The Process Server

by L.H. Thomson

  ***

  Ten minutes later, we were making our way on foot across the central quad of G’Farg Technological University, with the cabbie waiting back by the curb. I craned my neck around to take it all in: ivy-draped red-brick buildings, perfectly manicured hedges, students from all the species of the galaxy.

  Again, I had to ask Jayde, “How is it we don’t know about this place? I mean, have you ever heard of a major university here? Have you ever heard of it advertised on Earth or the NTC?”

  Jayde shook her head. “Nope. And I’ve been around awhile, remember. This place is… well, I’m guess exclusive isn’t a stretch.”

  There were Earthers in amongst the students who strode across the quad, or sat around in small groups on the grass.

  But they were few and far between. I said, “Just from the numbers, I’m guessing this place is restricted to the family of Big Six upper management only.”

  On the quad’s far side was the administration building, a newer Plexinum-and-steel two-story deal that didn’t fit in with the remainder of the surroundings.

  At the front desk, a young woman with lime-green-and-teal scales from a species I’d yet to encounter – probably Deneleth System – was busy buffing… what? Nails? I wasn’t quite sure what to call them.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, barely looking up.

  I played it by ear. “We’re here about Dr. Santiago, the investigation,” I said.

  She wasn’t surprised. “Again? You guys never leave. Geez, I thought you picked everything clean yesterday.”

  I said, “Well obviously not everything.” I had no idea what she was talking about. It just seemed like a sensible way to pry something loose.

  Instead, she looked at me queerly.

  “No, pretty much everything. If you’re thinking there’s anything left in the lab, then you’d be wrong. Dr. Nereens picked up the last of the equipment this morning. I mean, come on guys. It’s been a while.”

  “Got a Sat Com number for him? There are just a couple more thing we need to check.”

  A few moments later, we were outside, dialing the late professor’s colleague. He was surprised to hear there were more questions but, yes, he could meet with us.

  “I’m in a building just off the east side of campus, on Third Avenue.” His accent was heavy, and we were grateful our Wear-Tech could translate accurately on the fly.

  For an extra 10 creds, the cabbie had us across the town in a few minutes. As with the campus, the local homes were impressive, each three or four times larger than their equivalent on NTC – grand homes of the scale you used to see in Earth holos, from the days of waste.

  I asked the driver, “So how did you end up going to school here?”

  He chuckled. ‘I get where you’re coming from – it’s pretty exclusive, for sure. But I’m kind of considered a prodigy on Avicus Prime. Most of the students here, though, they’re just incredibly rich. It’s like they say, G’Farg Settlement is the nicest place you’ll never see.”

  Traffic was light and we made it to the professor’s office in a few minutes. He greeted us at the front door, a K’Laar – every bit as humanoid as the average Earther, but with a central third eye and a prehensile tail.

  Dr. Nereen was tall by K’Laar standards, which meant he was only slightly bigger than Jayde – I only made the mistake of calling her “Little Jayde” once.

  He took us into his expansive office, which had old-fashioned book shelves on the interior wall – “I collect,” Nereen explained – and a large bay window that allowed the sunlight to stream in along the outside wall.

  We sat across the desk from him, and he used his tail to grab us each a cup of his synthetic tea.

  “Now, how can I help you? I understand from Ms. Kowaazarknisk at the admin building that you were asking about the investigation into Dr. Santiago’s murder?”

  I said, “Your help’s much appreciated.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, sir, I suppose we’re wondering if you could go over the details again.”

  “There’s not much to add to what I told the first group of investigators. There was a demonstration going on that day outside the Engineering Sciences building, an impromptu informational picket by the Intergalatic Workers Brotherhood over wages for non-tenured university educational staff. Sandford came outside to see what the fuss was about and was shot once in the head.”

  “Old-school gun?”

  He nodded. “A .32 caliber bullet. Sector Police seemed surprised something so small and old-fashioned was used.”

  Nereen leaned held his tea cup with his tail, taking the odd casual sip.

  “Initially they focused on whether one of the strikers had pulled out a gun and shot him unseen, and if you’ve seen the newspaper reports that’s still the official word.”

  “You’re skeptical?”

  His middle eye blinked slowly and stoically. “Yes. The bullet was designed to fragment on penetration, indicating a professional killer, they said. As I said, this is all in the earlier report.”

  I held up both hands. “If you could just humor us for a few more moments, professor.”

  He smiled. “Of course, of course. Anyway, the caliber of bullet suggested a professional, as did the manner of impact – it was likely fired from at least 200 yards away with a sniper’s rifle, according to the forensic expert, which again rules out a picket. Can I ask what you’re looking for in particular?”

  I smiled. “Well sir, we’re pretty sure we know why he was killed, but the question is by whom. And even though it can be a big, dirty universe, there just aren’t that many people out there sniping professors for money. So we’re going to take the details, go off-world and shake a few trees.”

  The professor nodded knowingly, “Ah…” but then paused. “What does shake a few trees mean, exactly?”

  I wasn’t sure. I’d learned it from Jayde. The last time I asked her what her old-timey sayings meant, she’d just about clobbered me. “Not important, prof…and I’d leave it that.”

  He looked puzzled, but said, “You say you know why he was killed?”

  I nodded. “He was working on a new engine design with some fairly spectacular potential.”

  “Of course, the new Quantum Drive.”

  “You knew about it?”

  “I was Dean of his department. I make it my practice to know what everyone is working on”

  “So you know about its potential?”

  At that he looked a little taken aback. “No. I mean… he said it was very early. In fact there was some discussion over whether he’d be able to produce something significant by the end of the semester, in time for department budget reviews. But then about eight weeks ago, he went totally private. Blacked out the lab windows, locked the doors. Said he’d hit something, but it was going to take more review.”

  “Did he tell anyone outside of the university about it?”

  “Oh yes. He had quite a bit of interest from a bureaucrat…an Archivist looking for the copyright, I believe.”

  “Dregba?”

  “That was it.” He waved prosaically with his hand. “Archivist Dregba. But Sandford was a very principled man. He just didn’t think it was ready, and I believe he told the Archivist such.”

  Jayde said, “Maybe the Archivist wasn’t the kind of person to take no for an answer.”

  Nereen looked slightly aghast, taken aback. “You don’t think … over the engine?”

  Jayde looked wistful. “It’s not just a matter of the technology’s social value, professor. It could decide the balance of power between the Big Six for several generations, if it performed as promised.”

  He was a little wide-eyed now. “What … what had Sanford stumbled upon?”

  I said, “Not sure you want to know that, professor, not yet. We think he told the wrong person about it. And look what happened to him.”

  Nereen raised his cup with his tail and took another sip of tea.

  “Evi
dently,” he said.