by Tom Shepherd
“Ah, yes.” He leaned toward her, sniffing delicately, like a pedigree dog checking out a mutt. “The magical girl. Your ability to teleport through our computer nets is all my people are talking about.”
She stepped into his personal space and sniffed back. “You are misinformed, Chief Prosecutor Yerzail. I am neither magical nor a girl. Just a bio-energetic woman playing for the opposing team.”
“Opposing team? I thought we all wanted justice.” He backed off a half-step. “I have an offer that could save my Empire and your client the shame of a murder trial.”
Tyler shrugged. “We’re listening.”
“Prince Zenna-Zenn pleads guilty. We execute him swiftly. You suffer no collateral punishment for defending a regicide, and the matter is finished.”
“Here’s my counter-offer, Yerzail.” Tyler placed his empty wine cup on a nearby table and selected a full one, taking his time.
“I await your proposal,” the Chief Prosecutor said.
You’re an impatient sonuvabitch. Good information. “Drop the charges. Cut Mr. Blue loose. Put your investigators to work finding the real killer.”
“It seems we have nothing to discuss.” Yerzail nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
“The game is afoot.” Tyler finished his wine.
“I didn’t know you fancied Conan Doyle.”
“Who?” He set the empty cup on a table and slipped an arm around Suzie. “To hell with espionage. Let’s go back to plan A. Dancing under the stars.”
“There’s no orchestra.”
“We’ll make our own melodies—the music of the spheres.”
She kissed him. “You romantic nutter.”
They wove their way through the crowd to the platform adjacent the two-story viewport and melded together, moving to the music of the stars. Tyler knew they should be gathering information, but the evening was young, and so was he. Beginning to relax—feeling the alcohol and Suzie’s warm body against him, soothing his tensions—Tyler looked over her shoulder into the grinning face of Erkinood Atbarasoo.
“My man, Tyler Ivey! What’s happening, dawg?” He wore a dark blue kaftan tightened at his waist by a thick leather belt. On his head, a tightly woven white skullcap kept his long ears in place. He held out cups of wine for Tyler and Suzie. They accepted. “I got a bitchin’ opportunity for the Junior Big Dawg of M-double-I.”
“Sash, we talked about proper language.” Tyler took a large gulp of wine, suddenly realizing he was having the same conversation with this young Quirt as his father had inflicted upon him. He needed soothing again, but Suzie was eager to hear the report.
“What do you have?” she said.
The Quirt-Thymean grinned. “An interview with the Queen.”
Suzie’s eyes narrowed. “How can Tyler go down to the planet? They’ll arrest him, you twit!”
“No, no. Dig it, he don’t hafta go no-where, Mama Dawg.”
Suzie handed her wine cup to Tyler, grabbed Sash by the wide belt, and held him at arm’s length. “Listen carefully, you blue dolt. If you bloody call me ‘Mama Dawg’ again, I will rip off those floppy ears and stuff them down your throat. Dig it?”
His eyes swelled like he was already choking on furry tissue. “Uh…sure, sure, Miss Suzie. I’ll stay cool. I mean, I’ll stay in Terran Standard. And I won’t call you Mama—I mean, that other name thing again.”
She let him go. Tyler returned her drink and took a step away from Suzie’s kill zone. Glad I saw that before the wedding night.
“Answer the question. Be specific,” Suzie ordered.
“He doesn’t go to the surface. Queen Veraposta is here.”
“At the party?” Tyler wheeled around, checking the crowded ballroom for signs of royalty. Guards, banners, anything. “Where is she?”
“Her skiff is moored off the Commercial Quad. Level nineteen, pylon eleven. She didn’t want to risk adventuring inside the Hub.”
“Why is she worried about being seen?” Suzie said.
“The Queen doesn’t trust anybody,” Sash said.
Tyler picked up a napkin from a nearby table and wiped Suzie’s lipstick off his face. “What led you to that conclusion?”
Sash shook his floppy ears. “Veraposta contacted only me. She flew here solo in her personal vessel. She’s suspicious enough to travel unguarded.”
“Why does she trust you?” Suzie said.
“Maybe because I introduced her to Zenna-Zenn,” Sash replied. “And I’m her half-brother.”
Tyler cursed softly. Quirt-Thymean inside-out logic again. “Do you have any idea what the Queen wants?”
“To tell you who killed the King.”
“You sound like you know the answer,” Tyler said.
“Oh, yes.”
“She told you already?” Suzie said.
“It wasn’t necessary,” Sash said. “I was there.”
Tyler’s fists balled up. “So help me, if you keep withholding information—”
“Please, Mr. Tyler Matthews. I am pledged to secrecy. You will understand soon.”
Suzie grabbed Ty’s arm. “Want me to computer-jump over there, check it out?”
Tyler shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’re mortal in this form. I don’t want to investigate your murder, too.”
“What can I do?” she insisted.
“Put Arabella in charge of the ladies. Brief Rosalie and J.B. but tell them to stay at the party. I don’t want to attract attention on this little jaunt. You and Julieta meet me up there. Can you find Commercial Quad 19/11?”
She nodded, handing him her datacom. “Keep it in case you get lost. I can access the Station floorplan anywhere. I’ll bring Julieta.” Suzie vanished into the crowd.
Tyler turned to his blue companion. “Lead on, Investigator Sash.”
The transparent tube between the Diplomatic and Commercial Quads provided spectacular views of the yellow star, Imperial Hub and the planet Annistyn. The Inter-Quad shuttle whooshed across the distance in less than a minute, and Tyler followed Sash into the lift system which quickly deposited them on level 19. A five minute walk and they stood at the air hatch to pylon 11.
“I’ll wait here, Tyler Matthews.”
“Like hell you will. I’m not going in there alone.”
“Her Royal Highness commands—”
“I’m a citizen of the Terran Commonwealth. She’s not my Royal anything.” Tyler pointed at the keypad. “Open the hatch.”
The best choice was to wait for Julieta and Suzie. The two of them could probably handle anything waiting behind the air lock. But if the Queen was jumpy, like Sash reported, she might cast off and flee to the safety of her palace.
Or was she safe in her palace?
“Please, sir,” Sash implored. “You put me in a terrible situation.”
“Open the mother-fucking hatch.”
The blue alien reached a hand to enter the code, but the airlock opened before he touched the keypad. A cobalt blue Quirt-Thymean female in an emerald robe fashioned from rich fabric waited inside the access shaft.
“Please come aboard, quickly.”
Tyler nodded. “Thank you, Highness. A few of my friends will be here in a minute. I’ll need to bring them inside, too.” He reached into his pocket and found Suzie’s datacom.
“They must stay on the Station.” She glanced at Sash.
“They are good people, Sister. Prince Zenna trusts them with his life.”
“I risk much by coming here.” She gestured down the pressurized access ramp to the hatch of her skiff, a few steps away. “You may join me aboard, but please no one else. I’m sure you have questions to ask.”
The airlock led past a bulkhead with a closed hatch, which Tyler assumed was the entrance to the small craft’s flight deck. They emerged in a cramped passenger lounge with a low table and U-shaped couch seating about four people. Sash and Tyler waited until the Queen invited them to sit with her. She offered refreshm
ents but Tyler said he’d already consumed too much at the party.
“Very well,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“I do have questions. But first, may I compliment you on your command of Terran Standard.”
“Gookie-Poo and I studied together. He always admired your culture.”
“Gookie-Poo?” Tyler laughed despite his best efforts at restraint. “Forgive me. It’s a strange sound to my ears.”
“It means ‘Sweet Love’ in Pharmaadoodil,” she explained.
Veraposta had a diamond-shaped face with smooth blue skin, full lips and a rather thin nose for a Quirt-Thymean. Her figure was classic humanoid, with nicely rounded breasts and a narrow waist. Her robe went all the way to the deck, but it was open to the knee and revealed a shapely azure leg. The short, doggie ears were a species thing, but otherwise this was a beautiful female. No wonder Gookie-Poo had fallen for her.
She smiled. “Do you have a Gookie-Poo, Mr. Tyler Matthews?”
Tyler had to be careful how he answered, because for all he knew Suzie was simultaneously monitoring every conversation on the Orbital Hub. He laughed again, softly, a controlled release of delight. “Well, yes, absolutely. I have the Gookiest Poo of them all.”
Then he remembered that communications umbilicals didn’t deploy at Quirt-Thyme stations. Suzie couldn’t penetrate the skiff. Even so, he was glad he affirmed their relationship to this alluring alien beauty.
“May I record our session?” Tyler showed her the small datacom.
“You will protect my privacy?”
“To the best of my ability. But I may need to refresh my memory about whatever you say tonight. I will not use the actual recording in Zenna’s trial without your permission.”
“So, ask your questions,” the Queen said.
Given the circumstances of the crime as Tyler understood them, there was only one inescapable question to ask. He took a deep breath.
“Why did you kill your husband, the High King?”
She flinched. “Well, that—what’s your Terran expression? Cuts to the chase.”
“It’s the only logical conclusion,” Tyler said.
“Explain, please.”
“Unless I am a wretched judge of character, Mr. Blue—excuse me, Prince Zenna-Zenn—is incapable of murder, no matter how well provoked. But a battered wife, deeply in love with her Third Husband, brutally attacked by her notoriously cruel first spouse? Unless our two species are completely dissimilar, I get how that situation could lead to justifiable homicide.”
“What makes you think he brutalized me? Surely, Zenna didn’t—”
“A high-impact, military grade rifle blaster, hidden in your bed chamber?” Tyler said.
“For self-defense, yes.”
“Were you expecting a palace revolution, an assault by terrorists, anarchists striking in the night?”
“It is a dangerous Universe.”
“Come on, Veraposta. You want me to save his ass? I need the truth. Zenna took the rap for you, because he could flee the Empire and you could not. He loves you.”
“Tell him, please,” Sash said. “King Bandu was a cruel man.”
“Not at first, Brother,” Veraposta corrected him.
“He changed?” Tyler shifted on the couch. That was new information.
She nodded. “When he became my First Husband, Bandu-Jeewan was kind and wise, a good and gracious ruler. Then suddenly the King changed. He became sullen, suspicious, mean-tempered. He began secretly ordering the assassination of his political rivals. I never spoke out. He was my Lord and Master, ruler of the Quirt-Thyme Empire. How could I betray him to his enemies?”
“When did his behavior change?”
“After we had been married four of your years.”
“Was there a gradual change in his health, his consumption of intoxicants—”
“No, Tyler Matthews. One day Bandu was my loving spouse, the next he became abusive. Sometimes he struck me. He began ranting about people who plotted to kill him, like his brother had killed their father long ago. He feared some high-born noble would seize his throne. That is when he started to eliminate anyone he feared. And he feared many, many people.” She shivered. “I don’t know how I would have survived without my friend, Leola Rhautina. Bandu married her as Third Queen about the time his mind began to turn bitter. She alone could calm his raging spirit.”
Tyler gestured, rolling his hand. “I appreciate the history lesson, and I truly regret your suffering. But please forgive me for shifting the focus back to the night Bandu died. I’m here to defend Prince Zenna.”
“Yes, of course. Our time is limited. I must return to the Palace before my Sister-Queen runs out of excuses for my absence.”
“Tell me about the events leading up to Zenna’s decision to flee the Empire.”
“Bandu-Jeewan came to my chamber unannounced, although my schedule clearly designated a night of coitus with Prince Zenna-Zenn. Bandu was drunk, angry, and began breaking things. Family heirlooms, ceremonial wine cups and sandstone paintings handed down from my ancestors. Zenna tried to reason with him, but Bandu shouted that he was the First Husband and High King, entitled to do as he pleased. He ordered Zenna to stay and watch him mount me.”
Tyler turned to her brother. “Were you in the room?”
“Waiting in the corridor,” Sash said. “I served as Zenna’s… do you have a word for this? I coordinated palace liaisons and waited outside the bedchamber to prevent anyone from disturbing the mating bliss.”
“Pimp?” Tyler suggested.
Sash smiled broadly. “Yes, I was his pin-up.”
Tyler’s nose twitched, but he resisted the temptation. “What happened next, Highness?”
“Zenna refused, and the King started beating him. I screamed to stop, but he kept hitting my Gookie-Poo. So, I ran to the closet and found my weapon. Even after I waved it in his face and threatened to kill him, Bandu ignored me. He promised to punish me by rough sex after he dispatched the traitor Zenna-Zenn. So, I aimed for his head and—”
“Wait!” Tyler held up a hand. “According to my legal ethics, I must warn you. You have the right to remain silent. In fact, you’re crazy if you don’t. If you confess, I may need to accuse you of murder at Zenna’s trial.”
“I never intended this to go to trial, Mr. Matthews.” Her eyes moistened. Apparently, humans and Quirt-Thymeans reacted similarly to strong emotion. “I will surrender myself to the legal authority.”
“Don’t,” Tyler said. “At least not yet.”
“Why not?”
“First, I’m not certain your law recognizes justifiable homicide when a King is the victim.”
“It does not,” Sash reported.
“How do you know?”
“Zenna and I studied juris prudently,” he said. “I am beagle at law.”
“You’re an attorney? Now you tell me?” Tyler took a breath.
Memo to self: Strangle him later… Well, at least I have a second chair if Lovey isn’t back on her feet for the trial.
Veraposta sobbed. “Mr. Matthews, I can’t let Zenna die in my place.”
“That won’t happen.” Tyler turned to Sash. “Tell me the law. Does a self-defense argument work if the victim is not a legitimate king?”
“Yes, but Bandu-Jeewan was the High King.”
“And what if we can prove he engineered multiple homicides to suppress his political foes, and topped it off with acts of brutality against his wives? Would that disqualify the bastard as a legitimate king?”
Sash nodded vigorously “Parliament could impeach and convict him—what’s your term—ex post facto?”
“And posthumously.”
“Oh, the King’s humous was definitely posted. To a crisp.” Sash seemed to enjoy the mistaken metaphor. “He smelled like charcoal and burnt hair, like a beast caught in a forest fire, like a toasted—”
“Okay, okay! Yuk. Thanks for the nightmare.” Tyler rose. “Zenna-Zenn is my client, but I s
uspect his acquittal will have an effect on your fate, too. So, you must swear not to breathe a word of this to anybody. Wait—have you already told anyone else?”
She nodded. “Only my Sister-Queen, Leola Rhautina. We are still very close. Every morning she awakens me with tea and fresh fruit. We gossip and laugh. I love her like a true sister. She is most trustworthy.”
“Better hope so. The fact that we were attacked by killer robots at this Hub indicates there are other players in the game. This could get ugly.”
“Killer robots? Was anybody hurt?”
“My assistant counsel, Lovey Frost, took steel arrows to the chest. She’s recovering.” Tyler scratched his head. “I’m concerned you might be the next target.”
“Why me?” the Blue Queen said.
“Too many missing pieces to the puzzle. How long has the throne been empty?”
“Nine imperial years. Oh, let’s see, that would be four and a half, Terran Standard.”
“Long time for the Empire to go without a government.”
“We are governed by Parliament and monarch. Until a suitable replacement emerges, I rule as the widowed Empress.”
“Who’s in line to become High King?”
“Any of eleven First Tier Princes. They must be screened by the religious and secular authorities and cleared by the families as suitable mates for the reigning Sister-Queen. The process always takes years.”
Tyler thumped the tabletop with a thumb as he processed the facts gathered so far. Not enough information to draw a conclusion yet. He made a mental note for Rosalie to parse the cultural nuances, then remembered she would shortly be Gate-jumping to the Carina Arm.
“Will you remain one of the Queens?”
“I cannot lose my status unless impeached by the Imperial Parliament. The new ruler is required by law to accept me as First Wife and High Queen, Empress of all Quirt-Thyme Dominions and Colonies.” Her voice bespoke quiet confidence. “Inter-family negotiations and the vetting process by the civil government approaches a final decision soon.”
“Who would benefit if you were removed from the picture?”
Sash objected to the question. “Surely you don’t think—”