No Chapter This Week (I'm Sorry)

Yeah, there's not going to be a chapter this week, unfortunately. I had a few big homework assignments both this week, and this weekend. I really do feel bad about skipping so many weeks, but life has been really busy. I'll try really hard to get a chapter out next week, and hopefully keep getting chapters out on a weekly basis instead of the bi-weekly basis they seem to be coming out at so far.

Murder On Deck 36 - Chapter Six: Deck 210

The elevators themselves were behind a massive gate, with one security guard in a booth surrounded by bulletproof glass the only one with the power to open it. The speaker on the side of the booth crackled to life as the man in the guard uniform spoke into a microphone. “Please place your elevator pass in the slot below,” he said. I looked down and saw a large, metal slot just large enough for the pass to fit through. Although it hurt to pass with what was undoubtedly the most valuable object I’d ever seen, I slipped the piece of plastic through the slot. The guard grabbed it from within the booth. As he flipped the plastic over, his eyes widened. I supposed it wasn’t often that he saw elevator passes like this— All access ones. Most cards have a maximum deck they allow you to reach, only ones issued on official business allowed all deck access, and it wasn’t often Deck 36 got visits from officials, only to inspect the engines. To see someone like me, grimy and obviously not from the upper decks, handing him one, must have been quite a shock.
I decided not to let the guard question the pass for too long. “Is there a problem, or can you please stop holding me up?” The guard shook his head. “Uh, no, sorry sir. Go ahead, please be seated in the courtyard, I’ll call the elevator. ” The metal gate slid open. I quickly walked through into the courtyard. There were four glass tubes lining the wall of the ship, heading straight up into the ceiling, and down into the floor. There was a small bench on one of the walls of the courtyard. The courtyard was nice by Deck 36 standards, no graffiti at all inside, even some potted plants placed in the corner, although they were withered as though no one had bothered to water them.
I sat down on the bench and waited. It was a long time before one of the tubes lit up with bright green lights. I suppose those four elevators were all they had for the entire ship. It took forever to get one where you needed it, but travel between decks was rare. Finally a platform slid down the lighted tube, and into place in the floor. The doors of that tube lit up, letting me in. I rose from the bench and walked over.
I entered the glass tube. It was very small, only wide enough for me to stand in, certainly not large enough to fit another person. The floor panel was as stable as any piece of floor in the ship, but there was a small ring of darkness around it, from which I felt a gust of cold air, which I assumed was at least one factor holding it into place. Another speaker, this one in the floor panel, I suppose, said “Destination sir?” “Deck 210.” I responded. I could tell the guard was shaken by my request, but he responded “Yes sir… It’s a round trip pass. You’ll be issued another card to return at the booth at your destination.” and after a moment, the floor began to rise.
It rose slowly at first, into the ceiling, which became the floor. At first I could distinctly make out the floors as I passed them, Deck 37, Deck 38, Deck 39, but then the elevator began to rise faster and faster, until it became too fast for me to keep count any more. Before long, each floor was a blur as I passed it. It was a disorienting feeling, seeing the ship go by so quickly, one I didn’t much like.
Before too long had passed, the elevator began to slow, more rapidly than it had accelerated. The floor locked firmly in place, and the doors slid open. I stepped out of the elevator and the floor slid down immediately as I stepped off of it. I was slightly lightheaded from looking out the tube on the ride up. This feeling magnified though, as I saw, for the first time, what an upper deck actually looked like— Not just AN upper deck, THE upper deck. It didn’t get higher than this.
My first thought was how clean it was. It wasn’t made of gold either, for that matter. It was, however, a lot bigger than Deck 36. Not wider, mind you, but it was much taller vertically, easily three or four times the height of Deck 36, which was already pretty tall. This however, was incredible. I’d heard of skyscrapers before, massive structures of concrete and steel built back on Earth, but I never imagined there were skyscrapers inside of Hope, which already touched the stars. What was really incredible though, was that the roads seemed to curve around the massive structures, linking together again, creating a massive spider web of sidewalks high above, reaching up and up to the sky.
Then I finally managed to pull my eyes away from the skies when someone said, impatiently, “Are you done?” There was a guard staring at me angrily from her booth. “Yeah.” I said. “Yeah, I am.” I walked to her. There was no wall around the elevators here, no bulletproof glass protecting the guard of the elevators. Why would there be? It’s not as though people were hurrying to leave this deck, after all. Instead the courtyard was exposed to the sidewalk. Where the gate would have been, there was an enormous fountain. It was a sculpture resembling Hope, hovering above a pool of water. The sculpture alone was easily the size of my entire quarters, back on Deck 36. Water rose from the basin, a quickly moving stream, which swirled around the sculpture. It seemed totally natural, looked amazing as though the water were flowing completely on its own. It, and the statue, must have been held up with some sort of anti-gravity. Surrounding this incredible sculpture though, was grass. Real grass. I’d never seen grass before, we didn’t have it on the lower decks.
I took the return card from the woman, who seemed disgusted at the sight of me. I suppose my grimy clothes repulsed her, or perhaps it was just me that repulsed her. Either way, after taking the card, I took off, looking for a security station. I probably should have asked her, but I didn’t like her attitude. I passed the fountain, walking on the sidewalk running outside the small circle of grass circling the fountain.
The lowest level of this deck, at the base of the enormous buildings was bustling with people. As I passed them, making my way down the streets, I realized that as I passed them people began staring at me. Mind you, I wasn’t much better, there were several of them I stared at too.
On Deck 36 we pretty much wear whatever we want, although everyone onboard is issued a navy blue uniform. As a security officer, I’m required to wear the shirt on it, not that people usually care, so I usually wear that shirt, and a coat over it. Here though, everyone wears uniforms, but not like the ones we have on Deck 36. While the base design is the same as our uniforms on Deck 36, the colors here are not uniformly navy blue, instead they have all sorts of spectacular colors, hot pink, bright orange, dark green, the color was unlike anything I’d ever seen on the grimy worn down clothes of Deck 36. However even beyond the uniforms, the people of Deck 210 had some baffling fashion trends. I saw people who had so many piercings their head must have been more metal than flesh, but not normal piercings. Rivets, pieces of metal injected into, or fused with, their faces. I saw hair that looked like it must have used similar artificial gravity as the fountain to stay up. I passed
After wandering the deck for what must have been at least an hour, I finally saw a sign that said security, and made my way over to it. I stepped inside. Again, all eyes in the room fell upon me. This was considerably different from the security station downstairs. It was at least four times as large, and the desks were sturdy. The walls were clean, and had the same metallic sheen as a lot of the rest of the deck. The officers themselves here wore silver uniforms that seemed to almost sparkle in the light.
“Can I help you sir?” One of the men near the entrance said. I responded, “Yeah, can you tell me where I can find Gregory Taylor?” As the words left my mouth I saw the officers began to glance at each other, and heard whispers pass through the room. “May I ask who’s asking?”, said the officer. “Ryan North. I’m a security officer down on Deck 36, I have some questions for him.” Again, muttering passes through the room. “Sir, Gregory Taylor is currently taking some time off, coping with the loss of his son. As I’m sure you understand, he doesn’t especially want visitors right now. Please, could you come back in, say, a week?” Obviously I could not, so I did what I had to do. I lied. “Listen, I’m here on official business. I’m the officer on his son’s case, and I need to ask him some questions, now please, where can I find him?”
This time the whispers got even louder than before. I wondered if they’d ever even seen someone from a deck as low as 36. Either way, saying I was on official business was enough, and they gave me Gregory Taylor’s address, and I made my way toward his home.

Murder On Deck 36 - Chapter Five: Conspiracy

“It’s just a junkie. A criminal.” The chief’s voice was condescending, a fact I didn’t appreciate at that moment. “It’s murder, and it’s connected to Evan Taylor’s!” I shouted. I shouldn’t be speaking to the chief this way, but I was beginning to get fed up with the chief’s ignorance of what was right in front of him. “It’s a random act of violence! Finding who killed this girl… There’s no trail.” The chief sighed. “You need to stop with this conspiracy stuff. There’s no connection—” “It’s the exact same wound!” I interrupted the chief. “It’s just a wound! There’s no connection, no arms dealer, nothing like that. They’re just two very unfortunate, isolated incidents.”
“I want to talk to the family.” I said. “Dr. Taylor’s. The wife made it sound like the family was pretty unhappy with Dr. Taylor’s choice to come to the lower decks, maybe that grudge was what led to his death.” The chief looked around slowly. He rose from his desk and walked to the door, closing it. Very quietly he said, “That’s not going to happen.” I still wasn’t pleased, but I spoke quietly too, though not sure why. “Why not? You can get me an elevator pass, if it’s for an official investigation.” The chief walked back to his desk, and rested his hand on it. While still looking away from me, he said, “I did a little research of my own on this Evan Taylor guy. Do you know who his father is?” “No.” I responded, shortly. I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t done that research myself. The chief turned back to me, and said, lower still, in the lowest whisper. “Gregory Taylor. The chief of security for the entire ship. You won’t be bothering him with your accusations. The cases— Both of them— are closed. You’re dismissed, North.”
I left the Chief’s office in a huff. Everyone in the security office was staring at me. “What are you looking at?” I snapped at them. I was fed up. There was a connection between Cindy and Evan Taylor’s deaths. I knew it. And yet the chief was completely shut off from the possibility. I should be used to it I suppose. Down on Deck 36 most cases are never closed for this exact reason. Everyone is so afraid that rocking the boat will get them killed, that they just keep their heads down and hope to get transferred higher up. Rocking the boat too much can mean negative reviews from higher ups, which means you stay down in this stinking slum longer. But this was on a whole new level. I had a link between the cases, a solid link, and the chief wouldn’t even hear of it. Still it made sense. If I accused Gregory Taylor of this, it would be suicide for my career. A toxin for everyone involved, guaranteeing that they’d be stuck down here for the rest of their lives. Still if it were right…
As I stormed out into the streets, extra smoky today due to some sort of malfunction down in the engine section, Sarah called to me from inside. I kept walking. Sarah was just as frustrated as I was, I’m sure, we had vented our frustrations to each other, at that moment though, I didn’t feel like talking. I ducked down a back alley, hoping to avoid Sarah if she followed me out of the security station.
I kept trying to think of a connection, something more solid, so I could convince the chief to give me more resources, but I had nothing. If the wounds being almost exact matches wasn’t enough, and my story about Cindy showing up at midnight (Which was met with a response of “I don’t want to hear about any more midnight visitors of that kind from you again North.”) then I didn’t know what would. If I could only get the chief to reopen the case, maybe get me some extra manpower on the case to talk with people, ask about a new weapons dealer… What I really needed was to talk to Dr. Taylor’s family. The chief of security for the entire ship. That was major. Deck 210, very top floor. One of the most important men on the deck. But that just made him fit the profile all the more. As I thought about it, it made more sense. Gregory Taylor could easily afford a heat weapon. He probably had twenty different kinds in his quarters alone. Maybe he begrudged his son’s choice to come to the lower decks. Hated it even. Enough to kill. Then Cindy found a link, some evidence, something, and he had to deal with her. That would certainly explain what Cindy had meant by this being “bigger than you know.” The chief of security for the entire ship committing murder?
That’s when it crossed my mind. Johnny. How could I have forgotten? I should have gone straight from the crime scene to talk with him, but I rushed to tell the chief what I had found, falsely hoping he’d reopen the case. I pushed the thoughts of Gregory Taylor and the upper decks from my mind, and began to hurry down the dark streets, toward Hole in the Wall.
When I arrived, I knew something was wrong. The place was usually pulsating with loud music all hours, but as I approached the hole, it was dead silent. I ducked in, and didn’t like what I found. The place was virtually empty, except for Johnny and the brunette from earlier, sitting at a table by the opposite wall. The strobe lights had been replaced by harsh flood lights lighting the area between walls up. I could see around a hundred feet in either direction, beyond that, only darkness. I suppose the expanse between walls could lead me around the entire deck, but no one ever strayed too far from the dance floor in hole in the wall, unless they wanted a dark spot for… Privacy. There were probably all sorts of diseased vermin who had made nest in the darkness, and besides, there was no point in wandering in the darkness, since the expanse was just an empty void.
I could tell the two were upset. As I approached them, Johnny looked up at me and, obviously grief stricken, said “What do you want?” angrily. Obviously, word had gotten to him. The brunette whose name I didn’t know said something I couldn’t hear, obviously meant to be comforting, to Johnny, but he shook his head. “What do you want Ryan? Now’s not a good time. I just got word about—” “Cindy?” I asked, bluntly. Johnny’s brow furrowed with confusion. “How do you know about…?”
I explained the story to Johnny, beginning with her midnight visit, and then ending by saying that the chief still wouldn’t reopen the case. There was a long silence after I finished. I could tell the brunette was very upset by what I’d said. I imagine she must have known Cindy well. Finally, Johnny rose from the table. Walked closer to me, and said, looking me in the eye, “What do you need?”
I was a bit taken aback. “What do I…?” “What do you need?” He repeated. “For the case.” I thought for a moment. “Well it’s hard, I’d need the manpower to… figure out what Cindy knew… I mean, I’d need people out on the street asking about the new arms dealer… And…” I trailed off. “And?” He asked. I sighed, before continuing. “If it were any other case, I’d want to question the family. Figure out if any of them have a grudge against Taylor, or know who might. Unfortunately he’s from the upper decks, and without a pass…” I left out the part about Gregory Taylor, no need to mention that to Johnny.
The most serious I’d ever seen him look, Johnny turned to the brunette. He said, “Rachel.” And that was it. She’d clearly been listening to me, because she knew what Johnny meant. She reached down into her chest, and pulling out of her shirt was a small plastic card. She handed it to Johnny, and he turned back to me. “Something this valuable, had to keep it close to me. People expect that I’d keep something valuable on me, but the girls…” His voice faltered, I suspect he remembered that he was one girl shorter now. “…The girls are invisible during deals to most people. No one expects them to have anything valuable.” It’s times like these that remind me that Johnny, for how reckless and carefree he asks, is the best in the business because he’s smarter than the rest.
“I’ll send every man I have to start asking about this guy. Cindy was the best at finding people, that’s why she was one of my best people, but I’ve got a lot of manpower. I’ll tell everyone to drop what they’re doing. Put a bounty on information about this guy. As for talking to this Taylor guy’s family…” Johnny handed me the small plastic card, and my eyes widened. I’d never actually seen one of these with my own eyes before, and instantly I knew why Johnny wanted to keep this so close. The small plastic card had a picture of Hope on it, on a starry background. Underneath it were the words “ELEVATOR PASS - OFFICIAL BUSINESS - ALL DECK ACCESS”
“Rachel swiped this on some guy, an official visiting 36 years ago for some evaluation, making sure the engines were being kept running. It’s only good for one trip, so I’ve been saving it. Only good for one person, so I was hoping some day I might get more and be able to get the girls and I out of here… But this will work for getting you wherever you need to go.” I kept staring at the piece of plastic. “Ryan.” Johnny said, keeping the serious tone that matched his face. I tore my eyes from the plastic, and met Johnny’s eyes. “I want the man who killed Cindy. Find him.”
I probably should have told Johnny that I’d have to arrest him, and I couldn’t bring him to Johnny, but this was different. Last time it was business, but this time the killer had hurt someone Johnny cared about. And as I thought about all Johnny did for her, I realized that Johnny really did care about his girls, maybe even love them. For all his faults, Johnny was still a good guy. All I did was nod and say, “We’ll get him.”
I left Hole in the Wall. I took the piece of plastic, put it in my pocket, but never let go of it. I headed toward the elevators. I was getting to do something I’d wanted to for my entire life. I was leaving Deck 36.

No Chapter This Week

Yeah, so I've been preparing for school and stuff, starting back up on Monday, and I haven't had a chance to write a chapter for this week yet. Hopefully next week won't be TOO crazy with classes starting up, but I hope everyone is understanding of there being no chapter this week (and possibly next).

Murder On Deck 36 - Chapter Four: The Second Murder

The next day my head was still buzzing with questions. This Cindy girl, she was obviously in trouble. But who was after her? I’d seen her around before when talking to Johnny, she was one of his favorite girls. She always seemed harmless. In over her head. Another victim of the cannibalistic society of Deck 36 to be sure, but never dangerous. We’re all victims in our own way of this place. Even folks like Johnny who have things under control.
As I walked into the station I saw Sarah. I tossed around in my head whether or not to tell her about Cindy’s visit… Her warning. What troubled me was that I didn’t have anything solid to go on, and down here if someone tells you they’re in trouble you don’t tell anyone without a good reason. I’m not saying I thought Sarah was in on anything, she’s one of the few folks I trusted on the whole deck, but getting people involved gets them killed. I decided to keep Cindy’s midnight visit to myself for the time being.
It started as a pretty normal day at the station. Cases buzzing around, but nothing for me. Nothing for Sarah and I either. I sat around and dozed, still tired after a mostly sleepless night. I had been sitting at my desk without much to do for quite some time, halfway between the world and sleep, when I was shaken awake by Sarah. “Ryan, wake up. There’s been another hit, we’ve got to go check it out.” I stood and wiped the sleep from my eyes. “Where?” I asked. “The body was found in an alley somewhere, some girl. I think it’s by where you live, actually.”
Not unusual. I’d say I lived in a bad area, but all of Deck 36 was a bad area. Sarah had the exact location of the hit downloaded on a map. It was an old decrepit thing that barely worked any more, like most of the maps that were handed out to Security Officers as standard issue. As we neared the location where the body had been found, I realized how close to my quarters this hit actually was. It couldn’t have been more than a block or two away. “Where did you say this was, again?” I asked. “Oh I don’t know,” Sarah responded, only half listening to me, “The 63rd block?”
My stomach lurched. Each Deck was split into 120 “blocks” to make navigation easier. I lived on the 65th block. The murder had been just two blocks adjacent to me the night before. “Did anyone mention a time of death, when they told you about the case, I mean?” That got Sarah to look up at me, questioningly. “No… Why?” I shook my head. “No reason.”
It couldn’t be, I was sure of it. It was all a coincidence. A murder in my area isn’t an uncommon thing. Drugs, money, even looking at someone wrong, these were all things that could get you killed. Not to mention Johnny wouldn’t stand for it… No one would cross Johnny like that, not even the guy who was selling these heat weapons. Johnny wasn’t a complete sociopath, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have someone killed for crossing him like that.
But then we got there. Then we turned the corner into the dark alley. And I looked at the body lying on the ground, with a million thoughts jumping into my head. The wound. The place. The person. All my thoughts condense into one: Cindy. Lying on the dirty ship floor before me was Cindy’s dead broken body. Most of it, at least. To the right side of her chest was a large dark wound. A blackened hole burned straight through her torso, crisping her very heart. I recognized the wound instantly. It was the same wound that killed Dr. Taylor. Whoever was using the heat rifle had struck again, and judging from where the body was, it couldn’t have been more than minutes after Cindy had spoken with me the night before.
Cindy had come to warn me to stop digging into Evan Taylor’s murder, and mere moments later the same man killed her.
Whatever it was I was feeling at that moment, anger, confusion, and perhaps a tinge of fear, it must have shown on my face, because Sarah startled me as she said, “Ryan? What’s wrong?” I don’t look up from the cold body as I respond. “I knew her.” Sarah glances at the body, and says, “You did? Who was she?” I shook my head waking myself slightly from the shock. “She was… Her name was Cindy. One of Johnny’s girls.”
“One of… No… Who would cross Johnny like that? He’ll have them killed!” Sarah said. “Sarah, I think this goes a lot deeper than a new arms dealer. Look at the wound. It’s just like the one that killed Dr. Taylor.” Sarah looked at the wound, and I didn’t wait for her to respond before continuing. “First Dr. Taylor, then Cindy… Sarah, Cindy was the girl who Johnny sent to look into whoever had a heat rifle. I saw Johnny send her to look into this guy, and now she’s dead… And…” I sigh. Sarah picks up on my hesitancy, and says “And what?” more as a demand than a question.
“And she found me last night.” I responded. “What?” Sarah asks. “She found me last night. That’s why she was here. She must’ve been killed just after I spoke to her. She was scared, and she came to my quarters.” “Asking for help?” I shake my head. “No. Warning me.” “Warning you… Wait. You don’t mean…?”
I nod. I don’t need to say any more. We both realize why Cindy came to warn me. Whoever killed her has struck twice now, and all signs point to me being the next target.

Murder On Deck 36 - Chapter Three: Bigger Than You Know

I stepped into the security station, taking a deep breath of the air, clean by comparison. Sarah was sitting at her desk, but as soon as she saw me she bolted up and came to talk to me. “So what’d you find out?” She asked me, “Did Johnny remember who bought it?” I gave a short sigh before responding. “Johnny doesn’t know who sold it. He didn’t know there was a deal going down about a heat weapon.” I can see the shock in Sarah’s face. “Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to-” “Fool me?” I interrupt. “Yeah. I’m sure. He was pretty convincing.”
Sarah turns away for a moment and sighs, before looking up again and saying, “I asked around, but didn’t get any word on heat weapons. Most of them don’t know anything, and those who might know something are too scared to talk.” Fear isn’t a new concept on Deck 36. Fear is power, and anyone who hopes to have power uses fear as a weapon. Johnny, for example, has a lot of men out there, and crossing him isn’t a good idea. Even us, the cops, the so called “good guys” use fear defensively. It’s all that keeps the scum from storming our station. What was different this time is that we didn’t know who it was that’s holding the power, that has people scared. Something new, and on Deck 36, new is frightening.
“The Chief wanted to see you when you got back.” Sarah told me. I nodded, and walked toward the chief’s office. I opened the door, and saw him sitting there at his desk, a proper desk, unlike our half broken tables. His office probably isn’t huge by mid or upper deck standards, but it’s enormous by Deck 36 standards, probably a quarter of the entire station is taken up by his office. “Ryan. Sit down.” The chief said.
As I sat down, the chief said, “So what do we know about this doctor.” I began relating what we’d learned so far to him, telling him how Dr. Evan Taylor came from the upper decks hoping to help the sick down here, how the mark looked like a heat weapon, how I spoke to Johnny, and he claimed no one had bought a heat weapon to his knowledge.
After I spoke the chief look up toward the ceiling, contemplatively. He stood up and walked around the office for a moment. Finally he spoke, “How sure are you, really, that it was a heat weapon? Hmm?” I remained seated, but responded, “Well it looked like a heat weapon’s mark.” “Right, but how do you know? Have you seen these marks before? I’ve never seen a heat mark before, other than a plasma cutter, of course.” I paused for a moment. I knew what the chief was implying. “It was too large to be the mark of a plasma cutter, and it left a hole, it didn’t just cook them through like a laser weapon.” I explained once again. The chief came back to the front of the desk. The expression on his face was a condescending one.
“North, I understand you’re anxious to break a big case like this, maybe get transferred up a few decks,” the chief was wrong, that wasn’t my motivation for solving this case. I wanted to find the killer before he struck again. Not that it wouldn’t be nice to get transferred to a nice mid deck, “but you’re making a bigger deal out of this case than you should be. Your case is really simple. A junkie broke in to steal drugs. Maybe had a plasma cutter, maybe just a laser pistol, I don’t know. Evan caught him, and the junkie killed him.” “But sir, there weren’t any drugs taken from the cabinet there!” I realized my voice was rising. I’d had this conversation with the chief before, and I knew how it ended. But I didn’t want this case closed before the killer was caught.
“Maybe the junkie was afraid he would get caught over the murder. Maybe Dr. Taylor had a ‘private stash’ of the really good stuff, and he took it from that. Who knows. Either way, a heat weapon? A new weapons dealer? You’re treating this like some sort of conspiracy, when it’s really very simple stuff.”
I sighed, probably a bit more loudly than I had intended, since the chief shot me a dirty look. “This isn’t going to go anywhere North. Searching for one junkie on all of Deck 36 is like searching for a needle in a haystack made out of needles. You’re needed elsewhere. Case closed.”
I wanted to protest. There was something going on here, I knew it. But it wouldn’t go anywhere but getting me suspended, so I nodded reluctantly and slowly walked out of the office.
The rest of the day was pretty mundane, once I told Sarah our case had been closed. I filed the closing paperwork on the case, which took a while, spoke to some of the other security officers about their cases, seeing if I could help with anything, but still, as I made my way home hours later, with the artificial lights dimmed to give us a false sense of evening I still had the Evan Taylor case on my mind. I thought about Ashley Taylor, and how she’d never see her husband’s killer brought to justice. I wondered if I should speak to her about it, or if she’d resent me for failing to catch the guy. It wasn’t my fault, of course, but she wouldn’t understand that, she couldn’t understand that, and I didn’t blame her.
Was I making this case out to be bigger than it was? I was so sure that wound was that of a heat rifle when I first saw it, but now? Maybe I had made a mistake. Maybe the chief was right, maybe I just wanted to break a big case and get transferred out of this slum. Still, something just didn’t sit right with me about his “junkie” explanation.
I walked into my quarters, nearly tripping over my bed as I was not paying attention when I entered. I think that I should probably eat something, but I was too tired. It had been a long day. I fall into my bed, not even bothering to undress, and let sleep overtake me.

I don’t know how much time had passed when I awoke to the sound of thumping on my door. The lights outside had fully dimmed into “nighttime” mode, so I suppose it had been a few hours at least. I scrambled to get up and get to the door. AS the door swings open, at first I don’t think that I know the person standing at the door. It was a young woman, who seemed to have been in a fight of some sort. Her lip was bleeding, and she had a bruise across her forehead. It took me a moment to realize I did, in fact, know this woman. It was the blond girl I’d seen Johnny in the club with earlier that day, the one he sent to investigate the new weapons dealer.
She looks at me and I realize her eyes are full of fear. Unsure of what, exactly to say, I fumble around with my words and say something in between “What is it?” and “Can I help you?” Perhaps, “What can I help it?” I don’t remember exactly. I’m not sure if she even noticed, since she ducked into my room quickly and closed the door behind her. The already cramped quarters felt even smaller with an extra body in the room.
“I found something.” She said. Her voice trembled as she did so. I struggled to remember her name, and gave a shot at what I thought it might be. “Samantha—” “Cindy.” She interrupted. “Right. Sorry. Cindy. What do you mean you found something?” She looked around the room nervously. “Listen, your case, your heat weapon… You need to stop looking into it. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” I shot her a puzzled look, and said, “Wait, you know who killed Dr. Taylor? Who?”
She shook her head. “No. They’ll… No. Listen, this is bigger than you know. I’m in danger even being here. I need to get back to Johnny. I only told you because I’ve heard Johnny talk about you before. You’re not like most cops on the station, you aren’t corrupt, you’re a good man. Deck 36 needs that, much as we might hate to admit it sometimes. Johnny likes you and he’s told us to do what we can to protect you before… So I’m telling you now. Drop it.”
“Who is it?” I asked, more frustrated this time. She shook her head once more, and this time opened the door. She looked at me one last time and said, “Drop the case. Be careful.” And darted out the door. I step out and chase after her for a moment, but the elevator taking her back to the ground floor closes without me and I know I won’t catch her. I head back to my room, and try to go back to sleep, with little success. What did she mean, this was bigger than I knew? Why was she in danger? I knew it. There was something bigger going on here after all. And I was going to find out what.

No Chapter This Week

There will be no new chapter of Murder on Deck 36 this week since I'll be going out of town in the morning and other commitments prevented me from writing the chapter ahead of time. Blame a speech class I had earlier this week. Yeah. That's it. It was the speech class. Not Civilization 5 going on sale. Speech. I was talking. A lot. And I can't write and talk at the same time. Whereas if I were just spending way too much time playing Civilization 5, that would be irresponsible and highly deplorable.


...I'm sorry ok? For what it's worth I DID have a speech class that was 16 hours long spread over two days, so cut me a little slack. Geez. THERE'S NO PLEASING YOU PEOPLE.


...I'll try to write a blog post while I'm out of town. Happy now? ARE YOU HAPPY?! ARE YOU?! SADISTIC SADISTS!

...WHO ARE SADISITIC!

Murder On Deck 36 - Chapter Two: Hole in the Wall

There are a few names everyone on deck 36 knows by reputation. A few of them are crime lords, scumbags who think they run the ship, of course they’re not wrong. One of them is deck 36’s chief of security, my boss, Franklin Ericsson. And one of them is Johnny. I don’t know Johnny’s last name. I don’t even know if Johnny knows his own last name, he might’ve been an orphan for all I know. But he’s a well known name on deck 36 for one reason— He’s the best at getting everything illegal on the deck, maybe even the whole ship. If you want something, guns, drugs, whatever, he’s the man to get it for you. So he knows every deal that goes down on this deck, and he’d certainly know about something as high-profile as a heat rifle. He was the first person to go to in a situation like this. Unfortunately, that meant going to Hole in the Wall.
Hole in the Wall was an illegal club start back years ago, before I was even born. It’s literally run out of a hole in the wall. Each deck’s walls are double sealed, so if something should happen to one of the walls, there’ll be a backup before the whole deck is vented out into space in the blink of an eye. However, there’s about a 50-foot gap between the two walls. Hole in the Wall is inside that gap. The hole was made so long ago no one’s even sure how it was made any more, but it’s there. It’s a small hole, sure, just big enough for a person to fit through, but it was still impressive. Something powerful had to make it through the steel that was several feet thick. On the upper decks a hole like that would be fixed within hours, but down here no one cares. If the outer wall ever broke, it’d just be one more deck that had to be sealed permanently, and no one above us cares enough to send a team down here to fix it. So Hole in the Wall was started. I suppose it’s the danger that appeals to people. Though really it’s no more dangerous there than anywhere else. In reality if the outer wall ever broke the whole deck would be dead within minutes, and the folks in Hole in the Wall would just be the first to go. Hole in the Wall isn’t owned by anyone, but there’s a definite order to things there. The more well known you are, the more powerful you are in the club. Power changes hands on a daily basis, but for a long time Johnny’s been the top dog of Hole in the Wall.
As I walked through the back alley leading to Hole in the Wall I noticed several dark figures duck away down corners and into doors as I approached. It must not have been hard to tell I was a cop. Most cops would’ve been nervous heading into Hole in the Wall-- I wasn’t. I nearly choked on some smog as I saw the neon sign hanging over the hole for which the club was named. The neon sign had been up since before I became a cop, advertising the illegal club to everyone nearby. It was restricted to go in between the layers of the walls, but no one cared down here enough to shut the club down and risk angering the crime lords who ran it. We had enough problems with them already, shutting down Hole in the Wall would cause them to declare an all out war on us.
I could see strobe lights flashing through the hole, and hear muffled thumping. As I ducked through the hole, the muffled thumping turned into deafening, pulsating music (or something resembling music at least). The strobe lights flickered. I took a look around. Most of the club noticed me as soon as I stepped in the door, and were staring at me now. I made them nervous. Rightly so, since most of them were obviously high off some illegal substance or other. That was fine by me, I wasn’t here for them, I had more pressing matters. The music stopped. The strobe lights flickered as the crowd continued to stare at me. I had my had on my gun, should anything go wrong.
“Ryan?” I heard a voice from the back of the crowd say. The crowd parted to let the owner of the voice step through. The man wore a torn shirt, had dark bags under his eyes, and had a woman on each arm, one blond, one brunette. “Ryan! That is you!” He said. “Hello Johnny.” I replied. Ryan turned to the crowd and said “It’s ok, Ryan’s with me.” That was enough for the crowd, as the music returned to its high volumes and the various punks and junkies returned to whatever they were doing.
“So Ryan, what brings you to Hole in the Wall?” Johnny asked. “Business.” I said shortly. “Oh you. Why don’t you ever just come to have a good time?” He replied. Years ago, before he had the name power he had now, I had arrested someone who had it in for Johnny. Coincidence, mind you, but Johnny still felt as though he owed me one. “I need some information on a deal—” “Ah ah ah,” Johnny cut me off, “now Ryan, you know I can’t tell you about my customers. Confidentiality policy.” I glared at him. “Johnny, this is big. If you help me now, you might make it out of this clean, but if I find out you’ve been moving heat weapons—” “Wait, heat weapons?” Johnny interrupted me once again. “Like what, a plasma cutter?” “No,” I continued, “A heat rifle.”
Johnny backed up and stared at me disbelievingly. The two girls standing near him tossed uncomfortable looks at each other. “Are you telling me there was a hit done with a heat rifle?” I wasn’t sure if Johnny was genuinely surprised or not. “It looks that way.” I said. “Who?” he asked. I didn’t see any reason not to tell him. Giving him a little information now, might get me a lot of information down the road. “Some doctor, Evan Taylor or something like that.” Johnny got a furious look on his face. “Cindy.” He said, still looking at me, but obviously talking to one of the two girls, “Someone has been encroaching on my territory. We need to find out who.” The blond girl nodded at him and took off somewhere.
“Johnny, are you telling me you don’t know anything about this?” I asked. “Unfortunately.” He replied, “And when I find out who does know something about this—” “I don’t want to know.” I said. While I wasn’t too keen on the idea of a new arms dealer on deck 36, I didn’t really want the incriminating details of what Johnny would do to them. “I’ve never dealt so much as a heat pistol, let alone a heat rifle.” He said, “Either someone else has made the biggest mistake of their life and started dealing weapons without my knowledge, or whoever made the hit on your guy already had a heat rifle.” I shook my head. “There’s no way anyone could keep a secret like that, not here.” “Which is exactly why I’ve got Cindy out looking for this guy right now. No one crosses me. No one.” Johnny said.
“Johnny, I want this guy.” I told him sternly, “If you find him, do not kill him.” Johnny let out a groan. “Really? Ryan, I have a reputation to keep here.” He said, tossing his shoulders back, glancing at the crowd, and letting out a short laugh. “I’ve done a lot for you because you’ve done a lot for me, I’ve made sure none of my guys would ever lay a finger on you, but I can’t promise that.” “Fine then.” I said, “Just give me a heads up before you do anything. Give me a fair chance at him at least. Let me talk to him before you…” I stopped short. Johnny must’ve gotten the idea, because he said with a sigh, “I make no promises, but I’ll think about it. That’s all I can do.” I knew Johnny wouldn’t say no to me. He was a crook, but he had always been loyal to me, and I knew he’d remain so until he felt he’d paid me back.
The pulsating music was beginning to give me a throbbing headache. I was done here, if Johnny knew anything he was doing a very good job hiding it. As reluctant as I was to admit it, there was someone with access to a lot of firepower loose on deck 36. That made him dangerous. He’d already made one hit, and odds were he was going to strike again before long.

Murder On Deck 36 - Introduction and Chapter One

Hello everyone. Readers of this blog will probably know that I do a lot of talking about my hobbies. Those hobbies, primarily, are playing video games, and writing. I've posted small portions of projects before, but I've never posted a full story, even though I have about one and a half novels worth written, albeit unedited.

So now I'm proud to announce that over the next few months I will be posting weekly installments of a brand new project called "Murder On Deck 36" every Thursday. The story is a murder mystery taking place on a space station called "Hope."

Without further ado, I'd like to present the first installment of the weekly series "Murder On Deck 36."

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Chapter One: Hope

Everything changes. That’s what they tell you, growing up. That over time, everything will change in one way or another. Hundred years from now, you’ll be dust, and some new punks will be running the whole world. Technology will change, status quo will change, who’s holding the power will change. Three hundred years ago the good ole’ U.S. Of A. Was rulin’ the world. Today there’s not even a world to rule any more. Earth is gone. Used up all its resources and left it to rot. That’s they kind of thing they tell you when you’re growing up, to convince you everything changes. They lie. There’s one thing that stays the same. Crime.
My name is Ryan North. I live in a giant tin can. The “Intergalactic Empire’s Star-Station Hope”. They put the “Intergalactic Empire” in the name to always remind you who owns the ground beneath your feet. They put the “Hope” in the name to let you know that there’s always something better on the horizon. Both are a joke. The “Intergalactic Empire” doesn’t exist, not really. Sure there’s a headquarters at the center of the thousand some Star-Stations posting around the ‘verse, but they don’t control anything. The “Hope” part, well you stop believing that part after a few years of seeing what this place is really like.
There are 210 decks on Hope. Each of them holds a few thousand people. There’s really three big areas you need to know about though. You’ve got the upper decks, the mid decks, and the lower decks. Mid decks are your typical. You’ve got office jobs there, good citizens of the empire, all that. Most people there live what you might call an average life. Nice quarters, loving spouse, two-point-five children, all that. Then you’ve got the upper deck. Those are the real high class type. The solar panels are on the upper deck, along with the offices where the president of the ship lives. I say “President”, but that title’s a joke. No one’s been voted into office on this ship in sixty years. The solar panels up top are what keep the ship alive, so the upper decks are pretty heavily locked down. If you’re not “essential” or very, very rich, you ain’t ever going to see the top floors. I hear they’ve got one deck where the floors, walls, and ceilings are lined with solid gold. ‘Course, the guy I heard that from ain’t ever seen a mid deck, let alone an upper floor, so I’m not sure how he’d know.
Finally, you’ve got the lower decks. That’s where I live. The lower decks are home to the engines. The things that make sure we don’t plunge into the star we’re orbiting. You’d think that’d mean that the rich sleaze up top would want to make sure the people running them are well taken care of, but that’s not so. The lower decks are slums. First of all, they’re smoky. The engines have vents that are supposed to vent the air out into space, but they haven’t worked right since long before I was born, and most the pollution just vents into the lower decks. There are some spots on these lower decks you can’t even breathe in any more. Half a deck was forced to leave because the pollution got so bad it was killin’ them not two years ago. The second thing is that the lower decks are dirty. Working the engines ain’t a clean job, and some part of these decks don’t even have running water. Add that in with the fact that the lower decks are about half the size of the mid decks, with double the population, and we gotta fit the enormous engines onto each deck, and things are a bit cramped. But the pollution, and the dirty, cramped quarters aren’t the worst part. The worst part is the noise.
The engines aren’t exactly quiet. In fact, imagine the loudest noise you can and then double it. That’s probably about half as loud as one engine, and each deck has half a dozen of them on it. You live with that your whole life and you get used to it, but it’s still not easy to hear yourself think half the time, let alone hear other people talk.
Life on the lower decks is anything but fun. Most people are just trying to survive it. But there are some who make that even more difficult than it already is. And those are the criminals. The gangs, and the independent criminals on the lower decks run rampant. Murderers, thieves, you name it and the lower decks have it. On the mid and upper decks you have two or three security stations on each deck. Get low enough down though and that cuts down to just one station per deck. Between the larger number of people on the lower decks, and the lower number of security, That means there just aren’t enough cops to control the decks. Most cops don’t even try any more. They just keep their heads down and hope they’ll be one of the lucky few who get transferred to a mid deck or an upper deck. Some do, and we don’t hear from them any more. Way I figure it, they’re trying to distance themselves from us. Must be too lowly for them or something. Some don’t, and they spend their whole lives just trying to survive. Still, there are a few good cops left. I’m one of them.
I live on deck 36 of 210. Decks 1-15 have been permanently sealed due to having such poor condition that they were no longer deemed habitable, pushing refugees onto the streets of the other, already overcrowded, decks like mine. Deck 36 has one of the highest crime rates in the whole station, next only to the decks that the crime lords call their home. The decks don’t start being even somewhat respectable until around Deck 50. The worst deck of all is deck 16, which rumor has it doesn’t even have a security station anymore, and has some crime lord running his “empire” out of it. But Deck 36 is still far from safe. I see good men and women die every day, and I see bad men and women— Cowards too afraid to fight —survive, whether they be cops who let the bad guys get away, or criminals who flee to kill some more people. Half of my life is death, it seems. And one specific death is where this story begins.
It had been a typical day for me when I got to the station. My life is better than most of the people on the lower decks. I have small quarters, just big enough for a bed, a bathroom, and a mini-fridge, but I have it all to myself which leaves me better off than the majority. In any case, after waking, I got something to eat and headed for the station. I carry my gun with me carefully as I make my way to the station every day. Cops are well known on the deck, and it’s not unusual for one to be assaulted on the way to the station.
As I got into the station and the rusty automatic door slowly creaked close behind me, I saw the chief. His name was Franklin Ericsson, but we never called him anything but “Chief”. He caught up to me before I could even make my way to the half broken table which passed for a table. “North. I’ve got a hit for you to look into.” The Chief said to me. “Just another typical day then?” I replied. He furrowed his eyebrows disapprovingly at me and said, “Watch that mouth North. You’d best keep your head down like the rest of us if you want to make it out of this place alive.” I’d heard the speech he was about to give before, so I promptly replied “Yes sir” before he could continue. He paused, frustrated, before saying “Yes, well.. The hit. Guy named Evan Taylor. He’s a doctor, runs a clinic not far from where you live.” I knew the clinic he was speaking about. It was as overcrowded as anything else, but the neon plus sign in front of the entrance drew my attention to it occasionally. “He was found dead this morning. Probably just some junkie looking for a fix, but you’d better go check it out.” I nodded affirmatively. Within minutes I was back outside.
As I took a deep breath and coughed, getting a lungful of smoke, I heard the deep roar of the engines. Whenever I heard them, it reminded me of how alive the station was. The people in it worked together to create a sort of personality. I passed some Chinese joint, the bright neon sign shining through the black smoke I was passing through. The streets in Hope are modeled after the streets of old Earth cities. Each deck is about three stories high, and laid out in a grid. The sidewalks used to be automated, but like a lot of other things on the lower decks, they broke a long time ago. The streets themselves are usually pretty empty. Seeing a car on the lower decks is pretty rare, since most people can’t afford one.
It took me twenty minutes or so to walk to the clinic. When I got there, some cops were already there preparing the crime scene for me to look at. The entrance to the clinic was guarded by a beat cop I didn’t know. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my HoloID, flipping between my various identification until I saw my badge, and a particularly unflattering picture of myself, pop up onto the screen. As I flashed him my HoloID, he let me in. As I stepped into the clinic, I saw the body on the ground. Evan Taylor. A doctor. There was a decently sized medicine cabinet open in one of the corners of the room. There were two other people standing in the room as I entered, one who I knew, one who I didn’t. The one I knew was another cop, named Sarah Black. “Hello Sarah.” I said to her, as I walked up. “Ryan,” She said, “This is Mrs. Ashley Taylor.” Mrs. Taylor looked at me with her tear filled face, and choking on the words said “N-Nice to meet you.”
“I know this is hard for you ma’am, but can you please walk me through what happened?” I said to her. She swallowed, and held her sobs back for a moment before saying “Okay. I came into the clinic to surprise him and-” She paused for a moment and looked toward the body. “I found him like that.”
The body itself was on the floor. It was sitting next to a chair that had fallen over, sitting behind a desk. There were burn marks on the chest. Taylor must have been sitting in the chair when the killer stepped in and shot him. I stepped toward the body and took a close look at the chest wound. It had burned all the way through his body. The hole was about the size of a fist. “A mark like this… Does this look to you what it looks like to me?” I asked Sarah. “Well the burn going all the way through indicates a heat weapon, not a laser weapon to me. I was thinking it’s probably a plasma cutter but-” I cut her off, “A plasma cutter wouldn’t have left that large a hole.” “I know.” She replied. “Honestly, I’ve never seen a wound like that. I’ve heard of them though. It looks like it’s from a heat rifle.”
There are two main kinds of weapons today, laser weapons and heat weapons. Laser weapons, of course, fire lasers, beams of focused light. They’re cheap, and they certainly get the job done, but they leave a very specific kind of mark. You see, they usually tend to cook you through, instead of actually leaving a hole, so while there’s a burn mark, it’s not a hole, just some charred flesh going all the way through. Only military grade laser rifles, or highly modified laser weapons would leave a hole. Military grade weapons are locked down and strictly banned from the whole station. There’s likely only two or so on the whole of Hope. Then there are heat weapons. Heat weapons actually superheat a special substance we call “goo”, although there’s a more technical term for it that I don’t know. Plasma cutters used by the engineers can leave a hole, since they use goo to create a stream that can cut through nearly anything. Those are pretty much the only heat weapon you see on lower decks, since anything bigger than a plasma cutter is expensive. Very expensive. High cost up front, and high upkeep, not to mention that goo itself is fairly expensive. A heat rifle would be impossible for anyone on the lower decks to afford, in fact it’d be nearly impossible for anyone on the mid decks to afford. The only people who would have that kind of firepower would be very, very powerful men.
“Mrs. Taylor, did your husband have any enemies that you know of?” I asked her. “Oh no!” She said, shocked at the very idea, without hesitation. “He was a good man! No one would have any reason to- He was a great man! He gave up everything for this clinic! To help people!” “Gave up everything?” Sarah asked. “What do you mean?” Mrs. Taylor took another deep breath. “He was raised upper deck. He got his medical license up there, could have stayed up there his whole life, but he decided to come down here and open a clinic. His parents disowned him for it, but he knew he could do good here. He knew he could help people. That’s all he wanted, was to save this place and- And now he’s-” Mrs. Taylor melted once more into sobs.
Sarah walked over to the corner with me and spoke softly to me. “Something’s wrong about this. At first I was thinking it was just a junkie. The medicine cabinet is open, but it doesn’t look like any drugs are missing. And that chest wound… How would a junkie get that kind of firepower?” I looked at the body. “I don’t know. I agree. Something is off about all of this. I think someone might have wanted Evan Taylor dead.” “But why?” Sarah asked me. I looked at her, and responded “That’s an excellent question, isn’t it?”