by Tom Shepherd
The fresh wine was surprisingly light, yet dry and mellow. “Tell me what you know about the late King.”
“He was unpopular,” Brick said.
“He was a pig,” Siona grumbled.
Tyler laughed. “I hear he liked to play ‘musical bedrooms’ with political opponents.”
“If that were his only offense, no big deal,” Siona said. “The Quirts screw like cybernetically enhanced rabbits. And if you hook up with a purple Thymean woman? Seek immediate medical care.”
“Forgive my colleague’s colorful idiom.” Orson took a sip. “King Bandu-Jeewan confiscated the property of nobles and rich commoners after they mysteriously disappeared. He claimed they fled the Empire without permission, forfeiting citizenship.”
“Know any names?”
“Plenty. Let’s see… Grand Baron Geelee Albeirek… help me out, Siona.”
She rattled off a handful of Quirt names. “Public Viscount Tangaate-Ditachiara, Tertiary Sub-Prince Yirkeed Kalepie, Baron Meiyoperion Gettosuha—I can name a dozen more.”
“Any contenders still standing?” Tyler said with a smile.
“The smart money is on Prince Tal-Vashtoon,” Brick said, “eldest son of Yerzail Kamariikaaa. Although the Kamariikaaa Clan has been out of power for centuries, Vashtoon would represent a return to an ancient royal line. Some neo-imperialists find that comforting.”
“Yerzail Kamariikaaa, the Chief Prosecutor of the Imperial Court at Annistyn-Kloore?” Tyler said.
“And probably father of the next Emperor,” Brick said.
Siona sounded unimpressed. “Well…”
Orson chuckled. “You know him?”
“Yeah, I met that particular prick earlier this evening,” Tyler said.
“The son isn’t much better,” Siona agreed. “But, Tal-Vashtoon is CEO of a multi-world corporation, so he’s arguably the richest prick in Quirt space.”
“May I have a complete list?” Tyler said. “Dead, exiled, missing, and still in the running?”
Orson nodded. “I’ll have my people message you at the Patrick Henry with whatever data we have on other victims.”
“What did the local cops discover about the disappearances?”
“Nothing, far as I know,” Brick said. “Now you see them, now you don’t.”
“Anything in common?”
“Sure,” Siona said. “Rich, powerful, Quirt males who either opposed the Emperor’s policies, criticized him in public, or had enough money to make their estates a tempting target for confiscation.”
“A little too cynical for me,” Orson said.
“Not when you consider the King,” Siona countered.
“Orson has a point,” Tyler said. “Powerful people make enemies. Why lay the blame at the Blue King’s feet?”
“Because Bandu-Jeewan dismissed any member of his government who wanted to investigate the missing persons,” Siona said. “Several of those fired officials disappeared, too.”
“Have you discussed this with your corporate HQ?” Tyler said.
“Our policy is non-intervention in local politics,” Orson said. “And considering rumors of Imperial death squads, it seemed prudent to keep my head down and mouth shut.”
“HQ likes it that way,” Siona muttered.
“This is such a different profile from what I’ve always heard about the affable Quirt-Thyme Empire. My mom’s XO is a Quirt. She’s almost a member of the Family.”
“Is she wanted for fleeing the Empire, too?” Siona said.
“Legal emigrant to Terran space. Got permission before leaving.”
Tyler’s datacom vibrated. He thanked Orson and Siona and moved to a relatively quiet space beside the farthest bulkhead from the big viewport.
It was J.B. “We’ll be launching the Beagle in a few minutes. If you want to kiss Suzie goodbye, better get here quick.”
“On my way.” Tyler closed the link and found Julieta across the ballroom flirting with a Mindorian. They were descendants of human settlers who broke away from the Terran government five centuries earlier. The only clue to the short, brown-haired male’s ethnicity was the Slavic cadence to his language. Tyler didn’t speak Mindorian, but Julieta and Rosalie were educated on Mindorius.
“Tyler! I sent Esteban to guard Lovey.” She eyed her shorter companion. “This is Jaxon Akello, Cultural Affairs Officer at the Mindorian Consulate. He knows who you are.”
“Mr. Matthews, you performed a great service for my homeworld by eliminating the rogue Mindorians who were attacking peaceful shipping. My government is in your debt.”
He shook Jaxon’s hand. “Thank the Quirts and my mom. They did the heavy lifting.” Tyler caught his cousin’s eye and nodded toward the far end of the room.
Julieta read the unspoken request. “Jax, can you give me a minute?”
They stepped away and Tyler briefed her on the imminent departure of the Legal Beagle. She offered to return to the Henry with him, but Tyler wanted more information on the late King’s activities.
“Contact any of our force multipliers when you’re ready to bring the crew back aboard. They communicate with each other through the Station MLC network.”
Julieta said, “I’ll have Ulrika prepare a consolidated report on the intel gathered tonight.”
“Assign the job to Mrs. León. Suzie wants Ulrika and Zalika on the away mission.” Tyler hugged his cousin. “Be careful. Somebody aboard this Station wants to kill us.”
“Primo, you know I’m always prepared.” Julieta gave him a peck on the cheek and told him to pass it along to Suzie.
Tyler laughed and headed for a transport tube.
Suzie and Tyler kissed nonstop at the hatchway to the Legal Beagle while J.B. and Rodney completed the loading process. They lugged personal bags and specialty items aboard and temporarily stowed them in the cargo bay. The holographic crew—Executive Officer Lieutenant Arabella, Helmsman Parvati, and Navigator Myong Li—already worked at their stations.
Suzie commandeered the former captain’s yacht Scourge of the Stars in her escape from the pirate fleet’s heavy cruiser Yamato. Tyler rebaptized the tough little ship the Legal Beagle, and declared her Star Lawyers property by right of lawful seizure due to unlawful activities. He also re-designated the vessel a warship, mini-corvette-class.
She was twenty meters tall and sixty-five meters along her central axis, barely fitting into the starboard slot on the Patrick Henry’s boat deck. But the main feature which earned the Beagle its new, combative designation were missile launchers and energy weapons fore and aft, and a brace of bomb brackets, the latter capable of loading eight Thorium-antimatter bombs. Compliments of the Suryadivan Sacred Protectorate, the Beagle had a full complement of high-impact thermal missiles and fully functional kinetic pulse cannons.
But Tyler and J.B. vetoed the devastating T-Bombs and had the loading brackets removed. Even without the planet-shattering explosives, she was no yacht.
J.B. stuck his head out of the hatch. “Sorry, kids, school bell is ringing. Time to get underway.”
Tyler waved a hand. “Suzie, tell my brother I hate him and he better bring you back to me, or I’ll tell Mom he stole her battle armor to wear at a Halloween party.”
“How old were you?”
Tyler shrugged. “Eight. But he was thirteen, so he knew better.”
She laughed and kissed him. “You’re barking mad, but I love you madly.”
“When you come back, maybe we can… uh… talk about a date.”
“Tyler!” She hugged his neck.
“So, where do you want to go on the date?”
She pushed him off. “You are a bad man. Quit trifling with me, or I’ll be the one tattling to your mum.”
“Unfair. She likes you better than me.” He kissed Suzie one last time. “Go get your future Uncle Charlie out of jail. And watch out for navigational anomalies and pirates hanging out at the Gates.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted, a
nd backed away. “I’ll miss you terribly.”
Tyler felt her fingers slip from his hands. “I won’t miss you at all.”
“Liar.”
“Suzie, we have to go!” J.B. boomed.
“Coming, coming.” She started up the ramp.
Tyler took a deep breath. It’s now or never. “Babe, wait. I need to tell you something.”
Suzie turned back to him. “What’s wrong?”
“Suppose, hypothetically—”
She stepped down the ramp, closer to him. “What happened?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Tyler…”
“Well, okay, the Blue Queen chased Sash off the skiff and tried to seduce me, but I stopped before we—”
“Bugger that!” She bounded down the ramp and went nose to nose with him. “What happened before you stopped?”
“I didn’t do nothin’…” Oh, Christ. I’m eleven years old again. Do all angry women remind me of Mom?
“Did you screw her?”
“Absolutely not. Just a little Toorlazimbaa-inspired kissing and petting.”
“What!”
“It was a set-up. Veraposta hosed me down with Quirt-Thyme pheromones.”
“You’re a human!”
J.B. stuck his head out the hatch. “Suzie, are you coming on this trip or not?”
“Shut up! I’m in the middle of judging, jurying, and executing your stupid brother.”
J.B. held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll hold the hatch open.”
Suzie turned on Tyler like a tiger stalking a feral child. “Are you defending her in court?”
He backed away. “No, no! Conflict of interest. Mr. Blue is my client.”
She snatched Tyler by the arms and yanked him close. “Stay clear of her pheromones.”
“I promise.”
“And keep her alive, because when I come back, I’m going to kick her blue ass.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You certainly are.” Suzie noticed a blonde shock of hair had slipped over her eye. She blew it aside. “Well, at least you told me.”
“I couldn’t bear to keep a secret from the woman I love.”
“Shut up. Your sincerity is backsliding. Be good.” She kissed him, a peck. “I never realized love was so hard. The poets are right, damn them.”
For about ten seconds after the access ramp closed, Tyler wished he hadn’t told Suzie about Veraposta. But he shook free of suicidal tendencies. She would’ve found out somehow. And her first question would’ve been, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He prayed to the Virgin for forgiveness now and better resistance if the Queen, or anybody else, tried him again. Siona! Thank God he scrubbed that launch sequence before they went to LGF. Then he kicked himself harder for blaming the women.
Tyler walked around the starboard side of the Henry to watch the Beagle depart. Launching a small craft from a parked ship’s boat deck was a tricky maneuver, made easier by deck crews of the Imperial Hub. The setup team entered the Henry’s boat dock, attached antigrav chocks to the Beagle’s balance points, activated the mechanism, and floated the corvette backward along the Patrick Henry’s launch bay.
The Beagle emerged ten meters above the Station deck, where the floater crew carefully lowered the small ship until she hovered a few meters over the taxiway. The whole process took five minutes.
In a space launch, the process reversed. The bay door opened, replaced by a force field. As the Patrick Henry crept forward, the Legal Beagle’s cold-thrust, station-keeping package lifted the corvette off the deck of the boat dock. When the Henry pulled away, the Beagle slipped through the protective forcefield into open space.
Veteran star sailors irreverently called the procedure an “S.A.S.” maneuver, the acronym for shitting a starship.
A rush of cool air from overhead ventilators stirred his hair as Tyler watched the Beagle float down the taxiway toward a launch port. Deck hands walking below the little ship’s periphery gave her the look of a silver balloon flying low over a parade. A toy ship in the distance, ready to carry brother, sister, and the woman he loved to an uncertain fate half a galaxy away. Tyler felt a moment of panic, which he suppressed by his usual mixture of science and prayer.
We hop light years in a wink of starlight, but Lord God how small and vulnerable we are, sailing Your cosmic ocean. Divinity is not in the DNA of human beings. We are stardust shaped by evolution, bold enough to expect favors from an uncaring Universe. Is it really possible that You hear us and actually give a damn? Can another Catholic sinner borrow from the Saints’ treasury of merit? If so, Holy Mother and All Angels, Father God of space and time, forgive my foolish ways, and bring my family home safely to me.
Seven
J.B. sidled up to the tactical officer’s post, the seat beside the command chair on the bridge of the Legal Beagle. Suzie was running a pre-FTL checklist from the command chair. She noticed him and stood. “Do you want to—?”
“You’re the Captain.” J.B. slipped into the tactical chair. “I’m Mission Commander.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thanks, Jerry.”
“Are you okay?”
“Just a little Tyler headache. Feel free to help. I’m new at this.”
“You did okay when running from Kichirou’s pirates. Don’t think I would’ve had the cojones to dive a starship into a dark ocean under a global ice sheet.”
“I had a good crew.” The bridge of the Beagle was staffed with the same team. Ensign Parvati at the flight controls, Ensign Myong Li at the navigator’s post starboard of the helm. “Where’s Rosalie?”
“Researching the Meklavite Union.” J.B. touched his commlink. “Bridge to Engineering, how long to light-plus?” He listened as holographic Lieutenant Arabella and fully human Lieutenant Rodney Rooney argued about who should answer the inquiry.
Finally, Suzie barked, “Mister Rooney, report!”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Rodney said. “We can give you FTL in ninety seconds.”
“Spool it up and say the green,” Suzie ordered.
“Aye, Captain.” Arabella switched to binary code and spoke through the MLC. Suzie, are you okay?
I’m fine. Tyler and I had a little lovers’ spat. Let’s stick to the job at hand. Communicate in the outer.
Yes, ma’am.
J.B. gave Suzie a thumbs-up as he watched the navigator calibrating the entry window to hyperspace. “Ensign Myong Li, have you loaded the coordinates for the Annistyn Jump Gate?”
Courses plotted above the speed of light had to factor in stellar movement within the galactic disk, computed four-dimensionally according to the laws of hyperspace mechanics. Over a thousand years ago, Bjarne Cumberland built on the work of twenty-first century pioneer Tanella Jennings to develop the basic mathematical framework for FTL navigation. Every human starship crew owed Jennings-Cumberland a debt of gratitude whenever their ship entered the swirling tunnel above the speed of light.
“Yes, sir,” the Navigator said. “It’s a long leg—182.7 light years. We will require 9.4 hours at max FTL to reach the Gate.”
“How far will the first jump take us?” Suzie said.
“Slightly more than a kiloparsec,” Myong Li said. “Approximately 3,279.8 light years.”
Before J.B. could ask for more information, Rodney interrupted the bridge chatter from the engineering deck.
“Captain Suzie, you are green for Faster Than Light.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Suzie said. “Ensign Parvati, you may bend space-time, if you please.”
J.B. snickered. “You sound just like Tyler.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “No she don’t, Bro.”
The bridge crew exploded in laughter. Parvati glanced at J.B. and fought for self-control like a Guru strolling along the Ganges. “We have achieved maximum FTL, Captain.”
“Brilliant.” Suzie stood. “Jerry, do you fancy joining Rosalie for a deep dive into the culture of our Meklavite
friends?”
J.B. yawned. “It’s way past midnight for my bio-clock. My suggestion is a good night’s sleep.”
“I’ll check on Rosalie’s research and turn in later.”
J.B. touched her shoulder. “You’re a bio-energetic lifeform now. Your human half needs rest. I can see it in your face.”
Suzie tried to smile. “It’s a hard transition. I’m working on it.” She turned to the Helmsman. “Parvati, you have the conn.”
“Yes, Captain.” Her dark eyes looked up at Suzie. “J.B. is very wise. You must rest. Let your holographic crew pull the overnight shift.”
J.B. yawned. “Call it a day, Suzie.”
“Righto.” Suzie yawned, too. “Why did I do that?”
“It’s contagious,” J.B. said.
“Parvati, if you or Myong Li need more hands,” Suzie said, “activate Ulrika and Zalika and upgrade their skills.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Parvati said crisply.
“Goodnight.” Suzie headed aft toward the crew quarters but paused at the hatch. “And Tyler says to beware of anomalies and pirate ambushes at the Gates.”
Parvati brushed the air, a shoo-shoo gesture. “You are off duty. We have this.”
The Legal Beagle hurled down the Cumberland Tunnel for nine hours, twenty-three minutes while the humans aboard slept. When the course program alerted the bridge crew to prepare for a drop from the rainbow swirl of hyperspace to the starry blackness of the sublight cosmos, Parvati executed the transition perfectly. But no Jump Gate awaited them, and they were not prepared for the dark terror that lay across their path.
Parvati’s calm voice filled the ship as claxons wailed. “Red alert. Captain to the bridge.”
Suzie flashed through the MLC to the command deck. “Report.”
Parvati and Myong Li attempted to communicate with Suzie in binary language, like they did when she was strictly a holographic expression of an Artificial Intelligence program. Suzie interrupted them.
“Talk to me. I’m staying bioenergetic for now.”
“We dropped from FTL short of where the Gate was supposed to be,” Myong Li said. “It is not there. Please check my work.”