When Harry Met Chunglie Box Set

by Jack Q McNeil

  The room lit up and a voice said: “Your call is important to us and will be answered by one of our agents shortly.”

  “They put us on hold, deliberately,” I said. “Everyone knows a call from a booth like this is an interplanetary call, and therefore expensive.”

  Marshal Harry shrugged.

  LB looked around. “I wish I’d thought to book a forest glade, or a beach view or something,” he said. “This looks dull and we could be here a while.”

  “That would have cost extra,” Marshal Harry said. “And we’re pushing the budget with this call as it is.”

  “Have we learned anything helpful,” I wondered, “so far?”

  “Sure,” Marshal Harry said. “We’ve gone from having no motive and one mysterious hacker for a suspect to needing to explore the money motive and having the whole Cabal as suspects.”

  “There are probably three or four hundred of them on the planet right now,” LB said. “Most of them are Moordanaap, so we’ll have to watch our backs. They will be dangerous.”

  “I always watch my back,” I said, pointing a claw at my compound eyes. “And Marshal Harry’s back, too.”

  “A friend would watch my back too,” LB said. “I don’t want to be found dead in a gutter at my age.”

  The walls lit up and seemed to move back. The floor was suddenly granite, with silicate specks, while the walls had colourful tapestries showing the conquests of the Nixtom. The ceiling rose about a hundred metres, which was just showing off because the Nixtom are only fifty metres tall. To broadcast all this data from a moon orbiting the Waddudu homeworld was why we needed to rent a booth to talk to them rather than use the office coms system.

  “Nice hologram broadcast,” Marshal Harry said, looking around. “They are really showing off the wealth of the company with this one.”

  “Show off pricks,” I said, earning a warning look from the marshal.

  A Nixtom appeared and looked down on us along its long beak. She was fifty-five metres tall and had dyed the feathers on her arms various shades of purple. The rest of her feathers were black and grey with a white patch on her neck and upper chest. I don’t normally feel small, but I did then.

  “How can the Nixtom Security Agency help the Marshal Service?” The room’s sound system gave her a deafening voice. I found the remote and turned it down a bit. “We have already released copies of our files to you.”

  “My name is Marshal Harry Ward,” she said. “I want to talk to the Nixtom agents who were guarding cruisOVO when the crash happened.”

  “My name is Wahaha Hoopie. I supervised that operation,” the Nixtom said. “From this office. The agents on the ground were all warbots and AIs.”

  “Did anyone you questioned seem overtly interested in the investigation?”

  “We questioned no one,” Hoopie said. “I investigated the crash site with the best scanning equipment available.”

  “But you concluded it was a hacker from the last words of the AI before the crash?” Marshal Harry asked.

  “Supervisors are not expected to make conclusions,” Hoopie said. “I investigated and then passed the report to my superiors.”

  That got me looking her over again.

  “Do you have any suspects?” Hoopie asked. I muted output on the call.

  “She just lied to us,” I said. “You see that white patch on her throat?” I did not look up or point. “The larger that patch, the greater the individual’s status. I’ve never met a Nixtom important enough to have a white patch on her chest before. She must be very high up in the organisation.”

  “You think she is pretending to be a lowly supervisor to pump us for information?” Marshal Harry asked.

  “That would be my guess,” I admitted. I unmuted the broadcast.

  “We only got on the case this morning,” Marshal Harry told the Nixtom. “I’m going to be keeping an open mind and see what we can turn up for the first week.”

  “Oh… right. If there is anything else we can help you with, be sure and get in touch. Always willing to help the Marshal Service.”

  The Nixtom cut the feed from her side.

  “So they agreed to this meeting to show us how wealthy their company is,” LB said thoughtfully. “And to see if you had got a suspect they don’t know about.”

  “Sounds about right,” the marshal said. “The OVOs have a lot of money and influence in this system. I’m just beginning to realise how many people are going to be interested in our little cold case.”

  I stopped in the street. Night had fallen, and there was zero footfall. No one to overhear me ask the question that was worrying me. “Are we any further forward in this case?”

  “No,” LB said, his face about tripping him. “We’ve discovered nothing new.”

  “We have discovered one new fact,” Marshal Harry said. “These big private security companies that the OVOs were bragging about don’t know shit about investigating.”

  I mimed that slow mouth-falling-open-in-shock face that humans do so well.

  “Marshal,that is shocking language.”

  She blushed.

  “I know, but they deserve it. Imagine thinking that sending in crime techs can solve a crime. Poop heads just does not cover it. Let’s go home. I need a large glass of wine.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I was last to crawl out from under my bunk, crawl downstairs, and join the other two in the front office. There’s a small kitchen next to our bedrooms on the upper floor, but breakfast makes me sick.

  Marshal Harry worked at her desk, going over the reports we had downloaded the previous day. Long Barnacle slouched in a chair that was three sizes too small for him.

  “What happened to `the early bug gets the bird’?” LB asked with a laugh. He is both a night owl and an early bird, and I hate that in a person.

  “I’ve gone vegan,” I growled.

  “Drinking onions half the night while curled up under your bunk,” LB said, “isn’t any veganism I’m familiar with.”

  “You get drunk on complex grape and hop juice concoctions. You’re jealous because I stick a few onions in the blender and I’m sorted.”

  “Am I right in thinking you intend to visit the Nice Big Chop first?” LB asked the marshal.

  “Yes. The recordings are incomplete and the investigators scanned the place, but I don’t think they really looked.”

  LB looked at me, but I didn’t know what the marshal meant either. Scanners recorded detail that the eye could not see, so looking wouldn’t add anything. But Harry is smart and I trust those smarts.

  “In that case, can I ask to be excused?” LB said. “The Qoh Modes and my species have an… unfortunate… history. I doubt they would let me over the threshold.”

  “We cannot allow people to choose which species of marshal investigates their crimes,” Harry said firmly.

  “But the Moordenaap used to farm the Qoh Modes for food,” I said. “The Qoh Modes had to use stolen money to pay lawyers to get themselves reclassified as sentient and off the menu.”

  “Oh… wow…” Harry said. “And I thought my species had a few skeletons in the cupboard. Okay, try to find people with a motive to murder cruisOVO. Check with his business friends, maybe find out how deep he was involved in the dark side of the family business.”

  “That I can do,” LB said, looking relieved.

  Ground cars and transports passed us, slowed, stared. Because no one else was walking.

  Harry has a long stride and I had to scurry to keep up. I brought up my cybernetics dashboard and added more oxygen to my bloodstream.

  “Why are we walking?” I asked. “We could have got a lift in one of the new patrol cars.”

  A ground car slowed and a family of Moordenaap stared at us before speeding off.

  “Because I want to think about the questions we need to ask before we get there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why that restaurant?”

  “Why not? It’s a really busy plac
e, no one would notice an extra body walking in and reprogramming the servobot.”

  “Okay, you have a point.” Harry nodded. “But surely the same holds true for cruisOVO’s penthouse? If it was as simple a job as reprogramming a servobot, I am quite sure a rich guy like cruisOVO has several around his home.”

  We walked through the business district. The low one and two-story buildings had been constructed at the behest of the Queen of Shaws and were therefore utilitarian and identical, except for signage.

  “Look, there’s a ground car rental agency.”

  “I think better on my feet,” Harry said. “Come on, walking’s good for you.”

  “For you, maybe. A short scurry now and again is enough to keep me healthy. What else?”

  “What other questions?” Harry lifted her chin. “Why does cruisOVO have to die? Someone’s had three goes at it, so they must have powerful motive, but those security firms used all the latest tech in their investigation and didn’t come up with one.”

  And on through the accommodation district. Three-story houses mingled with towers of small bedroom units. The Queen of Shaws had ordered her drones to accommodate everyone, and they had. Provided you wanted a home built of sandstone and hard-baked clay. The latest development was beyond that. The Queen had allowed people to bring in their own architects and builders and that had resulted in a wide mix of styles and building materials.

  “Quite a radical thinker, the Queen of Shaws,” Marshal Harry said, breaking into my thoughts. “Allowing aliens to come in and build in their own style.”

  “Well, allowing people to make up their own minds about anything is radical thinking for a hive queen. I like to think I’ve rubbed off on her.”

  The restaurant had been built out of fused onyx. The name Nice Big Chop was made of quartz, with lighting beneath it. The roof was domed with statues of historically significant figures growing out of it.

  “There’s Comerie at the gates of Pascoe,” I pointed out. “Looks like they left me out again. I mean, I shot three snipers before we got to the gates. You’d think I’d get a little recognition for that.”

  “A good deed is its own reward,” Harry said. “Any awkward history you have with the Qoh Modes that I should be aware of?”

  “Doesn’t look like I made it into the history books,” I pointed out. We entered the building. There was an entry hall with doors off. Looked like the hall went all the way to the back of the building. Three doors on our left, two on the right. Each had fancy names etched on the lintel above the door, in the ancient script of the ancestors.

  “This is the posh one,” I said, pointing. “The three on the left are for the unimportant people who somehow still manage to afford a night out once a month.”

  “That’s a very specific market,” the marshal said as she followed me into the posh room.

  The restaurant interior was dark with tiny star-like lights in the ceiling. Like most species, Qoh Modes feel safer underground in the dark. Comfortable cushions were scattered in circles and, on a large raised area by the window, there were very wealthy diners laying around on loungers. I recognised the area in front of the window from the holo-rec.

  “You couldn’t see it was right in front of the window on the holo-rec,” I said.

  “Is that important?”

  “That’s the feature table. It’s broadcasted live to the restaurant’s website. Like I said, I’ve been trying to get in here for years.”

  “Who are those people?” Marshal Harry asked. There were Qoh Modes laying at the base of the dais. They were chatting among themselves.

  “No idea, “I said. “I’ve never gotten this far into the building befo—"

  “No, no, no, you can’t be in here,” a Qoh Mode said. She wore the face paint of a floor manager. I reared my front half and raised all my claws. This allowed her a good look at the weapon choices riveted to my underside.

  “Back off, lady. I’m a deputy marshal investigating a homicide, and you’re taking this posh routine too damn far.”

  “I am the floor manager and the owners have a policy of not allowing sick people in here. It puts people off their food,” she said, still pushing at Harry.

  “Take your hands off the marshal.” I lost my temper and pulled my flegmatic pistols. “Or lose them.”

  “I am not sick,” Harry said, pushing back. “I am supposed to look like this.”

  That stopped the manager.

  “Really? But I can see the bones in your shoulders.”

  “My species find collar bones and square shoulders attractive in a woman.”

  “Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose.” The manager whipped her neck back and forth with a sinuous movement. Males sitting near turned their heads to watch. “Can’t do that, can you?”

  “No, and as far as I know, it’s not high on my species bucket list.”

  There was a pause while the manager looked that term up.

  “Now, I am Marshal Harry Ward the 23rd and this is my deputy, Chunglie—"

  “The First.”

  “Yes… right, we would like your cooperation during this investigation, but it’s not required. We can come back with a court order.”

  “Maybe that would be a good idea,” the manager said. “That way I can warn the owners in case they want to consult their lawyers.”

  “It would take fifteen minutes to get the court order,” Marshal Harry pointed out. “And while we wait, I’ll summon the Marshal Service’s lawyers, forensic accountants, and scene-of-crime bots, and we will go through this place at the microscopic level.”

  “Ah… my name is acridbutHER. Why don’t we start over? What are you investigating?”

  “The poisoning of Mr cruisOVO at your feature table a few years ago.”

  “But we gave the Vi Scount investigators the recording of the meal and they scanned everything, so why come back?”

  “For context, mainly. For instance, who are those people kneeling around the dais?”

  “PAs, secretaries, body servants, and that sort of thing,” acridbutHER said. “I mean, obviously we don’t serve that sort of people food in this room.”

  A server leaned over and regurgitated a load into a diner’s crop. The marshal turned a funny colour and slapped a hand over her mouth. This surprised me because she’s always telling me I should be more accepting of other species’ ways.

  “Are there any recordings that include those people on the night of the poisoning?”

  “I’m afraid not. We only record the feature table for our website. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “Yes, I want to talk with the server who did…” The marshal waved at the servers delivering food directly to the crops of the diners. “That... to Mr cruisOVO.”

  “She is no longer with us,” acridbutHER said. “She left to set up her own restaurant called Big Rump. She promised to bankrupt us in a year, but as you can see, we are still here.”

  “Big Rump not doing so well?” I asked.

  “Nice Big Chop is a dining institution. Big Rump is a mere takeaway.”

  “Our report stated,” Marshal Harry interrupted, “the server’s name was cleoroCASS. She had worked here for six years on minimum wage, no family?”

  “Sounds about right. I have only been floor manager here for four years.”

  “Any idea where she found the money to start her own restaurant?”

  “No. Maybe a bank loan?”

  “Okay, in that case I’d like to see the full process of the food being prepared and travelling to the table to be served.”

  “Oh no, we cannot allow that for hygiene reasons.”

  “The alternative is that crew of lawyers, hygiene specialists, and Socbots I mentioned earlier.”

  “But really? Why do you need to see the food served?”

  “Because the Vis count team came in here, closed the place, and scanned everything right enough, but they missed something.”

  “What did they miss?” acridbutHER asked.


  “I won’t know until I see the full process.”

  acridbutHER sighed. “Very well, the kitchens are through here. You know the owners are very good friends with the Queen of Shaws?”

  “I’m her dance partner,” I said. That earned me a wide-mouthed stare. Marshal Harry rapped me on the top of the head.

  “Get in touch with cruisOVO’s PA and find out who else was at the table.” She nodded towards the people kneeling. One of the PAs took a selfie with the restaurant in the background.

  “Will do,” I said. As I followed the marshal into the kitchen, I messaged the PA the request and, at the same time, I searched the social media sites for photos. The restaurant was very popular and I found some photos taken on the night. I couldn’t identify the hangers on, then the PA messaged me back and I searched for the names and hit pay dirt.

  “I have a list of three people, and selfies they took on the night,” I said. “I even have a couple photos of the servobot arriving with the food.”

  It was basically a motorised table with a couple of serving arms. Not complex enough to be questioned.

  “Good. Do background checks on them and we’ll go over what you find later,” Marshal Harry said. “I want to focus on this for the moment.”

  She was watching the cooks preparing the food, moving cuts of meat and whole birds from cold storage to cooking.

  “Is this really necessary?” acridbutHER asked again. “The previous investigators used their scanners.”

  She looked pointedly at the scanner tucked into the marshal’s belt.

  “Context,” was all she replied. We watched as food packed onto the servobot. I got bored and started reading the pictures on acridbutHER’s scales. They were a fairly standard representation of the founding of the HER family.

  “You did those yourself with stencils,” I said.

  “I did no such thing,” acridbutHER said shrilly. As if I’d insulted her mother. “I paid an artist to do my scales.”

  “Then how come that one is upside down?” I pointed. It would have been the right way up to her POV when she placed the stencil onto the scale.

  “Were you working the night of the poisoning?” Marshal Harry asked the junior chef.