Beta Sector- Anthology

by Stephen A. Fender

  “It’s Victor, please, and turnabout is fair play, to quote an ancient maxim," Trudeau said, grinning. "And I am a firm believer in fair play, Miss Glass. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, what do you have to offer? Why shouldn't I just steal the crown myself and do a quick flit across the sector? There is a jump gate orbiting the third planet of this system, and I’ve got the codes that will allow me to travel completely anonymously.”

  She shook her head. "Burfix is on to you, you know. He knows you're here. His own private police and the culor's own security will be at the coronation to protect all that jewelry." She cocked her pretty head to one side and looked at him. "What's between you and Burfix, anyway?"

  "I stole his toys when he was a child," said Trudeau, "and he hasn't trusted me since. How do you propose to get the Crown of Gnar if I can't?"

  She smiled and shook her head slowly. "That would be telling. You let me take care of my part, and I'll let you take care of yours."

  Trudeau shook his head—not so slowly. "Absolutely not. We either work together or we don't work at all. I’m not keen on having partners in my endeavors, but I’m willing to make an exception in your case."

  The girl frowned in thought for a moment, and then reached into the belt pouch at her side and pulled out a square of engraved plastic. She handed it to Trudeau.

  Underneath all the flowery verbiage, it boiled down to an invitation to attend the post-coronation reception. It was addressed to "Miss Seeta Kuvala" and was signed and sealed by the old Culor of Soaria himself.

  "I'm 'Seeta Kuvala,'" she said. "I've managed to get in the good graces with the family of the departing culor. Now, the plan is this: right after the Invocation, while the new culor is being prepared in his special coronation robes, the nobles have to change their uniforms from red to green. Burfix will go into his suite in the palace to change. He'll be accompanied by two guards. One will stay on the outside, the other will help him dress. I've got the room next to his, and I've managed to get the light key that unlocks the door between them. I'll use this—" She pulled a small globe of metal from her belt pouch. "It's a sleep-gas agent. It'll knock them out for at least twenty minutes. No one will come in during that time, and I'll be able to get the crown and get out of the palace before they wake up."

  "They'll know you did it," Trudeau pointed out. "If you're still missing when they come to, the thief's identity will be obvious."

  She nodded. "That's where you come in. I'll simply go out into the garden and throw it over the wall to you. We'll meet here afterward."

  Trudeau thought it over and smiled devilishly. "It sounds a bit crude, but I see no other avenue. Now let's coordinate everything."

  They went over the whole plot again, this time with a chart of the palace to mark everything out. A time schedule was arranged. Then they toasted to success and the girl left.

  When she was gone, Victor Trudeau smiled ruefully to himself and opened a secret compartment in his suitcase. From it, he removed a crown studded with glittering jewels.

  "A perfect replica," he said as he admired the craftsmanship of the thing. "And you're very pretty. It's a shame I won't be able to place you atop the fat head of Burfix in place of the real Crown of Gnar."

  But his original plan had been more dangerous than the present one, and Victor Trudeau was always ready to desert a good plan for a better one—especially if it increased his chances of recirculating air the following day.

  * * * * *

  Coronation Day dawned bright and clear, and the festivities began early. There were speeches and parades and dancing in the streets. Squadrons of space interceptors—both from the local military and Sector Command—rumbled high in the stratosphere and filled the sky with the white traceries of their exhausts. For all of Soaria, it was a holiday, a day of rejoicing and cheerfulness. Praise for both the new and old culors filled the streets, streamers of red and blue were flying everywhere, and strains of native music came from the speakers of the public communications system.

  Victor Trudeau missed most of the fun; he was too busy making plans. The day passed as he worked.

  Soaria's sun began to set as the hour for the actual crowning of the new culor approached. At the proper time, Trudeau was waiting in the shadows outside the palace walls. The reception had been going on now for a full hour as he attempted to mingle unobtrusively, occasionally looking at his wrist computer. But there were eyes watching him—he knew it, but he only smiled softly to himself and waited.

  "Pssssst!"

  It was a voice on the other side of the wall.

  "I'm here," whispered Trudeau.

  “Here it comes.”

  A velvet bag with golden strands that glittered faintly in the soft light of the twin moons of Soaria arced over the wall. Trudeau caught it in his hands. Pulling open the cords, he dumped the contents into his hand. The Crown of Gnar! Glorious.

  He slipped it into a small plastic box he was carrying, put the velvet bag in his jacket pocket, and then switched the screen on his wrist. The screen now showed a pale blue pip which indicated that someone was hidden in the shadows a few meters to his right.

  Trudeau didn't even glance toward the spy. He put the plastic box containing the crown into a satchel slung over his shoulder and strode away from the palace. He had, he figured, about twenty minutes.

  He headed directly for the spaceship terminal. Never once did he look back, but the detector on his wrist told him that he was being closely followed. Excellent.

  Inside the terminal, he went directly to the baggage lockers. He found one that was empty, inserted a credit, and opened it. From his bag, he took a plastic box, put it in the locker, switched on the lock with his key, and strolled away.

  He glanced again at his detector. He was no longer being followed by the same man; another had taken up the trail. It figured.

  He went straight to the Obsidian Plaza, making sure that his tail didn't lose him. Not until they were in the lobby did he make any attempt to shake the man who was following him. He went into the bar, ordered a drink, and took a sip. He left his change and the drink on the bar and headed out the door in the direction of the men's room. Whoever was following him wouldn't realize for a minute or two that he was leaving for good. A man doesn't usually leave change and an unfinished drink in a bar.

  Trudeau took the lift tube up to his room, attended to some unfinished business, and waited.

  * * * * *

  Less than three minutes later, the door was opened. In walked Falnua Burfix and his lieutenant, Ebel Mrabet. Both of them looked triumphant, and they were surrounded by a squad of Royal Police.

  "There he is," hissed Mrabet, looking none the worse for wear despite the fiendish countenance bestowed on him from birth. "Arressssst him!"

  A police officer stepped forward. "Victor Trudeau, I arrest you in the name of the culor," he said.

  “The new one or the old one?” Trudeau grinned, then dismissed his own statement with a wave of his hand. "On what charge, pray tell?"

  "The theft of the Crown of Gnar."

  Trudeau looked directly at Burfix. "Did this overweight and somewhat disagreeable man here say I took it?"

  "Speak for yourself," Mrabet snarled, stepping forward.

  "Looks who’s talking,” Victor said, then squinted as he examined the Temkorian more closely. “Ebel, I believe you’re molting. Perhaps you’ll hatch a more attractive snake, but I doubt it.”

  At that, Mrabet stepped forward and threw a hard punch straight at Trudeau's face.

  It never landed. Trudeau sidestepped it and brought a smashing uppercut to the scaly alien. It lifted Mrabet off his feet and sent him crashing back against a surprised Burfix, toppling them both to the floor.

  The policemen had all drawn their guns, but Trudeau stood placidly in the middle of the room, his hands high above his head, regarding the scene calmly.

  "I'll go quietly," he said. "I've got no quarrel with the police."

  One of the offic
ers led him out into the hall while the others searched his room. Burfix was sputtering incoherently. Another policeman was trying to wake up Mrabet.

  "If you're looking for the Crown of Gnar," Trudeau said, "you won't find it there."

  The captain of the police squad said, "We know that, Mr. Trudeau. We are merely looking for other evidence. We already have the crown." He reached in his belt pouch and took out a small plastic box. He opened it, disclosing a dazzling crown of jewels. "You were seen depositing this in a baggage locker at the space terminal. We have witnesses who saw you, and we had it removed under police supervision."

  Falnua Burfix smiled nastily. "This time you won't get away, Trudeau. Stealing anything from the palace of the culor carries a minimum penalty of twenty years in the Soaria gulag."

  “Twenty years? Well, if I’m as guilty as you say I am, then I’ll have plenty of time to work on my cross-stitching.”

  “No more talking,” one of the security officers said, then clasped Victor’s hands behind his back and led him down to a waiting hover car.

  * * * * *

  It was late afternoon of the next day when the prosecutor for the culor visited Trudeau's cell. He was a tall, imposing alien, and Trudeau knew him by reputation as an honest, energetic Soarian.

  "Mr. Trudeau," he said as he sat down in a chair in the cell, "it seems that you’ve refused to speak to anyone but me. I am, of course, perfectly willing to be of any assistance, but I am afraid I must warn you that any statement made to me will be used against you at the trial."

  Trudeau leaned back in his own plush chair. One thing nice about Soaria, he reflected: they have comfortable jails.

  "My Lord Prosecutor," he said, "I'd like to make a statement. As I understand it, Burfix claims he was gassed, along with a security guard who was with him. When he woke up, the crown was gone. He didn't see his assailant."

  "That is correct," the prosecutor acknowledged.

  Trudeau grinned. That was the way it had to be. Burfix couldn't possibly have bribed the officers, so they all had to be gassed.

  "If he didn't see his assailant, then how does he know who it was?"

  "You were followed from the palace by Ebel Mrabet, who saw you put the crown into the baggage locker. There are several other witnesses to that."

  Trudeau leaned forward. "Let me point out, my Lord Prosecutor, that the only evidence you have that I was anywhere near the palace is the word of Ebel Mrabet, which is questionable at best. And he didn't see me inside the palace. I was outside the wall the whole time, yes?"

  The prosecutor shrugged. "We admit the possibility of an assistant inside the walls of the palace," he said. "We’re investigating that now. But even if we never find your accomplice, we have proof that you were implicated, and that is enough."

  "What proof do you have?" Trudeau asked blandly, fighting a yawn.

  “Why, the crown itself, of course!" The prosecutor looked as though he suspected Trudeau of having taken leave of his senses.

  Trudeau shook his head. "That crown is mine. I can prove it. It was made for me by a respectable jeweler on Wourus IV. It's a very good imitation, but it's a complete phony. A fraud. A replica. They aren't diamonds; they're simply well-cut crystals of titanium dioxide. Check them if you don't believe me."

  The Lord Prosecutor looked dumbfounded. "But—what—why—"

  Trudeau looked sad. "I brought it to give to my good friend, the noble Burfix. Of course it would be a gross insult to wear it at the culor's coronation, but he could’ve worn it at other functions. And how, may I ask, does my good friend repay me? By having me arrested, that is, like a common thief. My Lord Prosecutor, I am a wronged man!"

  The prosecutor swallowed heavily and stood up. "The crown has, naturally, been impounded by the police. I shall have the stones tested. We will see if your stones are as you say they are.”

  "You'll find I’m telling the absolute truth," Trudeau said. "And that means one of two things: either they are not the ones stolen from Burfix or else Burfix has mortally insulted his culor by wearing false jewels to the coronation."

  "We shall see about this," said the Lord Prosecutor.

  * * * * *

  Victor Trudeau, free as a lark, was packing his clothes in his hotel room when the announcer chimed. He punched the bedside terminal and grinned. It was Codora Glass.

  When the door slid aside, she came in, smiling. "You got away with it, Trudeau! Wonderful! I don't know how you did it, but—"

  "Did what?" Trudeau looked innocent.

  "Got away with the crown, of course! I don't know how it happened that Mrabet was there, but—"

  "But, but, but," Trudeau repeated, smiling. "You don't seem to know very much at all, do you?"

  "Wha—what do you mean?"

  Trudeau put his last article of clothing in his suitcase, careful to cover his scan-proof sidearm, then snapped it shut. "I'll probably be searched pretty thoroughly when I get to the spaceport," he said coolly, "but they won't find anything on me, an innocent man."

  "But . . . where is the crown?" she asked in a throaty voice.

  Trudeau pretended not to hear her. "It's a funny thing," he reflected. "Old Burfix would never let the crown out of his hands except to get me. He thought he'd get it back by making sure I was followed. But he made two mistakes."

  Smiling, Codora circled her long arms around his neck. "His mistakes don't matter as long as we have the crown, do they?"

  Victor Trudeau was never a man to turn down an invitation like that. He held her in his arms and kissed her—long and lingeringly.

  When he broke away, he went on as though nothing had happened.

  "As I was saying, two mistakes. The first one was thinking up such an obviously inane plot. If it were as easy to steal jewels from the palace as all that, nothing would be safe on Soaria. The second mistake was sending his daughter to trap me."

  Codora Glass gasped and stepped back.

  "It was very foolish of you, Miss Burfix," he went on calmly. "You see, I happened to know that the real Codora Glass was sentenced to seven years in Wourus Prison over a week ago. Unfortunately, the news hadn't reached Soaria yet. I knew from the first moment that I laid eyes on you . . . all of you . . . that the whole thing was to be a setup. It's too bad that your father had to use the real crown to try and throw me off—and doubly a shame he lost it in the process."

  The girl's eyes blazed. "You—you thief! You—" She then used words which no self-respecting lady was supposed to use. Victor was amused that she obviously took after her father in vernacular use as well.

  Trudeau waited until she had finished, and then said, "Oh, no, Miss Burfix. I'm no thief. Your father can consider the loss of that crown as a fine for running narcotics on Daliv VII, a planet well inside the jurisdiction of the Unified Collaboration of Systems. And you can tell him that if I catch him again, his penance will be far costlier.”

  “You—you’re with Sector Command!”

  Trudeau feigned a look of contempt. “Please. But if that’s what you wish to believe, I’ve got no mind to change yours. In any case, I don't approve of your father’s kind of slime, and like any good space janitor I do my best to get rid of that slime. That's all, Miss Burfix. And I’d just like to add, if you continue to eat truffles the way you did at the coronation reception, the door might easily hit you on the way out. Good day."

  “But how did you know that I was—”

  He walked out of the room, leaving her to stand there in helpless fury.

  His phony crown had come in handy after all; the police had thought they had the real one, so they had never bothered to check the Intergalactic Postal Service for a small package mailed to Wourus IV. All he'd had to do was drop it into the automatic bellboy chute from his room and wait patiently while the fine people working for the IPS got rid of the object for him.

  The Crown of Gnar would be waiting for him when he got to Wourus IV, and he knew precisely what he was going to do with it.

  The
End

  The Last Ride of the 7th (2352)

  Incoming fleet broadcast . . .

  CLASSIFICATION: SECRET

  FROM:

  The Office of the Commanding Officer, Unified Sector Command

  TO:

  All Commanding Officers, Vega Quadrant, Beta Sector

  VIA:

  (1) The Office of the Commanding Officer, Unified Sector Command

  (2) The Office of the Commanding Officer, Unified Sector Command Security

  (3) The Office of the Inspector General, Office of Special Investigations

  SUBJ:

  OFFICIAL RELEASE OF COMBINED UNITED COLLABORATION

  OF SYSTEMS (UCS) INTELLIGENCE OBSERVATIONS

  REGARDING THE KAFARAN EMPIRE

  1. It has come to the attention of Unified Sector Command that an increasing number of reports are being transmitted to them via stations and vessels near the Unified-Kafaran border in Vega Quadrant with regard to supposed or confirmed Kafaran movements in that area. In response to several alarming reports, and also to quell any unsubstantiated concerns among other fleet operations, Sector Command Security and the Office of Special Investigations now feels such transmissions will require their specific observance. Although the nature of these movements continues to remain unclear, please be assured that at this time there is no concrete threat facing us from the Kafaran Empire.

  2. In recent months, Sector Command has made a high priority of strictly monitoring the status of any ship, be it hostile or otherwise, along the UCS-Kafaran border. At this time, there is insufficient evidence of observable patterns to the regularity of any threat forces inside the area. Intelligence commands will continue to monitor the situation.

  3. As of this date, a buffer zone of neutrality now exists along the Unified-Kafaran border. It shall extend the full length of the border of known Kafaran space, extending along the coreward edge of Vega, Nemea, and Trinity Quadrants, ending near the Unified planet of Parusia. The width of this zone will be roughly two parsecs. The Kafaran government has been notified, both by message traffic and recorder probes, of the establishment of this zone, but no acknowledgement has been received.