by Natalie Grey
Not a very good one, out here.
He and his team intended to complete their mission very quickly.
Norwun got up from the pilot’s seat and looked at his compatriots. There were five of them on this team, all outfitted with specialized suits that would let them hook into the systems of the Srisa…among other things. As Norwun looked at them, one was retracting a needle into a leg panel, and another was folding a knife down onto the inside of a forearm plate.
They did not say anything. They had been briefed. They would be awaiting Norwun’s orders because until he knew what had occurred after the murder, he would not know what must be done.
He would prefer to avoid the deaths of everyone aboard the Srisa, of course—in a general way. He felt no real emotion at the thought. Sometimes people needed to die. Sometimes he needed to be the one to kill them. He was vaguely aware that many others made a fuss about such things, but he believed it was an act.
When the doors opened, they found a hulking Brakalon waiting for them in the corridor. The thing—Norwun could not tell if it was male or female, and he did not care to figure it out—ducked its head in a crude greeting.
“I am Captain Kelnamon,” it said. “I am glad you were able to dock safely. There has been trouble.”
“Yes,” Norwun said shortly. “The body is this way?”
“Yes.” The captain hurried to accompany him.
“You said there was trouble,” Norwun said. He did not like the sound of that. The devices blocking the distress signal had still been up when his crew arrived, but their ship had not been—and there was the trace of a self-destruct. What that meant, Norwun was not sure.
But if the Brakalon understood what had happened, if he had seen too much...
Norwun did not exchange a glance with any of the others. They were all professionals. They were paying attention.
“Yes.” The Brakalon cleared his throat anxiously. “A ship was nearby, apparently blocking the distress signal and also taking down ships that tried to approach us. It destroyed a Brakalon government ship.” He sounded angry now.
Despite himself, Norwun felt a flicker of worry. He was waiting for the Brakalon to lose control, he realized, and unleash a wave of violence that might cause quite a bit of damage. Norwun was well-trained and quite lethal—but there was always the chance of something going very wrong. Fights were chaotic.
“Did the ship leave?” he asked finally. It was not a good sign that the captain had said no more on the subject.
“No, it was apprehended. Well...” The Brakalon cleared his throat. “I’m given to understand that it self-destructed.”
Norwun tried to parse this. “I’m sorry, what do you mean by that? Did you not see it?”
“No.” The Brakalon was looking at him worriedly. He paused, considered, and said finally, “Perhaps our customs are unknown to you. When a murder has occurred, it is the responsibility of law enforcement to deal with the problem.” He paused again. “I am, of course, prepared to turn the investigation over to you, although it is already in progress.”
“And what are your findings?” Norwun asked silkily.
“Not my findings,” the Brakalon told him. “It is being investigated by a human.”
“A human?” No. Oh, no. And then, even though Norwun knew, he had to ask: “What is the human’s name?”
“Barnabas,” the Brakalon said. He seemed to be studying Norwun carefully. He stopped at a door in the hallway and nodded into the room. “This is where the body is.”
Norwun stood in quiet horror. This was so, so much worse than he had imagined. He had guessed when the guard ship had gone silent that they might need to eliminate certain witnesses. He had anticipated venting the Srisa. They would take care of things quietly; the Brakalons need never know. It could have been pirates, after all.
But if Barnabas was involved...
And the Shinigami wasn’t here, so where in the nineteen hells of Baletoth was Barnabas now?
“How does the investigation proceed, then?” he asked finally, trying to control his voice.
“That, I don’t know.” The Brakalon sounded genuinely regretful. “As I said, the government should be responsible for investigations. Since I was on the ship when it happened, I am technically a suspect, and my actions in breaking the tank certainly contaminated the scene. As soon as it became clear that this was a violent death, I locked the scene to further intervention and notified both the Jotun and Brakalon governments.” He sounded worried. “I wish I had more to tell you, but I thought it best that the scene remain closed so there would be no disturbances. For the sake of clues, you understand.”
Norwun fought not to snort in annoyance. Of course, he understood how investigations went. Did the Brakalon think he was so stupid?
He should not be upset, however, because it sounded as if it were possible—just possible—that no one on the ship knew what was going on. And that was very good for all of them since it might just buy them their lives.
Norwun would have been tempted to kill them all anyway, except that Barnabas was now involved. He had a reputation for oversized reactions whenever civilians died.
“And the crew?” Norwun asked. “The passengers?”
“We have communicated the delays, but not the cause.” The Brakalon shrugged, looking defeated. “They are very angry, but what can I do? There are protocols.”
“Why did you turn the investigation over to Barnabas?”
“Ah.” The captain now looked very worried indeed. “It should have been one of our two governments, yes? I know. But it had already been a week, and the Brakalon ship had not arrived, and I had not heard from the Jotun government. I feared that if I stalled for much longer, the murderer might strike again.”
“So you believe this was a random murder?” Norwun asked neutrally. That was an interesting idea. It looked like they might not be able to stay ahead of the news at this point, but it was possible that they could spin it as a chance occurrence, a game of cards gone wrong—
Yes, it was possible. Barnabas was the loose end there, but perhaps even he could be convinced.
They had to get off this ship, and quickly. All he needed to know was whether these people had to die.
“Who can say?” the captain asked. “Perhaps it was not random, but then why would it happen here? It doesn’t make any sense. No one would know he was here.”
“Did he not have any traveling companions?” They’d been having the devil of a time figuring out if anyone else had been involved.
The Brakalon hesitated again. “There was another captain—Ferqar.”
Norwun hoped he managed to conceal the leap of his interest.
“As he was the traveling companion, I needed to find him to move him to another cabin. When I went to where he was, the bartender told me that he had been there over the whole time period when the murder might have occurred—not that I told him why I was asking. I know I shouldn’t have, of course, but…you know, when there are only two Jotuns on board, you wonder about the other one, yes? I didn’t think anyone else knew him.” The Brakalon’s shoulders slumped. “But I knew I shouldn’t investigate—and now Ferqar is gone.”
“He’s gone?”
“Perhaps Barnabas took him. He left very suddenly. I haven’t received clearance from the Brakalon government to move yet, so we must stay. I wish he’d told us what was going on...”
Give thanks to all your gods that he didn’t, Norwun thought acerbically. He gestured to the others to go around the captain and begin assessing the crime scene and retrieve the body.
“We will be gone soon,” he said. “I hope you can understand that we must take the body.”
“Oh, of course. Of course.” The Brakalon nodded eagerly. “It is rightfully your investigation instead of Barnabas’. Should I set up a channel for you to speak to him and ask him to return with his information?”
No! The urge to yell was strong. Norwun took a deep breath to steady himself.
The Brakalon nodded. “I hope we get clearance to move soon,” he said wearily. “This is playing hell with my profits. I’ll go now. Let me know if you need me for anything.”
“Mmm.” Norwun watched him leave.
Fool. The whole species was composed of fools. It was convenient for him, of course, but still tiring to navigate.
“What should we do next?” asked Hynom, one of his associates.
“I’ll tell you on the ship,” Norwun said curtly.
Step one was to find Barnabas and determine what he knew. Step two was to decide if they should come back here and do some cleanup after all. For now, they could leave the Srisa. Best not to necessitate a diplomatic event unless there was no other option.
He knew where they’d be, anyway.
As the Jotun ship flew away, Captain Kelnamon kept his eyes fixed on the dwindling speck.
He doubted that Barnabas had everything he needed from the scene of the crime, but there wasn’t anything Kelnamon could have done in this instance.
He’d known the second that ship made contact that something unusual was going on. None of the usual diplomatic protocol was on display, although there were some telltales that this was official business.
And something about those suits said that it was the sort of official business that ended with a lot of dead people, so Kelnamon had done the only thing he could think of: lied like crazy. No, he didn’t know anything. No, no one knew anything. No, the other Jotun was gone. No, he couldn’t move the ship until they got word from the Brakalon government. He’d even managed to change the passenger manifest while they were getting the body. There would be no useful data for them if they looked at it.
And if they ever came back, Kelnamon planned to be long gone. He gave it time for the Jotun ship to be well out of range, and then he nodded to the helmsman. The Srisa’s engines flared, and the ship powered away into the black, going as fast as possible in the other direction.
Chapter Ten
“You have got to be kidding me,” Barnabas said for what felt like the tenth time. He was hurrying along one of the lower corridors of the Shinigami toward the engine room. “You don’t even have fuel lines, do you?”
“I’m telling you, I have tubes full of something, and they’re less full of it than they should be. Believe me or not, I don’t care, but let’s at least check it out before we go kablooey.”
“While the assassin gets away.”
“Okay, how about this?” Shinigami projected a hologram of herself walking alongside Barnabas. She’d put on a cape today, which she’d layered over plate armor—showing, in Barnabas’ opinion, that she’d never worn plate armor before in her life. No one who’d worn the stuff of necessity would ever wear it by choice.
On the other hand, as a collection of pixels, one had a great deal more leeway regarding outfits.
“How about this,” she repeated. “We stop at Gerris Station, I put a few locks on all the ships, we dash back to Border Station 7, get everything done there, and when we come back, Gerris is still in chaos, and the assassin hasn’t gotten out yet.”
Barnabas sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“Do you like anything?”
“I like juice.”
“You sound like a toddler.”
“Fine. I like quiet nights with a book, a good mug of beer, and a garden full of freshly-tilled earth.”
Shinigami stopped in her tracks and blinked at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I always forget you were a monk.”
After a moment of consideration, Barnabas lifted his shoulders with a wistful smile. “Sometimes I do, too. That’s all very far away these days. I don’t miss everything about that time, but…sometimes I miss the afternoons. The light would slant into the gardens in just the right way.” He started walking again, more slowly. “It was beautiful in every season. In the spring, there was the promise of greenery. You could smell it in the air even with snow on the ground. In summer, everything was growing and flowering. The air was full of good smells from the herbs we grew. In the autumn, it was harvest—bounty and…grief, almost, the sense of winter approaching and the plants dying even as they gave fruit. And in the winter, everything was quiet. We all need quiet. Contemplation.”
Shinigami said nothing for a long moment. Barnabas looked at her, still half in his memories, and she quirked her mouth to the side.
“You’re a dork.” She said it affectionately, he noticed.
“Mmm. Maybe I’ll put in a garden.”
“Where are you going to have a garden? High Tortuga?”
“On the ship. We have more than enough space. I’ll fill one of the rooms with dirt.” It wasn’t a very workable idea, but her look of horror was worth it. She didn’t know he wasn’t serious, after all. “And I’ll go along with the lock plan.”
“That’s good,” Shinigami said serenely, “because I already did it.”
Barnabas sighed.
Federation Border Station 7 was, Barnabas had to admit, a welcome taste of home. On alien space stations, he had to keep himself on guard constantly. One could never tell what might give offense, or who might want to make a point by killing a human.
The Shinigami’s maintenance problem was clucked over by Helen Harari, one of Bobcat’s former trainee mechanics who had devised a few of the Shinigami’s systems before the Federation days, and who now went wherever she was needed to repair the far-flung ships.
“Yeah, this isn’t too much of a surprise,” she reported. Her voice was muffled, emerging from a compartment that she’d wedged herself inside with a flashlight and a series of antiquated looking tools.
“It’s a state-of-the-art ship,” Barnabas said. “How can it have problems like this? Doesn’t it…self-repair?”
Helen stuck her head out to give him a look. “Some of the time, yes. Shinigami maintains the computer systems, and can even make minor repairs to hardware. But materials break down. Especially when you’ve been using a ship as hard as you seem to be using this one. Hell, I’d have you bring it in for maintenance every month if I thought you’d listen.”
She disappeared back into the compartment with Barnabas staring after her, chagrinned.
“Anyway, go on,” she called, her voice still muffled. “This won’t take too long—although I’d like to get a full diagnostic in if you can spare the time.”
“Sorry, not today.” Barnabas fought the urge to pace in circles. “We need to be getting back to Gerris before our target finds a way through Shinigami’s ship locks.”
“There’s always something,” Helen muttered. “The next time I ask, I’m sure it will be something else urgent. Well, go on, and I’ll do what I can.”
Somewhat self-consciously, Barnabas set off for the main concourse. He didn’t have anything, in particular, he wanted to see, but he could take the chance to have a relaxing stroll, couldn’t he?
Barnabas—Jeltor says he has a message for you.
Oh?
He says he needs to tell you in person.
Barnabas stopped dead and was run into by several people. Apologizing—he was used to the near-empty hallways of the Shinigami—he drew into an alcove and considered. They couldn’t leave just yet. Even if Barnabas weren’t worried about the Shinigami breaking down, he wouldn’t want to get a tongue-lashing from Helen.
Still, his worries about being stuck here had just doubled.
Could he meet us at Gerris Station? he asked Shinigami.
I’ll pass that along.
Is it serious, do you think? Barnabas started walking again, trying to get rid of his nervous energy by moving. Stupid question. I know it’s serious. But if it’s so serious, why does he think we’ll be able to meet in person?
No idea. I suppose there’s a chance
he’s misinterpreting something or thinks it’s more serious than it is, though. You organic life forms do that a lot.
Thank you for the vote of confidence.
It was meant to be reassuring.
Mmm. Barnabas was smiling, however, as he emerged into the relatively open markets. He inhaled the familiar smells of human food and felt a little bit more at home than he had in weeks.
Are you doing anything right now?
No, why?
Grainger wondered if you’d speak to the Magistrates.
Are they here? Barnabas was surprised. The Magistrates had been training to be Rangers—except, with the dissolution of the Empire, they had not finished. Barnabas remembered following their progress somewhat distractedly, but he had been off on his missions and had not kept close tabs. Is this where they… Ah, right, it is. I could talk to them. Wait, why?
He thought it would be good for them to see you. He says he knows you’re still basically a Ranger, soooo…
You’ve definitely been talking with Tabitha too much. All right, where am I going?
Level 8, Room 1430. Hold on. She flashed a map for a few seconds, confusingly embedded in his vision. Did that work?
Yes. Yes, it did. Also, never do that again, I have a gigantic headache.
We’ll fine-tune it.
That would require us to do it again.
It will be a useful thing to have down, and you know it. And I’ll tell Grainger you’ll be there in a couple of minutes. With that, Shinigami appeared to have vanished from his head.
“Stubborn AIs,” Barnabas muttered as he headed for Level 8.
It took him a bit longer than Shinigami had advised, and he popped into the room to find several people staring expectantly at the door.
He remembered Buster at once as the man came over to shake his hand, elbowing Grainger aside. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had blond hair and blue eyes, and a thin white scar at the top of his head. Before the Rangers had disbanded, it had been the plan for Buster to do his first Ranger missions with Barnabas. But all of that had gone out the window when Barnabas headed off on his own. Barnabas had felt a bit guilty about that, but Buster seemed to have landed on his feet just fine.