by Low Bo
"He moves a lot of stuff out the back of the theater," said Freddie. "Fenced goods, contraband, things that fall off the truck when the union boys are loading."
"The uniforms should have picked up on that," said Reg.
"Unless they are being paid to look the other way," I replied.
"The theater is the drop-point for the stuff, whatever it is. That's all I know."
"Thanks, Freddie," I said.
Freddie drained the last of his coffee. "See you around, Flatfoot. Thanks for the coffee. Nice to meet you, Topless." Freddie sashayed out into the dark and rain.
Regina started to say something but caught my eye and subsided.
After a minute we got up and headed for the car. The rain awaited us. It fit my mood. Seeing Freddie always made me feel sad. His was a wasted life and nothing would change it. We got back into the car.
"How do you know that... that person?" asked Reg.
"Freddie was getting the crap beat out of him by some spacers. False advertising."
"What?"
"Goods delivered were not goods bargained for. Some of those Free Traders get kind of picky about that sort of stuff."
She looked at me.
"You know, our work day would feel a lot shorter if you'd develop a sense of humor."
"Hah hah,'' she replied.
"Okay, that was gruesome," I said. "Anyway, they had poor Freddie beat half to death when I stopped them. Took him to the hospital, made sure he was okay."
"What are you a cop, or a social worker?" asked Reg.
I started the car and put it in gear. The turbines whined. " All creatures great and small, " I quoted, "the Lord God made them all."
* * *
An hour later we crept into the alley behind the theater. This time we both had our weapons drawn and I was wondering why I let Regina talk me into doing this without back up. Again. Her pride, I suppose. Slowly, we made our way to a window outside what the city computer said was a storage room. We crouched below it. The glass was partially cracked and a chunk was gone from one pane.
I started to raise up for a look when a voice sounded from inside the room.
"Do you have the cargo, human?" rumbled a deep voice.
I quickly sat down on my haunches and looked at Regina.
The Arcturian, she mouthed silently. I wet my lips and nodded. The S.O.B. must be just on the other side of the glass.
"Yeah, it's all here," said a recognizably human voice. "And I told you, the name's Moestel. The customs guys are covered and everything is ready to go."
I looked at Reg and nodded. We hit the back door side by side, crashing through.
"Freeze! Police!" I yelled.
Rat face squeaked and dropped to the floor. The Arcturian turned toward us and lurched forward, a gray skinned tower of muscle. His hands were empty, so I couldn't shoot him. I leaned to the right and kicked his knee. Hard. He made a booming sound and began hopping on one leg. His hand whooshed over my head as I ducked. Regina leaped with a "ki yah!" and kicked him full in the chest. The Arcturian crashed into some crates behind him with a howl.
Three of the crates broke and cats exploded into the room. Lots of cats. All colors and shapes. They ran frantically in all directions. Most of them ran over the Arcturian. His arms and legs jerked spasmodically, he gave a loud cry then collapsed.
Rat face looked at me from the floor. "I ain't saying nothing till I see my lawyer."
* * *
Ambulances came and took the comatose Arcturian away. Ratface left in the paddy wagon. Animal control arrived, called for reinforcements, and gathered up the cats as evidence. There was much hissing and scratching. Some of it was from Regina. "Cats," she kept repeating, "they were smuggling cats."
At headquarters, we spent the next several hours writing reports before the Lieutenant called us down to the hospital where the unconscious Arcturian had been taken. The Precinct Captain had been and gone by the time we arrived. The Lieutenant was staring at two Arcturians as we walked into the ward. One wore a doctor's coat and was carrying a medical scanner.
The Lieutenant looked over at us sourly. "So you're here finally. Detectives McManus and Delmar, meet Dr. Verhoo and Mr. Sandanvah of the Arcturian Legation."
Diplomats, I thought. Crap.
"How's the prisoner?" asked Regina crisply.
"His condition is serious," replied Dr. Verhoo. "While he is no longer in danger of dying, the coma may be indefinite, a side effect of extreme sexual stimulation in our species."
"Excuse me?" said Regina.
"This brings up a delicate subject," said Mr. Sandanvah. "it is only recently that we've learned that the presence of Felis catus causes a state of almost manic sexual arousal in the Arcturian species. Harkarian accidentally discovered this on his last voyage. He brought home a few felines and sold them for fabulous sums."
"Cats," I said.
"Yes," replied the doctor with a hint of defensiveness. "Does not petting a cat generate a feeling of euphoria in your own species.
"Usually only in women of a certain age and marital status," I replied.
"The effect is many hundred times greater in one of our species," the doctor stated.
"So, when he fell into a couple crates full of them..." began Regina.
"Essentially a lifetime of sexual pleasure crammed into a few seconds before his nervous system simply shut down," finished the doctor.
Hysterical laughter lurked at the back of my throat. "Couldn't handle a little..."
"Don't say it," interrupted Regina.
"Our species would find it most embarrassing if this were to become generally known. We must keep this entirely quiet. Your President has assured us of your cooperation."
"Of course," I said, trying desperately to keep a straight face. The Lieutenant looked daggers at me.
The two aliens bowed and walked off, deep in conversation. I looked at the Lieutenant. "Don't say it," he ordered.
I pressed my lips together firmly.
"So," began our Lieutenant, "thanks to you two, we got Arcturian brass talking to Earth brass, who are talking to the Chief, who is talking to the Captain, who told me that it was a good thing that we had all this spare time on our hands from chasing tech, drugs, and illegal aliens, so we could now chase pussycats!"
"And all I wanted," mourned the Lieutenant, "was a quiet shift where nothing happened." He looked at us darkly. "Back to the streets for you two. Try not to stir up any more trouble and, for God's sake, avoid reporters."
"Yeah," I said. Regina followed me out silently. I made it all the way to the parking deck before I collapsed against a wall, laughing my ass off.
"It's not funny," snapped Regina. "We aren't even going to get credit for the bust."
"The case of Lust in the Lair of the Lesbian Love Goddess," I laughed in a mock British accent. "After all, it was all about kinky sex. Or maybe we should call it, "Looking for some Earth..."
"Don't say it," she yelled.
I looked at her and laughed harder as tears came to my eyes. After a moment, she couldn't help it and started laughing too. We both ended up sitting on our butts, incapacitated.
After we laughed ourselves out, I turned to her. "Well, Topless, wanna go fight some crime?"
She sighed. "Why not, Flatfoot. I don't think I'll be sitting for the Lieutenant's exam anytime soon."
We hopped in the cruiser and headed out of the parking lot. Overhead, thunder rumbled through the sky. It seemed it was always raining lately.
CONTRABAND
Nathan Archer
The ship's afterjets were still smoking as Jeffers trotted out onto the blast apron, the display panel in his hand showing the manifest the crew had transmitted from orbit. He'd snagged this one the minute he saw the read out, before Ota or Singh got a look at it, and all because of one word: Pets.
As far as Jeffers was concerned, pets were a struggling customs officer's wet dream. He could claim they were diseased or dangerous, he could demand endle
ss documentation, genetic scans, certifications from half a dozen governments or organizations-basically, he could delay the shipment indefinitely.
And pets needed care and feeding, which would eat into someone's profits for every day the cargo was delayed, and the animals would be getting older and less valuable, and might get sick or die, which would make them worthless; their owner would want them delivered as quickly as possible.
Which meant that Jeffers could expect a very healthy fee to expedite the process. With luck, he could wind up with half the captain's profits going onto his own card.
And it was all far safer than "overlooking" drugs or weapons; exotic alien pets were legal, after all, and the people who transported them were therefore far less likely to shoot an overly greedy customs inspector. He wouldn't be threatening anyone with arrest, deportation, or reprogramming-just with bureaucratic delays. Nobody liked red tape, but only a lunatic would shoot anyone over it, while drug dealers and gun runners shot each other with depressing frequency.
Of course, the Lord Lucan might be smuggling contraband, as well as its official cargo, which could make the haul even richer, albeit riskier. Jeffers smiled happily as he tapped the phone keys on his display.
"Musashi Port Customs, requesting permission to come aboard," he said.
"Just a minute, Customs," a woman's voice replied, though no image appeared. "I'm checking on the cargo restraints. Wouldn't want anything to hit you on the head."
"Whenever you're ready, Captain," Jeffers said. He stood on the apron, waiting patiently, as the sound of heavy objects thumping on metal surfaces came over the display speakers.
At last the woman spoke again.
"Opening the lock, Customs; stand clear."
Jeffers booted up the atmospheric sensors on the display, then tucked the panel under one arm and watched as the outer door of the airlock swung open and extended itself downward to become a boarding ladder. Before the bottom rung had entirely stopped moving he grabbed the rails and began climbing.
At the top he waited while the airlock cycled-apparently the captain wasn't in any hurry to expose herself to Musashi's air. At last, though, the inner door opened and he found himself facing the Lord Lucan's captain. She was a sturdily built woman with coffee colored skin, wearing a standard ship suit that was drab blue at the moment.
"Madis Tyler," she said, holding out a hand. "Is Maintenance coming?"
Jeffers shook the offered hand. "Karl Jeffers," he said. "I haven't heard anything from Maintenance; that's between you and them."
"They said they'd send someone right out."
"Shouldn't be more than an hour or so, then. They're a bit backlogged." His curiosity got the better of him. "What needs maintenance?"
"The main drive. That's why I put down; I wasn't planning to land at all. If this place had a decent orbital station instead of just that stupid navigation post, I wouldn't be here, wasting time and fuel, I'd have made the repairs in orbit."
"Then your cargo isn't bound for Musashi?"
"Oh, hell, no; I've got buyers waiting on Telemachus III. I'm just here because I was using the Musashi beacon for transition, and the drive went unstable and dumped me out of hyper about fifteen light minutes off the point. I didn't want to risk jumping again until I found out why."
This took the edge off Jeffers' enthusiasm; if the ship was going to be delayed for expensive repairs anyway, and the impatient buyer wasn't here on Musashi, his bargaining position wasn't quite as good as he had thought. He couldn't demand payment before allowing the pets to leave the ship, because they weren't going to leave the ship here. He could probably still manage something, but this wouldn't be as lucrative as he thought; if he got too greedy the Lord Lucan would probably just launch without clearance and run for it, and there wouldn't be much anyone in the Musashi system could do about it. Musashi did not have many patrol ships, and the Confederacy Guard was unlikely to waste one pursuing someone whose only crime was not bribing the port officials adequately.
"I'll still need to take a look," Jeffers said apologetically. "Port rules, you know."
"I figured you would," Tyler said with a sigh. "Every port in the galaxy has rules and bureaucrats. I suppose there'll be paperwork.''
"Oh, I think we can keep it to a minimum, since you aren't offloading anything," he said. "In fact, a small service charge might expedite the process..."
"How much?"
"Well, that depends on the exact nature of your cargo."
"They're pets. Sixty of them. Furballs indigenous to Fomalhaut IV. Do you need the species name? It should be in the manifest."
Jeffers took the display board from under his arm and looked at it. The atmosphere indicators showed a bunch of non standard trace organics-that would presumably be from the cargo's breath or waste. There were no traces of anything that looked like illicit drugs or out gassing from explosives, unfortunately, which meant Tyler probably wasn't smuggling anything and Jeffers couldn't extort even more.
The manifest did give a species name-Ardemanus ardermani formalhauti-that was amazingly uninformative, and tapping the query button elicited "No data on file."
He hesitated. He knew he should just name a fee, but he wanted to see what these things looked like. There might be some excuse to charge more if they looked especially valuable.
And a thought struck him. "You only have sixty? On a ship this size."
"They're big furballs, not just hamsters or something, and I've got to haul the food and water for them."
Big animals? That meant he might be able to make an accusation of inhumane treatment, or transporting dangerous livestock; that could raise the price. "I'll need to take a look," he said.
"Yeah, fine. This way." Tyler led the way to the central core, where they ascended a ladder to the main hold.
The smell reached Jeffers before the door slid open, and he almost gagged; there was no question that the Lord Lucan was transporting animals. A glance at the display showed four red indicators on the atmosphere readings-but steady red meant "unidentified," not toxic.
Then he looked at the cargo, and saw why Captain Tyler had called them "furballs."
There were about a dozen of the creatures in this compartment. Each stood about five feet tall and about three feet wide, thick legs supporting almost spherical bodies covered in luxurious fur in a variety of colors. It took Jeffers a moment to puzzle out exactly what he was seeing, beyond walking balls of fur, but at last he understood.
They were tripodal-a leg on either side and one at the back, the back one jointed differently, which Jeffers suspected meant it had evolved from something like a tail. Plastic restraints encircled every leg, each creature tethered to a cargo ring on the bulkhead.
Between the front and back leg on either side of each furball was what could only be considered an arm, though the resemblance to human arms was slight; each was equipped with four things somewhere between fingers and pincers at the end, and also with something clawlike at the lower elbow. There were no actual hands.
And between each pair of front legs hung a long neck ending in a flat, pan shaped head, equipped with four eyes and a mouth, and other openings that might or might not be ears and nostrils.
Most of those many eyes were staring back at him.
"Whoa," he said. "Who'd want those for pets?"
"Rich people," Tyler said. "On Telemachus III."
Jeffers shrugged. "I suppose some people will buy anything." He looked at his display. "I'll want to take some readings."
Tyler didn't reply; she just frowned. Then her com twittered. "Maintenance, waiting to come aboard," it said. "What's the nature of the problem?"
"I'll be right there," she said. Then she turned her attention back to Jeffers. "Don't touch anything," she said. "They're docile, and they're tethered, but that doesn't mean they can't step on your foot or butt you accidentally if you get too close." Then she spun on her heel and marched back out to the ladder.
Jeffers watched her go, the
n turned back to the furballs.
He didn't really care what they were, or what the readings said; he just wanted to figure out how he could maximize his income from this.
They were odd looking creatures, and the way they were all watching him made him nervous. The smell didn't help.
"You guys stink, you know that?" he said.
"Sorry," the nearest replied, in slightly accented Commerce.
Jeffers almost dropped his display. "You can talk?" he demanded, once he was sufficiently recovered to speak.
The furballs exchanged glances; one said, "The captain lady said we mustn't talk to you." Two of the others turned to glare at it.
Jeffers glanced around for cameras, and spotted three-but he knew how to deal with that; anyone who conspired with smugglers had to be able to alter records. He hurried to the compartment's com port and punched up a link between the ship's systems and his display board, then selected one of the display's files and quickly entered a few parameters.
That would generate synthetic images of utterly innocuous behavior in the cargo hold, starting from the moment Captain Tyler descended the ladder.
"She can't hear us now," he said, turning back to the furballs. "Now, what were you saying?"
"We're sorry we stink," a reddish brown one said. "We haven't had a decent bath since we came aboard, and the food doesn't agree with us."
"Or the air, " a bluish one interjected.
Visions of a charge of inhumane treatment, and the bribe it would take to have it dismissed, arose in Jeffers' thoughts, only to be immediately dismissed by a far more basic issue.
These things weren't pets.
Oh, there were talking pets-parrots and mynah birds and Sirian mimic hounds-but those couldn't hold real conversations. A mere pet would not apologize for its smell and complain about a lack of bathing facilities, would it? Those flat heads didn't look big enough to hold much brain, but not every species kept its brain in its head.
"What are you?" Jeffers asked.
The furballs exchanged glances.
"Well, our own word for our kind is..." It made a gurgling noise.
"It just means 'people', really," another explained.