Loyalties: part 1

The dominoes start to fall

The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real

Previously: DC Frank Holland has been secretly taping his conversations with corrupt DCI James Miller. Having revealed his evidence to DI Bakker, the consequences are about to be felt across the Specialist Dimensional Command…

Early shift
On duty: DI Christopher Bakker

London.
1974. December.

When the moment finally arrived, it was as satisfying as Bakker had imagined. The morning’s events played out in a hallucinatory slow motion, his mind seemingly hyper-sensitive to every detail.

By the end of the day, he would most likely have a migraine. Until then, he would enjoy himself as the loose threads were woven together, one after another.

It began halfway up the Joint Council tower, in the executive office DCI James Miller had wangled for himself rather than have to slum it in the basement with the rest of the department.

The others, Clarke and Kaminski and Chakraborty, had wanted to be there, but Bakker had decided to keep them in the background. Even now, with the evidence stacked against Miller, there was no harm in being cautious, and little benefit in them being present. This was a job for management, which is why he was accompanied by Robert Ford. It had to be the DIs, and having the no-nonsense northerner by his side was an immense relief.

Ford had been his first call. As a lifelong and proud cynic, Ford already thought that everyone south of Manchester was either soft or on the take. He was a man who loathed the way politics interfered with policing, and disliked people in general. Ford was the eternal pessimist who didn’t think the world could be fixed or made fair; but he tried regardless. Bakker had always liked him.

When presented with Holland’s recorded evidence, Ford didn’t even blink. He’d lit a cigarette, taken a couple of drags, then nodded. “Makes sense,” he’d said. “Here’s how we’re going to do it.”

They could have gone for Miller at his home, like he’d tried to go after Bakker. They could have taken him down when he was in the SDC offices. While he was taking lunch in the canteen. Instead, they’d waited for him to return to his glass office in the tower, where the arrest would be a clear, unignorable declaration of intent.

Ford banged the door open, startling Miller as he sat at his desk. “James Miller,” he announced, “you are under arrest on suspicion of blackmail and conspiracy against officers of the Metropolitan Police and members of the King’s government. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be given in evidence.” Miller was spluttering, failing to find the words, which was a first. He didn’t move from his chair. “On your feet, Miller,” Ford ordered, “you’ve got a trip to the Yard. Now.”

When he wanted to, Ford had no hesitation in channelling the persona of an angry northerner, complete with booming voice and his looming physical presence. The man was big, his face always stern even when supposedly relaxed, his moustache thick as a brush.

Miller’s chair scraped the floor as he jolted to his feet. “What’s the meaning of this?” He glared in Bakker’s direction, his mouth opening and closing as he considered and reconsidered what to say.

“You’re nicked, mate,” Ford said, taking a step closer. “You want us to take you out in cuffs, or you going to come freely?”

“What the hell is this?” Clearly, Miller was going with the option of being indignant. “We’re on the same team, Robert! Chris?”

“Start walking,” Ford said, pointing to the door.

“I’m your superior! This is outrageous.”

“Fine,” Ford said, “start walking, Detective Chief Inspector Miller.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Miller said. The venom rising in his voice slithered away, and he tried a smile. “Is this a prank? Has someone put you up to it?”

“You know I’m not one for comedy,” Ford said. He nodded towards Bakker, who opened the office door. “Move it.”

“You’re going to piss off a lot of people, Ford,” Miller said.

He shrugged. “I’m not here to make friends.” Ford put one of his big hands on Miller’s shoulder and started steering him towards the door.

“I don’t know what kind of misunderstanding has taken place here, both of you, but believe me, someone is having you on.”

“The evidence is compelling,” Ford said. “The rest we’ll leave for questioning. You’ll likely want a lawyer. And a toothbrush,”

They left Miller’s office and walked him through the open plan space shared by diplomats, entrepreneurs, bureaucrats, journalists and Joint Council staff. It was a cross-section of the mechanisms the kept the triverse ticking, comprised of humans and koth and aen’fa. Bakker had to work hard to suppress his satisfaction as they paraded Miller past all of those colleagues he had worked so hard to impress.

The basic sense of accomplishment aside, there was no pleasure to the business for Bakker. It still represented the confirmation of a fatal flaw within the Specialist Dimensional Command, the department he’d worked in and proudly shepherded for so many years. Miller’s arrest was an individual victory, but the larger picture was one of abject failure.

Miller’s downfall was only the start of a longer process: Bakker didn’t expect the man to prove quite as self-assured on the other side of the bars, and that would help to expand the investigation rapidly. They already had names from the recordings, starting points to work on, and this time they could do it in daylight with the full resources of the Met. This would, of course, have to go wider than the SDC, given the department’s compromised state.

The lift doors opened and they stepped in, Miller studiously avoiding the stares of what were now former Joint Council colleagues. Bakker pressed the button and the doors slid shut.

“Listen,” Miller said, immediately turning to face both of them, “I still don’t know what this is about, or what this ‘evidence’ is, but I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. Working up here, I’ve seen things, know things. I’ve got valuable information that you’re going to want to know about. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, and I haven’t done anything, but I’m sure I can help with your investigation.”

To his credit, Ford didn’t betray even a flicker of amusement.

There was a secluded booth at the back of the White Lion, where an off duty Yannick Clarke found himself sat with Zoltan Kaminski and Nisha Chakraborty. The lights of the pub didn’t quite reach into the recess, the table lit only by a couple of dim candles. Empties lined one side, with Clarke nursing his latest pint. Nisha was on her latest glass of white. The ashtray beside Kaminski’s elbow was overflowing.

“That’s it, then,” Kaminski said. “We got them.”

“We got him,” Clarke corrected. “One at a time. Miller’s the first.”

“Dominoes will fall,” Chakraborty said into her drink.

“Let’s hope so.” Clarke sipped at his beer thoughtfully. “Ford reckoned Miller would flip after a night in lock-up. Take away his nice things and the man’s a scared child.”

“Shit, Ford,” Kaminski said, grinning. “Can you believe he’s on our side now? We’re suddenly a long way from huddling in that damp storage room at the old HQ.”

Clarke leaned back and stretched his neck. The typical end of the day noise of the pub chittered in the background. The rest of the world carrying on as normal. “Ford was always on our side, we just hadn’t invited him in. He’s always been a good man.”

“A good, shouty man,” Chakraborty said.

“Imagine the looks on their faces when they heard Miller had been arrested,” Kaminski said. “Hutchinson, Maxwell. They must be so pissed.”

“Now we can investigate properly,” Chakraborty said. “Kick over the hive. See what’s crawling around. Maybe identify the other voices on that recording Justin gave you, Clarke.”

He nodded. “Now that this is official, we might even be able to get the data though to Max-Earth and uploaded. This is going to open a lot of doors.”

They were all quiet for several minutes, drinking their drinks, alone with their thoughts while sat together.

“You know,” Kaminski said at last, a little hesitantly, “this is all for John Callihan. He started this. He’s the one that sniffed something was wrong.”

“They killed him for it,” Chakraborty said, almost a whisper.

“John started it,” Clarke said. “We’re finishing it.” Saying it out loud felt good. He raised his glass. “To John Callihan, the best damn partner I ever had.”

Kaminski and Chakraborty joined the toast. “The best man I ever knew,” Chakraborty said.

A wry smile crept along Kaminski’s face. Clarke thought he saw a little sadness, even. “Thanks for getting us into this mess, buddy,” Kaminksi said, sipping at a glass of water.

There was a stumbling interruption as two men approached from the bar, evidently several beers down already. “You the SDC gang?” one of them asked.

Clarke turned and recognised him as an officer from the Met. Most people in the White Lion were police this time of day. It was a cop pub. “That’s us,” he said.

“Right,” the inebriated officer said, “well, you should be ashamed of yourselves. All of you. Turning on your own like that. What happened to loyalty? Sticking up for your fellow officers? Bringing internal affairs down on your own DCI? You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Yeah,” the other officer said, “real police stick together. You’re not going to make friends by throwing accusations around and stabbing your colleagues in the back.”

Kaminski stubbed out his cigarette and sat up a little straighter. “That’s OK, I didn’t have any friends to begin with.”

“You what?” One of them stepped closer.

“We can take this outside, if you like,” Chakraborty said, getting to her feet.

The two officers sized her up, then looked to Clarke and Kaminski. “Come on,” the first said, “let’s leave these snitches to themselves. Should be ashamed of yourselves.”

The pub door banged as they departed.

A knot tightened in Clarke’s belly. He hadn’t wanted to say anything to the others — better to let them have a brief sensation of victory — but he’d been around long enough to know that nothing ever went as smoothly as expected.

For all their bluster, Clarke knew they were a long way from finishing anything. They were in a moment of transition, and it could go any number of ways. Not all of them good.

---

And we’re back!

Having a week off was a strange experience. I don’t think I’ve had a gap in Triverse’s weekly releases since it started in 2021, which is slightly mad. It was a good place for a pause, following Holland’s revelations, like taking a breath at the summit of a rollercoaster before the downward plunge.

Of course, it wasn’t entirely a week off. It’s difficult to fully turn off one’s writer brain. Last week I was in Porto, Portugal, and found myself tinkering with the larger Triverse plot on the flight over, then planning out this week’s chapter in-between consuming pastel de nata and exploring the city’s remarkable verticality. Most of today’s chapter was written on the flight back, then finished off once I was back in the UK.

Porto is a stunning place and will no doubt influence some location and atmosphere work in Triverse down the line. Travel is basically ideas fodder. I’m intending to write more about the city next week for a Small Talk newsletter.

I’ve got a couple of author events coming up in May!

On the 18th I’ll be at the magnificent Dragon Hall with the Society of Authors to talk about ‘Building a presence online’. Do come along if you live in the east of England. I’ll be talking about writing a newsletter in particular.

Then, on the 23rd, I’ll be dropping into Halesworth library to talk about No Adults Allowed as part of their series of author talks. That will be a new one for me: every panel, talk or workshop I’ve done has been about writing more generally, rather than me talking about a specific book. In that regard it’s a more ‘typical’ author event, which is going to require me to shift gears a little. Looking forward to it.

Other bits:

• I’ve started reading This is how you lose the time war by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. So far, it’s every bit as good as everyone says. What a fantastically unique voice. I’m jealous.

• BAFTA Game Awards were last night, and had a pretty good line-up of nominees and winners. I’m particularly excited to check out Venba and Viewfinder.

• My chunky collected complete edition of Sex Criminals just arrived. It’s big and, obviously, very pink. I read the first two volumes over a decade ago (probably?) and thought they were brilliant, but for some reason never picked up the rest of the story. Very excited to have it all in a single tome. Plus I now have a massive pink book on the shelf called Sex Criminals, which is going to confuse a lot of visitors.

• Edge magazine has a lovely feature on Citizen Sleeper 2 (I tend to only buy print magazines at airports and train stations, it seems), which reminded me that the lead designer has a newsletter. Do check out

  Jump Over the Age
  , where he’s filling in story gaps between the first and second game.

• Congratulations to

  Neill Cameron 🤖
  on the completion of his epic comic for children and discerning adults/parents, MEGA ROBO BROS. The final issues are yet to be released, but I know the feeling that comes with reaching this point in any project:

  

Seriously, MEGA ROBO BROS¹ is one of the best comics I’ve ever read, regardless of whether you’re reading it with an 8 year old or not. It’s exquisitely drawn and paced, clever and nuanced without being on the nose or obvious, and is one of those things that really challenges and stretches the limits of what young readers can handle, in a very positive way. In that regard it reminds me a bit of when I took my son and his friend, then aged 7, to see Spider-Man: Into The Spiderverse, and I could actually hear the creaking during the movie as their brains expanded. That’s what MEGA ROBO BROS does, in print form.

I’m thinking a lot about endings as well - Triverse’s is a ways off still, but for the first time it is in sight, and coming into sharp focus. Hopefully I can stick the landing as well.

Author notes

There’s always been a kind of tidal aspect to Triverse’s story structure. Sometimes the tide is out and the stories are very standalone, dealing in one-off ideas and character moments. Occasionally, the tide comes in and the main plot kicks in. Most of the time it’s halfway in-between, doing a bit of both.

Right now, the tide is so far in that there’s no beach left. We’re in the end game of the current season. Holland talking to Bakker was a major catalytic event, and the ‘Loyalties’ storyline that started today is where we see the consequences of his decision. It’s a very exciting part of the story to be writing, and hopefully it’ll be just as fun² to read.

The episodic nature of Triverse will always be there, but it’s fair to say that we’re going to be shifting the narrative into perhaps a slightly more traditional novelistic mode as 2024 barrels along. We’re absolutely in the latter third of the overall book now, which means threads will begin to weave together, rather than be pulled apart. Bakker would like it, I reckon.

The opening scene of this chapter put in my mind this fantastic scene from Daredevil:

Feel free to imagine a bit of opera as Ford and Bakker stride into the Joint Council tower to arrest Miller.

There are some other little references in this chapter. The pace of this bit should be familiar to anyone who is joining me on my rewatch of Babylon 5:

They left Miller’s office and walked him through the open plan space shared by diplomats, entrepreneurs, bureaucrats, journalists and Joint Council staff.

Right. This storyline is GOING PLACES, so make sure you’re scanning your inboxes for the next few weeks. Yikes.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

1. Yes, you need to write it in all caps. What?

2. When I say ‘fun’, it could actually be any combination of these reactions: 😲😱🤯😨😃😝🫢😓🫢