The Blue King Murders

by Tom Shepherd

  “Hot chocolate.”

  “It would be excellent on a cold day.” Yalu sipped delicately.

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me about the scope of your responsibilities. What light can you shed on the alleged murder of High King Bandu-Jeewan?” He hoped the light-shedding metaphor didn’t require unpacking, or this was going to be a long, tedious conversation.

  “First,” Chief Jadan began, ”let me say that we come here not in support of a regicide but to serve the Empire by getting at the truth.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Tyler took out his datapad. “Now, gentlebeings, shall I ask questions, or do you want to make opening statements first?”

  “Are you recording this?” Yalu glanced at his companion. “I never agreed to have our comments recorded.”

  “The datapad is a memory device for the Counselor,” Jadan said. “I do not object.”

  Yalu tightened his fists. “I do.”

  “I won’t play the recording in court,” Tyler said. “Your colleague is correct. The audio files are notes for trial preparation, to be certain I understood what you said.”

  “I cannot participate if you record this meeting,” Yalu said.

  “Old friend,” Jadan said kindly, “I do not understand your objection.”

  “Thank you for the refreshments.” Yalu stood and brushed pastry crumbs from his uniform. “I must depart for other duties.”

  Tyler snapped off the datapad. “Hey, if you are uncomfortable, I’ll just take notes.”

  “No, I must excuse myself. Coming here was a mistake.” Yalu glanced at Jadan. “Are you leaving with me?”

  “Speaking with these humans serves our mutual interests.” Chief Jadan poured himself a second cup of chocolate. “Have a good flight to the surface.”

  “Can I convince you to reconsider?” Tyler said.

  “No.” It was a curt reply, especially from a verbose species like the Quirt-Thymeans.

  “Dorla, see the Chief to the exit ramp,” Tyler said.

  Yalu mumbled something inaudible and left the conference room with Dorla León scurrying after him.

  Tyler picked up his coffee mug. “What just happened here, Chief Jadan?”

  “A good man became frightened when his allegiance to justice placed him in jeopardy.”

  “What kind of jeopardy?” Tyler reached for a bear claw.

  “I need your recipe for hot chocolate,” Jadan said. “Cold days approach the Quirt-Thyme Empire.” The Chief looked at Demarcus Platte.

  Platte spread his hands. “Like I said, Jadan. You can trust Tyler Matthews.”

  “Our people have been at peace for centuries,” Chief Jadan said. “Before the summer of our prosperity, we struggled through a turbulent millennium of intermittent conflicts with outsiders and civil wars within the Empire. In those days we behaved unconscionably as a race. We attacked and subdued and sometimes exterminated other spacefaring civilizations along our boarders. Expanding, ever expanding. We subjugated others and seized their planets to become an Empire. Then we sent colonists, who exploited local populations for the good of Imperial commerce.”

  “I don’t know your history,” Tyler said.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Matthews. My people have done great and good things. But we also have a series of shameful events in our past, abuses of power we thought centuries of peaceful cooperation with non-Quirts had put behind us.” Jadan smiled sadly. “Quirts, we call ourselves, seldom mentioning the Thymeans. They are members of our species recognizable by their purple skin color. Thymeans established a network of colonies far from the homeworld thousands of years ago.

  “Eventually, the purple colonials declared themselves an independent star nation but maintained cultural and economic ties to Annistyn. That arrangement lasted eleven centuries—five hundred Terran years. In our final territorial expansion, blue Quirts attacked our purple Thymean brothers and sisters and forced them to join an expanded Quirt-Thyme Empire. It was an act of unprovoked aggression, after which we came to our senses and stopped expansion by force. But it was too late to save Thymean independence, and it did not atone for our crimes.”

  “I hope you won’t find my question insensitive,” Tyler said, “but how does your history affect the regicide I am investigating?”

  Jadan hesitated, turning the cup in his hand. “There are those in my government who want to return the Quirt-Thyme Empire to its expansionist phase.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, you don’t have the firepower,” Tyler said. “If the Empire attacks outward, your closest neighbor is the Aldak-Jihartan Coalition, who are probationary members of the Parvian Republic. And we have a saying in Terran…”

  Demarcus and Tyler said in unison, “You don’t fuck with the Parves.”

  Chief Jadan smiled politely. “I have heard that before, although it loses some of its punch when translated into Pharmaadoodil.”

  “Like your Empire, the Parvians have been non-expansionist for a few centuries,” Tyler said. “But while they are non-aggressive militarily, the Parves maintain their independence by crushing anyone who threatens them. Utterly.”

  “I am aware of that,” Chief Jadan said softly. “You asked me what history has to do with the crime Zenna-Zenn is accused of committing. We face an unreasoning political bloc in the Imperial government, people who think blustering speech and more weapons platforms will intimidate any potential adversaries until we can regain our ancient strength. And there is an opposing bloc, of course, an anti-war faction who will surrender at the slightest threat rather than fight to keep the peace.”

  Tyler raised a hand. “Wait. Are you implying the High King got whacked because he wandered into the kill zone between two warring parties?”

  “That is where I would start my investigation,” Jadan said. “If I were allowed to investigate, which I am not.”

  Tyler shook his head. “I have testimony from credible eye witnesses that it was a domestic disturbance gone awry.”

  Jadan laughed. “Counselor, are you familiar with the chemical substances which some members of my species can release into the breathing space of others?”

  “You mean pheromones?” Tyler didn’t like where this was going. Did the canny old senior Quirt Investigator know about his near-tryst with the blue Queen? Not possible!

  “Some of my species are powerfully gifted with a battery of releasable aerosols that can alter consciousness and make victims believe anything the manipulative Quirt wants. Using that gift to surreptitiously influence others is both immoral and illegal. But it happens.”

  “And they can unleash the sex drive in a victim?” Tyler felt beads of perspiration wetting his temples.

  “Not just sexual desire,” Jadan said. “High order pheremonists can shape perceptions, especially if the target is unaware of what’s happening.”

  “Shape perceptions?” Tyler said.

  “I believe your species has a phenomenon called hypnosis,” Jadan said. “Under hypnotic influence, susceptible humans will do strange things. Am I correct?”

  “Yes,” Tyler said. “But a hypnotist can’t make people do anything he or she wouldn’t do if fully awake. They won’t commit murder, or have sex with a stranger.”

  “Not aberrant behavior,” Jadan said. “Pheremonists enhance tendencies already present. Also, some powerful practitioners can induce memories of events that did not occur.”

  Oh, shit. That scrambles the sand-painting. Did Yumiko actually kill the Blue King, or did Veraposta hose her down with hallucinogens and tell her what happened? Or for that matter, was it Sash, or Mr. Blue himself?

  “Who at Court has the pheremonist gift?” Tyler said.

  “I am bound by sacred oath to protect the royal bloodline,” Jadan said. “I cannot disclose personal information about members of the Imperial household.”

  Tyler pressed him. “Not even to find the King’s real killer?”

  “Not even to save Prince Zenna-Zenn, whom I know to be a good and honorable Quirt
-Thymean.” Jadan sighed. “Pheremonists must register with the Office of Bio-social Relations. Those records are sealed.”

  “Help us out here, Chief. You’re an officer of the law.”

  “I can only say the gift has never been discovered in a male member of my species.”

  “Which brings me back to Queen Veraposta.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Is Veraposta a registered pheromonist?”

  “I am not at liberty to disclose her medical information.”

  “But you could tell us if she were not a registered pheromonist.”

  “Yes.”

  Thank you, Chief. “Are there other registered pheromonists in the royal household?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Jadan sipped his chocolate thoughtfully, as if considering his answer carefully.

  Tyler seized the moment. “Couldn’t an unregistered, high order pheromonist easily keep the gift secret by using body chemicals to wipe the memories of anyone who suspected her?”

  Jadan nodded. “That’s a problem for police work, isn’t it? Imagine a killer who cleans the minds of murder witnesses.”

  Demarcus said, “It’s an easier cover-up than committing multiple homicides.”

  “Precisely, my friend,” Jadan agreed.

  “How does somebody defend against a pheromone attack?” Tyler said. “I don’t want to wear protective breathing gear everywhere I go.”

  “If you are aware of potential exposure,” Chief Jadan said, “watch for quivering reality in ordinarily fixed items. The statue of an athlete suddenly throbs its muscles. A sunset mural where the sun actually sets. Floor mosaics that flow like a river. You can fight off the effects, but you must concentrate hard on what you know is real.”

  Well, yeah. That works. He dodged the urge to bang Veraposta like a kettledrum by thinking of Suzie instead. What if he didn’t recognize the next hallucination?

  “About this plan to resurrect wars of conquest,” Tyler said. “Can you provide any names?”

  “Again, that would be a violation of my oath of office,” Jadan said. “If a conspiracy exists, you must discover its players.”

  “While determining if they committed the murder for which Prince Zenna-Zenn stands accused,” Tyler said.

  Jadan said, “Wish I could give you more leads. Perhaps someone else at the Palace can help. Bandu’s Second Wife, Queen Leola Rhautina, possibly. The Second Queen has quite a reputation for lively—uh—interactions during the Festival of Toorlazimbaa. And, as the First Queen’s closest friend, she knows what happens behind the drapes.”

  Well, well. A Quirt metaphor at last. “Did Bandu have another wife? Quirt rulers get three.”

  “Argalia Instaka,” Jadan said. “She died a few months before Bandu’s murder. Apparently, she got quite inebriated during Toorlazimbaa and fell off a balcony, breaking her neck.”

  “Can you tell us anything else that might help?” Tyler said.

  Again Jadan paused before speaking. “Since Second Queen Argalia Instaka is deceased, I can tell you that she was a registered pheromonist, although not high order.”

  Tyler and Demarcus walked Chief Jadan to the Patrick Henry exit hatch at the cargo bay. A government skimmer waited on the deck to take him to the Orbital Hub’s shuttle port for a ride down to Annistyn. Tyler watched the skimmer disappear among the lanes of parked starships.

  “Chief of Criminal Investigation, yet he refuses to investigate the crime.”

  “That’s a little hard, Boss,” Demarcus said. “His government believes they have the perpetrator.”

  “He doesn’t.” Tyler closed the hatch. “How well do you know him?”

  “We met as teenagers. Jadan’s parents were diplomats assigned to Bodasaok-4.”

  “Yegosian planet,” Tyler said. “Man-sized, intelligent bugs. Yuk.”

  “Right. My folks operated a repair center for food generators. We had a booming business, since none of the resident aliens could stomach the dried insect wafers Yegosians ate. And the bugmen are a hive culture, not much interested in outsiders. With only a few thousand humanoids scattered across the planet, the only available friend my age nearby was a blue kid at the Quirt-Thyme consulate.”

  “That’s why his Terran is so good.”

  “Yup. Jadan’s a natural linguist. He mastered Terran pretty quickly. I picked up a few phrases in Pharmaadoodil.”

  Tyler and Inspector Platte meandered up the cargo bay toward the padded metal steps leading to deck two, where Paco León’s holographic network operated a permanent set of offices and legal support facilities.

  “I want you to pursue the conspiracy angle,” Tyler said. “Any ideas?”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd the Chief only provided one name, sir?”

  “Leola Rhautina. Bandu’s Second Wife. For a discreet man, he disclosed some pretty intimate details about her sexual activities during Toorlabamba.”

  Platte nodded. “I know Jadan. That was no offhand remark.”

  “Follow your best instincts. Let me know what you turn up.”

  “I’m headed down to Chimi-Gart,” Platte said.

  “Hill of Scents. Makes better sense with background on the Quirts and pheromones.”

  “Hill of Pleasant Scents,” Demarcus corrected.

  Tyler nodded. “While you’re sniffing around, be sure to check in with our Recon Team.”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  Tyler climbed the padded steps to the lift that took him to his cabin. No way to put it off now. He needed to reply to J.B.

  Fourteen

  In his office atop the Darling Cozy luxury hotel, J.B. closed his laptop and reflected on Tyler’s message. They found their missing crew member, Investigator Yumiko Matsuda, meditating in the waiting room outside the cellblock where the Quirt-Thymean authorities held Prince Zenna-Zenn.

  By the way, Yumiko is married to Mr. Blue, his First Wife.

  And she may have killed the Blue King.

  Except that Mr. Blue’s Third Wife, High Queen Veraposta—or a female Quirt unsub at the palace—might have sprayed pheromones on the others, killed the High King, and convinced each hypnotized witness that somebody else did the dastardly deed.

  J.B. put his face in his hands and called for Suzie, who arrived with a bottle of local hooch and two glasses.

  “It’s five o’clock in Missouri,” Suzie said.

  J.B. chuckled. “You’ve been hanging with my brother too long, young lady.”

  No matter where he went in the galaxy—and once beyond it—Tyler Noah Matthews IV tried to stay on Kansas City time. He never succeeded, but J.B. admired the effort.

  “Pour me a strong one,” he commanded.

  “Just a dollop.” She sloshed golden red distilled spirits the two glasses and handed one to J.B. “We’re working.”

  J.B. chug-a-lugged the drink, which was a mistake, because it tasted like a blazing igloo. “What… what do they call this firewater?”

  “Kaloom-Daroom.” Suzie took a gulp and coughed hard. “Whew! It means, ‘Rip out the God’s Tongue.’”

  “Well named.” He licked at the last droplets. “Get—get me a glass of ice water, please?”

  “Sure. Oh! Almost forgot why I came in here. You’ve got a walk-in who wants a few minutes.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Looks like a Mindorian businessman. Didn’t get a name.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Didn’t specify. He donated the bottle of Tongue-Ripper.”

  “Mysterious stranger, plying us with liquor? Must be a salesman. Tell Ulrika to send him away. And don’t forget my ice water.”

  Suzie left with the bottle and glasses. A moment later blonde Ulrika entered with a tumbler of water with ice cubes, which J.B. rapidly consumed. When he was done, she attempted to remove the glass, but J.B. waved her off and fished a small cube from the tumbler to place under his tongue. He was still sucking on the cool relief when Ulrika admitted a medium-height man in a brown bus
iness suit. J.B. shot her a disapproving look, but she didn’t appear to notice.

  The man’s face was squarish and tanned with lively, dark eyes under thick brows. Definitely Mindorian, whose citizens migrated from South America to colonize one of the first Terra class planets discovered by father-and-son explorers John and Brian Brightstar during the early days of human expansion into the galaxy.

  “Mr. Matthews, my name is Montejo Bouché. So good of you to see me without an appointment.” He smiled and spoke perfect Terran. “I hope you enjoy the bottle of Daroom. But I should warn you, it’s got a bit of a kick.

  “Already sipped a little.” He rattled the ice in his glass. “Thanks for the belated warning.”

  They laughed politely, the kind of mirthful sound one makes when commenting nonverbally on the positive flow of conversation. J.B. selected another ice cube.

  “So, Mr. Bouché, what brings you to Star Lawyers today? If you’re looking for legal representation, I’m afraid we’re here on a rather narrow agenda and won’t be staying long.”

  “Not seeking representation. Merely want to wish you best of luck in negotiating with the Meks to get your uncle out of trouble,” Bouché said with a wink.

  “That is very gracious of you.” But that’s not why you’re here.

  “J.B.—do you mind if I call you J.B.?—we both know why the Meks jailed Charles Matthews, so let’s talk business.”

  “I’m listening.” J.B. tried not to show surprise. “Let’s hear your theory of prosecutorial goals.”

  “They trumped up a charge of sedition against your uncle to keep him from outbidding their preferred customers at the Lerrotica Tradeshow, of course.”

  Well, I guessed this guy was a salesman, but what Tradeshow? And why would the Mek government throw Charlie in a cell just to keep him from participating?

  “And what do you want, Mr. Bouché?”

  “To wish you success in defending your uncle. And to make sure you know there will be products from star nations other than the Meklavite Union at the market site.”

  Okay, I’ll play along. “I assumed the goods on display at a Mek colonial world would be mostly Meklavite with a smattering of off-world entries.”