A Study in Solar
Chapter 5
By Trynia Merin
She glared at Holmes, as he picked up the pipe and the slipper of tobacco. Slipping it into the pocket of his Inverness, he swept the cloak on, yet left it unfastened. Lernov chuckled, and slid his arm around Lestrade's waist again, pulling her in the direction of the crew's quarters.
"Just a minute Sergey," she hissed.
"I trust you are occupied otherwise?" Holmes asked pointedly. Lestrade wondered if the gleam in his eyes indicated jealousy or just concern.
"Holmes, you can't bring that tobacco back with you to earth, you KNOW it's outlawed…"
"I do," he whispered as he leaned close and whispered in her ear. "That's precisely why I want to analyze it… and find out its source."
"Oh," Lestrade said.
"Leave the man to his pipe weed," Lernov tutted, and put his hand on Lestrade's shoulder. "I think the Inspector deserves some down time, and you as her partner should respect that, nepradva li?"
"Sergey please," she sighed.
"And if you do not mind, we have not seen one another since the Academy, and I would REALLY like to catch up on old times, if you don't mind," he said. Lestrade looked directly at Holmes, as if waiting for him to say something. Holmes cleared his throat, and picked up his cane.
"If she has no objections, I have no objections, provided that it does not take too long. I was going to take a tour of the facility… and I would like very much if you and I could meet for dinner," he said to Lestrade.
"I don't know, Holmes," she bit her lip.
"In that case, do not hesitate to call me if you require ANY assistance," Holmes said, taking her arm and giving it a squeeze. His eyes narrowed under the brim of his deerstalker as he put it on, and regarded the couple. "I will be en route, and not far away, if you need me."
"Holmes I'm a big girl!" protested Lestrade.
"She cannot be safer with me," Sergey laughed. "Your concern for the Malishka is touching, but be assured I intend to make every advantage of our time together. You see, we go back a ways…"
"Sergey, let's leave my partner to his case breaking," Lestrade sighed, a glassy look in her eyes.
"Come along then my Malishka, and we shall talk privately," he said, slipping his arm around her hips again, and angling them in the direction of the door. "I shall bring her back safe and sound… no damage, nepradva li?"
"And you make certain that is the case, providing your intentions are honorable sir," Sherlock said firmly, as he held out his cane horizontally at the level of Sergey's waist. Amused, Sergey's eyes flashed and fixed into Sherlock's. A staring contest ensued, and time froze with the chilly blue gaze of Sherlock's eyes. Sergey was the first to break contact, and moved the cane aside, smiling disarmingly, though Lestrade saw his foot tapping.
"Holmes, back off," Lestrade snorted. "Don't you have a CASE to investigate?"
"Indeed," Holmes said with a cough as his stare temporarily softened.
"You have a lot to learn about the Marines, Detective," Sergey said as he led Lestrade towards the exit of the mess hall. "She will be FINE… and I shall bring your partner back in one piece."
"See that you do sir," said Holmes icily. His cane lowered and trembled from the shaking of his fist as it tightened on the handle.
"Hey, take it easy," someone said, and Holmes turned to look at Private Alvarez and Corporal Chang, who were standing only a foot away.
"You don't wanna mess with the bear," said Chang. "Besides, Lestrade's his woman."
"Oh come on," Alvarez laughed. "You take me for loco, hombre? You gotta be out of your mind Senior, letting your woman go off like that."
"Lestrade is capable of taking care of herself," Holmes said, though Chang shook his head, and Alvarez snorted.
"Yeah, right," said Alvarez.
"Those cigarettes you were smoking… they are Russian I presume?"
"The Leanovs?" asked Alvarez holding up the pack. "I guess. It's the only kind we can get out here."
"And Sergey… is he your source?" asked Holmes. "Considering that I MAY be interested in procuring some… for later?"
"Ignore him, he doesn't know anything," Chang cut Alvarez off.
"I forgot where I got them," said Alvarez quickly.
"Would it jog your memory if I taught you both how to win a chess match in only five moves?" Holmes asked. "Would that be of value to you gentleman?"
"You're kidding right?" Chang laughed. "After the way you barely beat Corporal Palmer?"
"The lovely lady chess player was baiting me, and so I simply wanted to see the extent of her expertise," Holmes eyes lit up, and his lips curled in a slight smile. In that instant both men looked at one another and started to laugh.
"I like your style, Holmes," said Alvarez. "Right Chang? Maybe we COULD remember…"
"C'mon over and show us the moves," Chang said as he took Sherlock by the arm and lead him over to the abandoned chessboard. All the other space marines had moved off to their various duties save these two.
"You also said you were wanting a tour," said Alvarez as Holmes sat down, and removed his cap while Chang set up the board, and dragged the timer over. "I could fix you up. My hombre and me know this place inside and outside if you get my meaning… Senior…"
"Indeed, Senior," said Holmes, in perfect Spanish. "It would be most delightful to exchange information."
"For a guy who dresses weird, you're all right," Chang said. "Rez, get us some vodka. It's gonna be an interesting lesson."
Holmes smiled, and brought out a pad of paper. "Now, this is the best way to map out your strategy."
Sergey led Beth down a long hallway, and up a turbo elevator to a block of flats reserved for officers. He touched the control on the door, and it slid open to his thumbprint. Indicating to Lestrade that she should enter first, she did, and the lights flared on to a soft rose color. Her eyes widened when she saw a number of photographs and hologram images of her clustered on his desk. The place was impeccably neat, far different then the Sergey she remembered from the college and Academy days. His videophone and goggle phones were set carefully by the neatly arranged vids on the small desk. A smell of roses hit her nose, and she inhaled deeply as Sergey wandered over to the food preparation area. Reaching into the insulating thermal unit he pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be red wine and she noticed when he showed her the label that it said Cabernet Sauvignon.
"I had heard you were coming, and I had your favorites ready, my sweetness," he smiled, his eyes sparkling like fine copper in the light of the rose hued illumination. Fresh carnations were set, pink and red in color, in a vase on the small table, and she gasped when she saw that there was a place set for two.
"That's so sweet of you, zed," she gasped. He poured two goblets of wine, and beamed as he pulled out the chair for her, and she sat down.
"Music… Prokoviev," he called, and a classical strain eased on over the audio system. He reached into the insulating thermal and started punching buttons to synthesize a meal, then cursed in Russian.
"For this we must have something special," he said.
"You went to a lot of trouble," Lestrade shook her head.
"Nothing but the best. I know we did not part on the best of terms, sweetness, but I have not forgotten us."
"Sergey, I don't recall telling you I was coming," Lestrade said suddenly. He brought forth two plates of tossed salad, with tandoori chicken sliced on it, and sat opposite her. Taking her hand he gave it a soft kiss, and she felt the wine tingling through her body.
"I hear many things through my connections," he smiled, and quickly changed the subject when he said, "You remember when we first took our spring break together… and I showed you the sites in Venice?"
"It was a while ago," she said softly. She remembered his parents had a good deal of money, both comfortable business people. Was it her imagination, or did she smell cigarette smoke on his clothes and in his apartment?
"I haven't forgotten that day, when we went rafting in the Colorado River, and you almost fell off your raft," he smiled.
"And Alice screamed," smiled Beth. "She was madder then an electrocuted rat!"
"And her hair was all matted like a poodle," laughed Sergey, as he nibbled his salad and downed half his wine. Beth grinned as he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her.
"The day you can drink me under is LONG gone," she pouted, as she sipped her glass three quarters dry. He refilled both glasses, and they toasted.
"To old memories, and times yet unsaid… which brings me to ask, how long will you be on Mars?"
"Oh… just till Holmes and I get this case solved."
"I am amazed you actually did it," Sergey said, taking her hand in his. "That takes nerves of steel, bringing a dead man to life."
"I guess your information told you THAT too," she asked.
"News travels fast. I could not help but hear of the reappearance of Sherlock Holmes on the scene of crime fighting. And I knew that only YOU had access to his papers and his body. I never figured you would build up the courage to actually revivify him. You always WERE a big dreamer, Malishka."
"Hey, it worked right?" she asked, shrugging as she played with a strand of her hair and felt a bit giddy from the wine. Sergey reached down and pulled out a pack of Leanovs, and inserted one into his lips. Beth groaned.
"Excuse me… I have become hooked."
"Um… where DID you get that pack of cigarettes?" she asked suddenly as he lit one, and inhaled deeply. "Russian brand? Your favorite?"
"Ah, I figured you would ask," his eyes lit up as smoke filled her face and she felt nauseous.
Holmes was in the science unit, where Chang and Alvarez had lead him. Both had been quite cooperative since he had imparted his knowledge. Glancing into the microscope, he teased the tobacco apart and examined it. He grunted in his throat, nodding.
"Now, just take a bit of this, and set it to react," he said to himself.
"As I thought," he muttered. "Russian. Just like what was in the cigarettes. The same brand of tobacco… and unless I'm mistaken…"
Here he pulled another sample from the slipper, and picked up his magnifying glass to look at some strange golden strands. Peeling one off from the cloth slipper, he glanced at it intently. He placed it into a test tube and fitted it into the full spectrum analyzer.
"Identify," he said, irradiating it.
"Complex polymer with double bond units… chlorinated at the terminal ends."
"Aha!" Holmes nodded. "Nusolar. Now why a slipper of tobacco would be exposed to strands of Nusolar unless my hypothesis is correct."
A smile came over his face at his discovery, and he scribbled into his casebook with his pencil, by the notes about the chloride ions he had found in the strand of Nusolar. Taking the ultraviolet wavelengths he beamed it on the sample strand, and it caught fire within seconds.
"By Jove that's it!" he smiled. Then his face twisted in worry.
"But that means…" he trailed off, speaking to nobody in the room. Tearing off his lab smock he grabbed the slipper, and the book, thrusting them into his bag. He pulled on his Inverness and hat, grabbing his cane.
"Lestrade… I've left her in the company of a conspirator. Honestly Sherlock for a 25-year-old you're losing it! There's not telling WHAT he'll do."
Angrily he cursed himself and rushed out of the lab as fast as his legs would carry him. Lestrade was in grave danger, as was everyone else, unless he acted quickly.
Meanwhile back in Sergey's quarters, the old beau of the Inspector continued to explain himself. Despite his best efforts she was most doubtful of his continued uninvolvement. In fact he seemed altogether proud of himself, she thought.
"There are many privileges here in the colonies that those on Mother Earth did deny. Here one can live as a true man, without the sterilities of modern life. We are pioneers… Elizabeth, do you know how much freer one can be?" he asked.
"Yes… but I just wondered… I didn't realize that tobacco wasn't outlawed on Mars?" Lestrade protested.
"The soldiers would revolt if it were. We have a forward thinking Commodore," said Sergey.
"I would like to know," Beth wheedled. "I mean…"
"And have your chief inspector ruin a good thing, I think not," he laughed. "Beth, why do you not stay? Your talents and spirit are wasted on the tamed Earth. Here, you could do whatever you desired, and not have to answer to that Grayson."
"What freedom in the space marines?" she asked sarcastically as she sipped more wine.
"Our commander would not expect us to perform any duty he himself would not do," Sergey said as he rubbed her hand, and leaned across to look Beth in the face, his eyes glowing. "And you would be perfect. It would be just like old times…"
"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked, taking off her badge and laying it down. "Just between you and me. I mean… it's weird that I almost crash, and yet you never even asked me about it?"
"I was so overcome with shock," he breathed. His hand moved over to caress her thigh, and squeeze. He moved around the table to put his hand around her shoulder and pull her close for a hot kiss, and she felt his breath in her mouth and his body pressing closer, and his hands creeping steadily up.
"My Beth, my Malish… please stay. I would make it worth your while."
"That's far enough, buster," Beth said as she pushed her ionizer into his chest.
"What is this, one of your jokes?" he laughed.
"No, just common sense," Beth said, her eyes sparking with anger. "You're trying to get your way… get around me, just like you did before."
"Be careful what you say, Malishka," he whispered.
"Why? Because you don't think I'm onto you? It's pretty obvious you've got some racket going. With those RUSSIAN cigarettes everyone was smoking? Where ELSE but from your connections. I know your father runs an illicit tobacco ring on Earth we busted him for. Like father like son. And how about the fact that…"
"I warned you," he said slowly. "Is this how you thank me for the times we shared?"
"No," she said, pushing the ionizer into his chest further. "You're going to pay for pulling one over on me. For pretending to care."
"I only wanted you back, Beth," he said as she stepped back, eyes glaring like blue sparks.
"Stay RIGHT where you are," she said, seizing her badge and holding it in one hand as she aimed her ionizer. "I'm arresting you on suspicion of drug trafficking. Nice TRY, but the law STILL says it's illegal to use tobacco, even on a MILITARY base. And you knew I was coming… and conveniently seemed to take it VERY well… you must KNOW that the ship would crash here… I only told Grayson that I was coming at the last minute when Holmes said he would make his trip. So you MUST have known."
"I think you should stop," Sergey shook his head. "Because it would make me very sad to have something unfortunately befall you."
"Oh please!" she said angrily. "Hands ABOVE your head!"
"I don't think you understand," he said, and clenched his hand to his chest. She rolled her eyes, and in that moment, he grabbed her arm and knocked the weapon from her hand. Twisting her around, he pinioned her arm, and held her under the neck.
"Zed!" Lestrade shouted.
"Don't yell, don't scream," he said slowly. "I want you alive. We are going to get out of here now, little one."
"You let me go you jerk!" she got out before he put his hand over her mouth. When Lestrade attempted to bite down on his hand he slapped a piece of transparent material over to block off her sound, and she felt her own cuffs snap behind her back. Somehow he must have gotten hold of them when he put his hand on her waist.
"Now, Nice and slow," he said, kicking the ionizer under the sofa, and pushing her toward the door. She struggled and fought, but he kept his hands on her. As they entered the hall, she jammed her foot down on his, and he let go in pain. She bolted off down the hallway, Lernov rushing after her.
"Lestrade, come back! If you don't leave with me now I can't be responsible if something happens to you!"
Holmes ran quicker and quicker down the ultramodern corridors. Where was Lernov's quarters again? Then he berated himself and cursed once more, turning around in the direction of the power station. There came a loud bang, and a hissing as something rumbled the ground, and he saw a bright flash from which he shielded his eyes.
Red lights and a klaxon blared. Holmes' feet pounded the ground as he heard a series of footsteps and hurried voices. By him in the corridor, space marines shouted and pushed, in various states of dress and undress. Alvarez and Chang were in the group, and saw Holmes with a bit of shock.
"What's going on?" Holmes demanded.
"What are YOU doing here? All Civvies are supposed to report to the space dock!"
"Why my good man?" he asked.
"You dummy, we're under attack!" Chang shouted, and dragged him along. "We have to get you the hell out of here!"
"Under attack, but I must find Lestrade!" he cried.
"If she's got any sense she's headed the same way we are!" should Alvarez as he shouldered his ionizer rifle and secured his helmet.
"But under attack… from some enemy faction?" Holmes asked.
"Would you believe dissidents?" asked Chang. "There's this group on Mars who doesn't want to answer to Earth anymore. And they're sabotaging all sorts of power stations… you mean you didn't know?"
"My good man, that is unfortunate," Holmes cursed as he glanced and the column of hurrying soldiers pushed him along. "But I must find Lestrade."
"Your funeral man… we've only got minutes… the whole power station's exploding. If you don't get out in thirty minutes, the whole place will go sky high!" Chang said.
"The solar panels caused a feedback in the generator, and blew the omega circuit?" Holmes shouted.
"Yeah man!" shouted Alvarez over the wailing klaxon. Strobiscopically it painted their faces that were twisted with worry. Holmes pushed past them, before they could get hold of him.
"Get out…. I'll be back before the last ship leaves, I must find Lestrade!" Holmes shouted.
"Estupidos!" Alvarez shouted as Holmes rushed away. "He'll never make it!"
"Brave idiot," muttered Chang. "He really DOES love the lady cop."
"We'd better made sure to leave one emergency shuttle for them… if we don't get creamed by those dissidents," said Alvarez as they blended into the line of soldiers. Grabbing their oxygen masks they rushed into the airlock, and onto the surface of the planet. Explosions racked the whole complex, but they could not see from where their attackers were coming… but it had been this way before.
Lestrade remembered to leap through her handcuffs so that her hands were in front of her. She reached up to tear the tape off her mouth, and run blindly down the hall towards the living quarters. It was then that all hell broke loose, and the ground vibrated under her.
"Zed… an attack?" she asked as the klaxon drowned out her thoughts, and she heard shouting and commands barking all around her through the intercom.
"Defcon 1… under dissident attack. All civilians report to emergency shuttles. All Marines report to your squad. This is NOT a drill. Repeat this is not a drill…. Dissidents attacking!"
"Since WHEN did this happen?" Lestrade asked herself as she ran along, and down a flight of emergency stairs. Past her rushed a platoon of Space Marines, who were yelling at her to get out.
"Why in hell are you cuffed?" one of them asked.
"Your stupid Lernov… he's a smuggler!" she shouted.
"Why are you going that way?" asked the two soldiers when she ran past the group into the main hall. Just before the airlock she saw two familiar faces from the chess match earlier.
"There you are!" shouted Chang. "Doncha know your boyfriend's looking for you?"
"What?" Lestrade asked, struggling with her cuffs.
"Who did THAT?" Alvarez asked.
"One guess…" Lestrade gritted. Alvarez grabbed his utility knife and fitted it under the cuffs. On the lowest setting he cut through them, and they dropped to the floor.
"Lernov, no way!" said Chang, shaking his head.
"You got to get out! He went that way!" shouted Alvarez. "Towards the power generators!"
"Holmes!" She screamed as they grabbed her and tried to take her.
"All civilians gotta go, that's orders," Chang said.
"Let me go you buckets of zed!" she shouted, and twisted from their grasp, and raced down the hall.
"Man… she's crazy!"
"Go on you two!" the Commander shouted. "Outside now!"
"Sir, yes sir!" they shouted as they joined the platoon, and glanced anxiously back. Before he exited, Chang punched the nearest emergency panel and typed in the command for one ship to stay behind if they should be defeated.
Lestrade spun around. Right in front of her she raised the muzzle of her ionizer pistol. "Freeze!" she shouted, trying to sound brave.
"Good heavens Lestrade, I'm not the enemy, am I?"
Sighing, she lowered her gun. "You scared ten years off my existence," she scolded him. "Where were you?"
"Looking for you."
"I was so worried!" she snapped, throwing herself at him. "I don't know whether to strangle you or embrace you."
Holmes felt hot blood burning his face as she threw her arms around him anxiously. The force almost knocked him backwards. Without a second's hesitation he'd grasped her to himself. His arms slid around her waist.
"Well, seems to me your arms are ahem… around my neck in a position that does not seem to indicate throttling me," he observed. "What's this? You're shaking considerably."
"So are you," she said.
"Must be an instinctive response manifested in the reflexive shiver of muscles?" Holmes said, and then realized that they were embracing. Then they jumped apart; realizing the boundaries had been crossed. For a moment each had forgotten the other's inhibitions. What seemed so natural suddenly felt awkward.
"Where is everybody?" he asked.
"They are evacuating the station. We have got to get out of here while we still can."
"I think we'd have a better chance if we stayed and fought."
"Did you fail to see their weapons?" Lestrade asked him. "At least as advanced as our ionizers. We don't stand a chance, just the two of us."
"Very well. Lead the way, Inspector!"
One after the other, Holmes and Lestrade raced down the corridor. Holmes carried one of the duffel bags he'd tossed some clothing into. Lestrade had her computer and some various belongings also in a hold-all. Carefully they threaded their way through the maze.
"Troops are evacuating… we can't hold them. Alert… stand by for evacuation. Destruction will happen in five minutes."
"Good Lord what are they doing?"
"Dissidents," Holmes said firmly. "Which I believe is poppycock… but our lives are still in danger, and so are all the innocents…"
"Lernov he's a…"
"I know he's a smuggler, but he's not our main enemy," Holmes cut her off.
"Excuse me, he just tried to…" she stammered.
"Kidnap you," Holmes said as they ran along. "He must have known this so called attack would happen."
"But all those space marines?" Lestrade panted.
"Will be perfectly fine. Once they find that this emergency was not caused by an attack from ersatz dissidents, they will return. But I surmise that we had best make our getaway now… for it will be quite a while before they CAN return."
"What?" Lestrade gasped.
"Because, knowing how the military mind works, they will comb every inch of this base to find evidence of sabotage, which they will, and our man Lernov will be the scapegoat," Holmes told her.
"Zed, that's crazy!" Lestrade protested.
"I know… but we have to let them believe that we were lost in the shuffle if we are to catch who is responsible," said Holmes.
Lestrade didn't' argue as she ran to the space airlocks. There were shuttles taking off, with civilians onboard, the families of the officers and enlisted that were living on the base. As she punched into the code database, she slammed the wall in anger. IT was so hard to think with the klaxon wailing in her ear.
"ZED!" the Inspector cursed.
"What's wrong?" Holmes asked, till he looked over her shoulder, and saw the words, "Solar ships rendered incapable of flight. Only beryllium available."
"There is one ship that is a short range shuttle. It operates on Beryllium. We could use it to get off Mars," she sighed.
"Whatever you say, Inspector," said Holmes. He was too winded to argue. Just running took all his energy.
Quickly Lestrade punched in the access code to the second airlock. "Won't we need spacesuits?" he asked.
"There is no time. We have got to get on board now."
Through the de-pressurized tunnel they pushed themselves. Lestrade coded her entry through another small keypad. A circular hatch spiraled open into a small cabin. Unlike the William Wallace, the shuttle cabin only had four seats. Two up front for a pilot and copilot, and a couch in back for passengers. Across the front was a forward viewing port surrounded with flickering displays. Red lights illuminated the small space, scarcely larger than the space inside a small sedan.
They dumped their possessions into a small locker at the rear of the craft. Lestrade secured the magnetic locks. She pushed her way past Holmes and climbed into the pilot's seat. Holmes dropped into the one opposite. In the center between the two-bucket, swivel-seats was a simple joystick control. Recessed panels directly in front of Lestrade looked as a person could lay their five fingers into them comfortably. Immediately above the wells were four or five sectioned panels of displays, completely digital.
"Are you quite certain you can fly this craft?" Holmes asked, not exactly certain they should trust her pilot skills. Hovercraft were one thing, but a space ship?"
"Would you like to give it a shot? Flying a class twelve transport shuttle?"
"Very well, you have made your point, Inspector. Better you than me," Holmes sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Strap yourself in, and hang on. This may be somewhat rough," said Lestrade.
"What? No exact figures?" Holmes couldn't resist needling.
Lestrade ignored Holmes. Automatically she threw the switches for takeoff. To her, pre-launch checks were simple. She grasped the joystick control lever in her left hand, and edged it forwards. "Standby for retro-ignition! Fire!"
"That's the range locator. And the astral map's on your left. Can you chart position?" Lestrade asked him.
"I'll give it a go," he said, clicking his safety harness into place. He'd managed to buckle the safety harness straps before Lestrade completed her elaborate dance. Holmes glanced at a central square display, between the longitude and velocity displays on the copilot panel. "Is this similar to the principle of radar?"
"Crudely yes," she answered. "Firing up power . . . now . . . Disengaging gravimetric locks."
Holmes wondered why she bothered saying each step out loud. But he recalled that a person often needed to talk their way through a complex procedure. Lestrade was no different from any other human in this respect. For a second the whole station shuddered with a blast impact. Even though neither could hear the explosion, they felt the shocks all too well.
"That was close enough for me," he said. "Cast off with all due haste."
Static stars finally shifted in the viewing port. A schematic of the station traced on the location display in front of Holmes. A single star pulled out from the station facsimile as Holmes heard the retrorockets boom.
Another star crept from the other side of the Wheel. "Lestrade, they've dispatched a craft in pursuit!" announced Holmes.
"Yes. I saw. Increasing velocity to 100,000 kph!" Lestrade nodded.
Only slightly were they pushed back in their chairs. Forward stars shifted a little faster. Flickering displays cast their cryptic messages across Lestrade's darkened face. They were the only light in the shuttle cabin besides the starlight outside. Holmes wished he could have a three hundred-sixty-degree view of the space around them instead of this computer diagram. It was a poor substitute for the real thing.
"I'm sure we don't stand a chance but I'd feel better making a stand," Holmes said.
"Be reasonable! Do you think we'd prove anything by sacrificing ourselves needlessly?" Lestrade protested.
"I suppose we wouldn't," he sighed. Holmes felt slight relief as he heard the retrorockets boom.
No knobs or analog switches stood up on the panel in front of Holmes. Out the forward viewing port he saw the diamond stars glisten. They weren't concerned with the frantic chase before them. Two people crammed into the compact space raced for their lives.
"Our friends are far too close for comfort," Holmes commented.
"I am watching it, yes!" Lestrade snapped.
Explosions jarred their craft. "That one was positively on top of us, Lestrade!" he muttered, hanging onto his chair. "Can we not fire back?"
"This ship is not equipped with offensive equipment," she said.
"How unfortunately ironic," he sighed.
"I'm going to try to loose them in the asteroid belt . . . then loop around on the other side," Lestrade explained.
Holmes felt more in his league. Most of the time he could paste his experience into whatever circumstance he faced. Whenever he landed on an alien planet or in an alien time he had some inkling of what to do. Most of the societies he'd visited in the nineteenth century were remotely understandable. With his intelligence and intuition he could discern what to do. Nevertheless, he was always with someone who would do something if he couldn't. Lestrade was at home with the technology.
Across the star field whizzed a football-sized lump. Two meteors crashed and showered sparks on the viewing port. Each stone had its own idea. "How can you be sure you're not going to hit one?"
"Simple. I've data on the trajectory of each one . . . judging for deviations due to our course I've computed the least points encounter, " Lestrade said.
How would he fly the ship? Lestrade tensely charted the most logical trajectory through dozens of boulders. How could she remain so calm? A marble statue, she firmly clenched the control stick and fixed her eyes to the control readouts. Scores of asteroids filled the forward view. Each whirred on its independent course around the sun.
Flashes and bangs tossed Holmes against the safety harness. He felt horizontal bands pulling across his hips and chest. "What's their position?" she asked him.
"Five kilometers, and closing fast!"
The two stars grew inevitably closer on the view screen. Tiny letters identified each craft. Holmes felt his heart pounding in his chest. He fixed his concentration on the star representing the shuttle. As if he could make them move faster by praying. "Can't you go any faster in this crate?"
"If we maneuver any faster, we could wrap this around a rock!" Lestrade snapped.
"What if we did?" Holmes asked her, eyes still glued to the screen.
"What?"
"If they thought we hit an asteroid, and exploded, perhaps they'd loose interest?" Holmes suggested.
"But they could still track us!"
"Not if you found an asteroid to hide in, Inspector," Holmes said with a smirk.
"That's an idea," she said, looking at him for a second. "But they might not be fooled by such a simple trick."
"Got a better idea? If so, please tell me now, or forever hold your peace," Holmes snorted.
"Yes. Your plan with slight modifications. We cut our engines, and maneuver behind one of the larger asteroids. Hopefully the nickel/iron content will block their scanners. But how are we going to get them to think we destructed?"
"I think even you wouldn't object to a so called old trick. Flush some rubbish out to make them think we blew up . . . but before we do that, can you make them that this ship is an asteroid ready to hit them?" Holmes mused, stroking his chin with one hand.
"I can jam their visual scanners with a burst message to scramble," she said.
"Yes. It's obvious they're flying by navigational then," Holmes nodded. "And then make them think they see our ship ahead of them. Make them think we exploded. There are two asteroids large enough to hide behind. And some stony meteorites ahead."
"All right then. Before you is the jammer," she said, punching buttons. "This will take split second timing. Now, we're only ten thousand kilometers from Ceres. When I tell you rock, camouflage this ship as a meteoroid with this button. When I tell you ship, you create a ship directly in front of their craft with this button, and this third one will jettison debris from the rear."
Seconds ticked by as the explosions increased. Holmes felt his head whip back and forth. His brains seemed to jar and jostle in his skull. Again he fixed his entire concentration on the second star, and punched the series of buttons as well as he could, despite the ultramodern technology.
"I don't believe it! You did it!" she cried, slapping him on the back. Holmes rubbed his aching temples and forced away his headache.
"They really thought our ship blew up!"
"That was some fancy flying," he said. "Splendid job, Lestrade!"
"I wish I could have seen their faces when they thought an asteroid appeared out of nowhere! But the clincher was when they thought they saw an enemy ship."
"Wouldn't they be surprised that two detective pulled the wool over their eyes," Holmes laughed, grabbing her on the shoulder and squeezing it excitedly. "There's just one thing I want to know. Where did you learn to fly like that?"
"Lesson seventeen, New Scotland Yard spacecraft training. The barrel role, a technique used in dogfights in World War I, but it actually worked!"
Lestrade tightly grabbed his hands as she involved Holmes in her victory dance. For the first time she felt alive. His heart pounded in his chest and the sweat poured down his forehead. Only seconds from death his cool analytical mind had ticked away as usual with the surging adrenaline coursing beneath it. Now Holmes duplicated the natural high, mimicking her crazy dance.
"We did it!" they cried simultaneously. "What a team!"
Lestrade jumped up and down, and hugged him tight. Holmes could share the exhilaration as he hugged her tightly to himself. The inspector kissed him smack on both cheeks repeatedly.
"Hurrah for the living computer!" she laughed. "Eyes and brains Holmes, just what you said!"
"I'll say. You did exceptionally well, Lestrade!"
Both of them stopped, wrapped in each other's arms. Lestrade's thighs and hips pressed up against Holmes's body. He became aware of the smooth curves of her body, and shivered the smile from his face. Confusion filled Lestrade's features. "I . . . I got carried away," she said.
"I . . . I'm sorry Inspector," he apologized, sliding his arms back. He still grasped her waist. Silently, she recalled the cultural chasm that separated them both. Lestrade originated from an ultramodern city where she embraced no ethnic heritage. In contrast, Holmes struggled to preserve his Victorian culture with every breath he took.
Still, she fixed her gaze into his. A longing filled Sherlock, a desire to feel the warmth of someone's arms. Here he was a nineteenth century detective, in the arms of a twentieth- second century woman. He'd never had the urge to be this close with a woman before, except save THE Woman… Irene nee Adler…and even then the thought of doing things that they did in this century was making him blush. Lestrade was nothing like the women of his time. This felt good. Very good. Better than a solved equation. Not for the first time, his eyes and brains could not quantify the sensation. For one awkward moment they stood apart, gasping for breath like they'd run a marathon.
Lestrade knew from how his body was stiffening close to hers that he was suddenly feeling the urge to check this bohemian display of behavior, and she felt her cheeks flushing bright red. They both backpedaled quickly; not able or wanting to look one another in the face. Holmes was ashamed of his lack of self-control, and Lestrade was embarrassed at crossing the line. Suddenly the need to keep that distance out of fear of endangering their close friendship was the most important thing. They had to work together, and she didn't want to ruin a good thing.
"I just thought of something," he gasped. "Do you know exactly where we're headed?"
"I did engage the auto pilot," said she, then smiled. "If you'd used your own eyes and brains you'd notice right?"
"I suppose I would have, but considering you were just as frightened as I was," he said. Carefully he adjusted his vest, and brushed off his trousers. For the moment Lestrade forgot the pounding of fear. Of the fact they might not survive from one minute to the next. All tension vanished as she relaxed. That computer-like brain of his reeled. Folding his arms across his chest, he cleared his throat and sat carefully down into the co-pilot's seat.
"I'm moving us out of the plane of the belt," she announced.
"Maybe then we can assess the situation better. In case those attackers return?" he agreed, suddenly observing that she was starting to grow very serious as if a memory had been jarred loose. She swallowed hard, and he watched the muscles in her neck and face tighten.
"Good point," she nodded. That was much too quick of an agreement, Holmes thought carefully. Why was she suddenly not responding to their comfortable bickering? Had his sudden burst of lack of self control and her own disrupted their careful working relationship, or was it something else.
"Just move us to the path of another cluster of asteroids. I'll keep an eye on the scanner for any ships approaching. We'll set her in drift for an hour, then make our call," he said with a hint of command.
"So what's stopping you?" she bantered back, and Holmes saw a hint of the old Lestrade.
"Whom shall I call?" Holmes asked meekly.
"Try and get Lernov. He's probably headed for one of the Inner stations near Mars. But let me do the talking," she said.
"Yes, Inspector," he saluted her. For the next hour or so, Lestrade wound her way out of the major Asteroid belt. Aggression from the past argument she allowed to melt away. Slowly she focused her mind on the task at hand. And found it difficult to do so.
Holmes sat near her, listening with a small earpiece to all the static. Lestrade had reluctantly taught him to program the computer to scan for signals. The computer filtered out all the bandwidths and narrowed the field to transmissions within normal comm. waves. Then, it cross-referenced that with its file of known interplanetary communication bandwidths. It was a lot like scanning for people's fingerprints or other clues, in fact.
"I've been listening to most of the disaster reports," said Holmes. "Most of the nuclear ships are limping to the nearest bases. There's been another of those strange distortion waves."
"Any news from the Station?" asked Lestrade.
"No. I've tried contacting the William Wallace. But all I'm getting is static."
"Perhaps they can't answer?" she said simply.
"Or perchance they dare not," he muttered, then turned his head to face her. "I can deduce what you're about to say, Lestrade."
"Are you a mind reader now?" she asked irritably.
"You think I'm drawing attention to us with calling them?"
"Naturally. But you're probably going to tell me you're using the signal scrambler. Damn you MUST be a mind reader."
"It's assessing probabilities," he said simply. "I base my prediction on what's going to happen, according to the scientific method."
"Really," she muttered, almost bored with the silence. Both consoled themselves by looking out the view ports.
"Do you think the Wallace got the distress call?" Lestrade asked.
"I should certainly hope so. An pray they have the good sense to stay well away."
Lestrade swallowed, and stared straight into the perpetual midnight. For a moment Holmes discerned her twinge of sadness present in her face. Right beneath her cool, calm exterior. "Are you all right?" he asked her.
"It's nothing," she said dismissively, the wall going up around her emotions again.
"You're worried about your fellow inspectors on the station... and if they all got away? Am I correct?" he asked softly.
"If those ships chased us... than there's a seventy percent chance that at least one in ten ships were caught," Lestrade sighed.
"I know. I'm hoping the Wallace had the sense to get away," said Holmes.
"Our larger escape ships are armed with x-ray lasers. And enough fuel to get us to Galileo City," she muttered, punching buttons on the scanner before her.
"You see, if your friends have the training you have displayed, they should naturally be safe and well. Remember that the power was turned on."
"Yes, but…" Lestrade sighed. For a few moments she sat in awkward silence. She took occasional glances down towards her left. Holmes noted how her eyes flicked between him, and the stars outside. Red light transformed the hues of his clothing plaid into crimson and blood squares.
"Wait, I'm getting something," he said suddenly, sitting up straight. "It's rather faint but still discernible."
She motioned for him to put it on speaker. Faintly the static blanketed a fragmented message: ...to craft gamma...
"Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard here, identify yourself!" said Lestrade, speaking to the ceiling, Holmes thought. A fine metal halo outlined the ship against the asteroid field. If Holmes increased the magnification he could see tiny metal shrapnel spewing from one pierced dome.
Lestrade's voice tracked over the microphone. "This is Shuttle Gamma-Delta-three, from Sagan City on Mars... responding to your distress signal. Do you comply?"
The tiny ship coasted closer. Now the Aries class ship filled the entire forward view port. Holmes shivered through his concentration. Strained to block out every stray thought. Surely by now he'd have heard something.
... Craft gamma... in distress... in need of repairs...
Through the one side ran a jagged slit. Like someone had taken a pair of scissors and ripped right down the side of the passenger corridor. A long burn mark nearly obscured the name of the ship, Bradbury Liner Gamma. From the wound, a long white plume emanated. Slowly the craft drifted under power of the material stringing into space.
"Explosive decompression," she murmured. "Not caused by asteroids..."
"Lestrade," he said softly. "We may as well go on. They weren't hailing us, they were giving their name."
Slowly she rose from her chair. Fixed her dark eyed gaze on the scene. The oddest space debris floated ever closer to their shuttle. Strange swollen shapes in silver oozed crimson droplets that slowly boiled away. Silver sheathed space rations drifted unused into the void. Small white objects fluttered in a cyclone around the front view port.
"Lestrade..," he said again. "Let's get out of here... quickly. We cannot help a dead crew!"
"Yes," she said, and hit the main throttle. "Hold on!"
But why was she still standing up? Her knees were shaking so, despite her blank countenance. The large paper cyclone veered suddenly off to the left and off the screen. Replacing it was a fine field of other floating debris. Pieces of an engine, fuselage, and glass drifted around their ship. Right across their of site whizzed a metal panel.
"Oh no!" Lestrade cried.
"What?" Holmes asked.
"The Alpha nine shuttle! It's been destroyed!"
"But the craft we just saw wasn't a ship from the Mars colony was it not?" Holmes blinked in confusion.
"I'm talking about the cloud of metal we just passed through," she said. "Not the ship."
"But that liner?" he asked.
"Was a cruise ship... with nearly two hundred people on board... from Mars!" Lestrade gasped in horror.
"And the cloud of metal nearby it was a ship, too?" said Holmes. "That's quite horrible to contemplate."
"I'm afraid you don't comprehend just how bad," she said.
"Which space station was it from?" Holmes queried.
"Lowell city, where my friend Lernov was stationed," she said, closing her eyes, and clenching her fists. "I read the name on the metal panel as it just shot by the view port."
"Obviously someone with whom you were well acquainted?" asked Holmes softly.
"We… were… intimate," Lestrade whispered. "We knew one another at the Academy… and because he went to Mars, we broke it off."
"I'm sorry Lestrade, I truly am," he said with compassion in his gray eyes as he looked at her in concern.
"I just don't know if we can make it out of here," she whispered, chin quivering. Sherlock didn't know of anything he could say to ease the pain. For all he knew, the people on the Wallace could also be dead. Holmes stood behind her, and grasped her shoulders. He could feel her shivering muscles tighten.
"Surely they wouldn't all be destroyed. We got away," he finally said. "So the others must be someplace else."
"You don't understand," she snapped, and dark hair swirled as she spun around. "We could be next. They could be anywhere, preying on ships that pass by."
"You don't know that for certain," he said. "This could have been a natural phenomenon."
"It's a perfect strategy. Disable the nuclear hydrogen drives with some sort of device, and prey on the passing ships."
"Surely asteroids could have pulverized that ship, or it could have blown up."
"I know explosive blasts when I see them! The chances of a shuttle spontaneously exploding are a million to one!"
As the ship coursed on autopilot, she leaned against the control panel. Dark hair eclipsed as she inclined her head. "I just don't know what to do anymore," she sighed. "If we stay here, we could be destroyed. But if we go along the evacuation path... we could be destroyed."
"But doesn't this shuttle have enough fuel get someplace safe?" Holmes asked. "Think Lestrade, put those brains to use!"
"Yes. Each shuttle is allotted with enough Beryllium to make it to a Mars station," she grumbled, vexed by his verbal jab. Good, Holmes nodded, hoping to break her out of her fear induced funk by his verbal prodding.
"Well, is that your rendezvous, another station on Mars?" he asked, with a slight grin.
"Yes," she sighed.
"Then keep your course for a return trip to Mars, and we'll go there. Then we'll find out who's alive. On the way, we'll keep radio silence."
"But it's logical to assume they've deduced our flight path... and are ambushing the shuttles!" cried Lestrade.
"Well, then set the radar to give an alarm you can hear, when it detects a ship! And turn off the hailing signal," Holmes said, matter of fact.
"They can trace our Beryllium ion trail!" she snapped.
"But we cannot stay here forever," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and lowering his voice to bring her back to reality yet again. "I fancy our chances would be better en route to Mars, not sitting here like ducks on a lake."
"All right," she sighed, and resumed her seat. Once more she punched in the coordinates, cudgeling her tired brain for a flight path.
"We will get through this," he said softly, touching her on the arm. "As long as we're still alive there's a chance. And we have a ship, air, and fuel. That's what matters right now. An you look as if you could use something to eat."
"How can you think of eating when we could be destroyed at any minute?" she asked, irritated.
"It's a basic need to survive. And we need both our eyes and brains working their best to help us get away..."
"Holmes, what's wrong with me? I feel like I'm losing control!"
Her lip quivered. Tears slipped through her eyelashes as she shut them. He realized the verbal bantering needed to stop, and another approach was required to help draw her out of the dark grip of fear. "You just need rest. Eat something to get your strength back. I'll be just a minute."
He returned with something in her hands. A couple squeeze bottles of some liquid he set in the pull out tray. Then he handed a packet wrapped in silver foil to Lestrade, while keeping the other for himself. Carefully he spread his Inverness over the seat beneath him as he sat again. He thought for one funny minute about that astronaut ice cream they sold at the Galileo City on the Moon. It was a novelty item the gift shops sold. Essentially it was a brick of freeze dried sugar, which tasted nothing like real ice cream.
With her fingernails Lestrade expertly slipped the seal, and unwrapped what looked like a granola bar. Quite calmly she nibbled minuscule bites off and stared out the window.
"You recall that I can tell a person's emotional state by their facial expressions?" Sherlock began, between bites. "Well, pardon me for pointing this out, but I did observe fear with a capital F written all over your face. And well, it seems that your unflappable state is very much thrown out of equilibrium..."
"I'm not used to being frightened," she said.
"Considering the odds of us surviving are 1.6x104 to one," Holmes joked.
"Stop trying to forget you have emotions," said Lestrade as she nibbled more concentrates. "You're not Mr. Spock, you know."
"Who's that?" Holmes asked, missing the reference to his embarrassment.
"It doesn't matter," she laughed suddenly, and it was a good sign that Lestrade was calming down with his show of comradely concern over her hunger and thirst needs being met. "You haven't lived till you've seen an episode of Star Trek."
He reached across the aisle, and placed his hand atop hers. To his surprise she turned her hand over and took his gently. He allowed himself to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Over his shoulder she noticed the message light flickering urgently.
"Do you recognize this?" he asked.
"Yes! It's a transmission from a spaceship... the William Wallace!"
"Good!" Holmes nodded, shivering at the fact they were holding hands. That line had been again crossed.
"Computer, begin voice link! This is Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard, on Shuttle Delta Gamma nine. What is your status?"
