Do No Harm

by Chris Kennedy

  Hmmm. Looks like Toweena. Oh! And Lalorra. That was interesting. So, this was a move against the Don. In that case, it was definitely time to leave To’Os.

  Wrogul did not “smell” as Humans knew it, but they did taste. Moreover, they wore their taste receptors all over their arms. Each sucker on the eight grasping limbs contained receptors that provided taste and chemical analysis. Thus, escape through the To’Os sewers was not a particularly pleasant experience. It quite literally, “left a bad taste in his mouth,” as his Human friends would say.

  Still, it was effective, and he reached the starport without notice. His remaining security tell-tales also told him Ginzberg had left the panic room and made it to the exit into the To’Os red-light district. He would have to survive on his own from there, and maybe take a bit of a break. He was privately amused at the idea of having sent the Human through a district catering to carnal drives. It was…so hentai.

  With Toweena in the city, getting into the ’port should be easy. Lumar were big—and dumb. He had set up a covert exit from the sewers that led into the cargo terminal, and he had leased a berth next to a drainage ditch. One last contingency plan set off a small charge under a reaction mass tank on the far side of the ’port, drawing the Lumar guards away to investigate. It also had the side-effect of filling the drainage ditch with water. Better yet, it was fresh water, washing off the taste of the sewer and facilitating travel to his ship.

  The hatch was keyed to his DNA, and it had begun to worry him after seeing the strange Wrogul in the clinic. All Wrogul DNA was alike—at least on Azure—and if the adversary had found his ship, it was likely no longer secure. Fortunately, there was no sign it had been identified, let alone entered. Most of his surveillance at the clinic had been discovered and deactivated, but he checked the few remaining cameras as well as the local news feeds. Only a rudimentary guard remained at his building. The rest had moved deeper into the To’Os.

  After Ginzberg. He regretted that. Ginz was a friend…of sorts. But the piece of information he found at his shuttle made survival paramount.

  A message had been received by the ship computer. The message had all of the proper encryptions and passcodes to not only reach the ship but be acquired and decoded by his ship’s systems.

  It was from Nemo: Run. Hide. Do not get caught. It is important to Azure and Earth!

  * * *

  “Name and ship registry?” The voice of the stargate controller could be heard over the comm not only on the bridge of the jump carrier, but also on each of the attached ships. Individual ship captains were expected to identify themselves in turn. Soon it was Squiddy’s turn.

  “Otto Octavius, Eta Carinae,” he supplied. The controller acknowledged the list and informed them their stargate departure window was in thirty minutes.

  It looked like a clean getaway. Whoever was chasing him was busy with Ginzberg, and he was sorry about that, but the message from Nemo had warned him not to be caught, no matter what it required. He would also be free of To’Os and the Tossers. It would be good to be away from those evil penguins.

  It was time to disappear.

  * * * * *

  Intermezzo

  “He is in the wind, as the Tri-V calls it?”

  Todd pulled himself out of his transport tank to sit alongside the man as he played with several young children. The Human still looked vital at nearly one hundred years of age, but the Wrogul was starting to show signs he was entering decline. Perhaps it was merely age, although with no autobiographical memory older than sixty-five years, the best he’d been able to estimate was he was at eight hundred years old. Wrogul easily lived to one thousand years, but Todd was starting to show mottling of the skin and clouding in one eye.

  “He’s on the run. Not entirely lost, though. He sent me an encrypted message hidden in a supply order for one of the companies, so we know he got as far as Earth. He felt bad about that patient of his that got caught; he wanted me to make sure he was taken care of.” Roeder lay on the floor, bouncing the two-year old twins; they were his own, but there were also grandchildren and great-grandchildren in the playroom as well.

  Fourteen years ago, Brent Roeder had been an old man in a powered chair, limited to low-gravity environments, due to spinal damage and degeneration. He owed his current health and happiness to extensive nanite therapy that rebuilt his neural circuits allowing him to control his own muscles again. With restored mobility came restored vigor, and Roeder was famous—or infamous, in his words—for trying to populate the entirety of Azure colony on his own.

  “This is disturbing news, though,” Todd flashed. “This rogue Wrogul, that is.”

  “Was that meant as a pun, Todd? Have you finally succumbed to my example?” teased Roeder. Then, more seriously, he said, “I know. I’ve checked the ship manifests for the past twelve years. We can’t be certain no one from Sorrows Bay has gone to space that we didn’t know about—but it seems unlikely.”

  “Indeed, Jacques has never forgiven me for letting Verne go. It is why he took his ‘protectorate’ out into Sorrows.” Todd flashed creasola, the pattern for regretful contemplation.

  “Well, if it’s not one of them, we can account for every one of your Wrogul descendants…” Roeder paused. “That is, unless Squiddy budded again after Otto.”

  “He should be due, but you told me Molina and the other three have desynchronized.” Todd flashed creasola again. “That is normal from what I know of our biology.”

  “Yes, Squiddy was over a year late with Otto. He could have budded again by now, but I think that’s unlikely. He was unhappy enough that his surroundings endangered his offspring, which is why he arranged to have Cartwright transport Otto back here. He is smart and resourceful and probably figured out a way to hold off the budding, not unlike yourself.”

  “I think you, of all Humans, know this is not voluntary.” Todd had done nothing to dispel the rumor that not budding for the two cycles since he returned from Earth was a personal choice. Bailey and Cavanaugh would have known—and now Roeder—that it was not choice, but biology. Todd was aging and might not have many years left. Of course, with Wrogul, no one knew how long the senescence might take.

  “So, it’s not one of us,” Roeder said. Todd noted the inclusive term and flashed concurrence. Us.

  “Yes, that makes it one of them.” Todd managed to get the comm to convey foreboding and anxiety. “One of my people.”

  “No. Not your people. You are not one of them and haven’t been for almost seventy years. As your grandson would say, you are Human.”

  “One of my forebears, then.” Todd sighed. “That doesn’t make them any more or less dangerous. They are an unknown, and we don’t know whose side they are on in this war.”

  * * * * *

  Part 5: Harryhausen

  Chapter One

  “I am not going to work with this damned blubbery fish.”

  “I am not a fish, you empty-headed dog.”

  “You live in a fish tank; you’re a fish.”

  “…and you lick your balls, so you are a dog!”

  “I do not…” he said with a growl that quickly grew in volume.

  “Gentle Beings…” came a third voice, attempting to be heard over the growls and splashing sounds.

  “Damned fish, splashing water all over everything, getting my fur wet.”

  “Look, you moron, I’m a Wrogul; an intelligent cephalopod. Note the intelligent part—that is more than I can say for you!”

  “Damned uppity technician with way too many tentacles.”

  “Those are arms you idiot.” There was a brief slosh as the Wrogul lifted itself up out of its transfer tank. “I have eight arms and two tentacles! How many times do I have to remind you? Oh, I forgot, you have no brains! Scientists have long proven dogs with too many teeth in their mouth devote an inordinate space to jaw bone and tooth roots. They do not have any room left in their skull for brains!”

  The Besquith started to growl even louder. Th
e third sophont tried to interject again. “Gentle Beings, please!”

  “I’ll squash your brains and eat them for breakfast, fish!”

  “Look, stupid, call me an octopus, call me a squid…Hell, call me Human, I do not care, but I am not a fish!”

  “Stupid, squishy bundle of rubber bands is what you are. And why in the hell do you wear that stupid hat? You live in the water!”

  “The hat protects me from sunburn, teeth-for-brains, for when I’m out of the water. Besides, it is traditional.”

  “Traditional? What do you know of tradition? You aren’t even a member of that race!”

  “That is a base insult. I am…”

  The Oogar Barracks Commander didn’t need to change the volume control on his translator, but she did it anyway. “Shut up!” she roared, and the words echoed in the sudden silence. “You two are working together because the order from Guild Headquarters said you are working together! That’s the end of it! I won’t hear any more protests, or you are both going to be up on charges!”

  * * *

  My name is Harryhausen. You can call me Ray. I am a PI—that is a Peacemaker Investigator.

  The big mouth Besquith over there is Lujkhas, my partner. She is not a bad being, just a bit prejudiced and not as smart as she thinks she is. Of course, that’s why she has me. We argue like this because we know it gets on Lieutenant Crom’s nerves.

  It is a delicate balance, can we get the L-T to blow up without getting ourselves in trouble? Most of the time. It actually gets her to tell us our assignment without obsessing over minor details like how important the assignment is to Galactic Union stability and all of that mush.

  Look, just tell us the job, send us off, and we will do it. Lujkhas is the Enforcer, I am the CSI—that is, the cognitive science investigator—just like those old Earth crime dramas I watched back on Azure.

  I like to think that one day I can solve enough cases that someone will make a Tri-V show about me. Maybe I can even go and clean up that little town in Maine with the abnormally high murder rate.

  Until then, Lujkhas and I have a job to do.

  * * *

  “I just want you to listen to me!” The barracks commander knew she was getting worked up—yelling, shaking, tearing at her fur in frustration—there was purple fuzz everywhere.

  “Yes?” Lujkhas and Ray both said quietly. The Besquith’s mouth was actually closed over her teeth, which was a tell-tale sign she was amused, and Ray flashed sooltory—ironic amusement.

  Lieutenant Crom took in their too-innocent expressions and let out one more shriek, “Aaaaaugh! Hr’ent save me!” She rolled her eyes.

  It looked like a purple snowstorm had hit the office. Oogar typically had two volumes, loud and louder. The lieutenant tried—she really tried—to rein in her natural instinct to increase her volume in both boisterous good humor and anger, but these two brought out the worst in her, and she knew they did it deliberately. They simply couldn’t have this much antipathy toward each other considering how well they worked together.

  “You have an assignment,” Crom continued, trying to be reduce her volume, but she only partially succeeded. “HQ on Kleve should have sent you the assignment already! I’m supposed to find out what you need for support.”

  “Sure, I’ve got it on my comm,” Lujkhas said. “Some creature looking like Blubberface here tortured a merc. It also broke several conventions and local laws: personal action by a member of a non-merc race, hiring of mercs outside of Guild sanction, interference with the lawful planetary government…” Lujkhas had closed her eyes and was reading the communication off her pinplants.

  Ray continued the litany. “…possible use of an Artificial Intelligence, use of unsanctioned pinplant techniques, cognitive experimentation on a provisional sophont, crimes against fashion…”

  “You made that last part up,” corrected Lujkhas.

  “That was for calling me Blubberface, Snaggleteeth.”

  The enforcer and forensic specialist looked like they were going to resume their shouting, so Crom cut it short “Stop It! Just…stop!” She heaved a sigh and another cloud of purple fur filled the office. “Just…what do you need?”

  “Nothing,” Lujkhas stated with finality.

  “I will need some specialty equipment from Azure to enable me to work out of water for extended periods of time,” Ray said.

  “Fine, just…fine. Done. Now please, get out of my office!”

  As the duo left the barracks commander’s office, she commed to her Jeha assistant. “K’ntk’t’k, please bring in the negative pressure cleaning unit.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  I know what you are thinking. How does a good son of Azure end up in the Peacemaker Guild as an investigator and not an enforcer? Well, it was not for lack of trying. I mean, we Humans can do anything we set our minds to, right? Well, when I set out from my home colony, I followed in the paths of several great Humans—the aquatic, octapedal kind—the mechanic, the chef, the surgeon. I was going to be the cop, and I had watched all the documentaries, like Lethal Weapon, The French Connection, Rush Hour, and Super Troopers, and read all of the instruction manuals by Clancy, Griffin, Grisham, and Conan Doyle. The Conan part caused me a bit of confusion, so I read the Robert E. Howard books, too.

  I. Was. Prepared.

  I applied to the Peacemaker Guild, and they wouldn’t take me seriously. They said I wasn’t from a merc race, so I couldn’t be an enforcer. I told them I was too from a merc race…I am Human. They said I was a Wrogul. As if that means anything where I come from.

  On the other arm, they told me, Human or Wrogul, I could still work for the Guild. I could be in the laboratory.

  On the third arm, it was boooooooooring!

  Look, the first time they sent me to the laboratory, the other techs thought I was the subject! Well, except for that one guy who thought I was lunch. He certainly was not expecting it when I knocked him out with one punch! “Why does a Wrogul carry brass knuckles?” they asked. “You don’t have knuckles!” they said.

  Sure I do. Big brass ones!

  The barracks commander said that was not the only big brass whatsits I have. He was a Jivool, and he slung that Cartar over his shoulder and took him off to the infirmary. I never saw him again—the Cartar that is. Then again, I really do not spend much time in the lab since I get sent to the field a lot.

  Usually I am paired with another low-level investigator, but I think someone at Guild HQ finally noticed I do good work. I was asked to gather evidence on illegal pin-tapping, where a mining consortium was hijacking pinlink signals from some of their competitor’s employees and stealing that company’s technical secrets. I not only found the pin-tapping equipment they were using, I reverse-engineered the pinlink connection and spied on the spies!

  Then there was the illegal chop shop. Oh, it is not illegal to cut another sophont up for organs if they foolishly signed the release forms, but the Trade Guild frowns on implanting that same sophont’s cognitive ganglion into your own body to access their memories! Now that was a messy case!

  I was paired with Lujkhas for both cases. She—or he, I’ve never been able to keep it straight Lucky is a hermaphroditic gamma, after all, not really a he or a she as a Human would know it. She doesn’t really care, though, so I usually call him…her…or him. It depends on my mood. Anyway, I have worked with Lucky for several years now. We fight. We fight all the time. It is our way of working the problem. We argue, we fight, I knock her out with my knucks, she bites my arms and draws blood, then swipes my translator and hides it. I leave a bucket of water where I know she will walk and make sure she gets wet. All the while we talk…well, shout…about what we are thinking.

  It works. It works pretty well, and HQ keeps sending us out.

  * * *

  “What do you know of this world, Ray?”

  As an Enforcer, Lucky could occasionally rate a courier ship or arrange for passage on a merc ship or passenger v
essel. Unfortunately, the Guild did not rate this as a high priority mission. There was something going on that required movement of a lot of personnel and equipment. Besides, the Coro Region was pretty quiet at the moment with little merc activity and few destinations attractive to passenger and tourist trade. The Science Guild was due to rotate the research team at Minkulos next month, and HQ had arranged passage on the resupply ship. It required payment of a diversion fee to get the ship to stop at To’Os and would require other arrangements for return or further travel, but if the Peacemakers were to get any information before the trail turned cold, they needed immediate transportation.

  “I know little of To’Os Prime itself, but I met a native at the Academy. She said she was the black…bird of the family. Apparently, it is a syndicate government controlled by organized crime.”

  Lucky was on the gravity deck of the Science Guild carrier while Ray remained in his zero-G quarters. It was an arrangement that worked for them. They could perform their duties independently. More importantly, they could be separate, yet stay in touch by comm. As long as they did not have to be together for the entire one-hundred seventy hours of hyperspace, they could keep the fighting to a minimum.

  “And this classmate…”

  “Tosser.”

  “Tosser. Your friend Tosser.”

  “No, her name was Tooelle. Her people are the Sphen-Eudy, but commonly called Tossers—just not to their face.”

  “Well why didn’t you say it was a generic label and not a name!”

  “It is a name. It is just not her name.”

  “You know what I meant, you damned rub—” There was an audible sigh from Lucky’s end of the comm. “Anyway, this Tosser you met was the black-sheep because she wasn’t a criminal?”