Gathered in an enclosure nearby was a herd of furry, waddling, flightless bird-like things. They stared at the visitors with glowing yellow eyes, but otherwise remained motionless.
The smell was ungodly.
From around some of the nooks and crannies in the rocks, little furry yellow heads occasionally popped out and could be seen. It was impossible to see their bodies, but they gave the impression of being adorable.
“How cute!” said Gotobed. “What are those?”
“Yellow peepers.”
“What a charming appellation,” said Goneril Lear.
“Delicious, too,” said Tyronius. “Come this way!” He led them through the pastures. The ground grew softer and more giving beneath their feet. It was covered with longish strands of black and green spotted grass. It put some of the crew in mind of Sapphire in early spring. A fresh wet breeze blew down from overhead.
Tyronius continued to lead them, almost a kilometer, to a more open stretch of ground. Several great, reinforced domes constructed of a clear crystalline material enclosed in strong metal frames. “These are the greenhouses of which I spoke.” He led them through a kind of airlock and into the space beyond.
“You’ll find them quite impressive.”
This was like a spot of jungle in the arctic. Fruit trees and vegetable plants crowded around them. The air was bussing with tiny flying things. “This may not impress you much,” said Tyronius, “but this structure and these plants are a great triumph for us. None of the species of plants on this planet are edible to us, and none are flowering. There are no insects on this planet and no native birds. Therefore, there is no mechanism for pollination. We had to find a means or we would have starved.” He held out a finger, and a tiny hummingbird alighted on it.
“Good day to you, Lord Tyronius,” it said in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.
“Good day to you, little friend. Lord Brigand was the Genius who came up with this development. If you’d be so kind to explain.”
Brigand explained. “After searching through thousands of records, we finally discovered a species of Hummingbird on Valhalla colony that could be adapted to life on this planet. They live long, they reproduce incredibly slowly, with years of fertilization and incubation, but they do reproduce, and this achievement took two centuries of genetic manipulation.”
“Could those techniques be applied to humans, to make you reproduce?” Gotobed asked.
“Perhaps,” Brigand answered. “If you find a woman willing to endure 60 years of pregnancy. Also, be careful as you move through the greenhouse. These fruits won’t be ripe for another ten years or so.”
“Less talkee, more workee,” said the Hummngbird, alighting from his finger and winging his way to a cluster of other hummingbirds. Tyronius turned and, after a brief show-around, led them out the way they had come.
Outside again, the sun had already peaked, and was beginning to descend. Clouds had fled, and there was a brief expanse of grayish blue sky far above the wide canyon where Tyronius grew his crops and pastured his animals.
They came again to the barn-like structure, and Tyronius led them back through it, emerging on the other side and returning toward the estate. “Does everyone here live on his or her own estate?” Gotobed asked.
“There are a few villages, but for the most part we have chosen lives of solitude.”
“I would like to see a village,” Lear said confidently.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Tyronius said.
“Have you always lived here alone?” Gotobed asked, marveling at the very expanse of the grounds and the buildings.
“Not always, but most of the time,” Tyronius answered. “I have accommodated certain others for periods of time. Lord Humboldt, who occupies an estate on Humboldt Island, across the sea from here, once offered me his lands in exchange for mine. He would have tried to buy them, but what use do we have for currency on this world. In any case, I refused, and he tried to convince the Lords and Ladies around me to join him in a Confederacy to drive me out. Some agreed, but most did not. Those who did, I think, were more curious to see what result his adventure have on our society than they were eager to take my lands.
“He brought them here, there were five allied with him, and five allied with me. We faced each other across the hills, wondering whether he would try to kill me, or I, him. We came to feel very foolish, knowing neither could move against the other. Then, ten more I had on my side that he did not know ambushed him from the rear and disarmed his men.
“The question arose of what to do with Humboldt in his men. A Parliament Ball was convened here, the last time such happened before your arrival. The issue was debated. We could exile them, or confine them, but no one wanted to take the responsibility of enforcing whatever sentence we imposed, so Humboldt and his Confederates were sent back to his island, and life went on.” There was nothing for a moment, and Keeler asked. “Is that it?”
“Yes, that’s all. Incredibly dull story, isn’t it? Think about it long enough, and you’ll understand this Purgatory we live in. Meanwhile, let me show you the Powerhouse.” The Powerhouse was a stone tower, flat on one side, curved on the other. It gave the impression of the stern of a ship about to take the final plunge into the tundra. Tyronius opened the latch, and led them inside, where an elevator awaited.
After a ride of a minute or more, they arrived deep, deep underground. The walls had been painstaking lined with stones fitted together and mortared in place. It was actually hot in this cavern, like a steambath.
A large turbine device was positioned in the center of room. Thick, coppery-colored pipes, caked with centuries of mineral deposits and looking almost like organic, stalagmite structures, thrust deep into the ground. Other pipes and cables, similarly encrusted, led up and out of the cave.
“This is the power source for my entire estate,” he explained. “Geothermal energy converted into electricity… a primitive form of energy, but easy to produce and manage, quite adequate to my needs.
What do you use?”
“On our ships? Quantum wave energy,” Technician Herrald Jayhawk, a blond, freckle-faced young man from the Technical Core explained. “It is only viable over short distances, which makes it good for spacecraft. On our homeworlds, we use a kind of electromagnetic plasma.”
“Quantum wave is new to me,” Tyronius admitted. “The Commonwealth relied on EM plasma, in ships and colonies, but as we dispersed across the planet, we had no need for centralized power stations.” The ground began to shake, a light shudder that might almost have been mistaken as a shiver against the Winter air.
Tyronius smiled. “That was nothing, a minor groundquake. The real shaking will not be here for many weeks, when Cardinal arrives. Have you seen enough? Shall we return to the house? Brunch we’ll be served soon.”
“Brunch,” Keeler said. “I don’t know what that is, but if it’s food, count me in.”
“It’s a meal served between breakfast and lunch. You don’t get quite what you would get at lunch, but you get a good meal and a slice of melon at the end,” Tyronius explained. “Let us return then, there is nothing left but some hectares of forest, some mountains, and some cliffs along the seashore.” He led them back, up and out of the powerhouse, and toward the dark forbidding expanse of Castle Tyronius.
“Did you ever have a wife, or children?” Gotobed was asking the Big Lord as they waded through drifts at the back of his house and crisp flakes of a later afternoon flurry swirled around them.
“My son left this world to grow up and never returned,” Tyronius answered, without a hint of sadness or loss. “And, I believe you have met my wife, Lady Goldenrod.” Keeler turned to the woman who had been holding his hand since their meeting this morning. She smiled. “Well, isn’t this awkward,” said the Commander.
“Don’t let it be,” said Tyronius. “We haven’t shared a bed in two thousand years, and then it was only a case of mistaken identity. Mistaken identity! Ha! Mistaken Identity! I kill m
e!” They came in through a side door and stomped the snow off their shoes and cloaks. In the distance, sounds of conversation and laughter rose above a dull roar. “I know you are eager to rejoin the festivities in the main ballroom, but first, there is one room I should like to show you.” Tyronius led them back, through a secret staircase at the back of the kitchen and up to the very top.
“This is the pride and joy of my estate,” Tyronius said. “I have spent, literally, centuries in this room, gazing out over my lands, considering the whole of my experience on this planet. I designed it as the intellectual and physical center of my estate. It is where I think, reflect, and… watch the centuries pass. “ He unlocked the double doors and threw them open with a flair. “Ladies and gentlemen, my Conservatory.”
The Conservatory was in fact an elegant room. It was done in glass set in some kind of wrought metal, painted white, topped with a graceful glass dome. There were plants, ferns and flowers, a piano, a hot pool of water. Its furnishings were elegant, the art on the walls old and masterfully done, the whole of it rich and sumptuous, yet at the same time, scholarly. It recalled, in Prime Commander Keeler’s mind, the Observatory at the Keeler estate, being similarly old and appointed.
The rear of the room was dominated by great picture windows and a pair of glass door that opened onto a balcony that looked out over a vista of mountains on one side and the sea on the other. The mountains were cold, impassive and majestic. The sea hissed and roiled in gray-blue waves in the distance. It had to be one of the finest views on the planet, but what riveted the attention of the tour was the body of Manchester lying on the floor in a pool of congealed blood with half of his skull crushed in.
C h a p t e r S e v e n
Winter – Habi Zod
Lambrusco and Brickbat were two well-known Enforcers from the nearby village of Ultima Thule, who were fortunate enough to be at the Parliament Ball during the murder. “Been a long time since I’ve done this,” said Brickbat, the tall, dark and handsome one, taking a recorder pad from a well-beaten attaché case.
“It’s like riding a rocket-sled. It will all come back to you soon enough,” said Lambrusco, his partner.
Millennia had made the chronological difference in their ages negligible, but Lambrusco would always regret not having landed on Winter thirty years earlier, before the lines in his face had grown indelible, his hair had receded and gone gray, and sagging, wrinkled skin had formed permanent pouches underneath his eyes, and paunch had come to spread around his midsection. He was spending eternity in middle age. Some of the ancients had tried cosmetic surgery, but the faces they had arrived with had always reasserted themselves. Lambrusco had not even tried.
Neither of them wore masks. It would have been rude. After arriving, they had rounded up the entire tour group, and forbade anyone from leaving the estate.
“Based on the amount of congealing, I’d say the assault occurred four or five hours ago,” said Deacon Blackthorn, the former physician for whom there was little need in this world. He rose from a kneeling position over the body to wipe his hands on his cloak.
“Can you imagine,” Tyronious exclaimed, “Murder, in my own Conservatory?”
“Are you expressing horror at the crime, or at the choice of location?” Lambrusco asked.
“Both, frankly,” Tyronius answered, and took another swig from his flask of homebrewed cognac.
“We were having a rather splendid party until that time. I suppose we are still, but nevertheless…” Blackthorn continued. “He probably survived thirty or forty minutes before succumbing, poor bastard.”
“He lived forty minutes with a smashed skull and half his brains on the floor?” Lambrusco queried, somewhat incredulously.
Blackthorn removed his spectacles and polished them thoughtfully. “Our world gives us amazing regenerative properties. I know of a man who had most of intestines eaten by a gulo and managed to live, although the subsequent six years of healing were singularly unpleasant.” He gestured toward the limp form of Manchester. “This man’s cells did try to repair the damage and his heart kept beating, there was just too much destruction to the brain.”
“This is the same guy who tried to molest the kid last night,” Lambrusco said.
“Manchester, yes,” Tyronius answered.
“The kid decked him,” Brickbat remembered.
“That’s right he did,” Lambrusco picked up smoothly. “Where’s the kid now?”
“He is back on board my ship,” Keeler answered.
“When did he leave?”
“His Aves lifted off seven hours, thirty-five minutes ago,” answered Gotobed. “He has not been back to the planet.”
Brickbat struck an aggressive posture. “A lot of your guests were offended by that. Seems on their high and mighty worlds, they don’t approve of that sort of thing. There was one guy who slugged him, I understand. Who was that?”
“Tactical Commander Redfire, my second officer,” Keeler answered.
“What’s the kid to him?” Brickbat asked.
“Max Jordan was the son of his ex-wife.”
“But not his kid, right?”
“His father was a man she met while stranded on a planet for sixteen years. It’s a long story.” Brickbat kneeled down to study the body “You can tell me later. Was Redfire like a father to him?
Would he have killed a man to protect to his son.”
“We don’t kill people,” Keeler stated with absolute firmness. “There hasn’t been a homicide on my planet in almost three hundred years.”
“So, you don’t kill each other,” Lambrusco said. “We don’t kill each other either, but it’s possible one of you could kill one of us.”
“It might have been an accident,” Brickbat said. “From what I hear, your people are stronger and faster than us. Somebody might have wanted to just hurt him, and forgotten his strength.” Keeler shook his head but said nothing more. He could not imagine any of his people killing anyone, even though, technically, they had killed quite a lot of people since the voyage began. All of that had been impersonal and justified, or so he said when he prayed.
“In any case, captain, I’ll want you to make all of your people available for questioning, especially the guy that punched him,” Lambrusco said, rising from the floor with a slight groan and cracks at the knees.
“From what we hear, you were pretty eager to show off this room,” Brickbat said to Tyronius.
“You’ve never had another human being here in over a thousand years, but you open it up to these strangers the same day there happens to be a body inside. Does that sound peculiar to you?” Tyronius looked insulted. “Peculiarly stupid. I could have, and would have, arranged a less incriminating means of disposing of this man’s remains. If I had any reason to kill Manchester, which I did not, I would have disposed of his carcass where no one would ever find it.” Brickbat craned his neck upward toward the ceiling. “Just asking, so why is this room such a big secret, anyway?”
“Because it is mine and mine alone, my sanctum sanctorum,” Tyronius answered. “Or, was…”
“Anyone else know how to get in here?” Brickbat persisted.
“Only myself and Lady Goldenrod,” he hesitated. “And Lady Scarlett.”
“Hah!” Goldenrod exclaimed, and stomped her high-heeled pumps against the floor. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!”
“After we separated,” Tyronius shot back at her.
“Like that matters,” playfully, she insinuated herself closer to Prime Commander Keeler.
“Can we talk to Lady Scarlett?” Lambrusco asked.
“She was not in attendance at the Parliament Ball.”
Lambrusco made a note of this. “Was anyone at the party consuming any mind altering substances?”
“Just some very, very good wine,” Tyronius assured them.
“Is there any way out of here besides the staircase?”
Tyronius gestured toward the large stone deck that overlooked the back of the e
state. The two detectives excused themselves.
A chill wind caught Lambrusco and Brickbat as they stepped out onto the balcony. The sun was going down, somewhere, but it was behind a solid sheet of clouds. The only effect of its departure was to make the day dimmer and grayer. Snow dusted the landscape in small gray dancing flurries. Lambrusco peered over the edge to the ground, four stories below.
“No footprints,” he said. “The ground looks pretty dry though. I don’t think footprints would have lasted in this weather.”
“If this is how the killer escaped, he’d’ve had quite a jump.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m trying to put a picture together in my mind. How did Manchester and the killer get in here? How did the killer get out?”
Brickbat leaned back against the rail, hands deep in the pockets of his trenchcoat, letting the wind ruffle his thick black hair even though there were no women around to appreciate it. “My money’s on the Commander, what’s his name? Redfire.”
“What, you don’t think one of us could have done this? Remember the Age of Assassins, when a lot of the Good Lords and Ladies decided killing off each other was the height of sophistication? I don’t want to think that’s all starting up again.”
“Some of our upstanding citizens are still rotting in the pit from that. All I’m saying is, Redfire had motive. He was real mad at Lord Manchester. If it was your kid, wouldn’t you be?” A look of regret washed over Lambrusco’s face. He had a daughter, but he could not remember when she had been a kid. It seemed like a moment. “It’s not his kid… and Manchester wasn’t a Lord, he was a villager like you and me.”
“Not like you and me,” Brickbat answered quickly. “I don’t play for the other team, and I don’t play little league, if you know what I mean.”
“Redfire had more motive than anyone we know about so far,” Lambrusco conceded. “Maybe these new humans don’t have as much self-control as we thought.”
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