Curse of the Full Mental Packet

by Jack Q McNeil

  “Knock that off,” Windied ordered. “Tell your temporary deputy to take it outside or something, Marshal.”

  “LB, hold up. Windied- answer my questions.”

  “Who told you about the safe and keypad?” Windied demanded. “I have told no one that code.”

  “I don’t answer questions, I ask them. What were you and Loow into?”

  “I loaned him money. That is all. I did not ask him what he wanted it for. Do you know what is in that safe? What you will discover if you open that door?”

  Marshal Harry stared into the Tooyr’s face. She nodded, once. Windied sat back down.

  “See?” LB said. “She says stuff like she has been reading everyone’s mind.”

  “Marshal Harry is great at working things out. Deduction, she calls it. If she says she knows what is in that safe, she isn’t lying.”

  “He never missed a repayment,” Windied began to babble. “We had no reason to doubt that would continue. I believe he had a project he was desperate to complete. Something good for his soul, he once said.”

  Marshal Harry pointed a finger. Windied hunched. “I am fully occupied hunting a murderer. I will find him, and then I will come hunting you. Do not be in my city.”

  “That isn’t fair,” Windied cried. “I have roots here. I am a—”

  “Criminal. You take advantage of people when they are at their weakest. If they are not weak, you sell them the stuff that will make them weak.”

  The marshal leaned into Windied. He curled into himself under her stare. She spun on her heel and strode out. LB and Isamary fisted hard to catch up. All the way out to the curb the POV swivelled-front- back- front.

  “Swear to Aubergines, I thought those three leg-breakers would come after us,” LB said.

  The office door stayed shut. The silence lasted until they got outside.

  “That was amazing,” Isamary said. “How did you know all that stuff?”

  The POV looked at the sky and I heard holo-LB wheezing, then he looked at the pavement for a while.

  “This is a useful record,” I pointed out. “I’m learning a lot.”

  “Hey, it’s been decades since I ran that hard,” LB pointed out.

  “Mr Windied is such an egotistical man,” the marshal’s voice came from off-hologram. I could count the cracks in the pavement. “That he has holograms of ships he owns on his wall. The marshal service has been working to track the owners of those ships for months. We suspect they smuggle drugs. I used the first two digits of each ship’s ident on the keypad, and it opened when I entered them in order, right to left.”

  “But how...” Isamary asked again.

  “He looked uncomfortable when I walked round to the holo-portrait of his dad. I deduced there was something he didn’t want me to find.”

  “She read the body language of an alien species,” LB said. “I’ve been around Tooyr for centuries, and I can only spot when they’re angry.”

  “They head butt you in the face,” I pointed out.

  “Exactly.” LB looked down at his temporary marshal badge for a long moment. “Protecting this human is a big job. This marshal sees the fires of hell and walks in and pokes through the ashes to find out what happened.”

  “That’s what I like about her,” I admitted. “Backing the marshal can be hard work, but it is never boring.”

  “Are you sure she isn’t telepathic?” LB asked again. “Because shouting `stop` at three Tooyr leg-breakers has never worked for me.”

  “I theorise on my holo-vlog that it is an ancient pheromone system that science has not found discovered.”

  “I think it is telepathy,” LB said. “So, after the Marshal faced down the most dangerous loan sharks on the planet, I took her round to Auld Arty’s place.”

  “Why?”

  “Nobody knew Lew better than Schemiedan and to get to him you have to go through Auld Arty.”

  The logic was flawless, but Auld Arty wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 12

  We fast forwarded, made a nice blur of a half hour walk.

  “Bet you moaned about your knuckles the whole way,” I said.

  “Did not- Isamary did enough moaning for both of us. What kind of planet grows an ape with no fur that walks around instead of hiding in trees?

  I shrugged: “Must be a strange place.”

  The POV jiggled into a small box room filled with junk. Arty’s species mould stuff around them with silk, as a kind of body armour, so only his mouth and eyes were visible from behind a cracked screen and a keyboard with twelve missing keys. We let the projector fast forward through the long waffle of Auld Arty. The room went black.

  “Is there something wrong with the projector?” I asked, smacking it with a claw.

  “No, this is where I fell asleep.”

  I looked around in the dark.

  “But you were standing up.”

  “Yes but...” LB sighed. “You know Auld Arty.”

  The room came back. Auld Arty still talking, and the marshal still sitting, listening and trying to get a word in.

  “See how tough the marshal is?” I pointed out, proudly. “She didn’t even yawn.”

  “If boring people was a televised event, that man could make a lot of money,” LB said. He reached over and pressed play as we zoomed out the door, through some streets and up to an old warehouse just outside the Port Authority fence. The one door in the wall was so narrow, Isamary and LB had to turn sideways and shuffle through. The marshal walked in, looking about the little room.

  “I’ve seen worse,” she said.

  “Auld Arty said Schemiedan’s got the job of night guard at this warehouse,” Holo-LB said.

  “I remember, I was there when he said it,” the marshal pointed out.

  “She never has got the hang of plot exposition,” I admitted. Schemiedan lay on the bed. Dust lay on everything else. His eyes were open, but he didn’t blink as holo-LB walked over and gave him a shake.

  “Mr Schemiedan,” Isamary said. “I’ve played all your adventures. I am a total fan.”

  Schemiedan continued to find the ceiling fascinating. The false nose carved from the teeth of his enemies, did not move either.

  “This is the Schemiedan?” the marshal asked. “Last Gunman of the Apocalypse? Knight of the Gulled of Orion?”

  “Yep,” holo-LB said. “This is what’s left of him. But he signed that poster for Isamary’s twelfth birthday, so I’ve always been grateful.”

  “I’ve still got that poster, back at my nest,” Isamary blushed and shuffled his feet. “Well, he was a hero to many people before the alcoholism got him.”

  Holo-LB shook the body and poked one staring eyeball.

  “He’s still warm,” he said. “Can’t have been dead long.”

  Schemiedan sat up.

  “Who you? What you doing in my place?” Isamary jumped a metre straight up. Even the marshal looked startled.

  “That gave me a nasty start,” LB admitted. “I thought the old boy was dead.”

  “I am Marshal Harry Ward the 23rd,” the marshal introduced. “And these are my temporary deputies. Are you really a Knight of the Gulled of Orion?”

  “A long time ago. They kicked me out at the finish.”

  “Why gulled, though. Funny word for titled knights.”

  “We don’t talk about that,” Schemiedan said. “But if you meet a six fingered man in a black hat, you just let me know.”

  “Can you tell us anything about Loow Alsh’s finances?” the marshal asked. “He seemed to spend a lot of money, before he died.”

  “Loow’s dead?”

  “You hadn’t heard?” Holo-LB asked. “The news is all over town.”

  “I been sleeping for,” he glanced at the clock. “Two days.”

  Schiemiedan threw his feet off the bed and onto the floor. “How’d he die?”

  “It looks like someone shot him and then tried to make it look like suicide.”

  The ancient warrior stared at his feet
for a while.

  “Hello,” the marshal said. “Did you hear me? Loow Alsh is—”

  “I heard... just letting it sink in. There’s something I should tell you, but... damned if I can remember what it is.”

  “Schemiedan was the hero of the Bettel Fuss,” Marshal Harry said. “And a legend to the Turningblue Geggers. He would help us.”

  “I used to be him,” he said. “Lost him in a bottle. Or left him in a pawnshop.”

  There was a valise under the bed, the only clean object in the room. He tapped it with his heel. “Maybe that’s him in there. Should I open it and find out?”

  “Can you tell us anything about this?” Marshal Harry projected the holo-pic of children with a price tax I had sent her, above her palm.

  “Kids.” Schemiedan squinted. “Kids with a price on their heads. That aint right. I told Loow that ain’t right.”

  “You know the link between Loow and these kids?” LB asked. Schemiedan rapped his heel off the valise. His eyes unfocussed.

  “I don’t think we’ll get any help here,” the marshal said to LB. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, I’m getting something. I told Loow about those kids. Told ‘im it ain’t right. Them smugglers trading in kids. Guess it don’t matter anymore with Loow dead. Damn shame what’s happening to them kids, but.”

  “What’s happening to these kids?” Marshal Harry spun on her heel and waved the holo projection under Schemiedan’s false nose.

  “The Rehd Shirts are trading them for drugs,” he managed. “Loow started buying them and sending them to a safe colony. Shame he didn’t finish the trade. Them kids don’t deserve the kind of life they got coming.”

  “Are you familiar with these Rehd Shirts?” Marshal Harry asked Holo-LB.

  “Yes, but if you are going after those guys, you will need Chunglie, Daisy Tubes and a corp of armed marshals. No word of a lie, those people are armed and vicious.”

  “Gimme a couple days,” Schemiedan said. “I’ll sober up and back your play. For Loow.”

  “No need,” Marshal Harry said. “We will manage.”

  “I got a box of sobriety pills,” Schemiedan announced. “If somebody needed me, I could still sober up. Probably.”

  “Those kids are in a bad place,” LB said. “If someone doesn’t pay off the Rehd Shirts, they will be sold on the open market.”

  “Can you pay the tab?”

  “I don’t have a third of what they are asking,” LB admitted. “Been a hard year. Maybe we could crowd fund this?”

  “The marshal will think of something.”

  “Got a lot of faith in the marshal, don’t you?”

  “Yes, because she has never let me down. Unlike most other people.”

  “Interesting thing you’ve got going here,” LB said, turning the holoprojector off and looking round the office. “Reminds me of my youth.”

  “Eyes front, soldier,” I said. “This gig is mine.”

  CHAPTER 13

  That night I dreamed of swimming in marshmallow. I paddled across a sea of green goo and dived deep.

  “Nebbish up! Chunglie nebbish up!”

  I roused to find I had sleep scurried. Or sleep munched. Big Walter's tail was halfway down my throat.

  “Help,” he yelled.

  “Do you two need some privacy,” Marshal Harry said from the door. “I can pop back later.”

  One advantage of having a voice box riveted to your underside is, you can splutter apologies with your mouth full.

  “Sorry, Big Walter, I was asleep.”

  “So are you going to stop nebbishing me?”

  I saw his point, grabbed four clawfulls and pulled.

  “Well, that took away my appetite,” the marshal said. “But as long as you guys are happy?”

  “Do you have to enjoy my embarrassment so much?” I demanded. “Not only is Big Walter a friend, but I had stuck to vegan for eight weeks straight. That’s a personal record.”

  “Apart from that corned beef sandwich you had for a midnight snack,” she said. “Two weeks ago. The kitchen was a mess.”

  “I have no memory of that,” I said. “I must have been sleepwalking.”

  “Come on, Chunglie. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about those kids. I want to talk to the Rehd Shirts.”

  “Easy, we pay them the last shroom,” I said as I followed the marshal downstairs. “To free the kids. The Mother of All Mothers might let them stay on Smuds, if you ask. She likes you.”

  “We can’t give the traffickers the shroom,” Marshal Harry said, as she took the seat at her desk. Isamary and LB sat on the floor in front of it, so their eyes were almost on a level. I reared my front half to vertical and placed a claw on the desk to steady myself. The claw was stared at by the marshal. She raised an eyebrow. I removed the claw.

  “We cannot hand the shroom over to the Rehd Shirts,” she started over. “Because they do not belong to us. But there’s an open warrant from Azusefulaz 6 for the Rehd Shirts, so we can threaten to hold them here, unless they release the kids. We just need to find where they are keeping the kids?”

  “I can make a call,” LB said.

  “Not surprised you’ve got the Rehd Shirt’s number,” Isamary muttered. “You’ve never been choosy about the people you deal with.”

  “I have had dealings with people who are a little dodgy,” LB admitted. Isamary snorted. “But the Rehd Shirts are a lot dodgy. The only person I know who would deal with them is Grey Malcom. Luckily he owes me a favour so he should take my call.”

  “Okay, but put the call through the office system,” Marshal Harry said. “So it is on record.”

  “Ah... Grey Graham is not the sort to say anything on record,” LB pointed out. “Not that we’ve done anything illegal you understand, he is just very careful by nature.”

  Isamary rolled his eyes.

  “Not that old fraud,” he said. “If you believe half of what he claims, he knows every crime lord in the galaxy personally.”

  “He does,” I said. “He’s their fence.”

  The marshal dry washed her face in her hands. “I feel bad enough buying information from Pop and he works cheap. What is a major fence going to want for his information?”

  “I’ve got you covered on that score,” LB said. “Grey Malcom owes me money, and I will write it off for Loow and those kids. Seeing a price tag on them... Schemiedan is right, that’s as wrong as you can get.”

  “Okay, keep the call off the office system, but let us hear it?”

  “That I can do.” LB held up his personal holo-projector and a modern art gif filled the middle of the office. There wasn’t a label, so I couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. A tall, grey figure with a pointy grey head and large, dark eyes replaced the modern art.

  “Why have aliens never heard of underpants?” the marshal murmured.

  “Good morning, Long Barnacle, Great Grandson of Long the Way, patriarch of Branch Long of the tree Lo—”

  LB held up a hand. “I’m not calling to demand my money back.”

  “You’re not?” Grey Malcom visibly relaxed and looked around the room. “Is that Chunglie?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Where’s my pony, you fourteen clawed bastard?”

  “But I am calling with an urgent proposal,” LB said forcefully. “That will save you money.”

  “Money? Save me a lot of money?”

  “Yes. I find I am in need of an address. We... need an address. We need to know where the Rehd Shirts are keeping a group of Heedyin children. Somewhere in the—”

  Gray Malcom held up a hand: “Got you, and I have that address, the question is, how much?”

  “I was thinking twenty-five percent of—”

  “I was thinking... fifty percent.”

  LB choked. “Fifty? Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

  “Well, if you don’t want that address?” Gray Malcom let that hang for a moment. “It is a very private address. That group only deal with one
trader in this city.”

  “Okay,” LB bowed his great head. “Fifty percent it is.”

  “Great. One-nineteen Boule Boulevard.” The hologram vanished, then reappeared. Grey Malcom pointed a long grey finger at me. “Never again.”

  “Abrupt sort of person, isn’t he?” Isamary said, as Grey Malcom vanished.

  “He’s gone this time,” LB said, and pouched his holo-projector before bursting into laughter. “I was afraid he wanted one hundred percent off his bill. And I would have given it to him.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be proud,” Isamary admitted. “Or ashamed here, Dad. You just bartered for a bunch of kid’s lives.”

  “At least now they have a chance of a life,” the marshal said. “You two stay here, Chunglie and I will talk to these people.”

  I perked up. Hopefully this meant she forgave me. What’s one building fire between friends, am I right?

  “You are out-numbered dozens to one,” LB pointed out.

  “Okay, you stay behind me then,” I said to the marshal. She went to her desk, took out her holster and strapped on her gun. I stared in shock. Okay, I don’t have eyelids, so I looked at the gun meaningfully.

  “I’ve had dealings with people traffickers,” the marshal said. “I’m going to talk, but if they shoot, I will shoot back.”

  “Got another gun in there?” LB asked.

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  “I’m thinking one of my oldest friends died trying to help these kids,” he said, not looking around. “And this old fraud needs to step up.”

  “Me, too then.”

  “Not you,” LB said. “Your mother would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

  “Then not you either. Mum said I was to look after you.”

  LB pronounced his name slowly and distinctly:

  “Long Barnacle. What does the Long mean?”

  “It means you are the patriarch of our branch of the family tree,” Isamary ducked his head. “But you’ve never—”

  “Pulled rank? Well I am now. Stay here and... guard the prisoners.”

  “I’m the marshal here, that’s my line,” Marshal Harry said. She took a gun and holster from the wall cabinet and tossed it to LB. “Come on.”