Cosmic Cabaret

by SFR Shooting Stars

  “I see where you are. Miss Faraday, that’s restricted access.” He frowned at her but shook his head. “We’ll discuss that part later. What I want to know now is how you even knew where to start?” he asked.

  “That’s not something I’m at liberty to answer,” she said and regarded him through slit lids. The sudden realization that Sutcliffe had cyborg implants re-categorized the chief from human to technological asset, and the military usages of cyborgs. How might such a valuable resource have come to the Blue Star Line’s most exclusive ship? Is Sutcliffe a refugee from the Freedom Road, too?

  “Veronica put you on this path.” He concluded. It wasn’t a question, he squinted one eye at her expecting an answer, nonetheless.

  She nodded.

  The barest hint of a smile appeared and disappeared. A brief nod was all it took for kinship to pass between them. He motioned for her to go on. But now she knew there was more to what had happened to her in the past. It confirmed that she was an experimental remnant of the monstrous military corporate machines that ran the universe.

  “That,” Astra pointed at the wave of light that was reforming into data points, “That’s the bloodhound programming I sent searching the area that Char said she was from, Kuwaaiti, a collective that at the time was being subsumed by the Cordoba Conglomerate’s militia wing. I was looking specifically for missing persons. What came up, though, was intriguing: A missing child from the royal household of Kuwaaiti. One of the princes in the harem, the second in line, disappeared. Here, read it.” She tapped her handheld and set the stream of text into words, which took longer for her brain to decipher.

  Sutcliffe exhaled a relief and the light from his cybernetics dimmed. She watched as his eyes moved to read the hovering text. “Ah, so they assumed the harem did its usual political back stabbing or just straight up murder. The household was investigated fully, no trace of the child was found, however,” Sutcliffe read.

  “And at that same time, one of the household also quit.” Astra flicked her pinkie to change the data. “One of the nursery attendants?” Astra shook her head. “A nursemaid?” The image of a much younger Char Melana appeared along with the text.

  “Aaah, I see.” Sutcliffe nodded. “Nursemaid is a primary operative position,” he said.

  “I don’t get it,” Astra said.

  “Household servants are invisible. They’re furniture. Char was put into place to keep an eye on the children. This could have been done by someone in the household or a rival family or someone else.”

  “Could she just have been a really good nursemaid?” Astra frowned at him. “She cared for Bo as if he was her child for all these years. Maybe she found a way to get him out to protect him from a threat? Through other means? Cordoba was in the middle of a takeover in Kuwaaiti. The royal house is stable now, it's still a puppet, but it keeps the people happy to have their royals, still.” Astra said, thinking aloud.

  “Right. Still, Char Melana made up a pregnancy so she could get off Quantum, we presume it was to hide Bo from whatever threat. While I agree that she’s never acted in a way that would put young Bo at risk, that part doesn’t fit. He’s a prince and Cordoba deliberately left the family intact. But we may never know why or who hired her or even if she was working for anyone else but herself.”

  “And that’s where this next report should be coming in with more information. Access to what ships were going in or out of the zone at that time is in the public domain, and some of those ships are in another hidden database.”

  Sutcliffe smiled enigmatically. “But you accessed that, didn’t you?”

  “Still accessing, that one needs a little more finesse to get into,” Astra said and rocked back on her heels.

  Sutcliffe moved around the clear poly-tex of his desk and slid his hand along the bottom. The clear poly went opaque. “I’m putting a tracker out for Veronika. The Blue Star line identi-tag will find her.”

  “And Bo?”

  “Not an employee of the line, not a member of any staff.”

  “Interesting. Could that mean? Wait, you didn’t have a tagged person in the same area as Char when she was killed?” Astra frowned. “But doesn’t that mean it was a guest?”

  “We’ve got temp-tags on all guests, to ensure their safety.”

  “So the killer either came aboard as a stowaway or removed their tag?” Astra asked, musing aloud.

  A red dot pulsed on the opaque map of Quantum.” There she is, safely in the Cabaret,” he said.

  “I don’t buy it. Sooshie picked up Bo, right? So where’s Sooshie?”

  Sutcliffe manipulated the desk slides. “Cabaret.” And again, the desk lit up, but now it showed Veronika, Sooshie and another pulsing light.

  “Who’s that?” She asked, pointing.

  “The doctor,” he said, eyeing her.

  “Can you talk to him? Tell him to check on Bo? I don’t know? My gut is telling me everything isn’t right” Sutcliffe tilted his head and eyed her, and Astra had an unsettling recollection of an old fashioned serial she once saw about ancient detectives with large magnifying lenses.

  “Sure, I can,” Sutcliffe said.

  But the recollection triggered another one for Astra: Veronika’s list of four new employees. One of them was Blue Sooshie. Astra’s hack worm was still wheedling its way into Sutcliffe’s security protocols but now he could look faster.

  “No, wait, first would you satisfy my curiosity? Sooshie’s indent-tag. Can you run a full check on where it was during the time narrowed for Char’s murder?”

  Sutcliffe’s expression didn’t change but save for a brief flicker of understanding that glinted in his cybernetic eye. He tapped Sooshie’s dot and the hour-by-hour report of the blue female burlesque dancer flipped up from the table and hovered between them. And at the sometime, the rainbow strands of program gave themselves to Astra’s hands.

  “She was asleep,” he said.

  Astra reached out and tapped a strand of code and light, a strand she was sure wasn’t visible to anyone but her. She twisted the strand around her forefinger and pulled. “Then why isn’t the life sign monitor attached to the identi-tag showing that?” The gray words flickered. Sutcliffe blinked in surprise as the medical data strand she had just crossed with the security synced and showed a flat line.

  “I didn’t even know it had a medical link.” He said.

  “Sure it does, everything is connected on Quantum.”

  Sutcliffe looked at her with an awe she had never seen before in anyone’s eyes, a respect she’d never received before from any person. Pride swelled. A flurry of little butterflies fluttered through her veins. It was better than flying through the silks.

  Twelve

  “Proceed with caution.” Sutcliffe’s words rung in Zane’s ears. Could Sooshie really be the killer? But why?

  While en route to meet with Veronika, as per Sooshie’s now suspect message, Sutcliffe tagged Zane through Quantum’s security network. He listened intently, quickening his steps as Sutcliffe explained what had been discovered.

  Char’s past.

  Bo’s princely origins.

  Sooshie’s missing life signs during Char’s murder.

  “You sending backup?” he swiped the lobe of his ear, the micro-implanted tracker tag switched automatically to enable two-way communications to the high-level staff and security channels.

  “They’re already on their way, Doc.”

  Zane beat a hasty quick march down the promenade towards the Cabaret. His heart pounded faster than his feet. As he closed in on the cabaret a new the sensation settled on him, seeping through the pores into the layers of flesh and through to the blood pumping into his heart. Through his heart, it drove. With it came a long buried feeling bloomed: belonging.

  Reaching up to the tickle at his nose, when he went to wipe it, his fingertips came away wet with salty tears. Friendship. Family. The emotion reached up into his chest and squeezed his heart. He gulped but his wobbling chin wasn’t cooperati
ng. He pressed his lips so tightly it forced the wobbling to halt.

  How long had it been? And hadn’t allowed anything to cross his circle of safety. Weakness. Caring. It was so much easier to keep the thick skin, like concrete. But eventually, concrete cracks with heat and cold.

  Heat. Cold.

  Happiness. Loneliness.

  Happiness.

  Astra had brought the heat to his cold existence and sent his brittle life into shards.

  The need to belong was strong, stronger now than the fear showing his soft underbelly. Now he feared for someone else. Family. Veronika, Bo, and Astra.

  Zane switched from main promenade to the back cabaret service corridor. When he got there, he opened the door as quietly as he could. No squeak. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  This was the time of day that most of the performers settled in for a nap or a break. Midday ship-time. Le Mouche was closed to the public. He kept moving through, following the corridor until the bustle of the kitchen had come and gone.

  He listened at Veronika’s office door.

  Silence.

  Making his way down the corridor, he stepped into the empty chorus style dressing room. Still nothing but the normal ship hum. The air circulation system kicked off with a tick. Silence. Zane opened his mouth to report, “I...” The whisper barely left his lips when a scream of agony and anger reverberated from the other side of the curtain in the main arena.

  “I wish I knew what was going on in there,” Sutcliffe said. Astra pondered his words. Light emanated from his desk console, the strands of cybernetic light that interwove with the systems throughout Quantum looked like an intricate tapestry before her eyes. But one she knew the weft and the weave by instinct.

  “I think I can do that.” She stepped closer to his desk and tilted her head trying to make sense of the complicated iterations of color, looking for patterns. She’d seen one like it before, when she was setting up the connections in Veronika’s office. “I’ve never done this exactly before,” she said. “But I'm pretty sure I can.”

  “If you think you can help, do it,” Sutcliffe said.

  Once again, Astra picked at the web of cybernetic light and wound another strand around her pinkie, tying it off with thumb and forefinger onto her handheld as though crocheting her way up the silks. She squinted at the swirl of colored strands that interconnected, crossing and pulsing, searching for the right one. As in cat’s cradle, pinky extended, she tapped one after another until a flash of shadows danced and disappeared.

  “Gotcha!” She said in triumph and looped the weave through her outstretched fingers, transforming it from the flat weave into something miraculous.

  Ghostlike sights and murmurings, first strands of light then forms, appeared in the office.

  She and Sutcliffe stood surrounded by a shadow of the cabaret’s arena. Sutcliffe turned in a circle and whistled low. “Now, that’s some trick.”

  This was new. It was useful, this little parlor trick of hers. Finally. Astra straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and winked at Sutcliffe. “Thanks.”

  Then, they both realized what exactly was going on.

  “I can’t go anywhere with you! I won’t!” Bo yelled at the blue woman. Confusion contorted his face. Flushes of scarlet dotted his temple and cheeks. A purple bruise bloomed on his cheek. He shook his head and held his cheek grimacing as though he’d been struck with an anvil.

  “My brother, my prince.”

  “Stop calling me that!” Bo yelled his voice echoed through the empty practice arena. “Veronika!” he reached a meaty hand up and smeared the sticky clot at his hairline. Pulling his hand away, thick red blood globbed between his thumb and forefinger. He staggered back a step.

  “You killed my mother. Murderer,” he ran at her and hit his body against hers but she stopped him as though she was made of stone. The fist she threw at his belly forced air from his lungs in a loud wheeze. Bo shuddered and struggled for breathe.

  “She wasn’t your mother. She was a servant.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Bo managed to gasp out.

  “This family, our family, is better than this place.” She threw out her arms at the surrounding walls of the spiegeltent. “You’ve been reduced to servitude. These people are different from us, from you. We're better, we're stronger, we are a royal family. Our bloodline is ancient."

  Bo growled. “You can't be my sister, you’re blue.”

  “Our father has many wives, and you one day will have many wives like him. You must come home to realize your full potential. Don’t you understand? That Melana woman wasn’t trying to help you, she was stealing you. You belong home with family.”

  “Why did you kill her? Why?”

  "Because she attempted to stop me from taking you back. Char Melana tried to kill me.”

  "So then, why didn’t you tell the authorities?"

  “Please, she’s a pillar of this community. Who would have believed me? You don’t. I need to get you hidden before your eighteenth birthday. You are the next king, your brother is dying. Cordoba is trying to kill out the Kuwaaiti family line.”

  “I won’t. I can’t believe you.” Bo stepped back and frowned at her.

  “Look, look at this.” Sooshie picked up her ponytail from her neck from where she usually wore it around her shoulders. “Recognize it?”

  The young man’s lashes fluttered, “I have a birthmark just like that on my shoulder.”

  “Family crest. It’s not a birthmark, it’s a brand. We were branded at birth. It’s part of the royal harem marking.” Her voice slowed. “You are my brother. We share the same father, the King of Kuwaaiti.”

  “So tell us what happened, then, if you’re here for his benefit.” It was Zane’s voice. “And why is Veronika knocked out?”

  “And why did you punch me? I’m bleeding.” Bo stood back, putting his fists up, emboldened by the Zane’s appearance.

  Sooshie was lying or at least telling a half-truth. The royal family? Yes. Taking him for his safety? No. Zane didn’t believe it for a second.

  He didn’t trust her. Not one bit. Paternal love? Brotherly love? He didn’t care what it was. This feeling was like a little seed that burst the hard shell, two little leaves were poking out, searching for him to do something and bring in the light so it could grow. The only way to feed it was to keep his “family” together.

  How?

  He had to stall Sooshie.

  Calm her. Keep her talking.

  Zane regarded the blue woman’s balled up tight little fists. It was a sure sign of a tell. He looked down at her pawed feet and remembered the bruised imprints on Char’s body. Those feet. They had be the murder weapon.

  Sooshie, jangling bells tinkling, began to pace back-and-forth like a caged lion. He watched her face, the way it twitched, how her eyes flickered back-and-forth between him and Bo.

  “Now, settle down then.” Zane patted the air with his hands. “This has all been a misunderstanding, like you said. Right?”

  “No! She killed my mother! She said it. She told me!”

  The kid was not helping.

  “I had to!” Sooshie grabbed for him, but Bo danced back out of her grip. Bouncing on his feet, fists up.

  “Bo, just settle down,” Zane said. His mind raced. Now he not only had to placate a possible psychopath but also an emotional teenager. A teenager who had his mother’s killer in striking distance. And Bo, though he looked incredibly strong, wasn’t a killer.

  Bo stepped back two more steps. His arms still raised, he didn’t let his guard down. Good going, Bo, Zane thought and watched as Bo’s eyes never left the cat-like blue woman. Her tail snapped left and right. Legs bent in half crouch, Bo was ready to spring.

  “I know why,” Zane heard another voice join them. Astra. He almost groaned aloud. Not another complication. This was getting out of control.

  “Oh, do you now?” Sooshie fired back in a menacing taunt. But luck was with them, the Vulveen’s attention was now
fully trained on Astra. Behind Sooshie, Zane caught a shadow. Sutcliffe’s men were getting into position. He watched as Astra drew Sooshie’s eyes away, distracting her.

  Astra came forward from stage left where the musicians entered and exited the round arena.

  The women began to circle each other.

  "Yes, I do know. You are here to use him as a bargaining chip with Cordoba so you can be the next queen of Kuwaaiti. How about his older brother—did you murder the prince, too? Was Char supposed to bring him back, by the command of the court?”

  “She stole him!”

  “There was a secret order to take him away, wasn’t there? Once Cordoba came in, the king’s council got him out as a failsafe to keep the line of succession. How else could she have gotten off planet? Court intrigue is a bitch. Char’s been protecting him all these years. Right? The heir to the Kuwaaiti throne was your elder brother, then a sister, and then Bo, and then you. The crown prince died in an accident. Cordoba or you? That left your sister the heir. What happened to her, Sooshie? Hmmm? You people are either the unluckiest royal house in the history of the Kuwaaiti or there’s a long game going on.

  “Shut up, you have no idea.” Sooshie spat.

  “No. You were all set to take the throne but then you found out about Bo, how he’d been sequestered all these years.”

  “It’s not fair! It’s my crown!” Sooshie’s strangled cry echoed around the empty gym.

  Without warning, the blue dynamo leapt at Astra. But just as quickly Astra leapt and grabbed the fabric hanging between them. The silks that Astra knew so well, the very same that had killed her mentor, Char. Zane saw the look in Astra’s eyes. He could not let her do this. She could die. Or worse, she would live with the guilt of taking a life, of being a killer. He began to creep forward.

  “You don’t care if he lives or dies,” Astra taunted, swinging to-and-fro. “I do.”