by Tom Shepherd
“Clearance from whom?”
“The Captain.”
Julieta shook her head. “Flávio Tavares is many things, but a suicidal fool is not among them. You’re lying.”
“No, I ain’t.”:
She took a long, curved knife from her med bag. “I can flay you to the bone, Auggie. Might even enjoy it. Payback for the women you raped.”
“I didn’t—I was just running my mouth! Fantasy. Dirty talk, you know. Figured you liked it rough.”
“I do.” She laid the blade flat against his cheek. “Do I really have to explain the difference between rough and forced sexual assault to a whiny little dickless bitch like you?”
She cut off his ear in one surgical stroke. He screeched, and she slapped a pressure bandage against his head, deadening pain and staunching the blood.
“You’re crazy!” he shouted.
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Tyler keeps telling me. Now, let’s try it again. This time, we’re playing for the remaining ear and a nose.”
“No! I’ll tell you. I swear by the Virgin.” His eyes swelled like white balloons. “I mean by our Lord!”
“You thought I was working for Sakura House, which put us on the same side. Explain.”
“Everybody knows the Tsuchiyas hate the Matthews-Solorio cartel.”
“Did Hideki Tsuchiya order you to attack the Star of Parvia?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
He flinched. “Loose me from these cuffs.”
“Only if you want me to cut off your hands.” She stabbed the bed next to his chest. “Answer me!”
“Tsuchiya didn’t order me to attack the Star. He ordered Tavares to do it, but the coward refused. Then I got this private message that told me I should kill Flávio and take the liner as a prize. I didn’t want to murder my skipper. We sailed together for years. So, I figured, if he’s too sick to fly, I can go after the Parve ship without him. And when the deed was done and he saw how big the prize was, I figured he would come around, you know, to thinkin’ like a privateer again.”
“You poisoned the Capitão?”
He nodded. “Used too much. Almost killed him.”
“How did that work out for you?”
“Flávio lost his mind when I told him what we done. Tried to kill me.” Cellar’s mouth fell open. “Wait—is he really workin’ for M-double-I after all? The lying bastard.”
Julieta smirked. “You have no sense of irony.”
“Look, I didn’t think taking that ship was a big deal, considering the letter of marque what authorized the attack.”
She put a knee on the bed and raised his chin with the flat of the blade tip. “The truth, Auggie, or you die. Now.”
“I got my sailing orders from a Parvian agent. For real! I swear.”
“Some Parvian operative authorized you to capture a liner full of high-ranking citizens of the Republic, seize their belongings, sell them into slavery, and fence the ship as salvage. Really, Auggie?”
“That’s my point! If I was lyin’, don’tcha think I’d invent something more believable?”
She removed her knee from the bed. “I want his name.”
“Spies don’t hand out business cards!”
“So, tell me how he contacted you. Every word he said. Every hint of others involved in the plot. Every memory trapped in your rodentine little brain. If I even suspect you’re withholding, you’re done.”
“He spoke perfect Terran. He was early middle aged. Short, but strong-like. And gay! Yeah, the guy was a total queer.”
“Lose the homophobia and describe him better. You’re sure he was a Parvian?”
“How the fuck do I know? They look just like us. This guy, he said he was an agent of the Parves. I got a picture, just in case he was double-crossing me. Would that help?”
“Show me.” Julieta cursed softly when she saw the holo-image. Medium-height man, early forties, shimmering silver blond hair and thick neck of a weightlifter.
Orson Brick, Energy Consortium Trade Ambassador and Terran Consulate General to the Quirt-Thyme Empire. No goddamn wonder radical expansionists among Mr. Blue’s people were confident Parvia would not block their first moves of aggression. With the Republic warring against the Terran Commonwealth, the Quirt path to ancient glory would be unobstructed. And Brick doubtless would receive a handsome reward for his treachery, far more than he could expect on a government pension.
Naca Jen grilled her captive until morning light seeped through the shutters. She packed her bag, replaced the cannulas needed for the trip back to the Howling Tadpole, and left Cellar asleep, still cuffed to the bed.
She did not pay the hotel bill.
Nineteen
Carrying her sea bag on a shoulder strap, Parvian Staff Lieutenant Jool-Gheri Zarx bounded up the ramp and boarded the Tadpole to full military honors, hastily organized by Lieutenant Lovey Frost. Because Capitão Flávio Tavares was also a starship commander, Lovey stationed him between Captain Tyler Matthews and honorary Dengathi Captain Arrupt Kilub Riff. Suzie, who held the Matthews fleet rank of Lieutenant Commander, greeted their guest in flawless Kaboolik, the principal language of the Parvian Republic.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Zarx. Chief Léon can take your bag.”
“Oh, how very, very, very kind! Thank you.”
A petite woman yet busty and curvaceous, Jool-Gheri had blonde hair like Suzie and tucked the strands behind her head by invisible catches. Although a member of the fearsome Parvian race, the lieutenant was young and bouncing with cheerful energy. If she were human, Tyler would have put her age as eighteen to twenty. She had an intense smile that brightened the spaces around her, making it virtually impossible not to smile back.
But Tyler remembered what Uncle Charlie had said about them. “One-to-one, Parvians are very polite, occasionally charming. But they keep the peace by bringing utter, total, kill-you-and-burn-your-cities-to-radioactive-ash-heaps, mean, nasty annihilation upon any and all perceived threats.”
Jool-Gheri saluted in the Parvian manner, hands on knees, rocking twice. Her hosts politely mimicked the moves.
“We have much to talk about,” Tyler said. “I understand you are fasting today. Does that mean you cannot imbibe alcoholic spirits?”
“Certainly not. The Parvian love for good wine is celebrated throughout our Republic. We have a saying, yes? ‘Nothing truly religious comes without a hangover.’”
A murmur of laughter brought a smile to her face. Tyler supposed this diminutive blonde humanoid had one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen, live or in the archives of Terran culture. Although there was that nude mud-wrestler in his favorite porn video—he dismissed the thought, back to business.
“Do your people used nicknames? If so, I think yours should be Sunny.”
She smiled. “That is a nice compliment. Sincere flattery and flirting are always appropriate.”
“Well, if we can’t offer you a feast,” Tyler said, “is there anything else you would enjoy while sipping our fine wines?”
“Do you play games?”
“Uh…yes. We could rig up a volleyball net here in the cargo hold, or a half-court basketball pitch. We have no holo-studios aboard this ship, but—”
“No, Captain. I mean games of skill and chance.”
“Gambling?” Tyler looked to Suzie, who translated the word into Kaboolik. Lieutenant Zarx nodded briskly, her blonde mop swinging like a curtain of sunlight.
“Well…sure. Cards?” Tyler said.
“Yes, yes! We play with decks. Oh, I am joyous you have a table we can eat upon. Meet upon! I will get this language, patience pays.”
“Paco, can you set up a table and, say—” he counted noses—“six chairs in the galley?”
“No problem, Boss. The Dengathi have nice, overstuffed seating in storage. Probably stolen. Got a round table, too.”
“Great. We’ll gather for gaming night shortly. Ask Dorla to break out some bottles of good wine
and a case of ice cold Harry Truman.”
Suzie took Jool-Gheri aside and they chatted in Kaboolik while Tyler got a fresh deck of playing cards from the Tadpole’s item dispenser.
“By what title or name shall I call you?” Suzie said.
“Parvians invite people to speak their personal names. Formal relationships require titles. Shall we bond and allow close-name exchange?”
“Certainly.”
The Lieutenant stepped up to Suzie, took her in arms, and kissed her passionately. After a minute or so, she released Tyler’s fiancé.
“You did not use your tongue,” Jool-Gheri said. “Was I distasteful?”
“No, no. To tell you the truth, I am not bisexual, so it was a strange experience. Well, actually, it also happened to me a few weeks ago when my friend, Arabella—”
“Bi-sexual? What is this meaning?”
“Most humans are hetero-sexual, preferring intimate connections exclusively with the opposite sex. But a good number are gay men or lesbian women, who prefer same-sex relationships.”
“Only two extremes? That’s depressing.”
“That’s where bisexuals fit. Some humans like both.”
“And you—oh, I see! You are a hetero?”
“Yes, but the way you kiss, I might reconsider.”
She smiled. “You are very kind,” she said in Terran Standard. “I fuck nothing of human culture. I want to fuck everything!”
“Lieutenant—”
“You may call me Jool-Gheri. We have kissed.”
“Jool-Gheri.” She hoped this hottie didn’t want a tongue-borne, first-name basis with Tyler. “The verb fuck described an intense form of sexual liaison, also a mainstay in Terran profanity. You’ll want to say, ‘I know nothing… I want to learn it all.’ That will avoid the linguistic space mines.”
“Not fuck?”
“Save it for intimate moments.” She translated the dainty profanity into Parvian and Jool-Gheri turned crimson. “Why did no one correct me?”
“Most humans will ignore unintentional mistakes to avoid embarrassing the speaker.”
Tyler called the group to the galley, where crew and guests slid into soft chairs, wide enough for snuggling, around a disk-shaped table. Six seats—Tyler, Suzie, Lovey, Paco, Flávio and the Parvian Lieutenant. A perfect fit.
Arrupt Kilub Riff told Suzie in Regalik that he didn’t gamble and didn’t like all the sexy-flexy mating behavior. “Not like Frog. Do it alone.” He retired to his bed pad to say the Rosary.
When she translated his message, the humans laughed uproariously, but Suzie struggled for several minutes to render the gist of Arrupt’s departing monologue into Kaboolik for Jool-Gheri. She gave up after crashing into multiple tiers of cultural, biological and religio-historical barriers.
Dorla Léon took charge of refreshments and pressed André Mercier and Félix Koshka into service to deliver drinks and snacks. Between runs to the kitchen they sat on stools to watch the action.
“Where are Mr. Blue, Yumiko, and Julieta?” Suzie said.
“Julieta hasn’t reported back from town,” Dorla said. “Mr. Blue and Yumiko have gone to bed early. He was disturbed about something, but he wouldn’t talk about it.”
“If my husband learned anything important during his recon,” Lovey said, I’m he’ll let us know.”
“Good.” Tyler shuffled the deck. “Okay, what shall we play? Something simple.”
“War?” Paco suggested.
Tyler frowned. “Not that simple.”
“How about poker?” Flávio said.
“Yeah, that can be learned quickly.” Tyler sat back. “Except playing poker is no fun unless you gamble for something.”
“Monetary gain?” Jool-Gheri said. “My credit chip is in the seabag.”
Tyler shrugged. “Well, we can always manufacture some poker chips and extend you a line of credit. Or we could play for funsies.”
The Parvian blonde had a different idea. “Someone told me that Terrans—forgive my impertinence—some Terrans play this lovely game where players who lose a round must remove an article of clothing.”
The room grew quiet. Tyler shifted in his chair. “Uh… you want to play strip poker?”
“Yes! Yes!” She giggled. “It would be an exceptional chance to glimpse your private parts without embarrassment or the pressure to perform. A purely scientific observation.”
“Scientific?” Tyler tapped the cards on the table. “Yeah, sure. I’m up for that.”
Suzie shot Tyler a look that would have frozen a supernova. Forcing herself to smile, she said, “Give us a moment?” and switched to Español Nuevo with a few Neo-Britishisms in the mix.
“Ty, are you totally blinkered? She’s a Parvian line officer. Daughter to a member of their bloody Cabinet, not some bimbo dealing stud in Texas. Good Lord, we don’t even know if she’s a ruddy consenting adult. She looks like an adolescent with big Bristols.”
“Sí, lo sé. But the lady suggested the game, and we need intel on what the Parves are doing here.”
“Here’s an intel flash—she’ll bite your arm off to see you in the buff!” Suzie resumed her placid smile.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You didn’t kiss her—I did! She’s horny as a mountain goat.”
“You two kissed, and I missed that? Dang.”
“Stay in your adult, Tyler. What would Rosalie say about the risk of cultural faux pas or mortal insult?”
“Rosalie is a long, long way from here. We need to know whether the Parves are going expansionist. People talk at poker games.”
“People wear clothes at poker games.”
“Not tonight.”
Suzie glanced at Tavares. “What do you think, Capitão?”
Flávio’s first language was Portuguese, but he spoke New Spanish fluently. “I hope she loses. I would like to see her titties.”
“Men!” she groaned. “God help us if you win, Ty. The daughter of a high Parvian official, buck-ass starkers in our mess galley?”
“You’re playing, too.”
“Bugger that!” Suzie said.
Flávio and Paco smiled. Dorla Léon wacked her husband on the back of the head, then plopped a bottle of beer in front of him.
“Babe,” Tyler said, “you need to give me some political cover in case this goes awry. If my fiancé is in the game, I don’t look like a sexual predator.”
“Madre Dios.” She sighed deeply, accepting the inevitable.
Tyler smiled at Lieutenant Zarx. “We’re ready. My fiancé has agreed to explain the rules and advise you what to play during the first few hands. In Kaboolik, of course, so we won’t know what cards you’re holding. And nobody removes any clothing until four hands have been played.”
“Oh, I don’t mind showing you everything,” she said brightly.
Suzie cleared her throat. “It’s about teaching you the game, luv. Think of the first four as warm-ups.”
Jool-Gheri smiled coyly at Tyler. “Captain Matthews, I look at you and I’m warm all over. Let’s play!”
Tyler sat back and prayed that he wasn’t about to start a war with the most fearsome star nation in known space. They played the four practice hands, and with Suzie’s help the Parvian guest won two of them. Now it was time for the real action to begin.
Tyler had a great idea. “Since you are playing so well, let’s add a variation to make it more interesting. When the low hand is determined, the winner has the option of asking a question instead of requiring the loser to strip. The low hand must answer without deception. Call it ‘Truth or bare.’ What do you say?”
Suzie blurted, “I like it!”
The others nodded. Jool-Gheri’s vote seemed reluctant to Tyler.
“Okay. Five-card draw. Jacks or better to open. Nothing wild. Low hand takes something off. If nobody has openers, we all discard one item of clothing.” He swept the players with a glance. “Questions, other suggestions?”
Jool-Gheri said, “Yes
! If I draw the lowest hand, may I substitute one intimate body-encounter in lieu of disrobing or answering an inquiry?”
Tyler gaped at the gorgeous blonde alien and again retreated to Suzie in Español Nuevo. “Is she asking what I think she’s asking? Turn it into fuck-poker?”
Suzie rattled off a paragraph in Parvian Kaboolik, listened to Jool-Gheri’s giggling reply, then returned to Tyler in New Spanish.
“You got it. She’s on the pull. Shopping for twigs and berries.”
“I don’t speak neo-Brit, but you’re telling me this game is getting too intense, right?”
“Suppose she loses, you win. And suppose she elects to screw you rather than strip or answer questions—which is a real possibility, considering she already announced she’s hot for your gentleman’s sausage. What do you suppose happens if you refuse?”
“This was a mistake.”
“Brilliant observation, Galileo. Your venture into diplomacy is totally shambolic. God, we need Rosalie.”
“I can’t just stop the game,” Tyler said. “That might be an insult, too.”
“Here’s a radical solution. Tell the randy little slapper, ‘No. The rules don’t stretch that bloody far.’ Then deal the cards.”
Tyler kissed Suzie quickly and explained the decision of the referees to their Parvian guest.
Lieutenant Zarx shrugged. “Well, my idea would have been fun, but okay. Let’s play!”
Ninety minutes later, everybody but Paco Léon had lost all their outer clothing. Flávio was shirtless; his hairy chest showed flecks of silver. Tyler was down to underpants and T-shirt. Suzie and Lovey were topless, which drew regular eye-checks from the three men at the table. Jool-Gheri had shed her form-fitting uniform, top and bottom, but the perky breasts still bobbed within a see-through band of elastic support, and she had pulled off the tight trousers to reveal cherry red panties.
Tyler dealt another hand. “Lieutenant, if I win this hand and you place last, I have a question to ask.”
“Yes, I’m yellow-haired down there, too.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t it.” He looked at his cards. Three Jacks, Ace and Queen. “I want to know about Parvian expansionism.”
“That is an audacious question.”