When Harry Met Chunglie Box Set

by Jack Q McNeil

  “This is the transporter drone. Even before the car has moved off, the drone has been usurped and is inbound. Notice there are several routes it could take through the city to intercept the car.”

  “It’s taking the shortest route,” I said. “As you’d expect of a drone.”

  “That’s what the investigating officers concluded, but they didn’t ask this question,” Marshal Harry said. She turned to Egg-cruisOVO. “Do you always sit on that side of the car?”

  “Erm, I’m not sure?”

  “Yes, he does,” mapoTHER supplied. “It’s the seat closest to the drinks cabinet. He always pours one before the car moves off.”

  “My wife disapproves of my drinking.”

  “Or I just have more sympathy for your liver.”

  “I’ll have my new one specially reinforced.”

  The drone hauler came through the side of the car, crushing Holo-cruisOVO again.

  “I’m missing your point, Marshal,” LB said. I was glad he said that because I don’t like admitting when I’m not following Harry’s thought process.

  “There were several route choices, but the drone took the shortest route to this side of the car. That means someone knew where he would be sitting. I’m going to work from the theory that the killer knows Mr cruisOVO personally.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Can we get on with this?” mapoTHER asked. “I assume you will want to watch the space yacht crash, too?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Marshal Harry admitted. “If you both are up to it?”

  The interior of the space yacht was the size of a cruise liner. The ceilings were ten metres high and the walls almost reached the horizon. There was a hologram display in the middle of the room, above a table, showing the Goorich Space Race. There was only cruisOVO and mapoTHER in the room. They lay across golden loungers with a low table between them, tossing nibbles to each other. My tummy rumbled.

  “We’re watching a holo-play of a space race,” LB pointed out. “From inside a holo-play. That sort of thing always twists my brain.”

  “That’s saying a lot,” I said, looking round at the historical paintings on the wall. The place was all about cruisOVO’s grandad, his life and achievements. “You’ve got the twistiest brain I’ve ever met.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  My tummy grumbled loudly. “Sorry, haven’t eaten for three days,” I said. “And all this food is reminding me it’s past breakfast.”

  Holo-cruisOVO wore a delicate exosuit. It wrapped his limbs and ribcage in gold wire and I peeked at the back and spotted a small control box feeding into his bloodstream.

  “New limbs?” I guessed.

  “Yes, most of my bones had to be glued back together and two limbs were completely replaced. mapoTHER cooked my tail as a celebratory meal for my getting out of hospital.”

  “Waste not, want not.”

  “Chunglie, please,” Marshal Harry said.

  The ship was covered in gold and platinum. The stuff was plated over carved marble walls and most of the furniture was dripping in cloth of gold, or cloth of spurggle. The designers had been told to make the ship look expensive, and they had.

  “Hang on,” Marshal Harry said. “How come mapoTHER survived the crash undamaged if she was on the ship with you?”

  “That isn’t my organic form,” mapoTHER explained. “I hate being off the ground, so I synced my brain to an android. The android body didn’t survive the crash.”

  I looked the android over. It looked identical to mapoTHER, with the same holo-paint scenes on the belly scales, except it was fifteen centimetres longer from neck to tail.

  The star field between hologram android mapoTHER and real Holo-cruisOVO tilted and shrank as the ship suddenly moved off. The hologram view changed to a view of Smuds’ third moon, Kwams. LB was right; holograms inside holograms were tough on the brain.

  mapoTHER reached over and paused the playback.

  “No, sorry, I thought I could go through with it,” she said. “But I can’t go through this again.”

  She stepped through the holo-wall, arms out. When her fingers touched the office wall, she groped her way along.

  “Just a minute and I’ll turn the playback off,” LB said, picking up the remote.

  “No need,” mapoTHER said. “I’ve found the door.”

  She left, so LB pressed play.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” a voice sobbed. “It has to end.”

  Harry snatched the remote and paused the playback.

  “Who said that?”

  “The ship’s AI,” Egg-cruisOVO said. “Been in the family for generations without a hint of emotional problems then suddenly went off the deep end. My investigators are convinced someone got to it.”

  Harry started the recording again. Android Holo-MapoTHER scooped up cruisOVO and ran towards a lifeboat hatch, threw him inside, and slapped the emergency launch button. We heard explosive bolts fire and the capsule decouple. Seconds later, the hologram blew up around us and turned off.

  LB and the marshal jumped on the spot. Harry’s face was red and she was gasping for air. That’s the problem with holograms; they are so realistic you forget that they are not.

  “Wow, intense,” I said. “You’re lucky you only lost your body in that one.”

  “Yes, the lifeboat survived the crash mostly intact. Unlike the yacht,” Egg-cruisOVO said. “If mapoTHER hadn’t thrown me into it, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Your wife never accompanies you on the space yacht?” Marshal Harry asked.

  “No. Well, she did once, but she took sleeping pills, so she was out for the whole trip. Her nerves really get the better of her once her talons are off the ground.”

  “The report says the ship caught a bad case of despondency and death dived into the moon,” Marshal Harry said. “Despondency isn’t a common occurrence in that class of AIs, though.”

  “No, it isn’t. But as I said before, my investigators are convinced a top-level hacker has been killing me. The yacht was top-of-the-line and had all the security gubbins up to date. I have a man for that.”

  “You have a cyber security staff?” I asked.

  “Yes, doesn’t everyone?” cruisOVO said.

  “The marshal has a man for that, too,” LB leered. Harry turned red. I’m envious of the way humans do that.

  “There are easier things to hack than a luxury space yacht,” Harry said. “You said your grandfather designed the ground car. Did he also design the space yacht?”

  “He designed the interior, yes.”

  “Did he design the restaurant?” I asked, looking at this new connection.

  “No, but he was the founding shareholder in the business,” cruisOVO said. “That’s one of the reasons I regretted being forced to give up the shares.”

  “But your grandad definitely died when the Cranberry Kneecrashed?” I said. “There’s no way he could have survived?”

  “No, no way,” cruisOVO said. I could hear the sadness in the egg’s voice. “They were holding a ball and the whole thing was recorded, when the accident happened. Grandad was on the dance floor flexing his moves, right up till the end.”

  “We’re going to have to talk to anyone who knew you would be aboard the yacht at that time,” she told cruisOVO.

  “Ah, that could be difficult,” cruisOVO answered. “I think I mentioned, every time I get murdered my wife fires our security people and brings in new staff. That’s why I’m down to one Tooyr bodyguard at the moment. But our PA can probably supply you with any contact details we have. You must know that anyone who wanted to could find out where I’d be on that day. The departures board from the space port are common knowledge.”

  “But it must also be someone who knows you,” Harry pointed out. “If you’ve been murdered by some random crazy, which I admit is a possibility, three detective marshals have almost no chance of finding him.”

  “Well, this has been quite emotionally exhausting, so if you wan
t me, I will be holed up in my penthouse at the Dherrydon Lux. You can get me there after my nap.”

  The silver egg rose from the desk and the Tooyr followed him out.

  “There’s a flag in the last report. The yacht crash is being investigated by the Marshal Service already,” Marshal Harry said. “So I’ve messaged the team leader to tell them we’re taking it on, but we’re going to focus on the two murders that happened on our patch.”

  “Who’s the lead?” I asked, because I’ve met a few marshals and don’t get on with all of them.

  “Hullo,” Harry replied. “We’re about to find out. Incoming message.”

  The holoprojector activated and we were looking across a large, wooden desk at a large, wooden-faced Tooyr female. Her antlers were small and she wore an Assistant Chief Marshal badge on a chain around her neck. I assumed she’d had brain augmentation to hold down a job at that level.

  “I am ACM Ooula. I’ve heard of you three. What gives you the right to oversee one of my cases, Marshal Ward?” she demanded. I was right, from the speed of her speech: definitely brain augments. I’ve had those myself. They tickle.

  “I have no intention of overseeing your case, ma’am, which I am sure is entirely by the numbers,” Harry answered, keeping her voice level. “We’ve been asked to investigate his murders by Mr cruisOVO. Two of the murders occurred before the Marshal Service established an investigative branch on this planet, so I thought it prudent to look into the context of the evidence.”

  “What do you mean `by the numbers’? Don’t let these antlers fool you, I had our best people review the cold case files before we started on this latest mu— Hang on. What context?”

  I’d be getting riled by the Tooyr’s tone, but Harry stayed cool.

  “By the numbers meant your people followed the standard procedures, ma’am. By context, I mean that everyone who has reviewed the cases looked at the recordings and read the reports but they have not come down here and visited the sites of the murders, to put the recordings and reports into their proper contexts. For instance, the first private security investigators concluded that the target of the poisoning was random. The servobot placed poison on the meal and anyone at the top table could have received it. Since there have been two more attacks on cruisOVO’s life, we now know that cannot be true. Someone needs to go back to the restaurant and look the place over. If we are going to find something new, it can’t be in the reports. It must come from somewhere el—"

  “I see what you mean,” Ooula interrupted. Apparently, she didn’t just interrupt herself. “I’ll let you run with this for a few days, but I want daily reports. No one makes solo grabs for glory on my team.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She was gone.

  “She’s rather abrupt,” Harry commented mildly.

  “Rude, I call it,” I said.

  “Context,” LB pointed out, “is a word with a broad meaning. Could you explain it to me in a little more detail?”

  “It means we do a lot of walking and talking,” I said glumly. I hate walking and talking.

  “Not tonight, though,” Marshal Harry said. “It’s late, so let’s finish up, get some food, and make an early start.”

  We locked up and scurried round the corner to the Irish Bar. Don’t ask me why, but every city has to have an Irish bar, and the barman is never Irish. It was a mammalian bar, but the chairs were large and adjustable. I spun mine round, unclipped the arms, and clambered onto it. The chair’s back supported me nicely as I leaned over the table ready for scoff. The other denizens were a mix of Tooyr and Moordenaap and some little fellows with big furry tails. I’d met them before but never bothered to find out what they were. The one human in the place had taken a liking to the pizzas.

  “Round of drinks and a menu,” I shouted to Murphy. Murphy had changed his name and painted his antlers green, to show willing. A ten-litre pail of beer, a glass of wine, and a jar of minced, pickled onions were duly delivered to the table. LB knocked back the pail and asked for another.

  “You’re going a bit hard tonight,” I pointed out and dropped half the jar of pickled onions down my gullet. The stuff burned in my crop and began to dance in my brain.

  “I think I’m going to need it,” LB said. “I’ve skimmed through cruisOVO’s business records and his grandfather was an expert in bendy accounting. The company officially do business in three star systems, but I think they actually do business in five. Two parts of the business are hidden in the other three. But I can’t prove it yet.”

  “There’s no hurry to prove business fraud,” Marshal Harry said, sipping her wine. “We just need some motives to work through. Something to point us in the right direction.”

  “Do we have a direction yet?” I asked. I looked over the meat section of the menu. Holograms of goucha legs roasted and dripping in gravy turned on a spit as I moved the page. My mouth watered, but I flipped the page to the vegetarian section.

  “No. We have some leads, but no direction. I’m hoping once we look over the context of those recordings, at the restaurant and haulers compound, we’ll have something. We should talk to the PAs, too, see what they remember.”

  I downloaded their statements from the investigation record and compared them. They all said much the same thing: they were seated next to the table of their bosses; they were familiar with each other and allowed to chat quietly; it was a normal evening until Mr cruisOVO suddenly dropped dead and an ambulance was called.

  “They barely noticed the servobot,” I pointed out. “They barely seem to have noticed anything.”

  “We still need to double check that,” Harry said, leafing through the menu. “And we need to look at this grandfather angle. I should have asked cruisOVO what else of his grandfather’s he has inherited.”

  “Everything he has,” LB said. “The houses on Smuds and four other worlds, and the businesses, came from his grandad. Unusual for a Qoh Mode, where the females are usually the dominant force.”

  Murphy came over and hovered. He was wearing a piece of cloth around his middle. It was an orangey colour called saffron.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It’s called a kilt,” he said. “It’s the latest thing in Irish bar owner fashion.”

  “Doesn’t suit you.”

  “Oh, it does,” Harry said. She only said that because humans have a thing about covering genitalia with cloth. Not just their own, either; they seem to think everyone should keep their genitalia covered.

  “Have you noticed we get much faster service when the marshal is with us?” LB commented.

  “Well,” Murphy said, “you two losers are just deputies, while Marshal Harry is a proper officer of the law.”

  “Is that really it?” LB said. “Or is it because you enjoy feeding up our little human colleague?”

  “I’m not little,” Harry said. “I’m above average height for a human female.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” Murphy harrumphed. “So are you eating or just making cutting remarks?”

  “I’ll have 200 pounds of bubble and squeak and a double one of these,” I pushed my empty glass towards him.

  “We got plenty bubble and squeak, but you’re on singles tonight or go somewhere else.”

  “Are you saying I can’t hold my drink?” I demanded, raising my front half from the chair.

  “No, I’m saying you`re still paying off the furniture from the last time you had doubles, and the management does not want a repeat performance.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” I said. “That Moordenaap called me a bug.”

  “Yes, but you head-butted him through a table, three chairs, and part of that wall,” LB pointed. Unnecessarily, in my view. “I could have talked our way out of that one. I know the Louts family.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “I’ll have the pizza and another glass of wine, please.” Harry handed back the menu while giving me look number three. My kind don’t have expressio
ns, so it took a bit of study to master this form of communication. Expression number three meant, “I’m not going to say anything in front of Murphy, but you will hear about this later.”

  I’d forgotten that the marshal did not know about the head-butting incident.

  “So… getting back to business,” Marshal Harry said once Murphy bustled off. “We have a couple of leads, but we need a solid motive. Why must cruisOVO die now? I want to visit all three security firms and talk to their investigators. Make sure they passed along all their findings. Someone has been persistent in trying to kill… Mr… cruisOVO…”

  Her voice petered out and she stared at the table. Her face made expressions I don’t have numbers for.

  “I hope we get to eat before she leaps up and rushes off,” I said.

  “You think she’s worked it out already?” LB asked. “Because I haven’t got a clue.”

  “We’ll know in a minute,” I said. “She’s coming back.”

  “What was I saying?” Marshal Harry asked.

  “You were pointing out how persistent cruisOVO’s killer has been,” I said. “But if the guy is a contract killer, he might have been paid three times for the same gig. That’s probably good business for a contract killer.”

  “Or the killer knew cruisOVO’s doctors would bring him back from the dead,” Harry said. “Which is what worries me. What if only the space yacht crash was supposed to keep him dead.”

  “How would that benefit the killer, though?” LB asked.

  “I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “But I think it is the key to this mystery.”

  The food arrived. We don’t talk job while we eat. I noticed Harry got an extra-large pizza with lots of toppings. Looked like Murphy was a feeder right enough. A lot of other species think Marshal Harry is small and needing a feed without realising that’s just what a human looks like.

  I raised my glass. “To walking and talking. Let’s hope it gets results.”