Jump Gate Omega

by Tom Shepherd

Eighteen

  As promised, the Star Lawyers Corp prepped to show up at the Matthews Interstellar Trade Embassy’s Mardi Gras party in force. J.B. asked the shore party to assemble at the forward exit hatch for a quick inspection. To avoid complications with local culture, they wore simple robes of assorted colors and carried masks to don inside the Trade Embassy. What surprised Tyler as he ambled toward the unpressurized airlock was how much taller Investigator Matsuda appeared tonight.

  “Yumiko-san, did you grow ten centimeters since lunch?”

  “Different footwear.” The elfin policewoman raised the hem of her kimono. Rather than classical wood bars crossing the soles to provide elevation, these geta had white rubbery padding with a metallic subsurface.

  Tyler laughed. “Hover shoes?”

  “Hai.”

  “Stay close to the deck at the party,” Tyler said. “Embassy Security may not appreciate strangers floating overhead.”

  “Please remember,” J.B. said, “this is both a social encounter and reconnaissance mission. We will be on friendly ground, since Father owns the building and the staff works for him. Your job tonight is to learn how and why Jump Gate Alpha lost its right to operate in Suryadivan space.”

  “And what happened to my sister,” Esteban said.

  “Right, of course,” J.B. said. “Any questions?”

  Mr. Blue raised a hand. “Will there be food?”

  Tyler chuckled. “Dumbo, you’ll love the gumbo.”

  “Let’s get going,” J.B. said.

  Paco took Tyler aside. “Sir, gimme the comm device Dorla issued you. I made some modifications at Suzie’s request.”

  “At Suzie’s request?”

  “Yes, sir.” He held up a silver wristband inlaid with a set of colored panels. “If you need something from our computer net, tap the green panel three times. We’ve been experimenting with a few other modifications, but I’m not ready for a field test.”

  Tyler wiggled his nose. “What modifications?”

  “Gotta iron out the wrinkles first, and then I’ll show you.” Chief León offered the new wristband.

  “Everything keeps getting updated.” Tyler traded for the silver.

  Star Lawyers, party of seven, descended the Patrick Henry gangway to the access road where a transport vehicle waited in the dusky light.

  * * * *

  Receptionists greeted a flood of masked, color-splashed party guests under the high-ceiling, glass and slanting girder-and-glass outer lobby of the Matthews Trade Embassy. A double life-sized bronze image dominated the reception area, an African-Asian woman in lab coat looking upward through the glass wall at the city skyline and visible stars. She held an old-style clipboard under arm, and her hair was swept back into a ponytail.

  “Tanella Jennings,” Tyler whispered, loud enough for J.B. to hear.

  “A thousand years later,” his brother said, “and we’re still following in her footsteps.”

  Tyler wandered through the crowd and touched the base of the bronze statue. The others joined him. “Ironic. She designed the first functional FTL propulsion system, but never left the Earth’s surface.”

  “That’s controversial,” Demarcus Platte said. Tyler and J.B. laughed politely. Demarcus did not appear amused. “Boss, you never read the Palmer Journal? Her best friend claimed they were abducted by aliens when they were teenagers.”

  Tyler shrugged. “No offense, Inspector, but nobody takes that story seriously.”

  “Well, some people do,” Demarcus grumbled.

  Rosalie studied the memorial. “Quite a woman. I’m glad Daddy sent her image out here to the Rim.”

  “Not just Jennings—look.” Tyler gestured to a pair of bronze works farther down the glass-roofed lobby. Even from this distance, the subjects of the metallic statuary were unmistakable. One had a dog by his side. Tyler recited the names like a space-traveler’s prayer. “Aurelio Lupetti and Brian Brightstar.”

  “Two greatest captains in human history.” J.B.’s voice quivered with emotion. “Commander of the first faster-than-light starship, side-by-side with the foremost deep space explorer of them all.”

  Rosalie smiled. “And his pit bull, Riley,”

  Tyler took a deep breath. “Hero worship is adjourned. Let’s focus on tonight’s mission.”

  Greeters steered the guests to a bank of security scanners. Beefy, well-armed rent-a-cops—the kind Tyler had seen throughout his father’s trade empire—watched over the scanning technicians and coolly surveyed the crowds. The Embassy enjoyed governmental status as the primary Terran economic and cultural agency in the Suryadivan Sacred Protectorate. Centuries earlier, when human corporations eclipsed political institutions, most non-Terran cultures quickly learned to accord the representatives of Earth’s commercial conglomerates full diplomatic immunity and to treat human business HQs like any other Embassy. Inside its confines, the Star lawyers were effectively on Terran soil.

  They lined up with costumed business executives, news media, and government officials for security screening and verification of IDs. As they approached the tail of the line, a bulky alien in green robes turned to the approaching humans. He had round white eyes and a face like a dry creek bed. Tyler knew him instantly.

  “Captain Dirt Bag! How’s my new planet?”

  “You!” the Rek Kett hissed. “I did not recognize you in clothes.”

  Esteban and J.B. gawked at the mud-faced stranger.

  “It ain’t like it sounds,” Tyler said.

  Rosalie stammered. “Tyler, I have girlfriends—”

  “I was skinny dipping on this uninhabited—it’s a long story, okay?” He frowned at Senior Captain Zalaar-17. “By the way, your ‘sacred animal’ is a shape-shifter. But you knew that. It was terrified of you. What the fuck are you doing to them?”

  The Rek Kett took a step toward him. “I despise your whole species.” He grabbed for Tyler with stone-hard arms, but tiny Yumiko seized the thick limb and rolled with his forward motion, flipping the bulky alien flat as a mud pie. She planted a hefty anti-grav shoe on Zalaar-17’s body armor and climbed aboard his chest.

  “Please stay down,” she said demurely. “I do not wish to injure you.”

  “And here’s some advice,” Tyler said. “Stop abusing the shape-shifters, or I’ll send somebody after you who isn’t as forgiving as Investigator Matsuda.” He nodded and Yumiko rose off him like a butterfly, landing a step away.

  Zalaar clambered to his feet. “When we meet again, you won’t have parents or hired fighters to save you.”

  “If we meet again, it will be in court, and I won’t need any help. Now, get your ugly ass out of my Trade Embassy.”

  Demarcus Platte called for embassy security to escort the Rek Kett officer to the nearest exit. Zalaar-17 did not go gently into the gathering night. The sneering alien loudly cursed all humans on his way out of the lobby. Tyler thanked Yumiko with a deep bow, which she reciprocated.

  J.B. cleared his throat. “Well, Ty, it was a bit racist, but I’m guessing he’s called dirt bag by his own muddy people, too.”

  Tyler turned to Rosalie. “So, my cultural expert and diplomat, what’s a puritanical, people-hating, meadow muffin like Zalaar-17 doing at a Terran Mardi Gras party?”

  “Not a clue,” his sister said. “The Rek Kett are xenophobic and ruthless and totally dedicated to their Emperor. I’ve heard some murmuring about cooperation with the pirate syndicates, but I’ve never seen hard evidence.”

  As the line snaked forward, the smiling trade ambassador, Executive Vice President for Rim World Operations, Dr. Adelaide LeBlanc, appeared in the foyer with worried-looking deputies in jester costumes trailing behind her.

  Adelaide had dressed as Queen of the Mardi Gras in green-and-purple harlequin. Slender and attractive, her dark hair carried a few flecks of silver at the tips, as if to notify subordinates of her maturity, but the flared neckline of her gown revealed just enough cleavage to announce she was not planning to leave the party early. A
golden heart locket rode comfortably in the cleavage between smallish breasts. Tyler was surprised at how young she looked, considering Dr. LeBlanc had taught J.B. at Mizzou Law School.

  “Tyler, Rosalie, and Jerry! What a nice surprise.”

  Tyler shot a glance at his brother’s face. No reaction; not even a classic J.B. blush. Jerry? Nobody called him Jerry, not even Mom. Yet, the Bear remained deadpan, as if nothing had happened.

  Dr. LeBlanc signaled to a short, olive-skinned woman who huddled with a pack of embassy personnel. She joined them. An intensely young, a wisp of a girl in a white clown suit with polka dots and oversized red shoes, her short black hair was topped by a pointed hat with fuzzy red ball. The face was pleasantly V-shaped, accentuated by dark eyes and darker brows. Thin lips curled upward in a perpetual, slight smile. Not stunning, but pleasant.

  “Let me present my Chief Management Officer,” Adelaide said. “Deputy Ambassador Tanis Zervos.”

  “Your servant.” Tanis bowed slightly, and the dangling fuzzy ball on her clown hat flipped forward. Her name sounded Greek, but Tyler couldn’t place the accent. Romanian, Basque?

  “Tanis is my whip,” Adelaide said. “Keeps the trade reps and civil servants at their tasks.”

  “I wish we’d known you were coming to Suryadivan Prime,” Tanis said. “This is an awkward way to meet the Matthews family.”

  “It was a sudden decision.” Tyler smiled. “I like your clown suit.”

  “You are very gracious.” She curtseyed.

  Adelaide spoke softly to Tanis, who sent underlings to activate a private, express elevator on the far side of the lobby.

  “Is your father well?” Adelaide said.

  “Same as usual,” Tyler said. “Yelling at subordinates, ducking calls from Mother.”

  Dr. LeBlanc nodded diplomatically. “Will you be staying long? I’d like to hold a get-acquainted dinner with my senior staff. Most of them have never met anyone from the Family.”

  “We’re representing Father,” Tyler said. “I’m sure you know why.”

  “Let’s talk about the Jump Gate after you’ve mingled a little.” She glanced at the members of his group, and then smiled at J.B. “It’s good to see you again, Jerry. How long has it been?”

  “Ten years,” J.B. said. “And you don’t look a day older.”

  “You charming rascal. Flattery is always good diplomacy.” Adelaide showed them to the executive lift.

  Rascal? Tyler chuckled. People called his brother many things. Rascal wasn’t one of them. Dr. LeBlanc was older than J.B., already an assistant professor at Missouri Law when Big Brother attended. Yet she still cut a lithe figure with a face as fresh as a teenager. And if it were anybody but J.B., the perennial virgin, Tyler might have concluded that Adelaide’s body language suggested…well, that wasn’t possible. She was probably buttering up the eldest son of the CEO.

  “Let’s catch up when you have a minute,” J.B. said.

  “I would enjoy that,” Dr. LeBlanc said. “Tanis, will you join us?”

  “If you need me,” she said. “I have several good contacts here tonight, people I need to see about—”

  “It’s a party,” Adelaide said. “Your job is to unwind.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Adelaide frowned at her deputy. “Oh, go ahead. I know you won’t have any fun with all those contacts drinking, dancing, and romancing.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll see you on the roof.” She scampered back to the milling crowd that waited for public elevators in the lobby.

  “She’s unstoppable.” Adelaide eyed J.B. “Tell me you aren’t here tonight to work, too.”

  J.B. smiled slightly. “On Fat Tuesday?”

  “Good!”

  Dr. LeBlanc paused while her distinguished guests entered the car, but she did not join them. The elevator sped to the top of the Matthews Trade Embassy, seventy-five stories above the darkening streets of Deiro Yord. The building stood mid-level among the forest of skyscrapers, but instead of a spired top, the rooftop elevators opened to a dancefloor with good views of city skyline and stars.

  Beyond the dancefloor, a domed terrarium—stocked with Terran trees, green plants and flowers—enticed guests to explore rock-paved patios among groves of magnolia and tropical pine, while others rested on cushioned benches set aside for private conversations. Thanks to the magic of nanotechnology, an assortment of bars throughout the terrarium dispensed drinks and tasty comestibles for the digestive tracts of human and alien cultures.

  As his people merged into the costumed crowd, Tyler caught his brother’s arm. “Really believe your old law prof was surprised to see us?”

  J.B. smirked. “Of course not. That woman has spies tailing her spies.”

  “Dad must have messaged her. Why pretend?”

  “Maybe she’s exercising discretion,” J.B. said. “Maybe she’s saying, ‘I knew you were coming, but let’s make-believe you aren’t coordinating a legal assault on our trade partner, the Suryadivan government.’”

  “I’d like to know which side of the field she’s playing,” Tyler said.

  “An Executive VP should bench with the home team.”

  “Sorry, Bear, but I don’t trust anybody,” Tyler said. “The Family is in danger. Dad put up his whole trading empire as collateral to finance Jump Gate Omega. Some of his investors make their living blowing up shit and seizing whatever survives.”

  J.B. nodded. “We have to win this lawsuit, or we’re looking at a shooting war with heavily armed creditors. Maybe civil war in the Terran Commonwealth.”

  “And we need to find Julieta, last seen working out of this building,” Tyler said. “I have a creeping suspicion the two projects are related.”

  “Let me see what I can learn from my old friend, Adelaide.”

  “Be careful, Bro. Womanizing is not your department.”

  J.B. grumbled inaudibly and moved into the crowd.

  Tyler wandered to the sunset side of the building, where the dome opened to a terraced patio with Tiki bars, standing tables, and a large dance floor paved in panels of colored lights. Very simple. Low budget. No fancy technology.

  “Great view of the town.” He joined Esteban at the waist-high brick wall that edged the roof.

  “Yes,” Esteban said. “Forgive me. My thoughts are with Julieta.”

  “Level with me, okay?” Tyler mustered the courage to ask his question. “Why did your father send you out here?”

  “To join your search for Julieta.”

  “Bullshit, ‘Cuz. I was in the room when Senator Solorio told my father she was last seen at Suryadivan Prime. You were far away on Riley’s World. How did you link up with Rosalie aboard the Henrique?”

  Esteban shrugged. “Rosalie didn’t find me, I found her. My father commissioned Flávio Tavares to fly me to Riley’s World. When Rosalie’s text was forwarded to me aboard the Henrique, I coordinated a pickup. We tracked you down along the most likely Jump Gate route to Sedalia.”

  Tyler frowned. “Are you telling me Uncle Xavier sent you on a trade mission to Riley’s World in a ship flown by a privateer? What’s your actual mission, Primo?”

  Esteban sighed deeply. “Two missions. I search for Julieta and track Dark Market channels for an elixir which my father believes originates on a Rim world.”

  “Lots of systems out here. Billions of stars. What kind of elixir?”

  “Very expensive. Sold to a small circle of rich and powerful subscribers. They say it heals all diseases and bestows immortality.”

  “Just like the Catholic church,” Tyler said. “So, it has to be a scam.”

  “Primo, why are you always so skeptical?”

  “Does this elixir actually work? Is there science behind the voodoo?”

  “That is what my father wants to know,” Esteban said. “Julieta was looking for it. Now I look for her. But our task remains the same.”

  “Why a magical healing potion?” Tyler said.

  “Because my mother i
s dying.”

  “Aunt Camilla?” Tyler’s chest constricted. He fought to draw a breath.

  “Mother contracted the Blue Fever eighteen years ago,” Esteban said. “She recovered, but every organ in her body became a time bomb. They are failing rapidly.”

  “Organ transplants? Nanotechnology?”

  “You cannot transplant the brain.”

  Tyler put both hands on the brick wall edging the roof and leaned forward, looking at the city. Aunt Camilla and Bianca Solorio met at college on Mindorius, and after graduation worked side-by-side as cultural attachés on the colony world where Bianca met Tyler’s father. A few months later Bianca introduced her friend to Xavier Solorio, her older brother and Camilla’s future husband. Tyler loved Camilla’s kindness. She sent traditional Spanish almond and honey candy every Christmas. And now she was dying and her daughter had disappeared.

  “Does my father know?”

  “Yes, but not Tia Bianca.”

  “May I tell J.B. and Rosalie?”

  “Of course. I wanted to tell you, but Father is a proud Castilian. He forced me to vow silence. Now I am desperate. To hell with vows.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help Aunt Camilla…you know.”

  “Prayer for now. But I must find that elixir, if it exists.”

  “Do you think it’s here, on some world of the Sacred Protectorate?”

  “I do not know.”

  Tyler patted his shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Thank you, no. I want to watch the stars appear.”

  “I’ll pray the Rosary for your mother.”

  “Muchas gracias, Primo.”

  Now to the Tiki bar, where he could wash the bad news from his head. Aunt Camilla, dying? Mom doesn’t know, thank God. He needed a drink. Several drinks.

  He drifted away from the brick wall and quickly smelled coconut and pineapple in the night air. Coconut again! Should he be watching for shape-shifters or CFOs? He followed the sound of whirring mixers and slipped under a thatched roof that was supported on bamboo poles. He didn’t feel like talking, so he found a stool at the bar where he had a good view of the dance floor and kept him away from other guests. To his far left, beyond the palm fronds along the shack’s roofline, the skyline of Deiro Yord rose like thick spikes studded with light. He didn’t see Esteban anywhere.