by T S Hottle
Inside, he found a very wounded Luxhomme lying on his couch, bloody and curled in the fetal position. Before Best could approach him, a deep, synthesized voice said, “Freeze. Officers are en route.”
Best stood, put up his hands, and said, “This man needs medical attention.”
The police drone scanned Best and said, “Best, Douglas, Citizen of Jefivah, you are under arrest for escaping lawful custody. An officer will take you to the nearest police facility for processing.”
He looked down at Luxhomme, who, despite obvious pain, smiled at him. “Well, hello, Dougie. How are things on Marilyn?”
Best looked up at the drone. “Do I have an assault charge listed along with the charges from Jefivah?”
“Negative,” said the drone. “All charges against you are off-world pending extradition.”
“You might want to add assault.”
“Why do you say that, Citizen?”
“Because…”
He punched Luxhomme in the mouth.
* **
For the second time in a week, Best found himself sitting in a jail cell. This time, a pair of women from Metisian Homeworld Security questioned him. Jail was bad enough. The officers’ lilting accents alone set him on edge. But the voice of one of the officers, becoming shrill when she lost her temper, set his teeth to grinding.
“So you be slippin’ your leash, Mister Best? Is that what you’re sayin’? Hmm?” The dark-skinned woman interrogating him had given her name simply as Andra. When Best mentioned his role as Jefivah’s Minister of Agriculture, it only served to set her off even more. “According to our information, ye’re supposed to be in the custody of a man who answers to the title ‘Grand Dimaj.’ Where is this Grand Dimaj? Hmm?”
“The Caliphate,” said Best, who found the sterile white interrogation room stifling. The bright overhead lights didn’t help, either. He suspected they contributed to Andra’s foul mood. But not as much as they did his headache. “When I left him, he was performing a religious rite.” By screwing a human sex doll who resembles his goddess, he added silently.
“And you don’t respect a man’s right to his own faith? Hmm?”
“Andra,” said the other woman, who had introduced herself as Agent Jovann. “Allow me.”
“Athena, I don’t think…”
Jovann put a hand on Andra’s shoulder. “Give me a minute. Okay? I don’t think you’re getting anywhere badgering Mr. Best. He’s not even our suspect.”
“He’s someone’s suspect,” she said and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Jovann looked severe in her tight black suit, her gray-tinged hair kept so short as to almost be mannish. Best could see, however, the hair had been tinted gray intentionally. Her skin looked too smooth to have been through more than one rejuvenation treatment, if any. Actually, he didn’t know if Metisians even indulged in rejuve.
She sat down on the table near Best, draping a leg over it. Had she worn a skirt, Best might have found himself staring at the leg. But Jovann wore a black pantsuit instead. It made Best feel like a schoolboy who’d been caught pumping cartoons onto the desks of his classmates.
“Andra has a problem with authority. Especially when it’s been abused.” Her accent, though similar to Andra’s, was more monotone. Best had heard Luxhomme speak that way sometimes, which only confirmed his suspicion that Luxhomme’s Etruscan residency was a sham.
“I haven’t abused my authority,” said Best.
Jovann looked down at her right palm, which told Best she was a lefty. “Really? Says here you were suspended after allowing seven weapons of mass destruction to disappear from naval custody and charged with negligence. It also says you were in the custody of a ‘Grand Dimaj,’ whatever that is, and that you failed to present your credentials, suspended as they are, to the governments of either The Caliphate or Metis. And the Compact Home Office here has no record of your promised visit. You might have shown up here legally as a Citizen, Mr. Best.”
“Why do you think I’m here, Agent Jovann?” said Best.
Jovann fingered the nanotat on her palm. Behind her, a square appeared on the wall that displayed a photo of Luxhomme. “You are looking for this man, whom we know as Marcus Leitman. That’s his birth name, or at least we think it is.”
“You don’t know? He was born here.”
Jovann smiled coldly. “He says he was born here. Humanity is so fragmented that someone can be born on a world and there be no record of it. Families leave for other worlds. Some even leave the Compact. For all we know, he could have lived among the Zaras in the trees, and we’d have no way of knowing.”
“And what did that… that…”
“The gray woman? What did she want? She likely wanted to kill Leitman. Or Luxhomme. Or whatever he called himself to her. She did beat the hell out of him.”
“Why?”
“I can’t say much about it but the woman was enslaved on her homeworld. Apparently, her master sent her to Metis knowing that, once a person sets foot on a Compact world, human or alien, they are freed. Seems her people recognize that as liberation under their laws. From what we could gather, Leitman failed to mention the transfer of ownership, and she didn't take the omission well”
“What will happen to him?”
“Nothing. He broke no laws. He made no claim on her to our government or any other human authority. As far as those on Metis are concerned, he’s done nothing wrong. Nothing we can prove, anyway. He did, however, book passage on the next liner to Jefivah.” She looked down at the ornate watch on her left wrist. “Which departed forty-five minutes ago. They should be at a hypergate by now.”
Lovely. Luxhomme or Leitman or whatever his name was had fled to Best’s homeworld while Best himself sat in this cramped little room being interrogated.
“And what becomes of me?” he asked.
“That’s up to your government,” said Jovann. She stood up and looked down at Best with arms folded. “I do know your First Minister is rather upset with you for leaving The Caliphate without the Grand Dimaj. Apparently, the Marilynists have been rioting since you disappeared.”
* **
Upon his return to Jefivah, Best found out just how upset the First Minister was during a five minute meeting. He returned shortly thereafter to clean out his desk.
“They fired you?”
Best’s assistant Alyssa, a dark-skinned woman from one of the more traditionalist districts of Jefivah, stood in the doorway, her hand up to her mouth.
“I resigned,” said Best as he packed up his desk. “I cited personal matters and gave up my seat in the House.” He smiled. “At least I get to keep my pension and don’t have to move until my seat comes up for election again.”
“But why?”
Best let out his breath in one big huff, his shoulders sagging as he did so. “The First Minister wanted to sack me, but it wouldn’t do to have a disgruntled ex-minister in the House where he can make trouble for her government. Besides, you’ve seen the talking heads on the local news feeds. They call me the ‘senior delegate for the Marilynists’ now.”
“That’s not fair, Doug. You’ve worked hard for this government.”
“And for what? We’re still the laughingstock of the Compact.”
“We have three colonies now, thanks to you.”
“Only one of which lost a cache of weapons we were supposed to turn over to the Compact. We’re lucky they didn’t shut Marilyn down.” He managed a weak grin. “The First Minister did offer me governorship of Marilyn after the next election.”
Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “Will you take it?”
“Have you been to Marilyn?”
She hadn’t, but Best had complained about its desert climate enough that she understood. “Point taken.”
“I have an interview with Ron Paul University in a week,” said Best. “A teaching position. Interstellar politics.”
Alyssa feigned a shiver. “That’s on Belsham, isn’t it?”
; “Yes. Why?”
“Libertarian world. I’d be afraid to eat any meat there.”
“You’re a vegetarian.”
“It’s always nice to have the option.” Her left hand twitched. She looked at her palm, her eyes widening as they scanned the message. “Well, you may not get the government dispatches anymore, but I do.”
“What is it?”
“They found the Etrusca Explorer.”
* **
A large Wilson-class cruiser, the Dag Hammerskjold, towed the much smaller Etrusca Explorer through its own projected wormhole. The bulk of two ships would never have made it through a hypergate, especially any of Jefivah’s outmoded ones. Best watched from the orbital port center as the Hammerskjold, glittering with lights from within and bristling with weapons, pulled the darkened freighter behind it, a large gash in its hull.
“We found it orbiting a planet on the Yedevan fringe,” said Major Liu, back and still clad in his black suit. He sounded just as warm and personable as he had the first time Best met him. “We still don’t understand. They were supposed to head straight to Tian, then the yards above Zeus once the Navy cleared them.”
“What do we know about the Yedevans?” asked Best.
“Nothing,” said Liu, “except they don’t tolerate trespassers. And we only know that from the Laputans.”
Another officer, this one in the dress uniform of a Navy captain, stood to Best’s left, watching the two ships approach. Outside, two small tugs pushed up against the Etrusca Explorer. The Hammerskjold released the Explorer from its tow beam and shifted away from the port center, moving out of sight. Even with the tugs pushing it into position to dock, the freighter appeared dead.
“What happened to the crew?” asked Best. “Never mind the cargo. Where’s the crew?”
The captain, an odd whimsical look on his face, made a slurping sound.
Best started to reply when the glare on Major Liu’s face stopped him.
“Really, Captain, is that necessary?”
The captain shrugged. “Do we actually know anything about the Yedevans? The only time the Laputans talked about them was during the war, and then only the prisoners would talk about them. Now, they pretend the Yedevans don’t exist. We don’t even know if they’re primates.”
“Most of the intelligent alien species we interact with are primates,” said Best. “Even the reptiles look like us. Sort of.”
“True, but no one’s seen a Yedevan, have they?” The captain pointed to the crippled freighter outside. “When we or the Zaras or the Laputans come across a primate intelligence, we all basically see strange-looking people who talk funny.”
“Except the Grays,” said Liu. It was the closest Best had ever seen him come to cracking a smile.
“The Grays are freaks by anyone’s standards,” said the captain. “But if the Yedevans aren’t primates, they might not see the crew as people.”
“What would they be then?” asked Best.
“Protein,” said the captain. “Delicious, exotic protein.”
Best thought he would be sick.
Liu did allow himself the trace of a smile as he turned to Best. “At least you get a degree of vindication, Mr. Best.”
Best wanted to clock the intelligence agent but thought better of it. “Major, I am out of a job. I’ll soon be out of a home. And twenty years of public service, when I could have left this world a decade ago for something more fulfilling, has been flushed down the toilet. How in the hell is that supposed to make me feel vindicated?”
“Well, you can always cash in on your new status as a Marilynist prophet.”
Best threw a lazy punch that connected with Liu’s jaw and sent him sprawling. The captain went over and knelt beside Liu, who lay stunned on the deck.
“Must have just waxed the floor,” said the captain with a wink. “Come on. Let’s go check out the ship.”
“What about him?”
“They have aspirin and ice on Jefivah, don’t they?”
* **
Two weeks later, Alyssa’s fears proved to be unfounded. Best could definitely eat the food on Belsham. He wondered how much weight he would gain from all the luncheons and banquets he’d been invited to in his week on the planet. Even Belsham’s government came calling, though he couldn’t serve as an elected official (and frankly, hoped he never would again.) Belsham had two colonies of its own, but found Jefivah’s program of taking old military outposts off the Compact’s hands intriguing.
“But,” the president’s chief of staff cautioned, “we’d make those asses in the Compact military pick up their own damn weapons.” She was the perfect combination of charm and fury, Best mused, to be the right hand of a strong executive. “So what do you say? Our cabinet departments work out of much nicer digs.”
“Doesn’t that go against your small government philosophy?” asked Best, whom, after a lifetime on Jefivah, still couldn’t say just what his native world’s unifying political philosophy was.
The chief gave him a thousand-watt smile. “A small government means we can take better care of it. That’s why Belsham is thriving and Walton is an abandoned colony.” Walton had originally been Belsham’s mother planet, but like all radically political worlds, it fell into chaos that made Jefivah look like a utopia.
“Besides,” the chief added, “I can promise you won’t see a single statue memorializing a World War Era actress. Except maybe at a theater.”
“You make a tempting offer,” said Best with a laugh. “I’ll have to consider it. But keep in mind, I’ve already accepted the teaching position at Paul U.”
“Good,” said the chief. “Those egg heads could use an outsider like you to shake things up.”
Best left the Executive Residence in good spirits. The capital, Friedman, had a decent climate, clean streets, and cheap but comfortable homes available. The teaching gig, which Best originally thought of as being put out to pasture, started to sound exciting. Initially, he would talk about his experiences of working in a highly factionalized government with limited resources and marginal influence in the Compact. The humanities department also suggested he teach Earth history. The offer from the president coupled with his academic duties would more than wash the bad taste of Jefivah out of his mouth. Once he settled here, he hoped he‘d never have cause to go back to that cesspool again.
All that ceased to matter when he spotted Luxhomme, aka Marq Katergarus, aka Marcus Leitman, strolling out of a deli not three blocks from grounds of the Executive Residence.
* **
Luxhomme opened his eyes only to see Best and several police officers in riot gear surrounding his bed. The girl lying next to him also woke up and screamed when she saw the weapons all trained on the bed.
“Hello, Luxxy,” said Best. “Or Marq. Or Marcus. Whoever you are. Do you know how much trouble you are in?”
The girl screamed again, and one of the officers grabbed a robe off the chair. Tossing it to her, he said, “Here. Put this on and go wait in the living room.”
“And don’t try to run away,” said another officer, a female. “We know where you live.”
Best crouched down beside Luxhomme’s bed as the girl scrambled out of it. “It took a couple of hyperpackets to Jefivah, but I’ve been delegated an agent of the First Minister since, technically, my Citizenship still resides there. So, on behalf of the government of Jefivah, Mr. Luxhomme, alias Marq Katergarus, alias Marcus Leitman, I’m placing you under arrest for mishandling Compact property and interfering with the lawful functioning of a constituent authority.”
Luxhomme pulled his sheet up around him. “You can’t do that. I have rights. Where’s your warrant?”
The female officer lowered her weapon, took a small device off her belt and turned to point it at the wall behind her. Luxhomme’s warrant appeared, duly signed by judges on Jefivah and Belsham with a writ of extradition attached. “I know the Belsham judge,” she said. “I can tell you exactly what he’ll say at your extradition
hearing.”
“‘Where is your counsel?’” Luxhomme tried with a greasy laugh.
The warrant disappeared, and the officer turned back to face Luxhomme. “No. He’ll say, ‘Not our problem’ before having you put on the next liner to Jefivah.”
Best mimicked Luxhomme’s strange little smile. “Oh, and the Marilynists are suing you and JunoCorp. I’ve been authorized to serve you notice.”
* **
“I know you’re angry, Best. And I understand.”
Best faced Luxhomme with cold, flat eyes. He could just shove the man out of the nearest airlock and call it an escape attempt gone wrong. Either his conscience or the video surveillance on board the liner kept him from doing it. He wasn’t sure which. “You ruined my career, started a wave of rioting on Jefivah, almost got all three of our colonies shut down, and the crew of the Etrusca Explorer killed.”
“Oh, how do you know they died? They could have run off with the Yedevans. It happens.”
“The investigator from the Navy thinks they were eaten.”
Luxhomme’s eyebrows arched. “Well, that’s a new one on me. I’ve heard of them eating Grays, but everyone mistreats the Grays. The little buggers…”
“I don’t care about the Grays. I care about how you’re going to fix the mess you made.”
“I made?”
Surveillance or no, Best bunched Luxhomme’s shirt into his fists and shoved him against the bulkhead. “You chartered a civilian vessel to take those weapons to Tian so they could hand them off to the Navy. And you have been damned hard to find since I left Marilyn. Even your own company seems to have no clue where you are. How do you keep your job?”
Luxhomme smiled. “I bring them money, which seems to be a rare talent within our organization.”
“Walter Pope did not seem to be hurting for currency and resources.”
“Pope is living off a bet Juno’s parent company is making.”
“Which is?”
“I’m not permitted to discuss that.” The strange little smile returned. “Unless you have a court order.”