Murder on Euripides

by Scott A. Combs

  “Wrong! There’s definitely someone I need to shoot yet. Like a big, fat, overbearing, blubber-butt Flimian ass like you.”

  Sir Giles put out his hands to ward off the aggression. “You can’t escape, Pi,” he said. “You’re surrounded by a SATO armada. Besides, what good would it do in killing more innocent beings? Your plan to eliminate the opposition in the way of the Podon nation continuing to run the Galactic Guild Highways is at an end. There’s no one left to oppose you.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” asked Glounce. “A work contract renewal? I thought Podon was tired of maintaining those old wormholes. You seemed to be indifferent when I was appointed head of the committee on drafting a new maintenance contract for the next century of work. If I’d known just how important the contract was to you, I would’ve rallied in your favor.”

  “See,” shouted Pi. “You can’t even tell when something is important to me. What would Podon do if it lost its primary source of income? Our race would be without its main revenue stream. We’d have nothing to do. What then, I ask you? What would we do?”

  Glounce shook his head trying to find something constructive to say. “Go on a vacation?”

  “Podil’s don’t vacation,” groaned Pi. “Now I see I should’ve killed you first. Then I’d have little to fear from your successor. That conniving cephalopod, Shooshel—your understudy—is easy to bribe.”

  “Now listen here,” growled Glounce. “Shooshel’s a good Flimian.”

  “Shut up!” screamed Pi, eyestalks moving with chaotic vigor. “Die you loathsome beast. DIE!” Pi began squeezing the trigger.

  The vidi-drone started recording in slow motion, capturing the nuances of the confrontation. Sir Giles unslung his bag from his left shoulder, whirling it to deflect the weapon. Nanette slid around Glounce, trying to topple Pi off his feet. Smythe hurled himself in front of Glounce. Adlaison pulled helplessly on one of Glounce’s tentacles. Hunt Chetley covered his eyes.

  The bag struck Pi, knocking him off balance. Nanette successfully jumped up and kicked both of her feet into Pi’s body, propelling him against the wall. Adlaison couldn’t budge the weighty bulk of Glounce and Smythe received the las-pistol’s full force into his chest.

  Time slowed even more cinematically for the viewers’ benefit.

  Smythe careened up into the air to land face first on the deck at the feet of Hunt Chetley. Sir Giles prepared for another strike with his bag. Nanette jumped up and somersaulted over Pi’s body to land behind him. She grabbed both eyestalks and yanked them apart, tearing one of the stems clean away. It was spewing a bluish gushing stream from the mangled appendage. Sir Giles wrenched the weapon from Pi’s hand. Pi gurgled pathetically, cupping his eyestalk stump.

  The video returned to normal.

  Nanette ran to Smythe, fearing the worst. She rolled him over and saw a smoking hole in his chest. Under closer inspection she saw the las-proof vest had done its job and saved Smythe’s life. She gave a thumbs up and Sir Giles gave a deep sigh of relief. Then they all noticed Pi was gone. Nanette sprang to her feet and began to pursue Pi, only to be stopped by Sir Giles.

  “He’s getting away!” she shouted.

  “How far can he go, my dear? Besides, it’s not wise to chase a wounded animal into a corner.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Smythe needs you,” he said sympathetically. “Go help him.”

  She still looked unconvinced. “That’s an order, young lady!” he blared with authority.

  She knew when she was outmatched and went to the purser’s side.

  * * *

  PI, CRADLING WHAT WAS LEFT of his bleeding eyestalk, staggered into the hanger bay. He looked back over his shoulder expecting to hear the sounds of pursuit. To his amazement, none came. Glancing around with his good eyestalk, he espied what he was looking for, glowing indicator lights above a light cruiser ready for takeoff.

  He cringed at the thought that his good fortune was some trap of that meddling Sir Giles, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy in this hour of need. All his plans ruined; secrets revealed; his guilt undeniable. He was wounded and shaking from the damaged eyestalk. In time it would heal and grow back but it would take years before he’d have the use of that eye. He cursed his luck.

  Racing to the cruiser—dripping blood—he found that the light cruiser was unmanned and unguarded with its access hatch open and inviting. Once inside, he closed the hatch and took a deep breath—relaxing slightly. Stumbling forward he found his way to the cockpit. The engines were revving up on their own and he wondered why. It was as if he was meant to escape. Again he was troubled by the situation. Eager to depart from the Euripides, Pi found the command console and engaged the drive units, propelling the craft to lift off from the deck. The craft lumbered into position to face the exit portal and it zoomed off into space.

  Just then he noticed a curious piece of paper taped to the viewport. He reached up with a trembling hand and peeled it away. In the gloom of the cockpit, he fumbled for an overhead light. It flickered into life, beaming down upon the note.

  Holding his stump to stanch the bleeding, he cocked his good eyestalk down to get a better look. He began reading the note out loud which contained a series of fussy-old-fashioned-handwritten characters:

  My dear misguided, illustrious Pi,

  Forgive this intrusion in what must be a most stressing time for you, but I didn’t want our last communication to be recorded for all to know—hence this handwritten missive.

  As you are now in a state of total disrepute, I must set the record straight—even if it is for our benefit only—that you are not the better man/Podil when it comes to masterminding this totally fabricated criminal farce. For you see, if you would have allowed the natural order of events to unfold to fruition you would have found that Glounce—your one and only true friend—would have voted to allow Podon the contract to manage the Galactic Highways for another century. Ambassador Adlaison, although reluctant, would have come to the same conclusion that Podon was, after all, the most logical choice to continue service to the Galactic Guild. These two votes, with the others on your side, would have been ample support to pass the contract through committee. Your ruse was foolhardy and unwarranted; if you’d had the intellect only to see the long term goals.

  I obviously could not have saved Ambassador Pudge, being he was murdered before I arrived, but I will forever regret and hold myself responsible for the others and poor Soomee’s death. I must be getting old and feeble. But that is no excuse.

  Now we come to your fate. Podon will be awarded the contract. So in a way you have succeeded in your scheme. All of your co-conspirators, cohorts, acquaintances and family will be hunted down and imprisoned—guilty by association and of conspiracy—unless you do exactly as I say.

  On the console you’ll find a small addition I installed, a button on your right that is glowing red. It is set to overload your engines, making it appear to be a catastrophic malfunction. Totally untraceable, completely accidental, and humane or should I say podane.

  Do us all a favor and take my small gesture as a sign of good faith. If you do choose the button, your family and friends will not be treated as discussed earlier as I have arranged a note in your quarters claiming your sole responsibility. On the other hand, if you continue to run, I guarantee everyone you have feelings for will suffer profoundly.

  Yours very truly,

  Sir Giles Thackery

  p.s. Have a short, pointless, guilt-ridden life.

  p.p.s. You suck at crime and Squash.

  * * *

  CAPTAIN AUBREY ARRIVED at the observation port at beam 360 to find Glounce, Adlaison, Nanette, Smythe (on wobbly legs), Hunt, the vidi-drone and Sir Giles watching Pi’s light spacecruiser race away into space. From the Euripides, looking through a wall-sized viewport, it seemed a sad and lonely sight.

  Nanette fussed with her communicator. “Command,” she shouted, “track outbound vessel and prepare to engage. Heading—” she calcu
lated the direction. “Zero, fiver, niner.”

  The device beeped back. Sir Giles put his hand on hers and said, “Wait.”

  “Hold Command,” she ordered and released her comm button. “Are we going to let him get away? I thought the idea was to apprehend the culprit?”

  “There’s no need to chase him. Where could he go that the Galactic Guild couldn’t catch up to him?” Sir Giles began looking at his chronometer intently ticking off the seconds.

  A muffled voice came back through her communicator, “Commander Thackery, are you there? We’re holding by—ready for your orders.”

  “What are we doing?” she asked Sir Giles. “If we wait too long Pi might escape our quadrant.”

  “Wait for it,” said Sir Giles watching intently at the spacecraft getting smaller.

  “Command,” she said. “Stand by.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” returned the voice.

  “All right, I’m waiting.” Nanette was furious. “What am I waiting to see?”

  Everyone watched the black void. The heat trail from Pi’s exhaust was dissipating into nothingness. Glounce stroked the viewport with a tentacle. “Why? All he needed to do was come to me and explain his situation.” He turned to Sir Giles. “You knew it was Pi all along. Couldn’t you stop him from this madness?”

  Sir Giles patted the ambassador understandingly. “He was beyond my help before I came on board. His path was set when he murdered Ambassador Pudge. If it is any solace to you, I didn’t know it was Pi until very recently. He was, after all, a very cunning adversary and Podils rarely go rogue.” He looked once again at his chronometer.

  “What are you timing!?” roared Glounce, turning back to watch the heat trail of his murderous friend.

  Then there was a blinding flash—a ball of pure glowing plasma that faded away slowly. “That is what I’m timing,” said Sir Giles snapping his fingers and pointing to the blast site.

  “What just happened?” asked Adlaison. “I don’t understand any of this. Could someone explain the meaning of what we just witnessed?”

  “It means—it appears,” began Sir Giles, “Ambassador Pi’s spacecraft had a terrible malfunction.”

  “A malfunction indeed,” said Adlaison. “More like an all out catastrophe. I doubt there’s enough debris left of it to identify the craft or its occupant.”

  Glounce started to snivel, “Poor Pi. Why—?” Tears welled up in his eyes and he didn’t care if anyone noticed. “I know he wasn’t much of an ambassador, even a worse Squash player, but he was my friend. He had his faults—the Maker knows.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Nanette, “he was a friend that wanted you dead after all. He would’ve gotten around to you next. You’d be another victim in this affair.”

  Glounce’s bottom lip quivered. “I’ll miss the spineless little Podil.” Glounce started ambling off down the corridor, sniffling. They watched him dab a few eyes on his Glounce Pounders jersey just before he turned the corner and was gone.

  “I don’t understand it.” Adlaison swiveled back to the sleuth. “How can Glounce forgive Pi for these heinous crimes? He was going to kill him eventually.”

  “Friends are a lot like family,” began Sir Giles. “You love them no matter what they’ve done or will ever do. You may not agree with their actions but you care for them in their times of need.”

  Nanette held Smythe up from toppling over. “He needs medical attention,” she said. “He’s burbling nonsense.” She looked at Smythe with a longing gaze. “And drooling.”

  “Then I suggest you administer first aid in our quarters, my dear,” offered Sir Giles. “After all, I believe we’re going to be adding a new member to the Thackery clan soon.”

  “You crafty-old-matchmaker,” blurted Nanette. “I’ll bet you knew about Smythe’s genetics before we even arrived on board the Euripides.”

  “I’m Sir Giles Thackery,” he said, raising his arms out to his sides. “I know everything. Or that’s what they say about me.”

  “I can believe it,” said Adlaison. “But what condition are you fools alluding to?”

  “Why,” said Sir Giles, “that young Mister Smythe here is going to be my new great—to the eighteenth generation—grandson-in-law.”

  “Congratulations to the both of you,” said Captain Aubrey. “That was mighty quick work. When did this all happen?”

  “It happened by chance,” said Sir Giles, raising his eyebrows up and down.

  “I have to believe nothing is by chance when it comes to you,” said Adlaison.

  Sir Giles bowed slightly and helped Nanette prop Smythe up and cart him down the corridor to their suite.

  Hunt Chetley turned to the vidi-drone. “Did you get all that Marty?”

  The vidi-drone beeped. “Good.” Hunt smoothed his hair back and smiled. “There you have it folks. The Battle of the Species and the solving of the Euripides’ murders all accomplished by the legendary Sir Giles Thackery. This has been Hunt Chetley . . . signing off. Good night, everyone . . . and good night from all of us here at GBC Special Events.”

  Hunt’s image flickered a moment, then just for an instant his hologram turned into the dominatrix again. Part of a “Marty!” was cut off as the image dissolved to nothingness. The vidi-drone clicked shut its lens, turned about, and left the two men alone.

  “Ahem!” said Captain Aubrey. “I guess I’ll be needing a new purser soon. I do hope the Galactic Guild will find a suitable replacement for Smythe.”

  “Don’t worry captain,” said Adlaison. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “You don’t suppose,” said Aubrey, stroking his chin. “No. Couldn’t be.”

  “Couldn’t be what?” asked Adlaison.

  “You don’t suppose Sir Giles planned all this before he was rejuvenated somehow? Getting the Podils to plan this harebrained scheme to keep their precious jobs? Get Smythe and Commander Thackery together on board the Euripides? And—”

  Adlaison interrupted, “Arranging for the GBC to vidi-drone the whole thing . . . .”

  Epilogue

  MARTHA AND HERBERT STROLLED UP to their RJX-45 Worldcruiser Class Personal Space Vehicle. It was apparent that the older couple was in the midst of a disagreement. Martha was harping on him in a scolding way. “It wasn’t my fault that you lost all our money betting on that silly Squash match.”

  Herbert snorted in disgust. “It should’ve paid off. I think it might’ve been rigged somehow. Besides, you could’ve stopped me. You never try hard enough when you think I’m doing something rash.”

  “Shame on you,” she said pointing an accusing finger at her husband. “You take that back. I try my best but you are so pigheaded.” She swatted him on the shoulder which was her signal for him to apologize when a conversation had gone too far.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  Martha folded her arms and tapped her foot. “I didn’t catch that.”

  Herbert looked annoyed as he turned to her and glowered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is that I’m sorry because you were wrong or I’m sorry because you were rude?”

  He kissed her forehead. “Both.” She accepted his apology.

  Smythe stumbled along behind them dragging an extra large, heavily-laden suitcase. Sir Giles and his granddaughter followed behind the luggage. Nanette watched the purser drag the behemoth bags with a new longing in her eyes. In pity, she went to his aid and relieved him of the biggest burden. With one arm she hefted the bag up and carried it to the trunk of the vintage 1959 Cadillac spacecraft without breaking a sweat.

  “That’s the last of your luggage,” she said to Herbert. Herbert slammed the trunk down and grumbled something under his breath. He swore a blue streak of curses as he walked around to the driver’s side door. Nanette crammed the last suitcase into an already crowded back seat. “What’s eating him?” she asked Martha.

  “Oh, don’t mind Herbert. He’s just feeling sore about losing all our savings on the Squash match. For some reason he th
ought the Glounce Pounders were a shoe in to win. Now we haven’t any nest egg for our golden years.” She raised her eyebrows at her husband. “Some people should take their wife’s advice on such matters before someone makes a rash decision.”

  Herbert opened the door and plopped himself into the seat. Unceremoniously, he slammed the door shut with a bang! Martha began chuckling.

  “You don’t seem to be too upset about your losses?” Sir Giles raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not.” She grinned.

  Sir Giles scrutinized her demeanor and made an observation. “You aren’t broke.” She winked at him. “You placed your bet on the Adlaison Kittens.” She nodded. “And you won big.”

  “Damn tootin’ I did. Don’t spoil it by telling Herbert though. I’ll let him stew in his juices for a few lightyears before I come clean. I’ve been saving for years. You know—a few credits here—a few credits there. I’ve been stashing them away for a rainy day. So I put it all on you and Ambassador Adlaison at three hundred to one odds. We’re wealthy beyond imagination now.”

  “Good for you,” roared Sir Giles. “You deserve it. But I wouldn’t wait too long to tell your husband. Every man has to preserve his pride.”

  Martha crinkled up her eyes and giggled. “I’ll tell him when I get in. But this should teach him a good lesson.”

  Smythe came up and stuck out his hand to shake. “I want to thank the both of you for helping me with my—um—”

  “Wooing?”

  “I guess that’s what it was.” He caressed Nanette around the shoulders and gave her a kiss on the head. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “A handsome young man like yourself didn’t need any help from a couple of old farts like Herbert and me. All we did was tell you how we fell in love.”

  Nanette bent over and gave her a kiss. “Yes, he did need you. And I needed you too. Without your advice we wouldn’t have fallen in love ourselves. You are a real gem. Thank you.”