
that of their native Earth. A young mother and child lobbed stale
bread at a disinterested duck, while a flock of cockatoos swept
past from one roost to the next, screeching madly. It was a warm
day and a few office workers were out upon the grass to eat their
lunch. Further along, an elderly man in a hoverchair was being led
towards the pond by his nurse. It was sometimes hard to remember
that beyond the dome was a harsh, unforgiving rock where only the
toughest forms of life managed to scratch out a feeble
existence.

The grey facade of
Newbrum Academy stood at the north-eastern edge of the park. This,
the city’s sole state-funded school, had been on the brink of
closure due to the popularity of private corporation colleges, but
the need to cater for the children of the hollow moon brought a
temporary reprieve. The Symposium, the congress of philosophers
formerly responsible for education and other matters on the
Dandridge Cole
, reached an agreement with Verdandi to become
resident tutors on the proviso they did not insult her by asking
for anything more than regular meals and a roof over their heads.
The building was badly dilapidated even by Newbrum standards; many
windows were patched with boards, the letter ‘R’ and one of the
‘A’s had dropped off the sign above the entrance and a colony of
pigeons had taken up residence behind the broken vents of the
roof-top air-conditioning unit.

A pale, ginger-haired
youth in a scruffy flight suit bustled from the Academy, jerking to
a halt halfway through the door when his bag became entangled
around a broken handrail. After freeing himself, the boy leapt down
the steps two at a time before dropping to sit upon the wall
outside the main entrance. Upon seeing Quirinus emerge from the
park, he leapt up again and waved. A plump dark-skinned girl,
wearing the same pale blue flight suit that passed for school
uniform, emerged from the Academy behind him and ran down the
steps, brandishing what looked like a piece of paper in her
hand.

“Zotz!” she called.
“You forgot to take a leaflet!”

The boy turned and
took the offered handout, whereupon the girl disappeared back
inside before he had a chance to say anything. Quirinus crossed the
street to join him, gave the boy a friendly pat on the back and
together they walked on along Circle Park Road.

“Hi, Zotz,” said
Quirinus. “Good day at school?”

“Rubbish,” Zotz
replied. “Did you get your licence back?”

Quirinus shook his
head. “The Administrator said she doesn’t like one-eyed
pilots.”

“I think the eye patch
is cool,” Zotz told him. “It makes you look like a pirate. Is there
such thing as space pirates?”

“There’s nothing worth
stealing around here. Was that Bellona?” asked Quirinus. Bellona,
along with her brother Endymion and friend Philyra, had played a
part in the series of events that led them to Epsilon Eridani some
months before.

“She and Philyra are
at my school,” said Zotz. He glanced at the thin printed sheet the
girl had given him. “Bellona’s been acting very strange. Her mum
and dad argue a lot and she’s started going to church by herself.
Look at this!”

Zotz passed the
leaflet to Quirinus. It was an advertisement for a church group
aimed at young adults, with an imprinted holovid showing scenes of
happy people doing all sorts of wonderful charitable activities on
a world that bore no resemblance to the bleak environs of
Ascension. Quirinus and Zotz had seen at first hand what Dhusarian
Church terrorists did on Yuanshi and the look they gave one another
as they examined the leaflet perfectly encapsulated their contempt
for the twee images. In the top left corner was a six-pointed star
with a centre swirl, which reminded Quirinus of the insignia once
used by the Maharaja on Yuanshi. The headline read: ‘DHUSARIAN
CHURCH OF ASCENSION – JOIN WITH US TODAY AND PRAY THE GREY
WAY!’

“That’s scary,”
Quirinus said at last, handing the leaflet back to Zotz. “I didn’t
know there was a Dhusarian Church in Newbrum.”

“It’s been here for
years,” Zotz replied. He stuffed the handout into his bag. “They
meet in an old bingo hall at the end of Broad Street. Bellona said
the Church is becoming really popular on Ascension and they’re
looking for somewhere bigger.”

“I’m sure there’s some
gas giant we can tip them into, no problem.”

Zotz grinned. Just
then, Quirinus’ wristpad beeped, indicating an incoming message.
Wristpads were hugely popular in space-faring colonies like Newbrum
and much preferred to the hand-held net-access devices ubiquitous
back on Earth, which easily got lost on zero-gravity flights.
Quirinus had owned this particular wristpad for years, a basic
model that lacked the latest touches like a holographic
enhanced-reality projector, but which had survived exposure to
solar flares, fuel spillages and a fair few crash landings.

“That was Momus,”
Quirinus told Zotz, after reading the short message. “He’s waiting
for us at the spaceport. Do you need to go back to our cabin? I put
everything you wanted into the bag, assuming of course Momus
remembered to collect it.”

Zotz grinned. “I think
I have everything.”

They reached the point
where Circle Park Road joined Corporation Street and paused to let
a laden hovertruck wheeze past on its way to the spaceport. On the
other side of the road a huge crowd had gathered outside Setco, for
rumours that the food store had taken delivery of a shipment of
chocolate travelled fast. It was said that whoever worked out how
to produce such luxuries on Ascension would probably get elected
Governor for life.

* * *

Administrator Verdandi
regarded Ostara carefully, wondering whether she had heard
correctly. The young Chinese woman perched on the edge of the seat
opposite seemed earnest enough, but her request was an odd one.

“You want to go into
business,” Verdandi said slowly, “as a private detective?”

Ostara nodded. “I’ve
already taken a lease on an office in Sherlock Street.”

“How appropriate.”

“That’s what I
thought!”

“Newbrum already has a
fine police force,” Verdandi pointed out, though ‘fine’ was not
necessarily the word she would have chosen in private. “Do you
think there is any call for a private investigation service in the
city?”

“I wanted to join the
police force and become a proper detective,” admitted Ostara. “It
is what I was born to do. It’s not my fault I’m too small for the
uniform.”

“Is that what they
told you?”

“When I suggested
setting up my own agency, the police officer who interviewed me
said I may need some sort of licence,” Ostara added. Verdandi could
imagine the laugh of derision that may have accompanied that
particular piece of advice. “So here I am!”

“Yes,” mused Verdandi.
“Here you are.”

“I’ve read all sorts
of books on detecting.”

“I’ll be honest with
you,” said Verdandi, quite bemused by the woman’s obvious
enthusiasm. “We’ve never had a private detective in Newbrum before
now. At least, not to my knowledge,” she added, deciding it was
possible a few may have drifted through on some clandestine
business she cared not to think about. “It is difficult for me to
grant you a private investigator’s licence when there is no such
thing to give.”

“Does that mean I
don’t need one?” Ostara asked excitedly.

“That’s not quite what
I meant.”

Ostara looked
crestfallen. Verdandi frowned, for there was something in the
woman’s face that reminded her of when she herself had been a
bright young thing, keen to make her mark on a world. With a sigh,
she pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and extracted the
first blank licence sheet she came across, then smiled when she saw
what it was for. Picking up a stylus, she crossed out one of the
lines of text, wrote something else above it and signed it at the
bottom.

“Here you are,”
Verdandi said, handing it to Ostara. “Your licence.”

Ostara gingerly took
the plastic sheet and examined the changes the Administrator had
made to the document. The stylus had activated the impregnated ink,
making the changes permanent and immune from further tampering.

“This is a sewage
system inspection permit,” she mused, looking unconvinced. “Only
you’ve crossed that bit out and written ‘Private Investigator
Licence’.”

“And signed it,”
Verdandi pointed out. “That makes it official. As a detective you
are bound to deal with the dregs of society, so I think it is
appropriate.”

She had the
uncharitable thought that it perfectly encapsulated the
ex-residents of the hollow moon, whom Newbrum authorities had
regarded for years as no more than a bunch of smugglers,
black-market traders and drop-outs. It occurred to Verdandi that
having a grateful insider willing to keep an investigative eye upon
things could prove useful.