by Tom Shepherd
But a single galaxy, albeit mostly unexplored, isn’t big enough for the Matthews Family. We have a Legacy Project, an inter-galactic doorway to another trillion stars. Dad wants Jump Gate Omega, no matter the risk. And that door is closing fast.
Paco, you’d better be waiting with our fast ship. Suzie at max FTL will take three weeks to reach the Suryadivan Sacred Protectorate, and we don’t have two million years to save Dad’s dream.
Why am I chasing this fairy tale?
All I ever wanted was a story before bed.
Thirteen
Tyler climbed down to the galley to discuss their situation with the Sioux City’s hodge-podge collection of crew, passengers, and refugees. J.B. reported three absentees—Demarcus Platte excused himself to check on Officer Matsuda, and the blue alien was resting. Apparently, his species required significantly more slumber than humans. The Sioux City had two and a half decks—cargo area and crew quarters, galley and engineering work space, flight deck above forward. Yumiko rested in Rosalie’s quarters one deck below the galley; Mr. Blue snoozed in Esteban’s cabin.
“I need a break, too. It must be five o’clock in Kansas City by now,” Tyler said. “Dorla, how about a beer?”
The matronly Mrs. León crossed her arms and glared at him. “Are you still on duty?”
“Well, technically, but—”
“Then the answer, technically, is no.”
“This is my ship!”
“Your authority stops at my kitchen door, Boss-man.”
Tyler sat down at the table. “You can be replaced, you know. Esteban is a good cook.”
His cousin waved off the suggestion. “Keep me out of this, Primo.”
J.B. laughed. “How’s Yumiko?”
“Suzie prescribed nanotech quick-healing, combined with bed rest and strong painkillers,” Rosalie said. “She suffered two broken ankles when the cinderblock wall collapsed on her. No internal injuries, thank God. She was more worried about Mr. Blue than herself.”
“Did the healing take?” Tyler said.
She nodded. “Bones fused well, strengthening by the minute.”
J.B. frowned. “Thanks for showing concern for your older brother. I just finished a medi-scan, too.”
Tyler scratched his head and yawned. “Oh, yeah. Shot in the leg, right? How’s your leg?”
“It still hurts a little, but—”
“Good, good.” Tyler turned from J.B. and slapped Esteban’s shoulder. “Cousin, you deserve an ‘attaboy’ for driving the bad guys off target on that roof.”
“I did nothing.”
“Bull cookies—I watched in the monitor. You charged down the ramp, weapons blazing. One sharpshooter against three pirates.”
“I fired in panic. I hit nothing.”
“You carried Yumiko when I went down,” J.B. said.
“That was an honor,” Esteban said.
“So, who silenced the attackers?” Tyler said.
They all looked at Rosalie. “Ooooh, me? No can do!”
J.B. shook his head. “I saw blaster flashes from the ramp of this ship.”
“Sure, I snapped off a few random shots when Esteban charged down the ramp. I’m sorry. Hope I didn’t hit any friendlies.”
“Don’t apologize,” J.B. said. “Those ‘random shots’ probably convinced the pirates they were in a crossfire.”
Rosalie laughed. “I get waaay too scared to be worth anything in a fight.”
“Hey, Little Sis, when dumb luck works, go with it,” Tyler said.
Lucy meowed at Rosalie’s feet. When she picked up the blue-and-green tiger and scratched her ear, Rosalie’s fingers came away with red crust. “Poor baby. Look—dried blood.”
“Is she injured?” Esteban said.
“Her head was wet with blood when she hopped aboard,” Rosalie said, “but I couldn’t find a wound.”
“Must have brushed a bleeding pirate in the street, somebody who met your bovine friend,” Tyler said.
“That’s another mystery,” J.B. said. “How did a full-grown bull get inside the Sioux City, and why did he attack the pirates but ignore us?”
“That bull did not stow away on my ship. Totally impossible, even if this boat is a pet magnet.” Tyler scratched his chin. “Speaking of pets—has anybody seen Lulu?”
“Your snake?” Esteban said.
“Snake!” Mrs. León said. “What snake?”
“Found her on my new planet. She slithered aboard uninvited.”
“Like the cat?” Dorla León said.
“I have a question,” J.B. said. “Has anybody ever seen Lulu and Lucy together?”
“Where you goin’ with this, Bear?” Tyler reach for a sip of J.B.’s beer, but Dorla smacked his hand.
J.B. examined the cat, who drooped lazily from Rosalie’s arms. “Put Lucy on the mess table, please. Don’t worry, Mrs. León, we’ll sanitize before meal time. Would you fetch a portable bio-scanner, please?”
Dorla returned from the equipment locker with a hand-sized unit resembling a datacom. J.B. scanned the feline, tail to whiskers. Rosalie peeped at the data screen, but her oldest brother said to hold the animal still. J.B. laid the instrument on the table, screen up.
“Very peculiar readings,” Esteban said.
“No shit,” Tyler said.
“Is there something wrong with my cat?” Rosalie said.
“Kiddo, this ain’t no cat,” Tyler said.
“Of course she’s a cat!”
Tyler itemized the scan results for his sister. “No bones, no organs, no circulatory system. Nothing but complex organic compounds—most of which the scanner can’t identify—plus a high concentration of gold isotope.” He handed the data pad to Rosalie. “Look at the density.”
“This can’t be right,” she said. “It shows enough mass to form several thousand small animals. Lucy is light as a feather.”
J.B. scratched the cat’s head. “Do you think it’s sentient, Ty? It must be sentient.”
“The snake seemed to know when to hide,” Tyler said.
Rosalie waved a hand at them. “What are we talking about—Lucy or Lulu?”
“Both,” J.B. said. “Organic compounds and gold, one of the most malleable metallic substances in the Universe. Just a few grams of it stretches into a wire thin enough to reach 100 kilometers. I have no explanation for the mass.”
Tyler said, “Maybe she compensates by adjusting the gravity field surrounding whatever form she assumes.”
Rosalie’s mouth dropped open. “She…it’s a shape-shifter?”
Tyler smiled at his sister. “Lulu heard you wishing for a cat, and she heard me remind you about being allergic. Next, a hypo-allergenic cat appears with the same color markings as the snake.”
Rosalie said, “But that means—”
“It understands enough language to make the necessary adjustments.” Tyler said. “And it somehow accessed our data banks to figure out how to impersonate a cat.”
“And a bull!” Esteban said. “That is how El Toro appeared in the streets of Safe Harbor.”
J.B. nodded. “With her density, a full-sized bull would be no problem. Blue-and-green markings seem to be her species’ trademark.”
“Lucy came flying back without Toro,” Esteban said.
“Incredible!” Rosalie said. “She saved us.”
“She did,” J.B. agreed. “But you still need to realize, Rosalie—this is a very dangerous animal.”
“Nonsense.” Rosalie kissed Lucy’s head. “She didn’t want to be a bother, so Lulu became Lucy for me—didn’t you? Then you became a bull to drive off those bad men.”
“No wonder the Rek Kett wanted you off that planet,” J.B. said to Tyler. “They’re probably harvesting shape-shifters for something profitable and illegal.”
“Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “Captain Cow-Patty freaked out when he saw the snake on the jump seat behind me, but he didn’t seem like your typical environmental activist.”
“We should take
the creature back to its home world,” J.B. said.
“On the other side of the galaxy?” Tyler said. “We’re outbound to the opposite Rim.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Rosalie said.
“We really do not have an alternative,” Esteban said.
“Okay, I can live with that for now,” J.B. said.
Tyler raised a finger. “Rosalie, please encourage your beastie to stay in cat or snake mode. No large creatures with an attitude.”
Esteban smiled. “Unless we need them.”
She scratched Lucy’s head. “Maybe can do.”
“I vote for the cat,” Dorla said. “Now, if we’re done with the exobiology lesson, I’m serving spaghetti and meatballs in thirty minutes. Wash this table!”
They dispersed to the limited confines of the ship for hygiene and personal time. Rosalie checked on Yumiko while Esteban worked at a computer station in the tiny research and relaxation corner of the galley. J.B. and Tyler went to the flight deck, but Suzie had them on course and was still making her full diagnostic sweep. With nothing to do, they sat back and watched the rainbow colors swirl by in the viewports for a few minutes.
Tyler yawned. “Can’t remember the last time I slept in a bunk.”
“We should try to rest,” J.B. agreed.
“Oh! I meant to tell you—Dad called.” Tyler briefed J.B. on the conversation. “He didn’t confirm it, but I’m thinking the pirates are working for his trade enemies to keep the Omega Gate from going online.”
“We can’t whip them with weaponry,” J.B. said. “So, we’ll crush them in court.”
“Bro, there’s something I don’t get about this so-called legal mission,” Tyler said. “If the fate of the Matthews trade empire really hangs in the balance, why did he send us? We talk a good game, but he has high-powered barristers who could do a much better job.”
“Dad wants the Family.”
“Dad wants to win. Sending us doesn’t make any sense.”
J.B. closed his eyes. “I’m too tired to think about it.”
Tyler grunted. “He’s got some devious scheme going on.”
J.B. pounded the armrests. “What do you propose, abandon the project, head home?”
Tyler shook his head. “Hell, no. We’re in this game. Let’s show him we can win it.”
“That’s a better plan.” J.B. sat back and closed his eyes.
“We dash for Suryadivan Prime. Dad said he’ll take care of the mess back on Sedalia-3.”
“Speaking of Sedalia,” J.B. said, suddenly awake, “have you given any thought about what to do with our new passengers?”
“Actually, yes.” Tyler slipped sideways in the command seat, facing his brother. “We’re a law firm without a staff, headed into a shit-storm of legal and cultural problems. Not to mention our secondary mission of finding Julieta. Since all our passengers are technically employees of Matthews Interstellar already—”
“You want to Shanghai them?” J.B. said.
“Promote them to better jobs,” Tyler said. “Platte and Yumiko are investigators. Blue is an attorney with experience beyond Gated space. Let’s bring them aboard our new firm. Even courtroom stars need help with work product.”
“All right. I guess a first-class job requires more than a pair of star lawyers,” J.B. said.
“Hey, I like that! ‘Matthews & Matthews, Star Lawyers—We yank your ass out of trouble beyond the reach of Terran Law.’”
“I like it, too. Minus the subtitle.”
“Good! It’s official.” Tyler hopped off the pilot’s seat and stretched legs and arms. “You hire Platte and Yumiko. I’ll sign up Indigo. We’ll show Dad what his kids can do. We’ve got us a law firm, Bear!”
“The conscripts haven’t agreed.”
“If not, we’ll drop them at Suryadivan Prime. They can walk home.”
J.B. frowned. “Let me negotiate with all three.”
“Pay them big salaries. Dad has money.”
“I love your corporate socialism.” J.B. stood and stretched. “Suzie’s flying. Stay up here, take a nap. I’ll call you for dinner.”
J.B. left him alone with the sounds of computers and flight instruments and optical viewports filled with rushing stars. Tyler tilted the command chair and called up a porn film, Amazon Women in Pirate Space, while the diagnostic proceeded. After twenty minutes of watching half-naked blondes mud wrestle on a planet with tangerine-and-white rings, Tyler shut off the viewer and asked Suzie for an update.
“Here’s an update—you’re a bloody sexist pig.”
He sat bolt upright, zinged by the slap. “Hey! It’s just recreation. I like to watch beautiful women—”
“Slog in the muck—six at a time?”
“Well, it’s a team sport.”
“And why do all those women have udders the size of a milk cow?”
“You really know how to spoil a guy’s fantasies.”
“Good!” After a long silence, she added crisply, “Diagnostic completed.”
“On me, or the ship’s systems?”
“The ship is fine. The jury is still out on you.”
“Do you know any good songs?”
“I know every song written by humans in the last two thousand years. Specify?”
“How about ‘You Are my Sunshine’?” She started to call up an old recording of the mid-twentieth century, but Tyler stopped her. “Sing it with me.”
“Why?”
“Because…I want to sing with you,” he said. “Will you?”
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“No, and I’m not asking you to mud wrestle, either. Just sing with me, please?”
“All right.”
They sang for a few minutes until J.B. summoned Tyler for dinner. He returned after the meal, and they crooned old songs until Tyler’s voice started to creak. She selected passages from the great romances of human literature—no muddy Amazons--and read to him as the Sioux City hurdled light years toward their rendezvous with Chief Warrant Officer Paco León.
Tyler’s mind drifted to disturbing questions. What if the PH never cleared the planet? What if the pirates chased Paco down, or followed him? They were after the Matthews Family members. They could be lurking near the PH without Paco’s knowledge. Or Paco could be working for them. This could be a quick trip to another ambush. And the Andromeda clock was still ticking.
Fourteen
Thyrd Pon Bergé, First Secretary of the Suryadivan Sacred Protectorate’s People’s Assembly, entered the figurine forest that dominated the audience chamber of Supreme High Pontiff Elach Raud. Secretary Bergé barely noted the array of pillars and nooks housing images of the principal gods and goddesses of Suryadivan religion, known collectively as the Forty-Six.
None of the immortals—neither austere figures like blood-red Huffix the avenger; nor white-eyed, fear-eating Zarunk; nor the fashionable, five-legged Azurdabol with his towering purple plumage; nor sensuous beauties like Delica or Amitora; nor comic gods, like befuddled Kadat or the laughing god Apjutz; nor the popular Elise, goddess of health and healing; not even his favorites, multi-colored Adroxii and Adroxia, god and goddess of justice—caught his eye today.
Bergé was no religious scholar, but like most Suryadivans he understood the Forty-Six well enough to be appropriately pious when the moment called for worship. Fortunately, today’s meeting featured politics, not religion, so the First Secretary would operate in his field of expertise. All should go well, if the gods were merciful, the date auspicious, and the number two cleric, Pontiff Jakok, kept his big, imperious mouth shut.
“Thyrd! We are blessed to see you!” The Supreme High Pontiff rose shakily from his armchair in the Nook of Humility, a simple wood pavilion dead center of the vaulted Audience Chamber, three steps above the polished granite floor. His colleagues slowly followed Pontiff Raud’s lead.
“Thank you, Holy Father. Please, do not get up.”
Raud sat, relieving his colleagues of the need to sta
nd. “Would you like some cakes? Our baker makes the most wonderful cakes with sweet fruit juices.”
“No, thank you. I breakfasted with the Cabinet.”
“Have your hatchlings seen daylight yet? You must be quite proud.” The Holy Father gestured for Secretary Bergé to sit on the lone wood bench reserved for supplicants.
To Raud’s left and right sat two pairs of High Pontiffs, the last two Supreme High Pontiffs and the next two awaiting their turn to serve. Next year, Elach Raud would move one seat to the right, yield his supremacy, and displace the Pontiff on the far right, who held the office ten years ago. The men on the left will shift right, as the next Pontiff became supreme and a new High Priest took the empty seat at the far left.
The First Secretary bowed and tipped his auditory head fin forward in a sign of ultimate respect. “My mate still shelters them, Holy Father. They emerge from the pouch next season.”
“Children are a comfort at any age. Comfort them now, and they will repay you later.”
“As your sons do you credit, Holy Father.”
The Supreme Pontiff’s smile faded. “They are zealous.”
Bergé folded his head fin, displaying appreciation. “How may the representatives of the Suryadivan people be of service to our gods and goddesses?”
Pavic Jakok, next in line to succeed as Supreme Pontiff, spoke up. “We require a few laws from the Assembly.”
“I can surely ask the representatives—”
“First,” Jakok said, “it shall be a capital offense to speak against this Council of Pontiffs.”
Bergé needed time to think. For the religious leadership to demand specific legislation from the elected representatives of the people was unprecedented. And to speak against the clerics as a crime incurring the death penalty? Absurd.
“Lord Pontiffs, when you say ‘we require a few laws’ do you speak for the divinities, or your august selves?”