by Tom Shepherd
“Okay, we have a situation. The new case is not without risks. As managing partner of this firm, I wanted to collect background information—hence the layover at E-4.” He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the narrow edge he had to walk. “I also wanted buy-in from participants before we proceed. The assignment will require us to penetrate Pirate space with no armed escort, to find the main starport of the Free Enterprise League.”
“Dangerous shit,” Rosalie said, petting Lucy.
Julieta pulled back her long black hair and pinned it with a clip. “Do we even know where the pendejos are hiding?”
“Ensign Parvati?” Tyler gestured to the Bindi-dotted officer seated beside his brother.
The East Indian helmswoman stood and flipped a laser pointer, which dimmed the lights and deployed a star chart over the table. “You are looking at HG-11, known as the—”
“Huáng Expanse,” J.B. said. “Uh—sorry. I spent a lot of nights in the monastery studying Church Dogma. After four hours of Summa Theologiae, Chao Yáng’s Stellar Astrometrics was a fun read.”
“I see the attraction, Jeremiah. The Huáng is well-hung. Very big.” Parvati patted J.B.’s cheek affectionately, and he blushed like a ripe peach.
“Please continue, Ensign,” Tyler said with a wry smile.
Hindi accented Terran added to the mystique of the Expanse. “It is widely believed the so-called Free Enterprise League operates out of a planet or planets inside this sector. Brahmin alone knows the location of this network of pirate bases.”
Rodney raised a hand. “Excuse me, ma’am. Why hasn’t an expeditionary force mounted by aggravated star nations gone in there to ferret out those bases?”
“Excellent question, Mr. Rooney,” Parvati said. “How many incarnations are you willing to spend on the project? Methodically checking every system in the Expanse will take 200,000 years.”
“Wowzers.”
Parvati clicked the laser. “Here are the astrometrical figures on the Expanse.” A series of algorithms displayed across the screen. “To summarize, the Huáng measures approximately 400 billion cubic light years and encompasses thirty-nine Gate regions.”
Tyler said, “So, I’m sure everybody is asking—where do we begin?”
She clicked again; a star chart appeared. “Our quickest route to the edge requires eleven Jump Gates, seven-point-nine days.” She shut off the projection and sat beside J.B.
“Somewhere in there, Flávio Tavares is being held for trial,” Tyler said.
“The Pirate King?” Rooney said. “Rosalie broke his nose at Lerrotica—that guy?
Lt. Arabella Mahboob—shapely, holographic, Lebanese-Christian former whore, now reprogrammed and multi-tasked as the Henry’s backup XO and assistant engineer—put a hand on her boyfriend’s arm.
“Honey, give Captain Matthews a chance to present the facts.”
Lt. Rooney nodded. “Sure, sure.”
“The Free Enterprise League has indicted Capitão Tavares for ‘high treason, collusion with pirate-hunters, and working as undercover Law Enforcement to break the criminal network and destroy their star nation.’ Those words are from Admiral Bianca Matthews. She asked me to defend him, and I agreed.”
“You took this case without consulting me?” J.B. said. “You didn’t have the courtesy to bring it before the crew, who will be risking their lives just by entering Pirate space.”
“The request came from Mom.”
“We agreed our parents will not control this law firm,” J.B. said.
“That discussion was about Dad.”
“It was about freedom of choice.”
“And I made the choice freely.”
J.B. took a deep breath. “Ty, you’re the managing partner, not a military commander. You don’t get to accept a suicide mission for everyone under your authority.”
Tyler nodded. “I heartily agree. That’s why we’re having this meeting, Lakota style. Everyone gets to speak. No one interrupts. We stay as long as anyone wants to comment. When we’re done, everyone decides whether they, personally, want to sign up for the defense of Flávio Tavares. Those who don’t may take the Legal Beagle and find a nearby Terran port to wait for my return. But I’m going, even if alone.”
“Not alone,” Suzie said. “The last time I let you out of my sight, you almost shagged the purple Queen.”
He smiled at his beautiful fiancé. “Almost doesn’t mean—”
“Stop right there, you twit, while I’m not mad at you.”
“Okay…the floor is open.” Tyler leaned back and waited.
Rosalie raised a hand. “Why are we defending Flávio? He’s scum. Instead of breaking his nose, I should’ve put two shots through his bushy eyebrows.”
The room went silent as everyone digested her remarks. Tyler only answered when he was certain no one else wanted to reply.
“Mom says Flávio wasn’t a pirate but a double agent, working for us. She and Dad examined the data after the Alpha Gate battle and are certain he did nothing to harm ships on our side. In fact, he led the pirate armada into the ambush. She believes he’s still loyal to M-double-I. And now he might pay for it with his life.”
“Inspector?” J.B. turned to Demarcus Platte, who stood guard by the hatch as usual. “I’d like to hear your take on this mission.”
“Tavares may be scum,” Platte said, “but your momma says the bastard is our scum. You don’t always get to work with quality people when their job is ratting out partners in crime.”
“So, you’re going?” J.B. said.
“I’m with the Boss.”
The room grew silent again. Tyler waited several minutes before complicating the decision with more input.
“Tavares has provided Dad with intel on Pirate operations,” he said. “But Flávio has discovered something else, which threatens the balance of power among star nations in the known galaxy.”
“May I ask a question under Lakota rules?” J.B. said.
“I think we’re free-wheeling through Indian country,” Tyler said.
“Are we talking about the so-called ancient derelict, packed with high-tech from the old Galactic Empire, that Uncle Charlie and Father think the Dengathi may have found?”
“Yup.”
“And Mom believes Flávio Tavares knows where it is?” J.B. said.
“Mom and Dad both think so, yes.”
“Then why doesn’t Tavares send an encrypted message to Kansas City and give Dad the coordinates?”
“Because the sonuvabitch is facing trial, conviction and execution by his former associates,” Tyler said. ‘And he doesn’t want to die.”
J.B. snorted. “You’re okay with Tavares leveraging the derelict to save his neck from the hangman?”
“That’s a rough summary, yeah.”
“He’s hoodwinking Mom and Dad,” J.B. said. “May as well promise gold doubloons. It’s bullshit. You’re really going to risk your life—Suzie’s life—to enter Pirate space and defend that criminal?”
Suzie spoke up, sharply. “I am willing to risk my bio-energetic human existence—which is new and delightful to me—because I believe your mum would not send us in harm’s way without good reason.”
“I’m with Tyler. Mamá is trustworthy, even if Flávio is not.” Rosalie glanced at her cousin. “What do you say, Prima?”
Julieta snorted. “You need a doctor on this one, por cierto.”
Her brother—dark-haired, Iberian Spanish Esteban Solorio, the quiet, reflective former monk, now a powerful psionic, reader of feelings and thoughts—rarely commented. When he did speak, it was usually softly, thoughtfully, profoundly.
“I do not like the idea of las Ranas marketing high-tech to predatory and unstable regimes. But I question the wisdom of flying into Pirate space on the chance that Capitão Tavares is telling the truth. I saw into his mind on Suryadivan Prime. He seethes with deceit.” Esteban looked at his sister. “I will go, if you go.”
“Hermano, I can take care of myself,” Julieta said. �
��You will never pass for a pirate. Stay aboard the Legal Beagle with J.B. and let me take risks for La Familia this time.”
“Who else?” Tyler said.
Rodney Rooney glanced at Arabella, who nodded. “We’re in,” he said. Not a surprise to Tyler, since Rodney would follow Arabella up the Devil’s ass with a smile on his face.
J.B. nodded slowly. “Ordinarily, I would trust Mother’s judgment. But this case is a bad idea.” He looked to East Indian Parvati, his holographic lover since they returned from Farroleok-7.
“I am with Jeremiah,” she said.
“We’ll launch the Beagle in orbit at Braun’s World,” Tyler said. “It’s a vacation spot. You could use some down time alone.”
“Parvati will need holographic hardware to support her program,” J.B. said. “Unless she wants to—”
“I said you can have the Beagle,” Tyler repeated. “The corvette has plenty of holo-tech. And you get Esteban to chaperon you.”
A light chuckle filled the room.
J.B. turned to Tyler. “I wish we weren’t going separate ways again.”
“Ditto, Bro, but—”
“Incoming message from Terra,” Suzie said.
“Ignore it,” Tyler said.
“It’s a request for legal representation by Star Lawyers from—”
“We’re having a staff meeting,” Tyler snapped. “I asked you to screen the junk mail.”
“Don’t get all argy-bargy with me,” Suzie said. “This one packs an M-double-I personal identifier. ‘Family member requesting assistance.’”
J.B. groaned. “Charlie again?” He and Suzie had just returned from a remote Meklavite colony where they snatched Uncle Charlie from a legal cauldron boiled by the Matriarchal Mek Coven Assembly.
“Not Charlie,” Suzie said. “Dennis Matthews.”
Dad’s youngest brother worked at Commonwealth HQ, specializing in interspecies legal systems. Uncle Dennis never got in trouble.
Tyler nodded. “Let’s hear it.”
Three
The transmission was a holographic message but not real-time. The Patrick Henry had passed beyond the range of instant communication with the Terran homeworld, unless both ends of the comm link were equipped with Apexcom. The Henry had the state-of-the-art, galaxy-wide transmission hardware aboard and functional, but Tyler knew the Commonwealth HQ at Jerusalem could barely afford standard comm equipment. Apexcom was a luxury the politicians would not fund.
The real power and money was held by the Corporations, and Matthews-Solorio was the largest, but the Family steadfastly refused a role in governing the Commonwealth for generations.
From the image they received, Dennis apparently had a nice view from his office windows. Through the shaded glass wall behind his desk, Tyler glimpsed the Golden Dome of the Rock, which since 691 T.C.E. had stood atop Mount Zion, site of the Jewish Temple destroyed in 70 T.C.E. by the Romans. Most of the terrorism and regional conflicts of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries flowed from disputes over Israeli vs. Palestinian rights to control this place.
Ironically, the only way to solve the age-old who’s-land-is-this dilemma was to make Jerusalem the capital of the world, with free access for everyone. So, ancient hatreds led to modern unity, one world, just like Persian prophet, Baha’u’llah, had prophesied in the nineteenth century. The Baha’is never amounted to much numerically, but their ideas about a universal auxiliary language, world economic coordination, one democratically chosen planetary government with minority rights protected, and the equality of men and women had coached society past tribalism/nationalism toward multi-cultural globalism from the wings of history’s stage.
“Hello, Tyler, J.B. all the Family and all your associates. Special love to Rosalie from Aunt Jenika.”
The Red Fox smiled. “My Russian aunt. The only other redhead.”
“Sisterhood of the red-haired sirens,” Cousin Julieta quipped. “Not a blood relative.”
“Soul-sister.” Rosalie reached down and adjusted the ankle holster holding her kinetic blaster.
J.B. paused the message. “Can we listen without commentary, children?”
Rosalie reverted to her cutie-pie voice. “Yes, please, Big Brother.”
J.B. sighed and resumed the program. Oblivious to their nattering, holographic Uncle Dennis proceeded.
“I don’t have Apexcom. This is a government line from the SAA. So, unless you’re still hanging around the Gagarin System, you’ll probably receive this in thirty to sixty minutes. I am passing along an urgent request from the FCD for legal assistance in the matter of a Terran facing charges in an alien courtroom.”
Tyler hit the pause button. “Alphabet soup. These god-damned agencies think everybody knows who they are.”
“Well, the SAA is Secretary for Alien Affairs,” Demarcus said. “And FCD means the First Contact Department, right?”
Tyler grunted and pushed the play button.
Holo-Dennis continued, still unaware of the stop-and-go. “You apparently know the defendant. Bertram Winther, asteroid miner.”
Tyler said, “Bertie.” J.B. shot him a told-you-so glare.
Dennis read from a datacom. “Mr. Winther claims to be a former client. Apparently, you got him out of trouble in a mining colony a few years ago. All charges dropped. Good job.”
Uncle Dennis shifted to a serious tone. “Too bad he didn’t take advantage of his good fortune. He currently faces murder charges on a frontier world of the Ounta-Kadiis League.”
Dennis smiled slightly, as if suddenly excited by his subject. “They are an amazing, First Contact humanoid species. If anybody ever doubted Ziegler’s Principles of Humanoid Efficiency, this new species ends the argument.”
Wolfgang Ziegler, twenty-fourth century exobiologist, theorized evolution draws upon a finite number of options to solve environmental challenges. Ziegler predicted an organ like the eyeball, plus auditory support, placed near the brain at the top of a star-five bodily configuration, will continue to reappear in species separated by light years of space. Although the majority of sentient races were non-humanoid, Terrans encountered multiple examples of the Humanoid Efficiency Principle in hundreds of species across the galaxy. Some were close enough to allow sexual compatibility, although inter-species reproduction was rare.
“The Ounta-Kadiis are the most human-like species we’ve encountered so far. Even closer than the Parvians and Meklavites. Reddish-brown skin, navy blue to dark red hair, and a nearly perfect match to Terran physiology. Some Commonwealth exobiologists believe we are reproductively compatible. Yet, the O-Ks carry no trace of H-sapiens DNA. It’s Amazing.”
Rosalie was at the edge of her chair, leaning on the table, following every word. When she wasn’t whacking bad guys as a dispatcher, she worked at her day job, exo-anthropologist.
Dennis continued. “We’d just made First Contact when you shipped Mr. Winther home. The O-Ks asked for mining assistance in exchange for opening their markets and granting trade concessions to Commonwealth corporations, including M-double-I.
“Ounta-Kadiis space embraces thousands of explored but undeveloped star systems, many with large belts of untapped asteroids. We made First Contact because the aliens were surveying the rocks near a trade route of the Carrooban Flock, who notified the Commonwealth.”
Tyler punched the hold button. “The who?”
“Carrooban Flock,” Rosalie said. “Probationary members of the multi-species Argok’sian League, who are trade partners with M-double-I,” Rosalie said.
“Humanoids?” Tyler said.
She laughed. “For the Carroobans, think armless, gelatinous, pink fat that waddles like a penguin. They manipulate tools by exuding an appendage as needed.”
“Okay…sorry I asked. Yuk.”
“Xenophobe,” Rosalie sneered.
Tyler hit the GO button. Dennis resumed his message.
“The Ounta-Kadiis estimate three quarters of their asteroids contain your typical set of iron,
nickel, iridium and a few precious metals—platinum, gold, palladium. Good deposits of energy ores like shiklaisium, and hull-composite ingredients like cactanium and meglasite.
“But an astounding twenty-four percent of the asteroids surveyed by the O-K’s contain new, unknown ores, which have our geologists positively salivating.
“What the Ounta-Kadiis don’t have is mining tech to tap these vast resources. They mine by putting boots on the ground, drill by hand. They’re totally ignorant of the laser-tractor system used by Commonwealth mining barges for centuries. So, we proposed a Miner-Mentor Corps, which the Ounta-Kadiis greeted with excitement. We sent a few hundred Terran volunteers to start extracting ore while teaching the locals to do likewise.”
Tyler and J.B. groaned simultaneously. “Bertie.”
Holo-Dennis didn’t hear them. “Bertram Winther apparently got into an altercation with a table full of local miner-apprentices at a cantina. He is accused of killing one of them. This has become a serious diplomatic issue, because the O-Ks have withdrawn their pledge of cooperation with Terran agencies and business entities until Mr. Winther pays for his crime.
“FYI—the Ounta-Kadiis are a high power distance, low context, competitive, particularist culture built on common law.”
Rosalie gasped. “Oh, shit. We’re fucked.”
The recording of Uncle Dennis said, “You can ask Rosalie to summarize what that means in simpler language.”
And the room exploded in laughter.
Robo-Dennis droned on. “Naturally, we want Mr. Winther to have a fair trial, so I pulled some strings and had the case assigned to the Public Defender’s Office of Non-Terran Jurisdictions. They promptly asked me to find a law firm willing to subcontract beyond Terran space. I told them if they don’t mind a little nepotism, I have just the team.
“Obviously, I can’t order you to accept the assignment, especially at the paltry rate of reimbursement from the Commonwealth. But if you know the defendant and are willing to travel beyond the frontier of explored space, message me promptly and the job is yours.
“Love to you all from Uncle Dennis.”
Tyler sat back. “Well…?”