Jump Gate Omega

by Tom Shepherd

  The scent of coconut brought a sudden urge for a familiar tropical drink, so he flagged down a Suryadivan bartender and ordered a piña colada. The young male laughed, wiped the bar with a blue cloth, and offered an alternative.

  “Have you sampled Suryadivan Nectar Wine?” he said in accent-free Terran. “It’s actually a liqueur that tastes like your coconut drinks, but sweeter and stronger. It comes from a marine fruit growing underwater in shallow, tropical seas.”

  Tyler shuddered. “Shallow tropical seas? No, thank you.”

  The native mixologist sported the age-old uniform of Terran youth. T-shirt and blue jeans. The logo on his sleeveless top advertised Matthews Interstellar Industries. Capital M over upper case II’s, giving the effect of Greek columns supporting the Family empire. The mixologist had a crisp head fin studded with small bits of bright metal, some shapes recognizable as birds or four-legged animals, other pieces apparently chosen for brilliance and color. Tyler looked deeply into the young alien’s chocolate eyes and found no deceit, but what the hell did deceit look like in the eyes of an amphibian-marsupial?

  “Just a taste, Lord Tyler Matthews. Trust your bartender.”

  “What’s your name, guy?”

  “Not Guy.” The youth tipped his head fin slightly. “Jazmir, your friendly native bartender and servant.”

  Tyler laughed, and it surprised him that he could feel humor after such bad news from Esteban. “Pour me your best local hooch, Jaz.”

  The young Suryadivan whipped up a tall, frosty masterpiece and presented it to Tyler with a bow. “This drink is called in our language Yedro na Wayen. In Terran, Near-Impact Comet.”

  The drink was cold and smooth and packed enough booze in each sip to jab at Tyler’s anxiety until he swayed with the island music. He quaffed the cocktail slowly, uncertain just how much alcohol this icy asteroid held.

  “Do you have any other suggestions for entertainment while I’m in town?” Tyler had to keep chattering. Anything to keep him from thinking of his dying aunt.

  Jazmir leaned on the bar and lowered his voice. “I know a few Terran women who, for a reasonable price—”

  “Next suggestion.” Tyler took another gulp. Too cold. He felt the onslaught of an ice cream headache.

  “Well, there’s the Sacred Hunt, but only if you’re willing to risk death for the thrill of the chase. No aliens allowed.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  “Aliens at the Hunt? It isn’t my place to question the infallible decrees of the Pontiffs.”

  “If you were speaking confidentially to a friend from another world,” Tyler said, “how would you describe the sacred killing spree on Adao?”

  Jazmir made a guttural sound, wiped the bar again, and moved to the far end where Terran businessmen waved empty glasses at him.

  “Ah-so. Other sons of the rich and powerful know where to find a good watering hole.” Another young man called across the narrow bar, this time with a distinctly Asian accent,. When the newcomer raised his glass, Tyler recognized him at once.

  “Kichi-san, you star-hopping sonuvabitch,” Tyler said. “Can’t I even get away from you out here on the Rim?”

  “Karma, Tyler-san. I came here to get away from you.” Kichirou Tsuchiya, eldest son of the Chairman and CEO of Tsuchiya Galactic, Hideki Tsuchiya, bowed to his childhood friend.

  Tyler laughed. “Can I order you one of these fruity ice bombs? My new friend, Jazmir, is a booze-mixing wizard.”

  “Dōmo, but I am drinking rice wine. Very Japanese, neh?”

  “Sake isn’t rice wine. It’s actually rice beer.”

  Kichirou assumed his frowning samurai face. “We Japanese have brewed sake for thousands of years. If I wanted rice beer, I’d move to Milwaukee!”

  They laughed together.

  “Heard you took over Riley’s World.” Tyler moved around the bar and took the empty seat next to Kichi-san. “Congrats. Also, congrats for arriving the day after the murders.”

  “I was doubly fortunate, yes. But Papa-san quickly plucked me from the first real managerial job I’ve ever had. ‘Go to Suryadivan Prime—urgent business!’ At first, I thought he wanted me away from the murder zone. Then I remembered this is Hideki Tsuchiya we’re talking about.”

  Tyler laughed. “So, tell me about your duties out here. Anything you can share with a cooperative rival?”

  Kichirou smiled. “We have invested heavily in Jump Gate Omega. I am here to prepare the advance teams that will fly through the event horizon and establish our corporate presence in a new galaxy.”

  Tyler raised his glass. “Kichirou-san, I drink to your success.” Because we will have plucked Dad’s burning wish list from the fire.

  “Anata mo, Tyler-san.” Kichirou hoisted his glass and bowed slightly. “Is your lovely sister, Rosalie, traveling with you?”

  “Hai.” He smiled. “But I have strict chaperone orders from my parents. Two conditions before I can let you see Rosalie. First, you need a written request from your dad to my dad.”

  “They are old friends. Consider it done.”

  “Second, you have to ask my mom’s permission.”

  Kichirou winced like a Shinto deity. “Ayeee… Perhaps I should text Rosalie instead.”

  “Wise decision.”

  They laughed together.

  “Kichi-san, what do your operatives tell you about the Suryadivan attitude toward the Alpha Site?”

  “Operatives? Oh, my trade emissaries.”

  “Cut the crap. You command a small army of covert agents. Tell an old friend what you know.”

  “Tyler-san, we must work on your diplomatic skills.”

  “I have none. Tell me.”

  “Hai, hai.” Kichirou laughed. “The Suryadivan Sacred Fleet patrols the space around the Adao system as if it held your Holy Grail.”

  “My team can’t figure out what they’re guarding,” Tyler said.

  Kichi-san pursed his lips. “An operative who accessed secret documents inside the Temple Court said it is about immortality. The High Priesthood believes Adao-2 is the site of eternal life.”

  “Guarding a veritable highway to Heaven, no doubt.” Or were they hiding a manufacturing center for Esteban’s elusive elixir?

  “I am neither a religionist nor a mythologist,” Kichi said. “But you have someone who is both.”

  “Rosalie again. You’re obsessed, buddy.”

  “It is the Suryadivans who are obsessed. Their unchecked zeal and lack of business acumen may prevent you from linking with Jump Gate Omega. That will cost my father considerable losses.” Kichi-san looked away, averting Tyler’s eyes. “Although he and your father are old friends, Tsuchiya Galactic is his first loyalty.”

  “Which means he will sue us for recovery,” Tyler said.

  “Or worse,” Kichirou said. “The stakes are very high, Tyler-san.”

  Tyler sat up straight, disturbed by where this was going. “You don’t really think our corporations might fight a real war over this? There hasn’t been a hot war among the corporations for—what, two hundred years?”

  “I never said war. It is my firm belief the situation will not deteriorate beyond legal action.” He sipped sake. “Anything more is too unpleasant to contemplate.”

  “No shit.”

  Kichirou Tsuchiya shrugged. “Regardless what happens, it need not affect our relationship. Rivals perhaps, friends always.”

  “How does that work if our ships are shooting at each other?”

  “I am the messenger, Tyler-san, not the message.”

  “Thanks for answering me directly.” Well, as directly as he could expect.

  “On another subject,” Kichirou said, “I need a new chief of security. What would it take to lure Yumiko Matsuda from your employ?”

  “Don’t you have enough protection?”

  “Not with her qualifications.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Well, I see the attraction. Yumiko is Japanese—”

  “A rare species of J
apanese, a neo-traditionalist schooled in the ancient fighting arts. She follows all seven virtues of the Bushido code.” He smiled slightly. “And she performs a perfect tea ceremony.”

  “How do you know so much about my investigator?”

  He sloshed the sake. “She has come to my attention before.”

  Tyler allowed himself a half-smile. Kichi, you rascal. Getting a little private instruction from the yummy Yumi-san? “Sorry, but I can’t spare her,” he said. “Mission essential, you know.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll tell Rosalie you’re looking for her.”

  “That would be appreciated. Have a good Mardi Gras, my friend.”

  Kichirou waved off the approaching bartender and headed into the thick of the revelers. Tyler finished his Near-Impact Comet and left the bar to find out what the other Star Lawyers had learned. Mr. Blue approached him almost immediately, sandwich in each hand.

  “Friend Tyler! Are you well and satisfied?”

  “Uh….I suppose. “Have you seen my sister?”

  “Rosalie said to tell you not to worry. She is touring the building with new friends.” He offered Tyler a sandwich.

  “What new friends?” He waved off the food.

  “I never saw them. Miss Matthews is quite secretive.”

  “You’ve known her two weeks, and you’re giving me advice about my sister?”

  “It is a friendly observation.”

  “Yeah. I’m getting a lot of those tonight,” Tyler said. “Where’s J.B.?”

  “Dancing with his bitch.” Mr. Blue stacked sandwiches, pressed them together, and took a huge bite.

  “His what?” Tyler said.

  “Isn’t that an alternative word for female partner, suggesting sexual innuendo with overtones of dominance?”

  “Blue, you are really struggling with Terran.”

  “It is a rib-tickling language.”

  “You mean funny. Like odd or peculiar.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?”

  “Not even close.” Tyler craned his neck and located J.B. whirling Dr. Adelaide LeBlanc across the colored panels of the open-air dance floor. “I’d love to hear what they’re talking about.”

  “Slip into the crowd. Dance.”

  “Humans usually require dancing partners.”

  “I am still eating,” Blue said. “This is good-good food. Sand-witches. Odd name, clever idea. Meat and cheese and bread and leafy greens—you can keep adding ingredients! Did witches originally make them from sand? Give me a minute.” He stuffed a huge bite into his blue mouth.

  “That’s okay. I’ll find someone.”

  “Mmmfff…almost…”

  “Slow down, Indigo. I don’t know if a Heimlich works on your species.”

  “A what?”

  “Take your time. Munch, circulate, listen,” Tyler said. “We’ll debrief after the party.”

  “Very good. By then, my stomach will rest easy.” He headed back to the buffet tables.

  Tyler wandered to the edge of the dance floor and scanned the crowd. No singles, and he had no intention of barging into a socially inappropriate dance request with business rivals or potential spies in the hire of God-knows-who. Lost in thought, he failed to notice a small, dark-haired woman in a polka dotted clown suit slip up beside him.

  Tanis Zervos cleared her throat. “Mr. Matthews?”

  “Oh, excuse me.”

  “Didn’t recognize me without the pointy hat and red feet?”

  “Deputy Ambassador Zervos, right?”

  “Tanis, please.”

  “Nice name. Greek or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Her name sounded Greek, but that accent—maybe Italian?

  “Call me Tyler.”

  “I saw you standing here, Tyler, and wondered if you were looking for a dance partner?”

  “Sure!” He followed Tanis into the floor, offered a hand, and their bodies came together as they moved to slow, rhythmic music with a hint of Latin beat. Her head barely reached his chest, and her small breasts pressed against his stomach. It felt awkward, but good.

  “How long are you staying on Suryadivan Prime?” she said.

  “Not sure,” Tyler said. “We need to be certain the connection to Jump Gate Omega happens smoothly and on time. My father has a lot of capital riding on this venture.”

  “The work of four generations,” she said. “I’ve read your family history.”

  “Completely boring. Too many vacation homes. Too much money. Too many people sucking up to you for advantages you can’t deliver.” Tyler took a deep breath. “Tanis, I didn’t mean to insinuate—”

  “I know you didn’t.” She snuggled against him. “I’m being diplomatic.”

  The music ended, and Tanis excused herself. Duties among the delegations. He thanked her for the dance, but Tyler was relieved when she marched briskly away. She was nice, for a short woman, and fraternizing with subordinates wasn’t particularly against Tyler’s morality, but he didn’t feel any chemistry. Maybe Suzie could help. He tapped the green panel on his wristband three times.

  “Yes, luv?”

  “Suzie! This thing really works.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Can you access the guest list for the Trade Embassy Mardi Gras?”

  “Yes.”

  “Locate a suitable dance partner. About my age, opposite gender, at least 175 centimeters tall, well-proportioned, unaccompanied, and unaffiliated with any rival factions. Blonde preferred.”

  “I am reading zero.”

  “Damn. Any brunettes?”

  “I have an alternative suggestion. Where are you?”

  “Garden dance floor on the roof, why?”

  “Go to the elevator banks and step inside the first empty car that appears.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I’m going to regret this.” He picked his way through the crowd and found the lifts. Almost immediately, a door zipped open. The car was empty, so he stepped aboard. The door closed.

  “Now, tap your wristband in the following sequence. Green-red-blue-green.”

  “Not until you tell me what we’re doing.”

  “Don’t you like surprises?”

  “The last time I was surprised, a gigantic crustacean tried to eat me while you scratched your ass and read magazines, figuratively speaking.”

  “Tap the wristband, you twit! Green-red-blue-green.”

  Tyler sighed and pecked away. For about ten seconds, nothing happened. He was about to complain when an ethereal figure of a tall, sultry, busty, long-haired woman appeared beside him in the elevator. It slipped in and out of focus and finally snapped to fully solid. Honey-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders, and dark blonde, arching eyebrows set off pale blue eyes. Her breasts swelled enticingly from a tight, orange-and-black maven dress, and her smile projected a hint of naughty playfulness.

  “Took you bloody long enough.”

  Tyler gawked. “Suzie?”

  “You were expecting Saint Bernadette?”

  His mouth was open, eyes big as viewports. “You’re a tall, beautiful, buxom blonde.”

  “Straight from your sexist fantasies. Well, a little less busty.” She arched her back to thrust her breasts forward.

  Tyler rubbed his eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Too much to handle, luv?” Suzie smirked with glistening, cherry lips. “Want me to morph into short, flat, dishwater, and ugly?”

  “No, no! You’re perfect. But…how can you be here?”

  “Chief León modified the wristbands to connect with my program. I took the liberty of designing a holographic subroutine that allows me to materialize within 100 meters of your bracelet.”

  “And you’re not just an image?”

  “How do I feel?” Suzie guided his hand to her breast. It was warm and supple. “Yes, I can do the rumpy pumpy. And no, I haven’t decided whether to do it with you
.” She shoved his hand away.

  Tyler’s looked at his hand, unable to believe what just happened. “Our first date, and I’m already pussy-whipped.”

  “Meow.” Suzie slipped on a glittering, black cat-mask that swept into pointy ears. “Now, will you please take me to the party?”

  Nineteen

  Sixteen stories below the rooftop Mardi Gras, Night Storm stepped from a cargo elevator, adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag, and casually checked both ways. Clear… good. A micro-pad displayed a schematic of the corridor and pulsing green arrows urged her to turn right and immediately right again. The arrows halted midway down a row of small, windowless offices. Naca Jen tapped an access code, the door hissed open.

  She optimized her datacom to hack closed systems and quickly accessed the Matthews Trade Embassy computer, which opened paths to Suryadivan governmental network. The data she sought was somewhere in this vast web.

  She entered a sequence of codes and popped a side door into the Gobikan arena for public enquiries, then cross-navigated to the edge of restricted space. To unlock files hidden from ordinary searches was no easy task. But Naca Jen had purchased a key code from a Suryadivan dissenter who hated the government. Once inside, she quickly activated a search algorithm for restricted information about the Adao-2 Sacred Hunt.

  While waiting for the program to gather the relevant files, she opened a desk drawer and discovered a small, clear tube filled with grape-sized bongo pellets. Surprised, she checked its settings. Completely charged, no bouncers deployed recently. Set for 98% Full Lethality. Too high. She dialed it back to 10% Siesta, and slipped the tube into her shoulder bag.

  Download complete, Night Storm opened a secure channel, downloaded the data to an off-site storage module, and crashed the Embassy computer system to purge any traces of espionage. Before stepping into the hall, she flashed a DNA scrambler at the office to prevent identification in the unlikely event anyone suspected what she had done.

  She closed the door just as Deputy Ambassador Tanis Zervos and a pair of armed security guards rounded the corner from the direction of the main elevator banks.