Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  She fumbled about picking up debris that had been so carelessly flung about in their haste. “Leave it be,” said Smythe. “We can always come back to clean up later.”

  “Right.” She dropped the tin of crackers and rushed off down the path without Smythe.

  “Hey!”

  She stopped and turned. “What?”

  He pointed in the opposite direction. She did a double take and decided he was right. Her mind must still be in a state of shock after finding out Smythe was her genetic match. The last few hours were still fuzzy. She’d never thought that she’d find her match, on a mission, when she was assigned to bodyguard her famous grandfather. Somehow things didn’t add up for her and she could guarantee that her grandfather had something to do with it. She wondered if he really had super-Terran powers of intellect. Certainly he was well-renowned for his abilities. But could he actually predict a genetic match like some Terran dousing rod? She ran back to Smythe. “You coming?” she asked.

  He nodded and they trotted off in the direction he pointed. Finally Smythe couldn’t handle the silence any longer and said, “What are you going to tell your grandfather?”

  “About what?”

  “About us.” He watched her running with hardly any effort. Her arms pumped up and down and her chest rose and fell gracefully.

  “Nothing,” she said. “At least for now.” She grabbed him by the collar and stopped running. “And you better not say a word if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Not a word,” he said, crossing his heart with his fingers.

  “Of course, one look at you and he’ll know something is up.”

  “What look is that?”

  “That stupid, I’m-in-love look.”

  He wondered what that look actually looked like—especially on him.

  She twisted his face by his chin. “I could just kill you and say it was an accident. No Smythe, no more problems.”

  “Would it be easier if I ejected myself from an airlock?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Suicide—yeah. Could work,” she said with a smile. “You better leave a note behind explaining you couldn’t live without me and had to end it all.”

  They laughed. He reached down to kiss her and she let him. She restrained herself from ripping the clothes off of him. His body made her tingle with desire. When they finally parted she said, “We’ll have to pick this up later.” He smiled. “Just let me do the talking with my grandfather before you go making wedding arrangements. He thinks he’s so clever so let’s make him wonder just what’s been going on for a while. I doubt we can keep our new situation from him for long with me not being able to contain myself any further around you. So if you say anything before I’m ready, I’ll never have sex with you again. Is that understood?”

  “Aye, aye ma’am.” He saluted her.

  “Now hurry up and get me to the Squash match. The Maker only knows when the murderer is going to strike again.”

  Chapter 9

  Courtside Action

  THE SQUASH COURT WAS ABUZZ with life as spectators poured into the makeshift auditorium for the occasion. News of the match had spread from some unknown source to the media. Soon there was growing interest not only for the competition but for the shear betting fun of watching two elderly Terries take on a Flimian and a Podil. The Galactic Guild solar systems from far and wide began demanding vidi-coverage of the competition. Once the news broke about the five murders on board the Euripides and that one of the Terries in the match was the Sir Giles Thackery the interest became galactic in nature. The GBC decided that they could not disregard the obvious ratings they could rake in if they could just get on board the quarantined vessel. Amazingly enough, they were allowed to ship a vidi-drone through the SATO armada.

  The vidi-drone hovered over the crowd of ambassadors and high level assistants as it remotely took its bearings. Having scanned the entire sports arena, it floated closer to the center of the court. A light projected a tri-D sports announcer onto the court. The image flickered into sharp focus and a handsome svelte man in a sports jacket raised a hand and waved into the vidi-drone.

  “You receiving me?” the announcer asked. He put his hand to his ear, twisting his imaginary earpiece. Then he thumped it. “Dammit, where’s the audio feed Marty?!”

  His image fluttered and within seconds his image scrambled into a dozen different personas, ending up with a buxom woman in a skintight leather one piece. The tri-D announcer looked down at his new body. “Very funny, Marty. A dominatrix? Really?” The skintight outfit began disappearing leaving very little to the imagination. “Hey! Get me back to normal before I fire someone for this little prank. Namely you, Marty.”

  The announcer fluttered again and the original man with a square chin and large crinkly-edged eyes reappeared. He cleared his throat as the teleprompter on the vidi-drone flashed up a signal that they were three seconds to airtime. The red light on the vidi-drone changed to green and the announcer swiveled his head to stare straight into the camera.

  “Welcome everyone. Hunt Chetley—live from the Euripides—as we await the Squash match being called the Battle of the Species. If you’re one of the few who don’t know about this competition then hold onto your seats. We have all the info you need to place your bets on today’s exciting match. Take it away, Marty.”

  The vidi-drone went on standby with a chronometer counting down from 00:04:30. “Damn, I hate these last-minute jobs,” said Hunt. “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked the vidi-drone.

  A voice responded from the vidi-drone. “Interview Ambassador Adlaison or Sir Giles Thackery.”

  “Right.” Hunt looked around and tried to identify his targets. He did see Captain Aubrey and made his way over to him with the vidi-drone in tow. “Captain!” Captain Aubrey didn’t respond. “Ahem!” Hunt coughed.

  Aubrey turned and scowled. “Yes.”

  “Hunt Chetley, GBC.” Hunt put his hand out for Captain Aubrey to shake. Captain Aubrey’s hand passed through the holographic announcer’s hand. Hunt laughed nervously. “Sorry—forgot for a moment I wasn’t really there. These 3-D simulates are so real anymore.”

  Captain Aubrey didn’t see the humor in the mishap as he put his arms behind his back and took a parade rest7 stance.

  “Well,” said Hunt, changing the subject. “Quite a turnout, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm,” growled Captain Aubrey. “Seems a little too much turnout to me. I don’t approve of this little stunt. Makes the loss of the ambassadors into a laughing matter. Maker dammit. If I find out who’s behind all this brouhaha, I’ll have him drawn and quartered.”

  “Yes,” said Hunt. “I can see where this could be a bit much since the tragic loss of the five ambassadors. But the excitement, the shear drama of it all is driving this interest.”

  “If I had my way—”

  Hunt interrupted Captain Aubrey’s tirade. “But the will of the Galactic Guild’s citizens cannot be hindered. Freedom of the Press and all, you know.”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Captain Aubrey reluctantly.

  Hunt looked at the remaining time on the vidi-drone countdown. It read 00:00:45. “Heavens,” he panicked. “I’m almost back on the air. Have you seen Ambassador Adlaison or Sir Giles Thackery in the crowd anywhere? I must find them quickly.”

  Captain Aubrey looked around and pointed at a dense mass of individuals.

  “Beg your pardon, captain,” Hunt said politely, leaving Captain Aubrey and moving towards the group. Without ceremony Hunt explained himself to the two Terrans and shooed the anxious bystanders away. The vidi-drone hovered close for the broadcasting to start.

  Three, two, one—the green light flashed again on the vidi-drone. Hunt swiveled his head to stare directly into the camera. “We’re live, back on the Galactic Guild’s Luxury Space Liner, the Euripides, with our most honored and esteem athletes, Ambassador Adlaison.” Adlaison nodded. “And the famous Terran detective, Sir Giles Thackery.” Hunt waited for Sir Giles to reac
t and when he received no response he quickly continued. “So, how do you both feel about today’s competition. Are you ready?”

  Adlaison looked to Sir Giles to begin. Realizing the inevitable when dealing with media, the sleuth let out a quiet sigh and began. “We are most anxious to begin. I, for one, find the game of Squash a rigorous and challenging sport. Wouldn’t you agree, ambassador?”

  “Yes, a very rigorous and challenging sport. Anyone can play the game, but few can ever master the subtleties of the sport.”

  “Too true,” added Hunt, not knowing a thing about the game of Squash. “So what is the object of the game for those who aren’t familiar with the sport?”

  “Certainly,” said Adlaison. “The object of the game is to get eleven points. Each team begins a rally, which is to say, they serve the ball. This ball must hit the big back wall within the area below the out-of-bounds mark and the service line above the tin.”

  “The tin?” asked Hunt.

  Sir Giles answered this one. “The tin is the board at the base of the wall.”

  “Correct,” said Adlaison.

  “Which again is the service line?” asked Hunt.

  Adlaison looked annoyed so Sir Giles answered. “It is the line about one-fourth up the back wall.”

  “So the serve must strike the back wall above the service line and below the out-of-bounds.” Hunt was reiterating, making himself appear only more ignorant than before. Both men glared at him. “Please, continue.”

  “After the serve,” said Adlaison, “the ball cannot bounce twice on the floor, or hit the tin, and of course, can’t go out-of-bounds before the opposing team puts the ball back in play.”

  “Very interesting.” Hunt gave a smile, turning to the vidi-drone.

  Sir Giles twirled his racket in his palm. “The trick to winning the point is to not interfere in your opponent’s attempt to strike the ball.” Sir Giles grabbed his racket and swung it around and through Hunt’s body. It flickered and stabilized itself.

  “I totally agree,” said Adlaison. “It is a very dangerous sport with the ball in motion and everyone jockeying into position to return the projectile.”

  “Dangerous?” asked Hunt.

  “Extremely,” both men said.

  “So we could be in for a blood sport?” said Hunt eagerly, grinning at the vidi-drone.

  “Very possible,” said Adlaison. “Playing doubles only increases the chances of injury.”

  “What happens if the game is tied?” asked Hunt.

  “There are no ties,” said Sir Giles. “It is a best of five games. In the event that both teams reach ten all, the winner is determined when they reach two points better than their opponent. Very similar to scoring in tennis.”

  “I see,” said Hunt, not really seeing. “Well, there you have it folks. Everything you ever wanted to know about the game of Squash. Good luck to you both today and I hope to see you in the winner’s circle.”

  “This isn’t horse racing,” said Adlaison. “There’s no winner’s circle in Squash, only winners and losers.”

  Hunt chortled.

  * * *

  NANETTE AND SMYTHE PUSHED through the throng of courtside spectators to reach Sir Giles and Ambassador Adlaison. Sir Giles seeing them, waved them to hurry.

  “I wondered when you two would show up.”

  Nanette had a look of horror on her face. “What is going on? This crowd, the cameras, the—”

  “Chaos,” finished Sir Giles.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Smythe was smiling inanely behind her. Sir Giles looked into the young man’s eyes and gave him a nod and a smile back. Nanette noticed her grandfather’s acknowledgment and scowled, her assumptions that this meddling old man arranged for her to meet a genetic match of his choosing just solidified. “How am I to protect you when you are surrounded by nearly everyone on board?” she questioned.

  “You’re not, my dear,” he said. “In fact, this is a great opportunity to draw the murderer out into the open.”

  “And get you killed in the process,” she retorted.

  “Nonsense,” he replied. “My partner, the worthy ambassador—” Adlaison waved to them seeing they were looking in his direction. “—is the target. Not me. Which leads me to what I want you to do . . . ”

  Sir Giles huddled the couple together and told them his plan and their involvement in it. The two young people nodded reluctantly when the lights dimmed for a moment and the crowd of spectators became silent.

  “Now what?” asked Nanette.

  Sir Giles shushed her.

  All at once laser lights sprouted throughout the court twisting and phasing in and out of a kaleidoscope of colors. Smoke machines puffed away creating an air of excitement as the court filled to nearly an impenetrable haze. Music boomed out a chanting echo of boom-boom-cha! boom-boom-cha! bringing the crowd to life again with roars of enthusiasm. A spotlight bore a hole through the smoke to shine on two figures emerging through the crowd. Glounce and Pi bounced onto the court where they waved to the crowd with tentacles and fuzzy hands. They wore matching jerseys of purple with yellow piping. Glounce’s had a large number one on his back, Pi’s carried a double zero. Glounce twirled his racket expertly on the end of a tentacle and whipped it high into the air to be gracefully caught by another tentacle. The crowd cheered. Pi waved feebly, dropping a bag he was carrying. When he reached down to pick it up he dropped his racket. Glounce, seeing his trouble, snagged Pi’s racket and thrust it into his hands.

  “Wave to the crowd,” growled Glounce to Pi. “And do please look the part of an athlete for once in your life.”

  Pi produced a facsimile of a happy face and waved.

  Hunt Chetley raced to the court followed by the vidi-drone. Glounce, seeing the competition already on the court, sauntered over to their side and through the holographic Hunt.

  “Hunt Chetley, GBC,” said Hunt, flickering back into focus. “Well, it appears we may be in for a special treat as Ambassador Glounce addresses the opposing team.” The vidi-drone puttered over and positioned itself to take in the conversation.

  “Sir Giles, Ambassador Adlaison,” boomed Glounce over the roar of the audience.

  “Ambassador Glounce,” said Sir Giles, shooing Nanette and Smythe away.

  Nanette muttered in Sir Giles ear, “I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “Go on, my dear,” he replied.

  Glounce watched with a perplexed look on his face as Nanette and Smythe left to blend into the crowd. Shrugging it off he turned his attention to the upcoming opponents. “Quite a showing.” Glounce waved, indicating his fellow ambassadors and crew around them.

  “Indeed it is,” said Adlaison. “I wonder who tipped off the media about our little match?”

  Glounce’s eyes widened. With an innocent expression he raised a few tentacles about him and said, “Not I. But it is invigorating to have so much attention, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Sir Giles, sternly. “One can’t help but be excited with such a spectacle as this.”

  Glounce puffed up his lower lip in thought trying to interpret whether Sir Giles was angry or merely annoyed. In the end he smiled and nodded. “Oh,” Glounce said, almost forgetting, “I took the liberty of preparing a little gift in honor of the occasion.” He waved with irritation for Pi to come to him. The Podil had been instructed to keep up.

  Pi ran a few steps toward them before remembering the bag on the court. He turned, retrieved the bag and stumbled up to them. “Here I am,” he said, even though no one had asked.

  Glounce snapped the end of his tentacle and Pi jumped to alertness from the sound. Then he remembered that was his cue to open the bag. Fumbling with the seal—and disastrously failing at opening the bag—he tore it open with his teeth. Reaching in, he produced two matching white jerseys with pink piping.

  Glounce swiped the jerseys from Pi in two tentacles and handed one to Sir Giles and the other to Adlaison. “I hope you don’t mind
,” said Glounce. “It only seemed appropriate in the spirit of the competition.”

  Adlaison eyed the feminine coloring and swirly lettering:

  ADLAISON KITTENS

  “Very fetching.” He stared at the slogan. “Adlaison Kittens?”

  Glounce looked puzzled. “Is something wrong? I sincerely hope I didn’t get things mixed up. Isn’t a kitten a ferocious beast on your home system of Terra?”

  Sir Giles piped up, calming Adlaison’s obvious ire. “I believe the ambassador meant tigers.”

  “Tigers?” Glounce said with a grin.

  “Right,” said Adlaison. “Tigers. A ferocious man-eating creature that lives only for the pleasure of the hunt.”

  Sir Giles looked over his jersey. “Kittens are soft, fuzzy, adorable creatures we Terries have around the house.”

  Glounce looked sheepish. “Oh, my bad.”

  Sir Giles took his polo shirt off and donned the jersey. “I think they’re quite attractive. Thank you, Ambassadors Glounce and Pi for being so considerate.” The jersey was a bit too large and the lettering was slightly askew. “Adlaison, old man, show your appreciation by accepting this humble gesture.”

  Adlaison fumed but decided if Sir Giles could take the humiliation in high spirits, then he could too. Afterwards he tugged at the garment, scratching his ribs where the piping rubbed his skin. “I see you have a team slogan also,” he said to Glounce and Pi.

  “Glounce Pounders,” said Pi, giggling. “I came up with it.”

  “We’ll see who gets a pounding when we meet on the court,” said Adlaison.

  * * *

  CAPTAIN AUBREY PROPOSED he would be the official referee for the game. Being the captain, no one disagreed. He made his usual harrumph of acceptance as he took over the mic and stared with the best stern face he could muster into the vidi-drone camera.

  “I’ve familiarized myself with the basics of the game,” he said to the Glounce Pounders and the Adlaison Kittens. “This match will follow the official PARS8 rules set down by the Galactic Guild Olympics of 2253. The winner will be determined by a best of five games.”