Longshot Hypothesis

by Blaze Ward

  “I’m not sure you could get in,” Valentinian replied. “And I warned the port police that there might be an attempt at sabotage. Even corrupt bastards like those don’t want a reputation for letting bad shit happen on their watch.”

  “Sabotage?” Dave’s eyes got big.

  “Our buddy Nash might stick to juvenile delinquency,” Valentinian grinned. “And he might not. If I thought he would actually try something here, one of us would be hiding nearby with a pain rifle.”

  “Ouch,” Dave shrugged and turned back to match Valentinian’s pace. “What about the bar? Anything likely to happen there?”

  “Doubt it,” Valentinian said. “Too many witnesses in a public place. Plus too much they won’t know about either of us. If I were him, I’d hire someone we don’t know to keep watch on us and find a spot they might ambush us later. That’s sort of thing I’m still expecting. Tartarus is that kind of planet. That’s why I’m walking around with the strap off my holster and the safety off.”

  “You don’t fool around, do you?”

  “I don’t like bullies, Dave,” Valentinian groused. “People with power abusing it on people that can’t stop them. That’s probably my one and only button. If the rules were evenly applied, I’d either be an Armada officer right now, or those other three bastards would have gone down with me. If Nash wants to play rough, I’ll teach him a few things even you probably don’t even know.”

  “I’ve seen some jagged and ugly things, Vee,” Dave replied. “Done some, too.”

  “Probably,” Valentinian felt his stride stretching as his anger worked its way into his legs. “But did you ever get vindictively crude on someone, after you had knocked them down, just to win the next fight?”

  “The next fight?” Dave asked as he kept up.

  “Curb stomp someone after you’ve beaten them, Dave,” Valentinian felt his mind go back to that place. “Not just break an arm or a leg, but kill them, so that you get a reputation for savagery so out of size with your normal character that nobody messes with you after that?”

  “No,” Dave was quiet. “In the arena, there are iron rules for behavior. On the battlefield, it is always about efficiency. Put your target down with shots to center mass and move on as soon as they stop being an active threat.”

  “Exactly my point,” Valentinian said. “Nash doesn’t know me, most likely, or discounts what others might have seen or said. If he shows up, it will be necessary to educate the man.”

  Valentinian noted the scowl on Dave’s face, but he fell silent.

  Those were ugly memories. Valentinian was a little taller than average for a guy. Lanky and good looking in the way that women liked. But he wasn’t a fighter like Dave. He’d rather fast talk his way out of trouble than shoot, given the option.

  Sometimes that wasn’t an option.

  And having Dave handy had been sheerest luck.

  He hadn’t expected to see Nash on Aestrolathia. That place was too polite and well-mannered for the most part.

  Tartarus was the sort of place that spawned people like Nash.

  Somehow, he knew he’d see that bastard eventually.

  19

  Lianearia

  Tartarus was always one of her favorite places to bring Solaria Femina. Lianearia could always count on sold-out shows and a surge in record sales when they came here. Didn’t matter if they stayed just in Tartarus City for a full week, the girls wouldn’t wear out their welcome.

  And then, depending, maybe a quick tour of some of the secondary cities. Or perhaps a chat with some of her old contacts about playing special shows directly at some of the bigger factories. Always a good way to provide the bosses a good tax break for hosting “team-building entertainment” while still charging employees a good fee.

  Everybody came out ahead.

  And so far, no hints, not even a whisper, that suggested Nash was anywhere on the planet. Hopefully, that sorry son of a bitch had finally pushed his luck one iota too far. Or crossed the wrong people when his pockets were empty.

  She would enjoy a future without having to look over her shoulder for that bastard.

  As the bus pulled to the rear of the theater, Lianearia was out first and carefully counting noses as everyone followed. For this first performance, she had brought everyone from the hotel, rather than just the field team. Best to keep it organized. They could always loosen things up tomorrow night.

  The air was heavy tonight. About normal for fall on Tartarus, this far south, inland just far enough that the ocean breezes had a hard time pushing the exhaust from smoke stacks over the nearby mountain range.

  The forecast was heavier weather tomorrow night, but that was the weekend, so the crowds would still be heavy, but tonight might be like a Friday night, if people decided to get out tonight, and stay in tomorrow.

  Either way, the take on the front door should be a lovely event. Especially if she didn’t have Nash slipping his greedy fingers in and perhaps letting some of it vanish by the time it got to her.

  The rear door was open as the girls all filed inside, with her at the end of the column. Kostantina and Fahrettin had them lined up when she caught up.

  “Darling, so good to see you,” the manager greeted her with air kisses on both sides.

  Tahllin had owned this place for decades, a fixture on the entertainment circuit, a beaming little gnome of a man, completely bald and utterly irrepressible. But entirely homosexual, and not the least bit of a threat to anyone, except perhaps Fahrettin.

  As if anyone might be a danger to top her Songmaster, perhaps the greatest threat to decorum that Lianearia knew.

  “Any surprises?” Lianearia asked breezily, hoping deep inside that nothing had changed except the fashion horses working the front of the stage.

  “Nothing is allowed to be a surprise, at my age,” Tahllin beamed at her. “Not even this year’s crop of pretty boys.”

  “As it should be, Tahllin,” Lianearia kissed the man again, right atop his bald pate.

  She turned by stepping to the gnome’s side and surveyed her corps of troops in two lines, drawn up with the sort of military precision that Kostantina brought to the table.

  She clapped twice, just for effect, as everyone was already paying attention.

  “To your rooms for makeup and costuming,” she ordered peremptorily.

  The group even pivoted and walked in harmonious unity as she watched, alert to every detail.

  “And now?” Tahllin asked as they were suddenly alone.

  “A glass of wine for me and an hour for them to begin to get organized,” Lianearia replied. “My new transport captain and his first mate will probably join us after that, and then the show is still expected in ninety minutes?”

  “Anybody but you, my dear, and I would expect them to eventually saunter out sulkily in perhaps two hours,” Tahllin’s smile broadened. “Hopefully the locals remember to be prompt.”

  “Indeed,” Lianearia smiled. “I have two new songs that will be debuted tonight, at the top of each set. Never before heard in public. Brand new choreography. Everything. Just for you, Tahllin.”

  “Oh, how you do spoil me,” he said. “The bartenders know you, so I will leave you to your adventures. Try not to seduce too many of them away from me. I’ve only just now gotten them broken in to my tastes and if you spoil them, I will never forgive you.”

  He departed and left her alone in the back area that combined a warehouse feel with a loading dock. Through the walls to the front, she could hear the thumping beat of the latest dance tunes that were just now starting to peak on Tartarus, running, as usual, somewhere around eight weeks behind the capital.

  But there was no accounting for taste. And even warpships required some element of lag to get from here to there, so the tastemakers of Cronus Prime would always be out at the forefront, if for no other reason than they could.

  What was the use in being the center of the universe, if you didn’t make everyone else adapt their music and fashio
ns to you?

  Lianearia smiled secretly to herself as she emerged from the door with “Staff Only” on the other side.

  Out here, the noise was a solid thing. Dense enough, with the artificial smoke, to be almost painful. It certainly accentuated the feel of the dirty air outside, even though she knew just how hard the blowers on the roof were working to filter the air.

  She approached the bar with the judicious use of hips and elbows, probably leaving a few of these pretty children with bruises they would see for a week.

  That’s what you get for being my way, youngsters. Toughen up if you want to play in the big leagues.

  About half of the bartenders were new from when she’d been here last year. And Tahllin had obviously briefed the old-timers that she would be coming. It took a look and a quick gesture for one of them to hand her a glass of the good wine, the stuff that came from the bottom shelf under the bar, rather than the refilled bottles on the backbar.

  Good, red wine. Made from real grapes, rather than grape juice and industrial alcohol.

  She swirled it in her glass as she surveyed the room. Already halfway full, and they still had more than an hour until showtime. With more people lined up at the door for the bouncers to admit.

  It would be good.

  Would have been good.

  A woman emerged from the crowd with that look in her eyes. The kind that had a purpose in approaching, rather than a fan looking for an introduction or an autograph.

  She looked to be in her mid-twenties, so more than a decade younger then Lianearia, but there was a hard edge to the girl that most women don’t learn until they’re looking backwards at thirty, itself rapidly receding in the mirror.

  While this stranger was dress casually, Lianearia wasn’t in the least bit fooled. She wore it wrong, and Lianearia was an expert on how to use fashion as a weapon.

  Beige slacks a little too baggy to show off obviously strong thighs and hips. A tucked-in shirt in a cotton probably chosen more for comfort than fit, as the girl didn’t have the beginnings of a spare tire that many developed when their metabolism slowed faster than their habits.

  You can never outrun the fork in your hand.

  Black jacket that was the opposite of every other woman in the room, as it aimed for quiet and obscure, when the children in here were trying to impress men and find themselves a Prince Charming to take them away from the drudgery of line work in a factory.

  It almost made the girl look like a cop. Except her brown hair was pulled up and to one side in a bun that looked like it wanted to be under a hat.

  “Lianearia Cleray?” the stranger asked in a voice that sounded forced, as if being polite wasn’t her default position.

  “That’s right,” Lianearia replied, sipping at her wine and trying to determine why a cop would be working the inside of Tahllin’s club. They knew better than that. The man paid off the right people not to have his guests accosted. The bouncers would simply toss you outside in handcuffs for the gendarmes outside to arrest, if you got out of hand.

  And they would get their handcuffs back afterwards. Of course, bright pink shimmering manacles, emblazoned with TAHLLIN’S in gold could only be found in one place.

  You could even get your own pair in the gift shop, if you were into that sort of thing.

  The woman reached inside her jacket and pulled out a card-reader that she held close to her stomach as she opened. She displayed a badge that made Lianearia’s blood go cold.

  “Dominion Security,” the woman said simply. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is there someplace private we can talk?”

  That explained the hair, if nothing else. She was used to wearing it under a beret.

  White Hats.

  What the hell had Nash done now?

  Or worse, Tarasicodissa?

  20

  Kyriaki

  When in doubt, spook your target. It was a lesson Kyriaki had learned early. Frightened people make mistakes, which you can use against them later.

  Cleray hadn’t remembered her face, but Kyriaki wasn’t surprised. It had been a simple-enough customs inspection, back on Dominion Prime.

  Nobody outside the Household had even known that the Dominator was dead at that point. She had been professional, and mostly focused on Captain Tarasicodissa anyway. Lianearia Cleray had been almost an afterthought.

  She followed the woman back through a door marked “Staff Only” into a quieter part of the building, and then into an empty office. Cleray sat behind the desk, like perhaps it was her office, but Kyriaki wasn’t in the mood to cede a centimeter to the woman. Instead, she kipped a hip up onto the side of the desk and rested her weight as she closed the door to give them whatever semblance of privacy they might have.

  It had the extra advantage of letting her look down on the taller woman. Cleray hadn’t been expecting that, from the ugly glare in her eyes.

  “What can I help the White Hats with?” Cleray scowled. “I am a law-abiding citizen in good standing.”

  Like that would help, if I really wanted to grief you, lady.

  But Kyriaki didn’t say that out loud. It was even the honest truth. Nothing had come up, regardless of the amount of digging Kyriaki had done. Nor the direction.

  Only her various accomplices had ever been wanted or arrested.

  So far.

  “We’re investigating Captain Tarasicodissa,” Kyriaki said simply. “As you are currently chartering his vessel, I wanted to know if you had seen or heard anything of interest to Dominion Security. Yours was one of the last vessels to depart from Dominion Prime before the news came out that the Dominator had been assassinated.”

  “And you think Tarasicodissa had something to do with it?” Cleray let her amusement show.

  Or she was a good actress, as well as a dancer, songwriter, and businesswoman.

  “We’re following up on a number of possible threads,” Kyriaki let her voice trail off, like this was just the first and least interesting thing about the investigation, instead of the entirety of it, as far as her bosses were probably concerned.

  She could always bring in help, if she felt the situation warranted it. And would immediately lose control, but would hopefully get a gold star next to her name, if something did come out of it later.

  “Well, at present, the man has hauled my troupe from Dominion Prime to Aestrolathia to here,” Cleray scoffed. “And in that time, neither him nor his first mate have even made a pass at myself or one of my girls. If he’s smuggling anything, you should take it up with the customs inspectors who had failed at their job, because all of the gear in that cargo bay belongs to me, except for one junk box in a corner where they throw broken pieces they haven’t gotten around to fixing.”

  “I see,” Kyriaki supposed she did.

  The man’s swindles weren’t likely to be as brazen as Cleray’s former partner. And Kyriaki herself had signed off on the customs inspection at Dominion Prime, but that had been barely more than a walking tour of the ship.

  By now, it would be too late to find anyone that Tarasicodissa might have smuggled out in a hidden compartment. The best she could do would be to have the ship impounded and then bring in a team of experts to gut it, looking. But she didn’t have enough of anything at this point to get a judge to sign that kind of warrant.

  And Cleray probably knew that. The woman’s contracts on file on Dominion Prime showed a much higher level of legal expertise than most former dancers should have had.

  “What I would prefer at this point is that you keep your eyes open,” Kyriaki said. “Without mentioning me to Tarasicodissa or anyone else, lest you become an accomplice and we have to bring you in to sweat you.”

  That registered a hit.

  Nobody wants to be arrested by the White Hats. It was a useful psychological edge.

  “Well, if you wish to talk to the man, he is supposed to be here tonight,” Cleray tried to sound tough, but her eyes showed the slightest trace of fear now. “Will that be all?”


  “It will,” Kyriaki smiled. “We prefer the willing assistance of Dominion citizens in our investigations.”

  She pulled a card from her inside pocket, just touching her pistol with her knuckles as a kind of good luck totem as she did.

  “This has my local contact information, should you need to reach me,” Kyriaki said.

  “Kyriaki Apokapes?” Cleray confirmed.

  “That’s right, Madame Cleray,” Kyriaki let her smile turn a little more hostile. “I’m staying here in Tartarus City for now.”

  Kyriaki rose and opened the door, making her way out of the back of the club and to the front. She would take up a quiet corner, away from the dancers competing for attention down front, and see what came up.

  21

  Nash

  Tahllin’s hadn’t changed one bit. Nash didn’t recognize the three bouncers protecting the front door, but that was nothing new. Those boys came and went with regularity. None of them would know him, either.

  Once inside, Nash made his way carefully, watching the crowd slowly growing. The mob was large enough already to give him anonymity. And Tahllin had called to let him know that Lianearia had arrived. She would be in back initially, supervising things, until she came up front for the one glass of wine she allowed herself at the beginning of the evening.

  There.

  He watched her emerge from the back. Make her way to the bar, still as beautiful and dominant as she had been since she stopped singing at the front of the group. Nash had watched old videos from the early days. It was amazing what she had accomplished with his help.

  Now she just needed to recognize that she would be nothing without him. However that had to happen.

  He considered confronting her now, but the timing wasn’t right. His hired hands wouldn’t be ready, so he hovered near a pillar and watched, obscured by shadows, lights, and bodies.

  It gave him a thrill, to consider her begging him to come back into her life. Giving him a permanent slice of the pie, so he could work on making things really big, and not just playing second-rate planets all over the Dominion.