Fade to Black (The Mallet Book 1) Read online

  FADE TO BLACK

  P A WILSON

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-990509-07-0

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990509-09-4

  Audio book ISBN:978-1-990509-08-7

  Copyright © 2022 by P A Wilson

  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.

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  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

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  Also by P A Wilson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Sofie approached the doorway to the Open Pit pub. Like every commercial site on the Mallet, the doors stayed rolled up during business hours. And the Open Pit was always doing business.

  She wouldn’t come here if she had a choice. If she didn’t need the black-market meds, there would be only two reasons for a detective to come through the noise and stink of the Maintenance section to the bar: to arrest someone or to investigate a crime. But she had the Fades, and if the boss found out, she’d be fired for putting her team in danger. So, illicit meds and unsavory locations were her fate.

  Dr. Bindes was at his usual table. He was here most days for at least a couple of hours. There were official medical clinics in the Maintenance section, but they kept records. If you needed too much attention, you were too expensive and you would find yourself downgraded to a Manufacturing job — most people didn’t last long in those roles. So, Bindes supplied off-the-books aid.

  The Open Pit was about the size of ten residential quarters. Filled with long, black plastic tables and cheap, gray plastic chairs, there wasn’t much privacy to be found in the pub. But Dr. Bindes sat at the far end of the left-hand table, no one around him within hearing. And by some kind of tradition, no one faced the table either. That agreement didn’t extend to Sofie until she was within his private circle. Eyes watched as she passed, expecting a raid maybe. As a detective, she didn’t wear a uniform, but a good cop was more about attitude than armor.

  “You’re out of your meds already, Detective Allen?” Bindes asked.

  He was old even for someone in the Support caste. The higher you were on the ladder, the longer you might live. No guarantees, even for the Elites at the top. In space, shit happened, and it didn’t care how powerful you were. Somehow, Bindes had lived to be old enough to look wise. Sofie wasn’t convinced that working a medical black market to keep the lower castes healthy was real wisdom.

  She didn’t care. She needed the meds and the secrecy.

  “Running low,” she said, taking the chair to his right. From there she could see the whole room. “I don’t want to run out on the job. Hard to keep an attack secret.”

  “I can get you the operation on the quiet. Then you won’t have to visit our humble bar as often.”

  The operation would fix the condition, but it was risky, and she didn’t trust that it would be completely private. “Just the meds.”

  He opened his hand and showed her the packet of caplets. “I only have a few days, but I can get more.”

  Sofie took the package and slipped it into her back pocket. “How much?”

  Bindes looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Sofie didn’t need to check. She was always on alert.

  “Nothing but a favor,” he finally said.

  “I’m not that kind of cop.” There were plenty of cops he could buy to let him operate his side business — probably had already. “I’ll pay cash and keep our agreement like always.”

  She reached for the credits tucked in her inside pocket. Bindes shook his head.

  “The favor is nothing you will want to refuse,” he said. “Things are odd these days. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Nothing unusual,” Sofie answered. “The normal grumbling from the lower castes and complaining from the Elites and Executive.” To be honest, she hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to the mood of the station.

  “Not unusual yet,” Bindes said, “but something is bubbling. If there’s a riot, I will need protection.”

  Unrest was the norm on the huge ore processing station known as the Mallet — officially designated Station 51. There were occasional large-scale fights down in Maintenance and Manufacturing — far from the Elites living on the top levels — but the punishment for interrupting commerce was severe. The docking bays on each end of the rectangular station were busy all day, taking in the ore and raw materials at the front and sending product out on transport ships at the back. The main purpose of the station was to collect, process, and ship the products of the mining operations in the system. Officially, at least. The unofficial purpose was to skim as much as possible without getting caught. Some of the incoming material was for the maintenance of the station, but a good ten percent of the rest went into the credit accounts of the people running the black market.

  The last time a fight turned into a full-on revolution was over a hundred standard years ago. In her forty-three standard years, Sofie couldn’t remember any large-scale violence erupting. She hoped to never experience it. But when your home got its name from the way it pounded every drop of hope and kindness out of its inhabitants, no one believed in peace lasting for long.

  “Where’s the trouble?” she asked. “I can go take a look.”

  “You’ll need to take your partner,” Bindes said. “Little thing like you needs a big backup.”

  “Fuck you,” Sofie said, not taking offense at the poke about her lack of height. Tall or short, didn’t matter in her job. Results were all anyone cared about. “I usually need to protect Rick, not the other way around.”

  Bindes laughed. “You are smarter than him, true.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that.” Sofie stood, preparing to head to the bullpen and start her day.

  Bindes touched her arm. His humor gone, he said, “Don’t go anywhere alone if you can avoid it. You might be able to take care of yourself, but everyone needs a partner these days. If only to pull you out of a fight.”

  Or prevent one? It was rare for a cop to get into trouble anywhere on the station, but it did happen. Two cops? She c
ouldn’t imagine a situation where it would be worth the risk. Attacking a cop was death. No trial, no appeal, no waiting. A partner would set his weapon to fatal and shoot before even thinking about calling for help.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “But I have to do my job, just like everyone on the station. No passengers, right?”

  Bindes nodded. “Not every cop has your condition. Don’t let that slip your mind. You are vulnerable if you have an attack.”

  “I know. Thanks for the meds.” She turned, glared at the other patrons like she was thinking of arresting everyone, and stalked out. After all, a cop had a reputation to maintain. And she wanted them all thinking her presence had been official so they wouldn’t start wondering why she needed to see the doctor, and start planning how to use it to their advantage.

  2

  On her way to the office, Sofie tried to assess the mood of the crowds in Maintenance. It wasn’t something she usually did because trouble just seemed to come toward her, so there was no point in going looking for it.

  It did seem like she got more than the normal ration of shifty looks as she passed. But it could be that thing where you notice something because you’re paying attention. Dangerous when a cop started focusing on normal activity like it was unusual; the wrong conclusions started to look completely right. Shifty looks from the lower castes were normal and the small groups bitching about life in the dark corners weren’t out of the ordinary. She shoved the thought of riot and unrest into the back of her mind. If there was a problem, it would show up soon enough.

  The office was close to the edge of Maintenance, the largest section of the Mallet. It covered sixty percent of the lower level and was broken into two parts; well, it more melted together about halfway through. The first section was dedicated to any work needed to keep the Mallet running, the second to maintain the processing equipment. The remaining space on the lower level was given over to the Support and Administration castes. The Manufacturing section was a darker, dirtier, more desperate version of the Maintenance one, and where ninety percent of the criminals on the station lived. Crimes committed by the higher castes were never put through official channels — unless some Elite wanted a more public punishment of an underling. Few people cared what happened in the Temporaries section at this end of the Mallet, since the residents were employed and policed by off-station corporations. The people living there did what they wanted as long as it fed money to the Elites, or at least didn’t get in the way of the Elites making money. The dark streets also lurked in Maintenance, not far from the entrance to the Temporaries. A blot of streets and squares where no cop went without backup.

  The bullpen was full of cops. Her partner, Rick Holdom, was talking to Amanda Mwendwa, an ambitious cop who saw Sofie as a rival. Sofie couldn’t be bothered to tell her that she had no interest in promotion because the competition with Amanda kept her sharp. Her condition meant she was safer staying among the crowd of cops, rather than exposing herself to the scrutiny placed on the bosses. Amanda was everything Sofie wasn’t: young, tall, skinny, extroverted.

  “What’s on the board for today?” Sofie asked. Rick looked away from Amanda and then down to Sofie. It did feel sometimes like the rest of the bullpen was populated with tall, rangy people who had been picked for their appearance. But it wasn’t true. Every cop in there was capable of catching even the most competent criminal. And handling the political crap as well.

  “They tied up the sabotage case,” Rick said. “Nothing but worker incompetence covered up by a supervisor.”

  “I don’t know what would be worse,” Amanda said, “the station blowing up from stupidity or on purpose.”

  “We’d all be dead either way,” Sofie said. “It doesn’t matter why to a corpse. Did they both get arrested?”

  Amanda laughed at her and returned to her own workspace.

  “So neither?” Sofie asked her partner.

  “Turns out the supervisor had a bit of leverage. No charges on her, and the idiot got demoted to Maintenance. Let’s hope it’s not on something critical.”

  “No guarantee.” Everyone from Elite to Manufacturing lived with the threat of the Mallet failing any time, any day, without warning. People who lived on planets endured similar threats of earthquakes, wildfires, flooding, or whatever else land-bounders faced. Everyone on the Mallet shoved the fear into some dark corner and ignored it.

  “Paperwork,” Rick said. “Maybe an early day? I have a new date for tonight. She’s a singer.”

  “You’re on a musician kick these days,” Amanda said. “Your last partner was a drummer, wasn’t he?”

  Listening to gossip about Rick’s love life wasn’t going to keep Sofie awake. If she was filling out and submitting reports all day, Sofie was going to need a pot of stim-juice. “Boring might be nice for a day,” she said. “You want coffee flavor?”

  “Gives me heartburn. I’ll take orange.” He flicked on his monitor and pulled his pad off the charger.

  Sofie poured two mugs of the clear stim-juice, then stirred in a caplet of the orange gel for Rick. Apparently it wasn’t named for the color, but for some old Earth fruit. It was too sweet for Sofie. She opted for the tang of Rellian blufroot.

  At her workspace, she turned on the computer and plugged in her pad. Rick liked to edit the contents of his notes on the pad and then upload. She preferred to get the data into the network right away and then clean it up. She’d seen Rick’s idea of note-taking and wondered if the network would even recognize it as standard words.

  “Allen, Holdom, get in here,” the boss yelled over the speaker on Sofie’s desk.

  Sofie locked her screen but left her pad uploading information. “Why does he yell?”

  Rick shoved his pad into a drawer and rose to join her. “Maybe he thinks we can’t ignore the volume?”

  The boss had an office with a door. It was glass and everyone could watch him work if he didn’t turn on the privacy mode. The door had his name etched halfway up — Captain Leif Llewelyn — like people would forget it and need a reminder before they entered.

  “Sit,” he said when they stepped into the office.

  He was old, or took pains to look that way. Despite his yelling and frequent blustering, Sofie knew his history. He’d taken down more than his share of criminals in his career.

  “What’s on your slate for today?” He didn’t look at either of them, his attention on what must have been a report displayed on his desk pad.

  Sofie told him and waited. Never offer any extra information, it just clouded the issue. And he didn’t care anyway, or he’d have checked their schedules.

  “An Elite got himself murdered. I’ll have the files and details from the crime scene team in an hour.” Llewelyn looked up and addressed Sofie. “Clear your desks and be ready. I want my best on this.”

  “Always up for a challenge,” Rick said. “Is there anything we need to do specifically?”

  Sofie let Rick do the talking while she thought through the implications. Wanting his best on this was bullshit. Llewelyn said that kind of thing to everyone. He wanted them for a reason he couldn’t say aloud. She hated reading between the lines.

  “The crime scene team were sent first. Not by me, so don’t start bitching. Someone is controlling the investigation. I’ll find out who and get them off your back. I’ll call you when I have something for you.”

  They’d been dismissed. Sofie followed Rick back to their desks. Her mind was spinning around the problems they already faced. The first on the scene was always a cop. They kept records of who entered the scene and gathered names and preliminary statements from any witnesses. Too much could have been lost already.

  “You have anything on your desk to clear?” Rick asked.

  “No. And Llewelyn is well aware of that. When did you get your weapon serviced last?”

  “Yesterday, he knows that too. You?”

  “This morning. Probably why he picked us?”

  “I hope we don’t regret
being ready,” Rick said. “My gut is telling me this is going to involve more than just a murder. And there’s no way Llewelyn is going to protect us from interference.”

  3

  Sofie sat back from the terminal and stretched. The new case was still a mystery — and that was a problem. Crimes were reported and investigated. There was no other process to go through. Unless the politics were complicated beyond the usual.

  Her hand twitched as she released the stretch. Because she’d just spent an hour editing all of Rick’s reports? Or was it the first twitch in an attack? One symptom didn’t mean anything was wrong. She’d taken the meds on the way from the Open Pit. She formed a fist and the twitching eased.

  “It’s nice to see you so at ease.” The voice was cultured and soft. Haadiya Rothwell, tall, handsome, young, and not to be trusted.

  “Won’t last long,” Rick said. “Something is headed our way.”

  Haadiya nodded, his eyes flicking to take in the whole bullpen. Sofie kept her attention on him. His position as the Executive liaison to the Elite Sato family helped him gather useful tidbits of information. He was Rick’s contact, but often gave Sofie the details if he wasn’t around.