Ship of Fools

Copyright
 
 
 Published by H. L. Moore
 
 Copyright © H. L. Moore 2023
 
 
 H. L. Moore has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
 
 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.
 
 This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 
 
 AUDIO LOG: [[DATA CORRUPTED]]
 Qanta Corp Employee ID: #QCM525413
 Rank: [[DATA CORRUPTED]]
 Qanta Corp Mining Vessel: Ploutos (AC-Class)
 Date: ES2449.07.2[[DATA CORRUPTED]]
 
 [[DATA CORRUPTED]]no idea if you’ll g̴̣͔͛̕e̵̤͗͊t̷̲͗̒ ̶̳͂̕ẗ̶̡̛h̴̞̄i̶̝͝s̸̳͘ ̸̮͇͊m̵̻̳̅͐ę̸̮̿̂s̵̲̍͂ͅś̵͕̣a̸̩͑g̸̩͒́è̶̠̀ ̵̬͂b̴̞́̎ų̶̞̓̃t̶͈̖͋̂ ̴̡͝I̴̧̖͛ ̴͎͆̾h̶̻͋̽ó̸͇̫p̴̣̊ȅ̸̟̹̀ ̴̪͎̏̎y̴͔̍ó̸̧̡̿u̷͖͔͑͒ [[DATA CORRUPTED]]know that one day you’ll find out w[[DATA CORRUPTED]]hing can’t ever be unleashed in the Empire, definitely not under Q̷̯̠͘a̶̩͗͒̕n̶̥͓̰̱͌͂̊t̴̛͇͙͉͆͂͘a̸̳̣̍̈́̿̚͜͜’̶̳̾͜s̸̡̜̮̤̈́̀̅ ̵̘̹͐c̸̟̃͂͋o̷̲͖͗̈n̴͍̗͂̈t̴͙̬͇̓r̵̲̋ǒ̴͓̬̓͐͠l̶̩͎̠͖̍[[DATA CORRUPTED]]ave to do this, have to stop this ship[[DATA CORRUPTED]]love y[[DATA CORRUPTED]]
 
 
 
 
 SHIP OF FOOLS
 
 
 “Mr Jones,” Special Agent Evelyn Carlisle said, taking the opposite seat. “Urhines. May I call you Urhines?”
 “Actually it’s pronounced –” Urhines Jones said, then stopped and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 
 “Urhines,” Evelyn said again. “Thank you for your cooperation with the Jovian Bureau of Investigations. I just have a few questions for you regarding your recent job for Qanta Corp Mining, if you don’t mind?”
 Urhines Jones was not displeasing to the eye. He was middle-aged and sandy-haired, brown-eyed and fair-skinned; a generic sort of gentleman with a generic sort of temperament to match. He inclined his head. “I’m at your service, Ma’am.”
 “Don’t call me Ma’am,” Evelyn said. “Before we get started, perhaps you could give me a little information about yourself?”
 According to the JBI file on him, Urhines Jones – founder and owner of the Galilean Moons Forensic Cleaning Company – was born on Callisto to a working-class family. He had been a mediocre student with mediocre grades and was on his way to scraping through a dodgy community college with a degree in Arts when he dropped out to join a cult. Within a year he had given the group his entire life savings, and six months later he was left homeless and penniless. He made ends meet by becoming a freelance cleaner for several years before teaming up with a handful of other freelance cleaners to form a company. He had married, adopted a son with his husband, then was hit with divorce papers and a demand for monthly child support payments as soon as he was sued in BLAKE V. GALILEAN MOONS FORENSIC CLEANING COMPANY and was informed that he would be paying off the debt for the remainder of his natural life. 
 “Thank you, Urhines,” Evelyn said, sincerely, when he finished recapping his life story, except for the part about his son and the divorce. “Could you talk me through the circumstances under which Qanta Corp Mining contracted your company?”
 Evelyn considered herself a well-seasoned agent of the Jovian Bureau of Investigations. She knew how to put a subject at ease and knew how to set them on edge to ripen them for an interrogation without knowing they were being interrogated. She knew which questions to ask, and in which order to get the maximum possible information out of her subject in the fastest way possible. 
 But Urhines – who until that moment seemed to be completely unaware of his own circumstances – suddenly stiffened and looked around the chamber on board the Bureau’s ship JEV Themis. He frowned at the one-sided mirror behind Evelyn, assessed the table with a strip for magnetic holding cuffs between them, and cleared his throat, perhaps now realising that it wasn’t every day a broke and badly reviewed cleaning company shuttle got intercepted mid-space by the Jovian Empire’s domestic intelligence and security service law enforcement agency. He leaned forwards, beckoning Evelyn to lean towards him. 
 She obliged. 
 “Am I in trouble?” Urhines whispered. 
 “No, Mr Jones.”
 “Look, I don’t know how much I can tell you,” Urhines said. His eyes flicked back and forth between Evelyn and the one-way mirror, as if a representative from Qanta was standing behind the glass to catch him out for what he would say. “I signed an NDA with Qanta, you see. The Galilean Moons Forensic Cleaning Company’s reputation relies on discretion.”
 “I completely understand, Urhines. I would never ask you to betray the confidence of a client. But if it makes you feel better, the JBI overrides the authority of an NDA.”
 “Really?” Urhines asked. 
 “Really,” Evelyn lied. “I assure you, your company’s existing reputation will not be further tarnished in any way. I’m just after a few answers regarding Qanta, and I feel – no, I trust that you are just the sort of law-abiding man who can help me find those answers.”
 “Oh.” Urhines sat back in his chair and relaxed. “Well, in that case.”
 Evelyn pulled up a file on her wrist Interface. “Your cleaning crew was contacted by Qanta on the morning before the 4th Orbital Anniversary, is that correct?”
 “Yes…” Urhines said, “…Sir?”
 “Don’t call me Sir,” Evelyn said. “Nobody works on the Orbital Anniversary. Why did you take the job? Surely you had other plans.”
 The Jovian Empire Orbital Anniversary was, in short, a big fucking deal. Every twelve years – 11.86 Earth Standard years, specifically – Jupiter completed a full orbit of the sun, which naturally gave rise to one of the biggest holidays of the Jovian Empire: the equivalent of twelve New Year’s Eves jam-packed into a single Earth Standard Day. It was a time for friends and family to come together, relax, eat, celebrate, and get absolutely plastered. Even Evelyn – a self-proclaimed workaholic – had indulged and cracked