“And ten rackets is a definite unfair advantage for Flims,” added Smythe. “Most of us don’t have multiple jointed appendages that can grasp so many rackets.”
“If I’m getting the gist of what you’re saying,” said Sir Giles with a twinkle in his eye, “you’d like to challenge Ambassador Adlaison to a game of Squash?”
“Unequivocally so,” said Glounce. “Doubles in fact. Pi will be my partner.” With that, Glounce wrapped a tentacle around Pi’s shoulder and drug him closer until the little blue Podil was nestled within Glounce’s blubber pouch.
Pi spluttered, ejecting a little slime that got into his mouth. Pi tried to smile feebly. “I’m not so sure about—”
“Quiet Pi,” said Glounce, shaking him affectionately. “You’re my man—um—Podil.”
“But—I’ve never played Squash in my life,” protested Pi. “As a matter-of-fact, I’ve never indulged in any athletic activity whatsoever. Most Podils despise physical exertion of any kind. We just don’t like to break a sweat. Makes our fur sticky.” He paused. “And smelly.”
“Then this will be your shining moment,” growled Glounce, trying to sell the competition with a little intimidation and a hard squeeze around Pi’s shoulders.” Pi winced.
“And Sir Giles will be my partner,” answered Adlaison. “That is, if he’ll accept my request?”
“Gladly Ambassador,” said Sir Giles. “Did you know I was the bronze medalist winner of the ’09 Olympics?” Then he added, “The Twenty-second Century Olympics.”
Adlaison countered. “And I am my club’s champion five years in a row. We’ll make a good team.”
“Really?” asked Glounce. “Would a small wager not be in order to sweeten the victory? Although my team will be at a distinct disadvantage to the likes of you two pros.”
Smythe groaned. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Nanette smiled at the obvious ploy. “Grandfather can best anyone in a fair game. Isn’t that right Grandfather?”
“I’ll give it my all,” he agreed. “Squash is a man’s—um—male sport. I’m willing if everyone else is.” That caused his granddaughter to roll her eyes and point to the rank insignia on her uniform. She got a boyish shrug in response.
Glounce rubbed all of his tentacles together with satisfaction. Pi moaned at the prospect of degrading himself with physical activities. Adlaison beamed and Sir Giles nodded confidently.
“Say two pellets to the winners?” said Adlaison. “Just to make things interesting.”
Glounce’s eyes gleamed brightly. “Two pellets each. Say eight bells tomorrow afternoon? We’ll need the time to prepare for the match. Let’s tell all our friends that they can come and watch. And a fan base always makes for a better game.”
Sir Giles wondered who he could invite. “Well—there are only the staff and ambassadors on board. There can’t be too many interested in our sport.”
They all agreed, except Pi who didn’t matter in the decision.
Chapter 8
How SLASPs Do It
“HONESTLY, MY DEAR,” SAID SIR Giles, placing the digi-pad down on the end table. He turned to Nanette. “You treat me as if I’m a dotard sometimes.”
Nanette stammered realizing she had nothing to say in response. Smythe came to her defense. “I doubt Miss Nanette intended—”
“But she has,” Sir Giles said. “I may be old, but I’m far from being senile. As a matter-of-fact, I do believe my faculties are much clearer since last night’s episode. I will admit my shortcomings lately, which I attribute to a poorly administered rejuvenation process. But, I’m a hundred percent now. No, maybe even a hundred and one percent restored to my highly-cognitive self.”
Nanette had been trying to get him to allow her to bodyguard his safety for the upcoming Squash competition. Sir Giles declined vehemently, rejecting her constant attention. For every point she brought up, Sir Giles would counter with logic which infuriated her to no end.
“I’m in absolutely no danger whatsoever,” he insisted.
“How can you say that?” she said, being short with him. “The murderer could be anyone.”
“Not just anyone,” he answered.
Smythe—who was trying to stay out of the conversation—realized the implication of Sir Giles’ sentence. “So, sir, you know who the psychopath is?”
Sir Giles smiled. He thumbed the edged of the digi-pad on the end table.
“You do,” blurted Nanette. “Who is it? I’ll send an armed squad to apprehend the criminal.”
“And ruin the end game?” said Sir Giles. “Tsk-tsk, my dear. I must have my fun. What’s the point of solving the case if I can’t show off my talents?”
Nanette’s mouth opened in astonishment. “You would risk another murder just to please your sense of adventure?”
“There will be no more murders,” said Sir Giles adamantly. “I can guarantee no more unwanted deaths. That is, if you follow my instructions implicitly.”
“When have I not followed your—” Nanette was sputtering, obviously steamed.
Smythe intercepted her before she said something she would regret with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I, for one, will do whatever is necessary to end this tragedy. I’m sure Miss Nanette feels the same way.” Smythe looked into her eyes and smiled. “Right?”
She was still angry, but nodded. “Right.”
“Good,” said Sir Giles. “From now on we will not refer to the murderer as a psychopath. He is far from being one. All the evidence leads me to a mind that has contrived this affair to misdirect me. Throw me off from his true purpose. But he has underestimated my intellect. A very serious mistake I might add.”
“But we must apprehend the scoundrel,” said Nanette, “before he strikes again.”
“We will,” said Sir Giles. “But it must be done with cunning. We must catch him in the act. Anything less and he will get away with these grievous crimes. He has covered his tracks artfully to say the least. Until I realized that I was chosen to be involved to mask the true meaning, I wasn’t able to comprehend the reasoning behind all the deaths. There are many individuals involved, but only one is directly responsible.”
“Then why the messages to Terra?” asked Nanette. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler for the murderer and his accomplices to not involve you?”
“Simpler yes,” said Sir Giles. “But the idea of a maniacal killer running around murdering Galactic Guild ambassadors would be the greatest ruse to cover their true intent.”
“So the murders are related to some higher scheme?”
Sir Giles snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Correct.” He paced hugging himself thinking. “There’s just a few minor details I need to work out yet. And that’s where you two will come into play.”
“Then what do we need to do, Sir Giles?” asked Smythe.
“For one,” he began, “you two need to go off and enjoy yourselves for a few hours.”
“What?” asked Nanette. “You expect me to just leave you alone again while Smythe and I go cavorting about?”
“I like cavorting,” said Smythe, smiling sheepishly. “Cavorting is my middle name.” Nanette just about knuckled him in the ribs.
“Children,” blared Sir Giles. “I want a little peace and quiet before the Squash match, time to organize my thoughts. I must plan for all possible contingencies if we are to avert another murder.”
“Oh.” Nanette was starting to see the logic of the situation.
“You two young people were robbed of your fun last night,” Sir Giles said. “Go. Enjoy a stroll through the gardens. Maybe I could suggest a romantic picnic in the nature preserve? I heard the Euripides has a few rare species living among the trees. I would like both of you to just unwind for a few hours. My time here is growing short and I want you two to have all the opportunities you need to say your goodbyes.”
Smythe looked crestfallen. “I will look back on our time together as the highlight of my life sir.”
“That
’s very nice of you to say,” said Sir Giles. “But I feel you two have been cheated out of your just rewards. Nanette will also have to leave when my business here is concluded. And I will be stored away again.”
Nanette looked sad. “I too believe this has been the happiest point of my life. You, grandfather, have been so understanding and wise. I will miss you tremendously.”
“I’ve not gone back into cryo-sleep yet. Hence my wanting to stretch this case out for the time being. I know I’m being selfish, placating my vanity. But M-Dammit! I’m Sir Giles Thackery, super sleuth. Everyone is expecting a big show involving me apprehending the culprit and I aim to give it to them. Don’t go tattletaling on me to your superiors. They wouldn’t think kindly of me being so devious.”
Both of them shook their heads. “Good!” He clapped his hands together. “You two—go. Have fun and I won’t expect to see you until the Squash match.”
“What, if I may ask,” piped up Smythe, “is your next line of investigation?”
Sir Giles took in a deep breath, expanding his chest and then exhaling. “I believe it will be necessary for me to become a plumber.”
* * *
THE GRASSY PROMENADE led along a trickling brook on the Euripides’ nature preserve. Smythe carried a wicker basket while Nanette followed mumbling to herself.
“I’m sorry,” said Smythe. “I didn’t catch that.”
Nanette stopped, stuck her hand in the basket, and produced a carrot stick. She took a bite and poked Smythe’s chest with the remaining portion of the carrot. “I said, he’s an old fool.”
“I take it you’re talking about your grandfather.”
She nodded. “He believes just because he’s Sir high-and-mighty Thackery that everything will go according to his plans. Well believe me—real life rarely goes according to plan. Something is bound to go wrong. Mark my words.”
“Words marked,” said Smythe. “I’m a little worried myself. He’s too secretive. If I was him I’d let you in on what I was thinking. He could at least tell us his suspicions as to who the murderer is.”
She waved her carrot stick in the air, pointing down a branch in the path they were following. “Let’s go this way.”
He agreed and they wandered on in the new direction. It was amazing to the both of them that there was enough space on board the ship to house such a vast ecosystem. “Look.” Smythe pointed to a rotting log in an open glen sprouting milk thistles that were spreading their cottony seeds.
“What?”
“Look closely at that fallen tree.”
To her amazement, she saw a large-billed, red-crowned woodpecker about to plow through the dead wood. The head plunged down and the sound of its bill striking echoed thunderingly in the air.
“That’s a pileated woodpecker from the Terra System. One of only ten pairs left in existence. The male can be distinguished by that brilliantly colored red tuft on the crown of his head.”
“He’s magnificent,” she said. “I didn’t know such creatures existed.”
“You may never see a breeding pair again in our lifetimes. I’m kind of a nut about conservation. Especially endangered species like the pileated woodpeckers. I’ve been birdwatching my whole life and it doesn’t matter if they’re birds from Terra or birds from other systems. I just love the idea that there are creatures that can fly.”
“Terrans can fly too,” she commented.
“That’s not the same. We use machines to get us off the ground, machine-flying between our planets. These creatures generate their own flight.”
As if on cue the large woodpecker flapped its wings and rose into the air. The couple watched the creature soar over their heads, flapping vigorously to stay aloft. Nanette watched the majestic creature land in a large tree and noticed a circular nest hole where the hen stuck her head out to greet her mate. Then baby birdie heads also peeked out. A little pang of envy welled up inside her as she wondered if she would ever settle down and have a family.
They came to the end of the path which was blocked by a big boulder. Nanette lightly hurtled herself over the obstacle. Smythe hustled to catch up to her on the other side. “Wait up,” he puffed. “I’m not a SLASP agent you know. I can’t leap over mountains like a superhero.”
Her head peeked around the rock. “Sorry.” She cartwheeled up to the top of the boulder, crouching. Then she leaped into the air, somersaulting back to her feet next to him. “I’m feeling antsy. And when I’m antsy I—”
“Leap over tall boulders with a single bound,” interrupted Smythe.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Exercise helps me release any pent up energy. A little hand-to-hand combat would suit me about now. But I’d kill you before I calmed down. I’ll have to leap about for awhile as a substitute. We don’t want to have another dead body on our hands, do we?”
“Thank heavens you have other outlets,” said Smythe. “How high can you jump anyway?” He turned and espied a Douglas Fir tree over twenty-seven meters in height. “Can you leap over that tree?” he asked pointing to it.
“No, of course not,” she responded. “At least not at Terra-normal gravity. I could bring you that big pine cone at the top though.”
“Which one?”
She came close to him and snuggled up her backside to his groin and pointed to a pine cone near the top. Smythe smelled her hair and felt her body close to his. He looked along her arm, telescoping the direction until he found the brown blob she was pointing at. “That one, third branch down from the top?” he asked.
She nodded. “Say, in three leaps or less.”
“Really? You won’t hurt yourself trying?”
She rolled her eyes. Without another word she sprang over the next boulder and gained speed toward the Douglas Fir. When she was close enough she leaped up and caught a large limb. Twirling around the branch, she gained even more momentum and launched herself up about two-thirds of the way to her target. She grasped another limb, this time with only one hand. Smythe took in air, gasping at what he thought was a mistake. He dropped the basket and ran to help but before he made a few steps he saw her spin her body around the limb and propel herself to the top of the tree. She crouched on the limb just below the pine cone. Plucking it, she put the stem in her mouth and flung herself down to the ground catching some of the limbs along the way to slow her descent.
Smythe, relieved, raced up to her. “I thought you were about to fall,” he said.
Nanette plucked the cone from her mouth and handed it to him. “Never.” She patted his face. “Let’s eat.” She looked around for the basket. “What did you do with our lunch?”
Smythe indicated where he dropped it. He told her to stay put as he left to retrieve their food. Within moments he came back with it. He whipped the checkered blanket out and smoothed it down. Then he placed a cold roasted chicken, a loaf of crusty French bread, some cheese, plates, silverware and fruit down. Handing her a fluted glass, Smythe popped the cork on some sparkling wine and poured her a glass. “Lunch is served,” he said, pouring himself a glass of the wine also. They toasted to each other’s good health.
Nanette lowered her glass; Smythe thought something was wrong. She put her finger to his lips to quiet his distress. Then she came in close and kissed him.
* * *
AMBASSADOR ADLAISON AWOKE from a nap when there came a knock on his door. He shook himself and walked to the hatch. “Who is it?” he asked pressing the vidi-screen. The screen flickered and a familiar face appeared.
“It is I, Sir Giles, Ambassador.” The face was distorted as the man was standing too close to the lens.
“Sir Giles,” Adlaison said, releasing the lock to allow access. “Come in, come in.” The door opened with a swish and Sir Giles entered pensively, carrying his curious leather bag. He marched about inspecting the stateroom for company.
Adlaison, seeing this intense manner, hesitated before closing the door. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” For some reason he felt it necessary t
o set the security lock again. Normally he didn’t fear for his life but now he wasn’t so sure.
Sir Giles paced slightly, drumming his temple with a forefinger. He darted about the room looking for something. He opened drawers and snooped behind the furnishings. He even made a show of unzipping the liners on the throw pillows to inspect the soft batting.
“Looking for anything in particular?” The man didn’t seem to hear his question. Seeing he wasn’t going to get an answer from Sir Giles, Adlaison went to the bar to mix a drink for himself and his guest. “Did I misunderstand, Sir Giles? Weren’t we going to meet for the Squash match at eight bells this afternoon?”
Sir Giles came out of his stupor like a man thrown into an ice bath. He received the drink from Adlaison’s offering hand, then took a sip. “You’ve misunderstood nothing, my good man,” said Sir Giles. “Our appointment is still set for this afternoon. But I feel the need to be prudent when your life is at risk. This murderer is diabolical. He could’ve already set a trap for you.”
“I thank you for your concern,” replied Adlaison. “But what could possibly harm me while I’m basically a prisoner within my own stateroom? Besides, you haven’t told me what you’re here for yet. Is it to look into all of my personal items? I guarantee there is very little of interest here. Most of these things are the property of the Euripides. I travel light as a general rule. Less fussing if I don’t drag about my belongings.”
“Ah—yes.” Sir Giles nodded. “Very wise. But I can give some illumination to my sudden interest in your paraphernalia. It might be tainted.” Then he paused and took a generous swallow of his drink. “A wonderful cocktail. Fruity.” He took another sip. “Not too sweet; delicate on the palate. What is it, if I may ask? I don’t recognize the flavor.”
“A distillate from Towleen called Runbowl,” said Adlaison. “It’s fermented from the saliva of the fleep-fleep bird. I’ve found it is delightful when mixed with a citrus spritzer. How do you like it?”
“I like it very much. Yes, it is surprisingly refreshing,” said Sir Giles, thinking he’d never openly ask for bird spit as a refreshment, but he had to admit it was pleasant on the palate. “Here’s to the Towleens and their wonderful contribution to the mixology world.” He held out his drink and Adlaison clinked glasses. They drank to Sir Giles’ toast in silence. When they finished, Sir Giles said, “Would you mind if I used your facilities for a moment?”
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