by Ed Charlton
JIM ABLE: OFFWORLD
Episode Three
TMV
Ed Charlton
Copyright
© 2017 Ed Charlton
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-935751-37-3
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Published by Scribbulations LLC
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TMV
Previously
Jim Able has traveled to a planet called Turcanis Major V. On TMV-I, the largest moon, he has met Sopha Luca, a member of the Regdenir religious sect and the only inhabitant of the TM system to have traveled offworld. Because of a small lie Jim has told, his investigation almost ended in armed confrontation between two sides of Turcanian society.
Jim has returned to Earth to discover Sopha has illegally purchased a military-grade weapon. Jim has called his Turcanian contact, scientist and TV personality Madhar Nect, to deliver the bad news.
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Chapter One
“Madhar, I’ll leave it to you. Find me who to talk to. It looks like I’m coming back.”
“Okay, Jim. It’ll be good to see you.”
Jim nearly hung up, but he changed his mind.
“Madhar, one more thing, I think...”
“Go ahead.”
“We should perhaps be watching out for Sopha Luca, to see what he does. What state are your astronomers in? I know you have a telescope. Are there many more?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Keeping watch on Mainworld. You’ll be looking for unusual flashes or even persistent beams of light. You may see clouds of smoke or particulates. I guess you should concentrate on the old landing site.”
“They’d need to be sizeable for us to see them.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Bring some better telescopes with you, Jim, as a goodwill gift to the scientists of ‘Turcanis.’”
“Maybe. Are you unhappy with that name?”
“Well, it isn’t our name. It sounds a bit like a colloquial term for one of the bumps on our heads. Given the peculiarities of your anatomy, I suppose it isn’t too bad...to emphasize our distinctiveness.”
Jim looked down his list of questions. “Madhar, one more thing.”
“Another?”
“Small matter. When your guys explored Mainworld and discovered the Maggnir, what did the Regdenir think of that—of the Maggnir?”
“Oh, I’ve no idea, not a clue. You’d need to go back to your Regdenir contacts. All I know is the fuss about landing on Mainworld. Can’t help you. Maybe they worship the Maggnir too; I wouldn’t know.”
“Okay. Thanks for all your help.”
“How can I use this link of yours? Can I call you?”
“No. It’s set up just for me at the moment. I’ll call again when I’m on my way. You can definitely get government help?”
“I’ll try.”
“Madhar, you’re a true friend.”
“As you are, Jim Able.”
***
Jim wrote a supplement to his report recommending Sopha Luca be allowed to use the laser cannon for his religious purposes. After that, Jim reasoned, the Turcanian might be in a mood to talk about returning the weapon. He wanted to have something in the report that gave the impression he knew what he was doing. He saw no need to mention Madhar’s fears.
He decided not to send the report electronically. He printed a paper copy and went to see his boss.
She was in a meeting with someone Jim did not recognize. In fact, the visitor was a species he did not recognize. The plain fact of an alien visiting the OEA was strange enough. That Liz should be hosting one was astonishing.
“Jim!” she called from inside her office. “Come in.”
He walked into the office and caught the eye of the alien. Its head bowed slightly in greeting, but it said nothing.
“Good morning,” said Jim politely. He had intended to place the report firmly on her desk, but she stood and took it from him before he could get the chance.
“Please take a seat.”
He was taken off guard. Not knowing what was happening was common enough out on an assignment; it was disorientating for it to happen in the office.
While she read his report, he took a long sideways look at the alien in the chair next to him. It was a slender primate about seven feet tall, wearing a single plain, seamless piece of clothing with a half-hood covering the back of its head. Black leather boots showed below; they seemed somehow wider than a human would need.
The alien’s skin caught Jim’s attention more than its clothing; he couldn’t work out the color. Where an arm rested on the wooden part of the chair, the skin seemed to be light brown and wrinkled, but its face was smooth and white like its robe. As the alien lifted an arm to stroke the back of its head, the arm immediately lost its brown color, the wrinkles becoming smooth and pale. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw the color and texture change back as the arm made contact once more with the wood of the chair.
A chameleon? he wondered. He had never heard of an intelligent species with that ability.
The alien’s face was also unexpected. It was smooth-skinned with a small nose. The eyes were small and seemed flush with the brow and cheeks. It was an impassive, unrevealing face.
Liz looked up from the report. “I think your recommendation is dangerous in the extreme.” To his surprise, she handed the report to the alien. “This is Tella, from the External Intelligence Agency. The information on the Turcanian’s recent acquisitions came from Tella’s work.”
Jim was learning a great deal this morning. The EIA employed non-humans! This was the sort of thing that brought down governments. He knew that a band of EIA operatives had only code names on their correspondence. Their identity was always supposed to be closely guarded. Now he knew why. But why was he being introduced to one?
He turned to the alien and held out his hand, saying, “Pleased to meet you, Tella.” Tella took his hand, and Jim saw the alien’s skin blush pink in a reflection of Jim’s own.
“Jim. I have read your reports on Turcanis Major.”
The alien’s voice was modulated such that Jim got no clue as to its sex. The noncommittal greeting gave him no clue as to whether Tella was friend or foe. Liz smiled at Jim, an enigmatic smile that further unsettled him.
“Tella has been given the task of retrieving the stolen hardware. You will provide all necessary assistance.”
“You know,” Jim said to both Tella and Liz, “that the Turcanian thinks he is the legitimate owner now? He believes he bought the stuff fair and square.”
“I doubt that,” said Liz. “I think he will know very well the merchandise was hot. He didn’t get it from a store.”
“I know, but...,” Jim responded.
Tella interrupted. “I know how the sale was made. It was a secret rendezvous. It was a secret exchange. It had been arranged at a private meeting. Is this how business is performed on Turcanis Major Five-One?”
“Who knows? Sometimes it may be. If the seller didn’t tell Sopha that the stuff was stolen, I don’t imagine he would think to ask.”
“Would he have cared?” asked Liz.
Jim hesitated. “No. I don’t think anything would stop him. He is a...dedicated individual.”
“An obsessive nutcase,” Liz suggested.
“You might think so,” Jim said, a little more harshly than he meant.
Tella’s head turned from one to the other in the silence that followed, the impassive pale face graying slightly.
Liz stood up. “Consider yourself part of Tella’s team. Bring back the hardware.”
The meeting was over.
As they stood outside, Jim looked up at Tella. “What’s the plan, boss?”
Tella smiled, the thin pale lips barely distinguishable. “Plan?”
“Yes, what do we do first?”
“Ah, first we eat lunch. Then tonight we meet and get drunk. Tomorrow we take our hangovers to Turcanis Major Five-One. Will that suffice?”
Jim laughed out loud. “Oh my! You read my thoughts.”
It was at lunch that Jim learned the basic facts about Tella. The inhabitants of Tella’s homeworld referred to it as Neraff. The chameleon characteristics marked Tella as a part of a persecuted subspecies. The majority on Neraff were physically similar but remained almost colorless. Tella had been working for the EIA for three years, after an indeterminate period spent hitchhiking through space.
Near the end of the meal in the OEA canteen, Jim finally got around to the question foremost on his mind.
“Tella, excuse me, but are you male or female?”
Tella’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a question you may ask without giving offense.”
“Oh...sorry. But how do I introduce you? Do I say ‘This is Tella, he’s from Neraff’ or ‘she’s from Neraff’?”
“No. You may say ‘This is Tella, from Neraff.’ Nothing more is required.”
“Well, I may get that wrong sometimes. Don’t be upset; it’s not something I’m used to.”
“I understand. In our first years of contact with other races, that matter was one that caused much misunderstanding. I am familiar with the problems that other races have in thinking in different terms.”
Jim was not sure if this partnership was going to work. As he prepared for the evening, he kept wondering if he was going out on a date.
Alcohol seemed to affect the Neraffan the same way it did Jim. Tella could match him drink for drink, stupid bar game for stupid bar game. They spent long periods of the evening exaggerating tales of appalling alien food and its disastrous effects on their digestive systems. All evening Jim saw that whatever came close to, or in contact with, the alien’s skin had its color reflected back in a delicate dance. At one point, demonstrating the active nature of its skin’s ability, Tella held up a tall amber beer, and its hand glowed with a similar hue. To Jim’s amusement, small pale dots ran up the hand, paralleling the bubbles rising in the glass.
Jim never could remember the end of the evening. The journey to the spaceport the next morning was long, loud, and painful.
Tella met him at the terminal and took him through an unmarked door, where a security team was waiting.
“Welcome to the world of the EIA, Jim,” said Tella. They were ushered through various scanners and into the secure terminal.
“Aren’t we renting a commercial flier?”
“I’m not allowed to travel in commercial vehicles. I can only use agency fliers.”
“Oh. It avoids questions, I suppose.”
“It allows me to be insured. Earth-owned companies still discriminate against aliens. The courts may soon intervene, but until then, I am restricted in many things.”
“I didn’t realize.”
They were led to a departure gate. As Jim saw the agency flier through the window, his mind immediately turned to his business interests on TMV-I.
“The toy makers are going to love this!”
“Would you repeat that?” asked Tella.
“Oh...nothing. I’ll explain later.”
The flier was from the same exclusive ship maker as Sopha’s. It had several suspicious bulges—perhaps covering scanners, perhaps concealing weapons.
Tella watched as Jim admired the machine. “It is a PR555 stealth flier. It has full covert-operation capabilities. It is also very fast.” The Neraffan smiled. “Will it do?”
“Oh yes, this will do. Can you fly it?”
“Maybe.”
Jim smiled in return. He had no doubt that his new friend was quite able to handle such a machine.
***
Jim and Tella did not go directly to Turcanis Major. Tella insisted that they go first to the Horsehead Nebula. Jim’s protests that they were wasting two days of travel in each direction held no sway.
Jim had never been to the Horsehead Nebula, but he had heard bad things about it. A large trading post had grown up around the Hawkins Array. No one had planned it, and the authorities had apathetically watched it happen. Businesses would open up by docking alongside existing structures and negotiating passage through each other’s modules for customers and stock. It had become a labyrinth of odd-sized compartments and walkways. Older businesses became frozen in place by the concessions and contracts as unchangeable as the positions of docking clamps and open airlocks. Various sections had become derelict—dark holes kept serviceable by neighbors motivated solely by the fear of atmospheric leaks. As with any community, the bigger it got, the more people came. With people came the need for a large police unit. If he hadn’t had to, Jim would have gone nowhere near it.
Tella arranged with the patrol commandant for Jim to interview the rogue police officer who had sold the stolen equipment to Sopha Luca.
“I will be there to observe him. You know the questions to ask because you know Sopha. I know what to look for because I know criminals.”
Jim didn’t think it necessary but said, “Whatever you say, Tella. We can give it a try.”
Tella docked the flier at one of the police unit’s own bays. These were secure from the rest of the station and had been constructed to be out of the line of sight of any windows.
Patrol Commandant Ngell Amarno seemed excited to see Tella again. Jim was introduced but, he felt, otherwise ignored.
“I’m cut up about Arranda Pilo. I liked him,” Amarno began. “He had a great rapport with the traders. He had their confidence. His work made my life a whole lot easier. He had a damn good future. But he went native. It’s always a risk. He’ll be going to Earth at the end of the month. I’ve told them I can’t accommodate him any longer than that. I think they would rather not bother. Anything special you need?”
Tella shook its head slowly. “The usual—no one is to mention me, and I get into the room well ahead of Pilo.”
“I don’t understand...,” began Jim, but Tella interrupted.
“You will. Just pretend that you are interviewing Pilo as part of your investigation of the Turcanian. That’s all.”
Jim frowned but said, “Okay.”
He waited in Amarno’s office while Tella was shown to the interview room. The desk was neat and the office tidy. Jim appreciated the skill it must take to keep order in such a chaotic environment.
“Okay, Mr. Able, we’re ready for you,” said the commandant as he held open the door. “Please follow me.”
Jim followed him down a corridor and then down a narrow ladder into what must have been an added external module. The temperature had dropped, and the light was poor. Jim felt like he was suddenly aboard a submarine.
Amarno opened the door of the interview room and stood back. A single light shone on the prisoner seated at a small table. There was no sign of Tella.
“You are former police officer Arranda Pilo?” Jim began.
“You know it,” he said without looking at Jim.
“I am James Able of the Office of External Affairs. I would like you to go over the circumstances of the trade with the Turcanian.”
“Who?”
Jim opened his folder on the table and turned around a picture of Sopha Luca.<
br />
“The Turcanian.”
Pilo snorted and looked at the floor. “It’s already been written up. You don’t need any more.”
“I do. I need to know about this guy. I’d like to stop him before he injures himself or someone else with his purchase.”
Pilo looked up at Jim briefly before silently returning his gaze to the floor.
“Why did he want it?” asked Jim.
“He didn’t say.”
“Did he have a shopping list, or did you give him a catalog to browse through?”
Pilo did not answer.
“Let’s try it this way,” said Jim, sighing. “He’s nosing about looking for a trader called Melha Melha. You hear he’s in the market for some stuff. What was the very first thing he asked for? How did he describe it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try. It could help.”
“Help you or me?”
“I can’t stop your being sent back to Earth, but I can recommend reasonable treatment. I’m with the OEA, not the magistrates.”
Pilo crossed his arms and half-turned away from Jim. “I don’t remember.”
“Did he say he wanted something to melt metal?”
Pilo frowned and said, “No.”
Jim heard the implied Don’t be ridiculous.
“So what was it?”
“I told you; I don’t remember.”
“Did he say he was looking for military hardware?”
“No.”
“Come on, Arranda. How did he express it to you?”
“What do you care?” snapped the ex-officer.
“It matters. Lives could be at stake.”
“So?”
Jim sighed. He hated this stuff. Guys who were already convicted lost all perspective. Their lives disintegrated into black-and-white issues of survival. He felt this wasn’t going to be productive. He waited for a long while and started to doodle on his notepad.
He was thinking of Sopha’s ambition. He drew a circle with a small “x” in it, then another circle with another “x”—one for Mainworld and one for its largest moon. He drew a thin line from one to the other.
“So what did he ask you? How did he describe what he wanted?” he asked without looking at Pilo.