“I will eat later.”
“Stop punishing yourself!”
“I am not punishing myself! I am thinking.” Ray flashed creasola—regretful contemplation. To another Wrogul, it was flavored more with crea, regret, than with sola, contemplation.
“You are obsessing, Uncle. You cannot do that. You were in battle and you used the weapons you had available. Every merc knows that.”
“I am not a mercenary!” Ray’s translator roared. “I am a Peacemaker. A peacemaker and I have become just as bad as…as that…abomination we are after!”
After the outburst, Ray refused to communicate anymore. No flashes, no verbalizations. Just silence. Verne eventually left, despondent for the friend he’d always looked up to as a role model.
* * *
Ray stared at the captured video from the night Mengele raided Molina’s—Squiddy’s—clinic. Jess had enhanced the video and restored full Tri-V resolution so he could zoom in and view from any angle. He had a close-up of the Wrogul on-screen when Lucky over-rode the lock and barged into the compartment.
“You stink.” She wrinkled her nose, then turned and motioned to the two of the three CASPers outside the door to leave the tracked water tank in the hallway and return to their stations. She picked up the limp Wrogul, unceremoniously dumped him in the tank, and then closed the transit cover and locked it with a Peacemaker seal.
She looked at the Tri-V image, then back at her partner. “You’ve started to look like it, you know.” She gestured at the image.
Ray’s normally sleek gray skin was now mottled and brown. Patches of skin were flaking and had turned an unhealthy white. There was a black crust on his sensory tentacles, and several arms showed the dark blue of dried blood. Moreover, Ray’s normally bright green eyes were now a sickly shade of yellow.
Ray did not respond, and Lucky shrugged, closed the compartment door, and instructed Verne in his CASPer to maneuver the tank to the debarking lock.
“Lujkhas, Harryhausen, you need to get on the transport immediately.” Lieutenant Crom ordered. Lucky was surprised to see her at the Peacemaker Consulate on Luna, given that only four weeks ago she had been barracks commander at T’Viendre Two. If Ray was surprised, he did not show it; he remained as silent as he had since Jefferson arrived at Sol.
“Where are we going?” Lucky asked.
“Weqq,” she said simply. Crom looked at Lucky, then at Ray, and cocked her head sideways. A ruffle of movement passed through her fur like a wave of purple highlights. Lucky had never seen the effect since the L-T was usually tearing her fur out at the antics of the pair. “What happened?”
“We were jumped before we hit the stargate. Mercs attacked a flagged PM ship and boarded. They knew it was us and did it anyway.” Lucky sighed and motioned toward Ray, who had turned away at the question, and huddled in a corner of the tank. “This sad, pathetic sea-spider is a hero. He and his cousin slaughtered two dozen Goka and turned the attack. Saved us and the ship.”
Crom looked impressed. “Finest tradition of the Guild. We may have to re-think Enforcer status for him.”
“I wouldn’t do that. It’s how he killed them. Says it violated a moral code.” Lucky shook her head. “I don’t understand it. War is war, battle is glorious, and survival is the only thing that counts, but Blubberface is convinced it’s somehow all wrong.”
Crom now looked worried. Lucky had dropped several of her characteristic insults at Ray with no reaction. She took a deep breath and bellowed in typical Oogar fashion: “Investigator Harryhausen! Attention!” The customary puff of purple fur filled the air about her.
Ray spun around and instinctively snapped to attention—Wrogul style, with all eight arms extended downward and a half-meter splayed out uniformly in eight cardinal directions. Once his vision focused, and he saw that he was not being dressed down by his old lessons master, he slumped and flashed a short pattern. The translator was slow to respond, but eventually yielded two words: “I resign.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven
“…Sign here, acknowledging that by the terms of your separation from the Service, you relinquish all fiscal claims on unreimbursed expenses. You hereby attest that the listed amount is your accumulated pay and agree not to pursue any further claim or reimbursement…Check this box to terminate your housing allowance at your permanent barracks…Sign here and provide the address where we may send any belongings from those quarters…”
The out-processing clerk had to be pulled off the last transport to process Ray’s termination. It was clear he was nervous about the delay and had actually rushed and shortcut several steps to get it over with as soon as possible.
“You don’t have to do this!” Lucky said. Concern was an unusual expression for a Besquith, but somehow it looked good on her. She was going to be a powerful leader for her people one day. “Where are you going to stay? How are you going to live? Where are you going to get the credits?”
“I have a relative in-system. I will visit him for a while and then head back to Azure.”
“You don’t have enough credits to book passage back!”
Ray waved his yack. “Actually, all of us—the Wrogul that left Azure, that is—have a trust fund. We all own equal shares of the biotech industry in the colony. Four of the richest Humans off-Earth made their fortunes from that industry. The surviving member is rumored to be richer than the Horsemen. I will manage.”
“You’re going to see the Human merc, and then you’re going after Mengele, aren’t you?”
The clerk cleared his throat and interrupted their conversation. “Sign here to acknowledge that you will have no contact with any material witness in an ongoing Peacemaker Investigation. That you have deleted all proprietary and confidential Guild files from your slate and pinplants. You may not represent yourself as an employee, contractor, or designated representative of the Peacemaker Guild. You have no legal standing in Mercenary, Trade, or Guild matters, and you are expressly forbidden from any inquiry or investigation that intersects with an open case.
“Furthermore,” the clerk continued, “Barracks Commander Crom has explicitly stated you are not to book passage to Earth. You are not to contact the Human named Ginzberg in any manner. You are to confine your in-system activities to those that cannot be construed as official Peacemaker activities. If you should be apprehended or detained, the Guild will deny any responsibility for your actions. The Guild cannot permit you to be used as leverage by any to-be-named parties in any hypothetical upcoming dispute. Now sign!”
Ray reached out an arm, vibrated the water droplets away, then took the offered stylus and signed, checked, initialed, clicked, and tentacle-tip-printed the checklist.
Lucky looked at him, pleading, “Ray, don’t go!”
Ray pulled himself up out of his travel tank. Whether from the subtle medication and nutrients Verne had added to the water, or from the new resolve, Ray was starting to look better. His eyes were bright green again and his skin was returning to normal. He reached out two arms and took Lucky’s forepaws gently. “I will be okay!” he said and looked her in the eyes. “Now go. Get this poor clerk back on the transport and get out of this system. Something strange is going on, and it doesn’t feel right. I promise I am just going to visit Mari and then head home. Maybe I can convince him to go with me.”
Lucky nodded and then looked away. After all, it wouldn’t do for anyone to see tears in a Besquith’s eyes.
* * *
I know what you are thinking…
No.
No, I do not.
I do not know what I am thinking.
I only know that there is something I must do.
* * *
Ray was forbidden to book passage to Earth. That did not mean he could not go to Earth, just that he could not book passage.
One of the advantages of having a family member who was a chef was that delivery services would be used to him receiving unusual packages. A crate large enough to conta
in a tank of water, oxygen, nutrients, and what looked like a large octopus would likely be mistaken for the next day’s chef’s special.
To cover his tracks, Ray booked a ticket on the Grand Tour liner offering views of the air fountains of the Mars terraforming effort, Jupiter’s moons, Saturn’s rings, and flybys of the outer planets. The entire trip would take a month, and since his primary travel tank would be loaded onto the liner, there would be no reason for any Guild observers in the system to think he was anywhere but in his private stateroom onboard the cruise.
Meanwhile, Ray contacted a shipping company to pick up a shipment of “fresh gourmet seafood” for same-day delivery to Chez Marinara in Houston, Texas. Actually, packing the container would be a problem, so he combed through a local directory to find an agency specializing in miscellaneous labor. He found just what he was looking for—a company named General Services that advertised “We also walk dogs.” It was nice to see the classics were not forgotten.
The young man and woman who arrived to complete the packing never actually saw their employer. If they were concerned about all communications being by anonymous text, they never showed it. What interested Ray was listening to their conversation.
“The instructions say to label it ‘Chez Marinara, Houston. Perishable, Open immediately.’” The male read the instructions from his slate.
“Chez Marinara?” the female asked. “This is going to Chef Maury? Wow. I’ve been an admirer for a long time. Did you see him on Iron Chef last week? With eight arms, no one can chop the way he can. I especially love the twirls and flourishes with the knives.”
The male snorted and continued his work.
Ray almost reconsidered his decision to see his fellow Wrogul. If Mari was off on a Tri-V appearance or a culinary tour, it could put a serious crimp in his plans, since contacting him directly to arrange the visit was out. The PM Guild was sure to have someone monitoring their former investigator’s communications. As a good detective, he had tools to encrypt and hide his comms, not to mention he still had the cracking tools from Jess, but he had decided not to take that risk yet.
Perhaps he should.
* * * * *
Chapter Twelve
If he hacked into the slate the General Services worker used, he could bounce the signal around to make tracing and monitoring that much harder. It would not be perfect, but it might cause enough of a delay to cover his tracks.
The signal was bounced through the Earth Federation immigration control comms, then, for good measure, he routed it back into the Peacemaker Guild comms and then through the Secretary of the General Assembly’s office before tunneling through FedMart distribution and into PrimeEx Shipping. That should be enough to disguise it, and the Guild should see it as an external hacker and not internal.
“Chez Marinara. Would you like to make a reservation?” asked the voice on the other end of the comm.
“Howdy! Shay-eff Mow-ray, please,” said Ray, using a voice simulacrum with an accent described as ‘Texan.’
“I’m sorry, but the Chef does not take personal calls. You may contact his representative at the Kev Sharp agency.”
“Way-ell, Ah admit that Ah’m a beeg fan, but this is Prahm-Ex Shippin’ an’ we-all have a shipment comin’ his way that’ll require a signature on deliverah.”
“Ah, very well. We can have someone sign for it,” the receptionist replied.
“Ah’m afrayd it needs ta be the Shay-eff hisse’f thet signs,” Ray pushed back. It should not be unusual for Mari to receive specialty goods marked to his attention only. It was something Ray had discussed with him before Mari left Azure.
“I see. When will this package be delivered?”
“Tomorrah befo’ lunch.” Ray was actually getting a bit tired of the accent. He was not using an automated translation routine, since that could be detected by smart surveillance. Rather, he was generating each twang and drawl individually through his comm.
“Understood. Chef Marinara will be here in the morning. I will alert him to the delivery. Shall I pass on the sender information?”
“Mah records say only thet hit’s addressed ‘Grampa.’” That should be enough of a clue for Mari, even though it would be meaningless to anyone except another Wrogul from Azure.
“Thank you, sir. I have it on his calendar.”
“An’ Ah thank y’all for shippin’ with Prahm-Ex!” As Ray closed the call, he could hear the shipping transport arriving to move his crate to the cargo port.
Ray put himself into a dormant state. It would take approximately sixteen hours to transit to the Rome starport on the grounds of the former Fiumicino airport and then on to the restaurant in Houston. Eventually movement stopped, and Ray could tell his crate had been delivered to a warehouse or storeroom. There was the sound of a power tool cutting the seams of the packaging.
“Okay, whoever you are. You were told that Chef Maury does not take calls—even personal ones.” The voice had an accent Ray had only heard on Tri-V. He checked his ’plants and identified it as Australian. The side of the crate opened to reveal a man of modest height, just past middle-age, as the Humans called it, with rather striking features. “What the—?”
Once the side of the crate was clear, Ray started the treads on his tank and drove out of the packaging. “So, who are you and where’s my Grandson?”
“Your Grand—? Uh, I’m Kev, Kev Sharp. You know the Kev Sharp agency? Talent representatives?”
“This package was supposed to be signed for by Mari and only Mari. Why are you here?”
“Well, he did sign, but then he told me to deal with it. Everyone knows he sources his seafood personally, so this was probably an overzealous fan wanting to sneak inside his kitchen. But you’re—” the man looked confused “—you look just like him, except for the big water tank. Who are you?”
Ray snaked several arms out of the tank and pulled his body up on the edge so that he could look directly at the Human. “I am Harryhausen. Peace—uh, Private Investigator. I am his Grandfather, and I must see him.”
“Well, okay. I guess it’s not hard to see you aren’t a random fan.” He pulled a comm from his belt and gestured toward Ray with it. “I’ll call him, but I warn you, if you’re not who you say you are, the Chef is friends with some powerful people in this town. Powerful people.”
Ray said nothing. He used to be friends with powerful people, too, but he had resigned from that group, so it likely would not do him any good to say anything.
The annoying Human spoke into his comm, and after a few minutes two very large, very obviously armed Humans came through a door, followed by something that looked like an oversized quad-fan drone, but held a Wrogul in place of cameras and weapons.
Ray flashed a greeting, bypassing the translator and ignoring the Humans in the room.
Mari vocalized back, “Grandfather? What are you doing here?”
Not now. Not here. Ray flashed. I must talk with you in private.
Of course. I must start meal prep in an hour, but we can talk in my office. Mari flashed back. Through his translator he addressed the Humans. “Thank you, Kev. This is indeed my Grandfather. I appreciate you handling this. Guido? Nunzio? Back to the restaurant if you please.
The two heavies helped maneuver Ray’s tank into a black panel van after guiding Mari’s floater into its own latch-points where passenger seats would have been located. The Humans got in up front and drove while Mari filled the time with pleasantries.
“I know, Grandfather. Black is such a hot color for the summer heat, but we just can’t take too many precautions.” The warehouse was in Houston’s Startown, the extra-jurisdictional district that surrounded the starport. Galactic Union law—or lack thereof—prevailed in the Startown, but the region surrounding it was even worse. Outside Startown was an area of rundown housing, closed businesses, and burned-out buildings. There had been a time when North Harris County had been the trendy and fashionable place to live, but that had changed when the Houston
Starport replaced the George H.W. Bush International Airport. The smaller ’port down south at the former William P. Hobby airport was no better, but at least it was primarily controlled by the Cavaliers and other merc units that preferred to manage their own facilities. Hobby would have been closer, but Houston Starport was only about five miles further out from downtown Houston.
“Why did the crate not get delivered to your restaurant?” Ray asked.
“The Earth government thinks anyone with off-world connections is avoiding taxes. All shipments have to be cleared and inspected first. I had to come out in person to sign and wait for Customs to decide if you were taxable. I had Kev do the actual opening just in case you weren’t as labeled.” Mari turned and looked directly at his progenitor and flashed. After all, you are the one who told me to be careful and keep my receptors open. I have much to tell you.
Agreed. Ray flashed. But not here. Not just yet. We have much to discuss.
* * *
I am here. On Earth.
And I lied to get here.
I had, in fact, updated my personal slate from Peacemaker files as soon as we had cleared the emergence point. The case file said Ginzberg was in Houston, working at a merc bar. Hopefully Mari’s contacts could get me to see him without having to use Peacemaker credentials. I had to speak with him, to see for myself what Mengele had done.
Only that way could I reassure myself that what I had done was justified to stop the monster.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirteen
Chez Marinara was in downtown Houston in a building that had once housed the ancient local center for distribution of hardcopy messaging and physical packages before they were replaced by slate messages and courier drones. The coming of the Galactics had been the final death stroke for the Post Office, but the building had been repurposed as a combination restaurant/Tri-V filming studio. Mari’s restaurant was constantly expanding, given that it was a favorite among the Houston glitterati. The studio contained show kitchens and prep space for his various Tri-V shows: the ever popular Cooking with Marinara, the Iron Chef spinoff Eight Arms versus Two, the children’s show Kitchen Science with Chef Maury, and the upcoming Celebrity Cooking Cruise Featuring Chef Maury! The building was not completely given over to Mari’s business endeavors, however, and contained a fairly large apartment, complete with large water tank and basking shelf. It was also thoroughly shielded and contained almost as many defense and escape systems as the blueprints he had seen of Squiddy’s clinic.
Do No Harm Page 29
