FIRST 3 CHAPTERS ARE FREE!
Track is the best detective the Si-Cross 4 station has. He
has been forced to take three months off, just as a woman dies at his front
door after asking for his help. Suspecting an outbreak, the Authority submits
Track to a gruelling decontamination process, while someone ransacks his
apartment and dismantles his pet robot dog, Banyon. With little help available
to him, Track undertakes the investigation the Authority insists on closing
within hours. He’s being followed. He has no backup. His trusted colleagues are
avoiding him. Someone is pretending to be his dead husband. Will Track survive
to solve the mystery of the Missing Remnants?
Excerpt:
I’d tuned
out most of the chatter behind me as I concentrated on system reports. I was
ahead. It put me in uncharted territory. The summons came after lunch. Si-Cross
4 is a large off world station boasting many places to eat. It didn’t matter
which I chose, I always found a small group of people who required off-menu
items. I was five minutes late back. And that was only because I’d stopped to
help clear an area of potential chemical spill resulting in the initiation of a
false alarm report.
“Track,
my office,” The command from Beynard, my
superior, was in the tone of voice you did not ignore. Not unless you wanted
them removed with a rusty knife and handed to you on a platter. I logged off
and pushed myself out of my chair. The chip in my knee holding the joint
together dug in and I winced. Yeah, I was on a list for a permanent fix. It
came with the caveat I shouldn’t hold my breath.
Eyes
followed me from my desk to Beynard’s
lair. He was a tall, thin, health freak of a man. I was shorter and more
muscular. My fitness regime was hampered by my knee. But I could still take him
if I’d wanted to.
“Detective
Trackneathan, sit.” I sat. To my credit, I did not bark. I hated my name. Where
the hell had Trackneathan come from? It gave rise to the joke why Track Neathan,
Neathan isn’t lost. I fidgeted. I
hated the discomfort of the Authority chairs. I hated everything.
“Sit
still.” I may not have barked, but Beynard did. I resisted the urge to say,
“What are you, my mother?” I was good at making things worse.
“You have
unused leave. Take it,” Beynard ordered.
I was
temporarily incapable of speech. Beynard was not known for a soft side. He was
about as much a people person as I was. It wasn’t the order that shocked me. It
was the uncontrollable fear of what the hell I’d do with that much free time.
“You’ve
accrued three months. This is beyond the limit allowed to accumulate on the
system,” he sat in his chair looking down at me with disdain. His lips were
permanently stuck in a disapproving expression.
“OK,
well, what if I carry on working and lose the leave?” I asked.
“Not an
option. You either take the leave or you’ll be Centred. You’ve been classified
for study.”
Despite
the horror, I was not surprised. No-one wanted to be Centred. People left the
station rather than spend any time at the Centre. It was a limbo of banal,
meaningless tasks supervised by scientists sent to study and correct the
behaviour of potential troublemakers. In my case, you could drop the word
‘potential.’
“There
has to be a way out of this? What if I work shorter shifts? Use some leave that
way?
“Not an
option,” Beynard repeated, “You’ve been assessed for a while. Your attitude has
been deemed unacceptable. You need to hand in your Authority accreditation. I
can’t take your weapon, despite you keeping possession of it being a risk to
others.”
“I am not
a risk to others,” I objected.
“Tell
that to Byrod. He’s on the list for a new
jaw.”
“I barely
touched him. And you saw the footage. He came at me with a knife and I had to
defend myself. The damn thief has had a glass jaw for years.”
“Yes, but
we are over our quota of allowable injuries to criminals this month. So, you
put yourself in the view of the Centre with that punch. A new jaw costs money.”
“Then use
my leave to pay for it and I’ll carry on working.”
“It won’t
cover it.”
I
breathed in deeply and let out an exasperated sigh. I was running out of ideas.
If my leave wasn’t enough to cover the cost of a new jaw, my savings certainly
weren’t.
“So, what
is the Authority’s real view on this?” I asked, “I should have taken the knife
wound and let him get away with the serum?” I stared at Beynard and scratched
the side of my face. I knew the answer.
“Yes. A
knife wound in you would cost the Authority less to fix than replacing a
criminal’s jaw.”
My hand
moved to scratch the stubble on my chin. I’d shaved that morning too.
“Or maybe
I should have just shot him and only accrued the cost of recycling the body,”
see what I mean about making trouble? Sometimes I just don’t know when to stop.
About the Author:
Amy J Hamilton is about 300 years old and was spawned on an
alien planet. She exists mainly on coffee and chocolate, but mainly coffee.
She has a husband, two teenagers, tropical fish, a tortoise,
a degu and a bearded dragon who can fly and breathe fire (lie). In her spare
time, she bakes things, sews things and play things on the piano.
She has been writing since she could hold a pencil in her
left nostril. Amy’s books fall into various genres: Erotic/Sci-Fi: Lunar
Medical series (Modified, Nate and Day), Sci-Fi Murder Mystery: Missing
Remnants. Paranormal Sci-Fi: Iridessian Haunts
Amy currently writes for Radish Fiction. The serialised
fiction app is free to download for iOS and Android. Having passed the inspection of the content
editor, authors are invited to write serials where the first three episodes are
always free. Subsequent episodes may be free, unlock for free after a week but
can be unlocked early for 3 Radish coins, or are permanently locked until 3
Radish coins are paid. An episode is between 30c-42c depending on how many
coins you buy.
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