Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  * * *

  THE SHIP’S DOCTOR was making a final inspection of Sir Giles’ head in the main hanger bay of the Euripides before declaring him healthy enough to continue his investigations. “You’re very lucky you didn’t sustain a concussion from the blow you received.”

  “We Thackerys have hard heads,” said Sir Giles rolling his neck. “I’m glad the murderer hit me with less than lethal force.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” said Nanette. “You may go.” The ship’s doctor looked put out by being dismissed summarily but he didn’t argue about the dismissal. When he was gone, Nanette hugged her grandfather around the neck. “I thought I lost you that time.”

  He patted her arm. “Never, my dear. It’ll take more than a crazed psychopath to do me in.” He didn’t really believe those words. He rubbed the back of his head and the welt on his scalp. “But there was a moment when it was touch-and-go.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” She inspected the lump with concern. “I can’t leave you alone for even an hour.”

  “I’m very sorry I’m such a bother,” mumbled Sir Giles. “It’s the furthest thing from my intentions. Who could’ve anticipated the murderer would strike tonight? I must’ve interrupted his plans in some way and he didn’t know how to proceed.”

  “Did you see who it was?” asked Nanette.

  “No, I’m afraid my back was turned when I was struck. The rest you know.”

  Nanette looked very worried. “When the General Alarm sounded Smythe and I raced to find you.”

  Smythe was removing his spacesuit. He pulled his legs free and tossed the suit aside. “The bridge sounded the alarm when they detected missiles being fired from the Skeet Range. It seemed unlikely that you weren’t involved when we couldn’t raise you on the comm unit. So we took the interceptor out. It was easy to see the path the missiles were taking thereby figuring out your position. We only had a matter of moments before destroying the last missile or having it destroy you! Luckily your granddaughter is very efficient on the las-turret or you’d be—”

  Nanette interrupted, “Dead!” She waved her finger at him. “I’m not leaving you alone again.”

  “Fine.” Sir Giles stood on wobbly legs. “I want to return to the Skeet Range to investigate. You have secured the crime scene for me?”

  Nanette scowled. “I know my job. Come on.” Smythe and Nanette assisted Sir Giles up one deck and into the Skeet Range. There they found a hubbub of activity; many SLASP agents ferreting out just what had happened. Herbert and Martha, holding ceramic mugs and wearing their pajamas, stood surrounded by a wall of SLASP agents. When they saw Sir Giles, they waved furtively.

  The group arrived next to the older couple in time to overhear the end of their conversation with a surly SLASP agent who didn’t believe them. “I told you three times now what happened,” roared Herbert.

  “And just what do you know?” asked Nanette brushing the surly agent away. “Would you mind retelling what you observed and how you are involved?”

  “Of course we don’t mind,” said Martha. “Go on Herbert, tell them.”

  He harrumphed. “Martha and I were restless. So we made some hot cocoa and decided to take a walk. It’s very quiet this time of night. That’s the way we like it for our evening strolls. Tonight we wandered aft.”

  “What time was that exactly?” asked Sir Giles.

  “I can’t be sure. A little past midnight. We heard the bells when we left our suite.”

  Sir Giles nodded. “Go on. What happened next?”

  “We heard shots from the Skeet Range and wondered who would be up this late for target practice. By the time we entered the range the las-rifle firing had stopped. We didn’t see anyone about but there was a smoking rifle on the tray table.” He motioned to the tray that Sir Giles had used earlier. “I told Martha it was highly irregular that anyone could be legitimately using the facilities. Then we both noticed that.” He pointed to the portable missile launcher.

  “You saw no one?” prompted Sir Giles.

  “Not a soul was around,” said Martha.

  The sleuth was deep in thought as the retired marine stretched, sipped some cocoa and continued. “That bloody thing began spouting missiles through the phasemic field. So I grabbed Martha’s cocoa and poured both of our cups on the control panel. The darned thing nearly shocked the living piss out of me. But I did stop it from launching anymore. I think it jammed up the tracking system.”

  “And you saved my life,” commented Sir Giles. He reached out and shook Herbert’s hand. “I don’t think we need to detain you two any further. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy your after hours walk.”

  Martha patted his hand. “I’m just glad we could help.” Herbert nodded. “Let’s go to bed. I’ve had too much excitement for one evening.” The older couple said their goodbyes and left quietly.

  “You don’t think they’re behind all this then?” asked Nanette.

  Sir Giles shook his head. “Why risk your life shorting out the one device that could eliminate your arch enemy? No, it’s not very likely. I think they are just what they seem to be: a nice elderly couple on their second honeymoon.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Smythe.

  “We look for clues.” Sir Giles went to the portable missile launcher. Before touching it he asked, “Is this thing de-energized?” She nodded. He began fumbling through the access panel. “Where is that porter with my bag?”

  A SLASP agent wandered in with a plastic bag filled with bloody feathers and fleshy, lumpy chunks. At the same moment the porter arrived with Sir Giles’ curious leather bag. The SLASP agent handed the bag off to Nanette. “This is what’s left of Ambassador Bobbafeather.” The porter gagged as he handed Sir Giles’ bag over to Smythe. Swallowing hard, the porter made a quick move to cover his mouth and ran off.

  Sir Giles reached for the bag. “You’d think that poor man would be getting used to the sight of dead ambassadors.”

  * * *

  “THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! Me! Slipsludge from Acochlidea. Of all the ambassadors in the Galactic Guild, why did the murderer have to single me out?” The slippery sluggish alien slithered about the Thackery suite leaving a slick trail of gelatinous slime in his wake. “I just heard about poor Ambassador Bobbafeather’s frightful mishap.” Its two projecting eyestalks weaved and swayed back and forth in an agitated way. “I’m in such a nervous state. What can I do?”

  Nanette and Smythe were exhausted as was Sir Giles after an all-night investigation that produced no further clues to the identity of the murderer. Sir Giles held the evidence Slipsludge had just brought him this morning between index finger and thumb so as not to get any residual slime transferred to him. Carefully he read the paper out loud:

  It slices; it dices; it even julienne fries!

  Buy two for the price of one!

  “It’s a curious note to say the least,” he said placing it into a plastic evidence bag that Nanette had opened wide. “And you say you found this stuck to your body when you woke up this morning?”

  “It was affixed to my forehead,” commented the distraught ambassador. “I went to the facilities and was about to clean up. Then I noticed it. I read the words but they don’t make sense to me. What do you make of it?”

  “It’s clear the murderer means to render you into neatly sized strips.”

  The Acochlidean’s eyestalks nearly bugged out of his head. “Really? The note is meant to be interpreted literally then?”

  Sir Giles was wiping his fingers off on his handkerchief forcing the vision of a giant earth slug being served on a platter out of his mind. Frowning at the sticky slime, instead of folding the linen back up and putting it in his breast pocket, he went to the sani-bin and incinerated the soiled cloth. “Yes, literally. The clue is like no other in this case.”

  “How so, Grandfather?” Nanette handed him a replacement handkerchief. He accepted the new clean cloth and inserted it neatly back into his breast pocket.

>   “All the clues so far have been music lyrics from Terra. This clue is made up like a line in some banal info-commercial. It’s actually a marketing ploy. Described in succinct wording the action and offer twice as often than the remittance. Last night we found no new evidence at the crime scene. Therefore, the murderer must not have had time to plant the clues to be found. Evidently I changed the dynamics of his scheme. The murderer had to improvise. Hence the note being left on your forehead.”

  Slipsludge began to tremble uncontrollably. “Then it’s not some sick joke?”

  Sir Giles shook his head in a dismissive way. “Oh, it is definitely still a sick joke that is meant to cause panic. At least from your perspective. What we need to do is fathom its full purpose. For the time being I suggest you become the object of some SLASP protection.”

  “I agree,” said Nanette. “You’ll need to clear your schedule and remain isolated from the rest of the Euripides crew and patrons.” She began to arrange a detail of SLASP agents to guard Slipsludge through her comm.

  “I hate to be troublesome, but I can’t just go into hiding. I have commitments. Like tonight.”

  Smythe realized just what Ambassador Slipsludge meant. “There’s a luau tonight in honor of the budget committee. Ambassador Slipsludge and many others are to be honored for their dedication to stabilizing the Galactic Guild’s monetary issues.”

  “Exactly,” said Slipsludge. “I have to attend. If I miss it, it will be disastrous to the committee. Acochlidea—as you know—is the Galactic Guild’s base for all GG financial institutions. If I don’t appear—happy and supportive—then the rest of the species will pull out and the Galactic Guild may collapse under the strain of its obligations.”

  “Then we too shall have to attend this luau,” said Sir Giles. “Can we minimize Ambassador Slipsludge’s chances of being in harm’s way?”

  Nanette countermanded her previous orders for a full SLASP detail to guard the slug-like ambassador. “I’m not sure that more protection is better. Ambassador Slipsludge will need to be mobile and mingle amongst the crowd to bolster approval with the other delegates. If I had it my way, I’d suggest we accompany the ambassador and stay close to respond to any threats.”

  “I wholeheartedly endorse that suggestion,” said Sir Giles. “There’s just one extra detail that could make us become less visible to the murderer and that’s the help of young Mister Smythe. That is, if the purser is willing to become a temporary junior detective?”

  Smythe looked overjoyed at Sir Giles’ suggestion. “You can count on me for whatever you are thinking of.”

  Sir Giles patted the young man on the shoulder. “Good fellow.” Then he looked very serious. “I won’t sugarcoat the possibility that our lives are all equally in danger. We will have to respond quickly when the murderer strikes.” He looked toward Nanette for approval. “I’ll understand if you disapprove of Mister Smythe being involved. He’s not bound to SLASP or this endeavor.”

  She nodded. “Is it really that dangerous a situation?” Sir Giles nodded. She looked to Smythe. “Are you willing to die protecting Ambassador Slipsludge if need be?” Smythe nodded. “Very well. I concede to my grandfather’s suggestion.”

  “All right then,” said Sir Giles clapping his hands. “You have nothing to worry about Ambassador Slipsludge.”

  “That’s a big relief.” Slipsludge slithered to the door to leave. “I will prepare for tonight’s festivities.”

  Sir Giles tilted his head toward Ambassador Slipsludge for Nanette and Smythe to accompany him. Nanette took two of her fingers to point at her eyes and then toward Smythe. “We have eyes on the prize. Right, Smythe?”

  “Absolutely.” He moved to take the forward position before the ambassador. “Where Ambassador Slipsludge goes—”

  Nanette finished his sentence, “We go.” She guarded the rear. Before they left she whispered to her grandfather. “How dangerous is this going to be?”

  Sir Giles thought for a moment, running the permutations of all the outcomes. Everything led to one conclusion. The murderer was beginning to make mistakes. And a compromised murderer is a very dangerous adversary. “Eminently lethal, my dear.”

  * * *

  THE LUAU PARTY was in full swing when Sir Giles entered escorting Herbert and Martha into the Polynesian themed gala. Martha wore her grass skirt and coconut bra fetchingly over a pleasingly plump body. Her husband flashed a colorful Hawaiian shirt, shorts and bare feet. Sir Giles also wore festive attire with an equally garish outfit. A band of deeply tan musicians in grass skirts danced, pounding their feet along a stage to the rhythm of the drums among a barrage of tiki torches. The smell of roasting fyak wafted throughout the gathering. Flames licked the many fyak carcasses slowly turning on their rotisserie spits, bubbling fatty dribbling goodness that smoked up with an enticing aroma. Waiters weaved about dispensing libations with colorful ornamental umbrellas. Sir Giles snagged a drink and made his adieus to the older couple when he saw Nanette, Smythe and Ambassador Slipsludge off in the distance.

  Nanette waved to her grandfather. He noticed she too was wearing a coconut bra and grass skirt as were all the Terran women. “We wondered when you’d show up. The party has been going on for half an hour. What kept you?”

  “Herbert and Martha.” The rolled eyes said much more. “They are a lovely couple but a bit nosey, especially when you two are in their sights. We had to have a long gossip session about how you two were getting along.”

  Smythe chuckled. “I hope our secrets are still intact?”

  Sir Giles shrugged. “They are tenacious. They seem to take it as a personal duty to give you two all the wisdom they possess. Remind me later, young Mister Smythe, to share the next course of action you are to take according to the Love Gods.”

  “Great,” moaned Nanette. “Can we get on with the matter at hand?”

  Slipsludge’s eyestalk scanned the crowd for possible threats. “I feel so vulnerable. What should I be doing?”

  Sir Giles cocked his head quizzically. “What you came here to do, of course. Sway the delegates to vote in support of your committee’s budget to cover the Galactic Guild’s obligations. So mingle. Greet everyone. Be upbeat and inspiring. Be—”

  Slipsludge interrupted, “A target for the next murder.”

  “Exactly!” Sir Giles was sympathetic, but saw no other way. “Don’t worry. We will be close at hand to come to your aid.”

  Slipsludge harrumphed not being convinced he wanted to go through with the plan. But he saw his first opportunity, Regaltusk from Rhinoceride who was downing a drink with a sour look on his face. His tough hide looked impervious prompting Slipsludge to wish his flesh was las-proof. But he knew he was soft, slippery and easily damaged. Regaltusk saw Slipsludge’s gaze and tried to move deeper into the crowd, avoiding any more delegate-mindnumbing-chitchats. “Regaltusk! You hoo! Wait up please! May I have a few words with you?”

  Regaltusk snorted and turned around to greet the Acochlidean.

  “Okay.” Sir Giles nodded at his two helpers. “Follow the ambassador. But don’t look like you’re following him.” They nodded and blended into the crowd while the sleuth made his way to the roasting pits to snatch a bite of some crispy cracklings.

  Little translucent bubbles shot out from the stage. A handsome Polynesian singer with too many leis around his neck spoke to the crowd, “Do you know what time it is?”

  Bubbles flew out in all directions covering the crowd. They responded with, “Tiny Bubbles Time!”

  “That’s right. So put down those foo-foo drinks and grab a handful of leis and champagne. Greet someone you’ve never met before and let’s party!”

  Flowers were passed out along with liters of champagne. A Nympholonian with pink hair and twinkly eyes raced up to Sir Giles and threw herself into his arms giving the Terran a big kiss. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you come on board.”

  Sir Giles’ face softened at the boldness of the petite female. She slung
a handful of leis around his neck. Then she swiveled her shoulders letting him see ample, coconut bra covered breasts. “I’m Selicious, the ambassador from Nympholon.” She then shimmied her hips and everything wiggled pleasingly on the sea foam colored body.

  “You certainly are,” he responded. He raised his hand to shake but she didn’t shake it. Instead she took his hand and caressed her cheek with it. “Will you sing along with me for the next number?”

  “Certainly. I’d be honored.”

  The band struck up the tune Tiny Bubbles that was made famous by Don Ho on Terra many centuries ago. Everyone swayed to the tune and answered back to the singer, mimicking him.

  The song went on and Selicious swayed seductively to the tune. Sir Giles wondered just how old this beautiful creature was. She looked barely sixteen but Nympholonians were notorious for not showing their true age. The older they became, the lovelier they seemed. If he had to venture a guess, a female Nympholonian in such a prestigious position would need to be over five hundred Terran years old; a mere third of their expected lifespan. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “You are such a beautiful creature. Would you mind making an old man happy?”

  Selicious’ eyes grew wide. She tried to hide her amusement. “Sir Giles—” She swatted his chest with a dainty hand. “You wouldn’t be getting frisky with me, are you now?”

  “Um—actually I just wanted to indulge my curiosity a bit.” She winked at him with desire. “I mean—would you mind answering a personal question?”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed. “No, not at all.” Her eyebrows arched. “But I was hoping you were getting fresh. Go ahead.”

  “Just how old are you? I mean you don’t look a day over sixteen if you were Terran.”