Daisy Wong, Space Marshal:
The Case of the Runaway Concubine
by Freddi MacNaughton
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Freddi MacNaughton
Published by Soapbox Rising Press
Cover illustration copyright © Tomasz Tulik | Dreamstime.com
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This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, events, or locations is purely coincidental.
Daisy Wong, Space Marshal:
The Case of the Runaway Concubine
by Freddi MacNaughton
Lt. Daisy Wong, space marshal, despised Los Angeles, Mars.
She despised it this time around just as much as she had the last time work had forced her onto the Red Planet. Her boss, Captain Spaulding, had arranged a favor for the political higher-ups, and so here she was, on Mars, doing the work.
Daisy hated doing favors for the higher-ups. However, in this particular instance, Daisy had to admit that she would have agreed to take on the case, anyway . . . even without Spaulding's so-called request that she do so. The favor involved a member of Daisy's family, and family is family, especially when it's part and parcel of some of the most powerful criminal tongs in the Sol system. Besides, Mars was only one grubby little planet and Los Angeles, Mars, was only one grubby not-so-little domed city.
Meanwhile, Daisy's partner, Officer Muffy Chatterjee, was in the throes of open glee, had been since their shuttle had dropped into Mars orbit. All the way through customs, her delight had not slackened. All the way through the spaceport to the waiting line of taxis, her grin had not faded. And now, on their ride into town from the spaceport, she was excitedly watching the passing scenery—red and gray and grubby and plasticized and dirty though it was. She was also keeping up a stream of dirt-side—that is, Earth-side—accented chatter.
Muffy's hometown was in the northern part of India, Earth, and at the moment, she sounded as though she would have felt more at home in a sari than in her uniform. Newbies. You had to love 'em.
Daisy listened to Muffy's stream of consciousness and tried not to think about the pet-shop humidity, the stench of spilled food rising from the taxi's floor mats, and the inescapable Martian grit. It had already worked down in between her collar and her neck, where like sandpaper it abraded her skin.
The environmental systems inside Mars's domed cities were supposed to keep the grit at bay, but they didn't. Of course. Nothing ever worked quite the way it was supposed to. Once she and Muffy returned to Diligence, the LaGrange colony they called home, Daisy would have to send her uniforms to the cleaners at least twice before they'd be really clean.
Above all, Daisy tried not to think about amounted to her maternal uncle's summons, delivered through the higher-ups to Captain Spaulding, who had delivered it to her. It was all very unofficial, all very designed to have her unofficially assigned to a hush-hush case for which no files would ever exist. The multiple ironies of the situation had escaped no one, least of all Daisy.
Muffy quit chattering the moment their taxi pulled up in front of the Celestial Cybernetics and Robotics building. It was a tall, buff-colored, pagoda-shaped structure.
Daisy paid the tab and asked the driver to wait. The extra cash she handed him ensured that he might.
Muffy's mood descended from quiet to wary during their elevator ride up to the offices of the Celestial Fraternal Benevolent and Protective Association. The Association was an unabashed criminal tong and the sole owner of the Celestial Cybernetics and Robotics Corporation, one of its numerous fronts. Like a Hindu god, the Association had many faces and more arms. Daisy's uncle, Zhaohui "Snakeskin" Wong, was the man in charge.
Muffy watched the floor numbers light up in succession. Her lips moved slightly as she counted off the floors. She reminded Daisy of a condemned criminal counting the steps to the execution chamber.
Daisy wished she'd knock it off.
Muffy said, "Please be telling me again why it is we are finding ourselves here?"
Muffy was just back from well-deserved vacation—a trip home to India, Earth—and her accent was stronger than ever. It was so strong that Daisy wondered whether or not her partner wasn't imitating her pre-space-dwelling self.
"You know as much as I do," Daisy said. "Somebody's gone missing."
"Snakeskin was asking for you, was he not? And yet, we are not here, not officially. It is most puzzling."
"Yeah, but look on the bright side," Daisy said. "We get to spend a few days on Mars, the garden spot of the solar system."
The elevator slowed, stopped, and the doors opened.
Jimmy Fingers, Snakeskin's right-hand man, was standing in the lobby to perform the meet-and-greet. His smile was real, as real as the cameras and the blasters that Daisy knew her uncle's security people had concealed in the ceiling.
"How was your trip out from Diligence?" Jimmy Fingers asked.
"Long," Daisy said.
Jimmy fingers held out his hands, palms turned up. "Hand 'em over," he said pleasantly. "You have your rules; we have ours."
Daisy and Muffy handed over their side arms.
"And the backups," Jimmy said.
"Paranoid," Daisy said, half-teasing, half-serious.
"Alive," Jimmy Fingers said, flat-out serious.
Daisy and Muffy pulled their low-capacity shooters from their ankle holsters and handed those over, too.
Jimmy Fingers checked the safeties on all four weapons and tucked them into his waistband.
"You know, Daiz, you ought to move out of that glorified soup can you live in," Jimmy Fingers said. He led them out of the elevator lobby and into the offices proper. "I mean, Lagrange colonies are fine, if you like that sort of thing, but there's nothing like a real planet under your feet."
And real grit down the back of your neck, Daisy thought. Aloud, she said, "Real is good."
Doors opened and doors closed. Glass doors. Metal doors. People looked. People looked away. Cameras tracked.
A wood-paneled door opened, and they entered Snakeskin's office.
It was a large room. Books and antiques lined the walls, and the air smelled of incense and gunpowder tea.
Snakeskin Wong was at his desk, bathed in the warmth of a trio of sunlamps. He was more naked than clothed.
He'd begun his life as an unmodified human being, but had fallen for the decorative wiles of genetic engineering. At first, he had indulged in little things: thicker hair, keener eyesight, a longer penis, a change in his naturally sallow complexion.
Other horizons had beckoned.
As things worked out, the change to his complexion had been the merest beginning. Nowadays, tiny scales, like a snake's, covered his body. Rumor had it that every so often he shed his skin, just like a real snake. The scales made patterns in a variety of colors: red, yellow, brown, black, and white. Blue and green, depending. Over time, the patterns changed. He looked a bit like a coral snake on steroids or a neon-hued cobra.
It was the ultimate tattoo, a living work of genetic art.
There were days when Daisy wished that so
mewhere in the universe there were a peacock large enough to snap him up . . . or a mongoose skilled enough to take him on and win.
Many had tried.
Nevertheless, he lived, leaving behind himself a long trail of self-appointed mongooses, all dead.
And yet, Daisy genuinely loved her Uncle Snakeskin. As for the ambivalence, she could do no better than acknowledge it and let it go.
Snakeskin looked up. His expression warmed, especially around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth.
"Ah, my beloved niece, who makes her life among the Gweilo. How are you? I see you've brought the lovely Officer Chatterjee with you." To Muffy, he added, "It is a true pleasure to see you again after so many months."
Snakeskin's voice was sibilant without actually hissing, but since the last time Daisy had seen him, his eyes had taken on a new depth and a new sadness. A new coldness.
Was it possible that he was slowing down, beginning to weigh up the road behind rather than anticipate the road ahead?
Never. Not Snakeskin.
Muffy made thank-you noises and said what a pleasure it was to be on Mars again.
Jimmy Fingers brought in tea and cakes.
"Our meeting may take a moment or two," Snakeskin said. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
They did.
It would have been difficult not to, given the quality of the chairs. Genuine leather. Real wood.
The tea was Chinese, as in from China, Earth, not Chinese as in from a greenhouse in New China, Mars.
They talked about life aboard Diligence, about Captain Spaulding's generosity in allowing Daisy to take a few weeks away, about Muffy's vacation, about the myriad varieties of snakes in India.
Daisy set her cup down. "Enough beating around the bush. Why are we here? Who's gone missing and why is it up to us to find them?"
"You sound just like a red-haired monkey," Snakeskin said. He laughed and added, "How rude you have become."
Daisy caught a glimpse of her uncle's canines. They were lengthening into fangs. Would he develop poison sacks and ducts as well?
Daisy shuddered.
She forced her instinctive revulsion to one side. Were fangs any worse than scales? Were scales any worse than the thousands of other ways in which people adorned themselves?
Daisy said, "I sound like a cop with better things to do than traipse halfway across the solar system to drink tea."
"I understand," Snakeskin said, and offered a polite nod of his head, more than an acknowledgement but far less than an apology. "Very well. Some months ago—"
"How many?" Daisy asked.
"Ten," Snakeskin said. "Ten months ago, Meizhen Fitzgerald and I fell into a silly row. I—"
"Who's Meizhen?"
"One of my newer concubines. You've never met her. She's not one of your Aunt Hester's favorites." Snakeskin shook his head in regret. "Sadly, Hester has a point, but then she has always been most perceptive. Oh, Meizhen is a charming-enough girl, but she's also somewhat vain and prone to flashes of temper. There is little extra room in her universe for anyone other than Meizhen."
"I see," Daisy said. "Was she an active part of the household?"
"Oh, yes, of course. She had her duties and she discharged them flawlessly, as far as I'm aware."
Daisy tried not to show her disapproval, or her bewilderment. The domestic ways of the Martian tongs, of the Martian Chinese in general, seemed utterly out of kilter to her. Yes, she'd grown up in a tong family, but they'd lived way out on the fringes of the Asteroid Belt. And out there, women were at a premium. Any of them would have fed her husband's balls to the dogs if he had dared to add a contract mistress to his establishment.
"What about the 'silly row'?"
"Ah, yes. The row. I did my best to make amends, but without success. Meizhen and I went our separate ways for the evening."
"And then?" Daisy prompted.
"And then in the morning I learned she had packed her belongings and left my house. She'd placed her cancelled contract on her bed for me to find."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?!" That seemed impossible.
"My house is not a prison."
"Then I don't see your problem. She got angry and skipped. So what?"
"At first, I saw no problem, either. As I said, she is a hot-tempered girl. I expected her to sulk for a few days. To teach me a lesson. That sort of thing. You're well aware of how these games are played." He left the slightest of pauses. "But the days stretched into weeks."
"How many?"
"Six. I admit I let the matter slide for far too long. I was about to begin a search when I heard from her. Meizhen said she was staying at one of the lunar resorts."
"Which one?"
"New Telluride."
Jimmy Fingers stepped in and handed Daisy a slip of paper. It had a New Telluride address scribbled on it.
"Thanks," Daisy said.
"It's a fake," Jimmy Fingers said.
"Too bad," Daisy said. Turning back to Snakeskin, she asked, "Why did she get in touch?"
"There were funds owed on her contract. She asked me to deposit them in a special account, not the one she normally used. It seemed a trifle odd, but I did as she asked. I had no reason not to."
Business is business.
Snakeskin sipped his tea. "I'm on cordial terms with most of my former concubines. Birthday and holiday greetings. Exchanges of gossip. Idle talk. Infrequent, true, but steady. But from Meizhen, since then, I have heard nothing. It's most strange."
"Eight months and not a word," Jimmy Fingers put in.
"Four months ago, I began a determined search," Snakeskin said. "But I haven't been able to locate her."
Which explained his call to the space marshals for help. "What have you come up with, if anything?" Daisy asked.
"Hints. A few retail transactions, a spattering of likely hits on the security grid, but nothing solid. They're scattered throughout the solar system. Will-o’-the-wisps."
"Why would you be wishing to find her?" Muffy asked.
"Ah, Officer Chatterjee," Snakeskin said. "A most perceptive question on your part. For one thing, I do like to keep track. A man in my position cannot afford not to. It would be most unwise to allow a former mistress to become a current enemy."
Daisy could almost hear the other shoe hovering above the floor. "Go on," she said. "What's happened? You didn't start searching out of the blue, Uncle."
"No, I did not. There were rumors."
"What sort of rumors?" Daisy was beginning to fear the worst: that her Uncle Snakeskin had wet work for her to do. If he did, would she have the courage to tell him to go to hell, or would she, ever the reverential niece, bow her deepest bow, smile her sweetest smile, and get on with it?
Snakeskin nodded to Jimmy Fingers.
Jimmy went out and a few moments later returned with a man in tow. The man had fresh contusions on his face and walked as though a delivery truck had run over him a few times.
"Allow me to introduce Dr. Eric Nguyen Lopez," Snakeskin said. "Once upon a time, he practiced obstetrics and gynecology here in town. Once upon a time, he was also on my payroll. Regrettably, those happy days are behind us. As soon as he's strong enough to travel, he'll be returning to Chicago, Earth, where he will, I trust, devote himself to the reproductive health of suburbanites."
A renewed sense of dread flooded through Daisy. It was common coin in the family that Snakeskin desperately wanted a large family but that he was unable to father children. He was healthy enough: active sperm, a high count, and a good genetic profile. But few of his wives or concubines ever became pregnant, or if they did, their pregnancies ended in miscarriages.
The whole thing was quite baffling. Theories abounded. One of them held that a traitor was introducing abortifacients into the women's food.
Daisy didn't believe that such a traitor, even one working from within Snakeskin's household, could accomplish such a feat. Once or twice, perhap
s, but not with any consistency. No, other factors were in play.
Had Meizhen become pregnant? Had Dr. Lopez aborted her? Had she, for whatever reason, sought an abortion, and then, quite rightly, had she feared for her life and run away?
To Lopez, Snakeskin said, "Tell them what you told me."
Lopez's eyes went feral, the cast of a trapped animal. He smelled of bandages, disinfectant, and terror.
"Shortly before Meizhen left, she came to me with various complaints. I examined her and discovered she was about two months pregnant."
"Did either you or Meizhen inform Snakeskin?" Daisy asked.
"Meizhen swore me to secrecy. In any case, I'm a firm believer in doctor-client privilege."
"What happened next?"
"I took a sample of the fetus's blood and performed various tests. They showed that Mr. Wong was the father, but they also indicated a variety of genetic abnormalities."
"What sort of abnormalities?" Daisy asked.
"The sort that leads to miscarriages," Snakeskin interjected.
"I don't know the specifics," Lopez said. "Meizhen forbade me from sending the samples out for testing. Genetic manipulation is not my specialty. My office was equipped to screen. Nothing more."
"Thank you, Doctor," Snakeskin said.
The man stared, not daring to speak.
Jimmy Fingers lead him out.
"Why the beating?" Daisy asked.
"His reluctance to answer my questions was most strong. He imagined he could satisfy us with evasions and lies. Questioning him has been like peeling an onion or eating an artichoke." A pause, then, "Despite our efforts to date, I'm sure we're nowhere near that man's core."
Muffy sat very rigidly in her chair.
"Do you think us monsters, Office Chatterjee?"
"What I am thinking is that you are a man of inordinate power."
"Determination," Snakeskin said. "I'm a man of patience and determination."
He leaned forward, a sinuous movement that made the faintest of rustling sounds. "What else do you think?" he asked.
"I think that you inspire a combination of loyalty and fear. Back home, we are quite familiar with your type."
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