An Elaborate Scheme
by Marie Bilodeau
RUSSELL TERK NUDGED the pack of wires with his boot, his partner sucking in breath behind him, the sound resonating through the secured access corridor.
“Must you do that?” she hissed through her thick Astromian accent.
Terk nudged it again, partly in annoyance at his less than junior partner, and partly out of curiosity. He crouched down for a closer look. To the untrained eye, this would look like a bomb, with multiple wired access points, either to ignite multiple offsite loads or to make the signal impossible to cut without triggering an explosion. Like the most redundant bomb ever created.
But to trained eyes, which Enforcer Terk’s certainly were, it was just a messy bundle of wires bundled together like some demented floral arrangement. Of course it had taken him five hours to determine that, but now he was sure.
Sure enough, anyway.
He pulled free his knife, an unorthodox but practical gift from his father on his graduation day, and stripped a few of the wires with deft movements.
“You will get us killed!” Pamplona hissed again.
“We’d be dead by now, if that was the case,” Terk mumbled, turning a bit to see her. But he could only see her retreating back as she ran out of the room, her tail low and between her legs.
“If you’re going to run,” he called, “let’s play it safe. Get them to evacuate the Jar.” On the other side of the wall behind him were the offices of Plexis Security, most particularly the Decision-Pending Wait Room, where those under a cloud—or late with taxes—awaited judgment. The Jar.
Pamplona held up her arm, indicating she’d heard, before vanishing around the corner. He shook his head, glad she would be the one to tell the guards that. Not going to endear the Port Jellies. Not that he cared.
A bomb this close to his commander, that he cared about. He focused on the wires. Copper, some titanium, a few synthetic filaments he didn’t recognize . . . this was messy work.
Messy, Terk grabbed a few wire samples and put away his knife, but still impressive work. Maybe someone preparing a colorful bomb arrangement for his beloved?
Terk chuckled as he stood up. He heard raised voices, and his mood quickly soured.
Evacuating the Jar would land him lots of paperwork. And he still wasn’t convinced this was the only device on or near the premises.
Or that all of them were as harmless.
* * *
• • •
“They took the third Vani’sh’la painting! One of the only known originals in the entire Trade Pact, and beyond, I assure you!” the Gentek Trade Commissioner’s aide, a short humanoid with a florid complexion that did nothing for his dappled skin, waved his arms at the wall.
P’tr wit ’Whix nodded sympathetically. “And you say no one was spotted on the premises?”
Even after all these years, his own voice, relayed through his implanted com, sounded foreign to him.
“The alarm system, composed of multiple layers, including motion detectors, electrical fences, oxygen traps, and laser—” The aide lowered his arms and cleared his throat at the look ’Whix gave him. Those were not all exactly legal. “Yes, well,” he continued, “let’s just say it would prove impossible to get away without being detected.”
’Whix nodded. “Could it be an inside job?”
The aide’s skin turned a rather sickly peach. “No. Only myself and the commissioner’s family.”’Whix raised his beak slightly to look down suspiciously at the being, this the closest he could come to Commander Bowman’s ominous raised eyebrow, then focused both eyes on the aide, though he always felt more comfortable keeping a closer eye (or two) on his surroundings.
The aide’s eyes grew even larger, the pupils widening with worry. “I would, I would never . . .” he stumbled.
“I imagine you would be wise enough not to,”’Whix said. “Nevertheless, we must pursue all avenues of investigation. If the painting was not stolen from without, it leads me to conclude that it was appropriated from within.”
The aide stood very still. In the silence, ’Whix could hear his current partner, his voice a continuous drone. Like an insect. Not for the first time, he wondered how Clonsen managed to lead any successful interviews. The Ordnex never seemed to stop talking long enough to breathe, much less listen to an answer.
“We’ll bring you all to the station,”’Whix ordered. “It’s for your own safety, as well,” he added more kindly. He doubted the aide did have anything to do with this, by his agitation and long service. “For all we know, the thief is still hiding somewhere in this residence.”
The aide’s face grew even peachier, and he quickly left to find the commissioner and her family. ’Whix looked at the blank wall, where the painting had, for all accounts, vanished into thin air.
He opened his beak slightly in pleasure.
This mystery was exactly what he needed to remove some of his growing doldrums. He’d returned to Plexis, a fully fledged enforcer, fourteen standard days ago. He hadn’t become an enforcer just to patrol the supermarket.
His analytical mind needed the stretch more than his legs.
* * *
• • •
Terk wished he could have left Pamplona at the office, but she had a nose on her that made her hard to shake. Regulations, which he mostly tried to follow, also stated he shouldn’t try to abandon her. Safety in numbers, and all that.
But still, her fight-or-flight instincts weren’t exactly tuned to his liking. They hadn’t been in any danger. The bomb had been a dud, after all.
Unless, of course, the would-be bomber had actually just set up a distraction, and something worse is waiting for us.
He wasn’t sure. A sophisticated criminal could plant false leads easily. And distractions. Smokes and shadows. And he didn’t know yet if he was dealing with a sophisticated mind. All that he was sure of was that the security offices buzzed with activity, and he needed to think.
He thought better while walking.
“Some of these wires are weird,” Terk offered, trying to engage his partner.
“Oh?” she said, not looking his way. Her species was more aloof; the commander had warned him. He tried not to take it personally.
They stepped outside into the lively air of Plexis, and he took a deep breath. This place was rarely dull, which he loved. As long as it didn’t get him blown up.
“Some of the wires had a dual copper plate on the end caps with synthetic reinforcements. That’s not exactly standard. And it’s illegal because of dangerous signal degradation and fire hazard, so there would be limited supplies on Plexis.” He offered her one of the stripped green wires. She looked at it with feigned interest—but not quite feigned enough.
“Why don’t we go see if someone could tell us where they come from? You know, as a clue,” he added in frustration.
“Sure,” she said, noncommittal. “But we should report in, first.”
He sighed. Plexis was interesting enough, yes, but his partner certainly managed to wash all color from it.
* * *
• • •
“Theinterestingthingaboutthesurrsonsnailsisthattheyactuallyeat selectedmaterialsandthenregurgitatetheminordertobuildtheirownshell.They’lldoitwithanymaterialandsomecombinationsareunexpectedlybeautiful.”
’Whix again marveled at his partner’s apparent lack of regard for breath. “And how does this relate to this painting?” the Tolian asked as he entered the aide’s chambers and began looking for clues. The aide was certainly kept in opulence. It made him an even less likely suspect.
“Well,earlyVani’sh’laworksaresaidtobeinspiredfromsomeofthesurrsonpatternsAndwe’retryingtofindoneofhispaintings . . .” Clonsen paused meaningfully.
’Whix sighed. “Fascinating,” he offered. His partner inhaled, and ’Whix cut him off before he could
leap into another lecture. “Why don’t you take the rooms to the left, and I’ll take the ones on the right.”
Clonsen nodded and headed off. ’Whix slipped into the first room, finding very little to investigate.
The self-styled embassy—strictly speaking a trade mission with semipermanent staff—was a good size for Plexis, which meant expensive. The Gentek were determined to increase their visibility, a challenge for a species most couldn’t tell from Human.
The Tolian went from room to room, looking each over carefully.
He entered another room, a large one, which he took to be the room of the commissioner’s son. His taste was as lavish as his parents. Then again, with a name like Alo’cys Remmbraman the 27th, ’Whix could only imagine that the son was no stranger to lavishness.
Everything was perfectly set, from the dark shimmering canopy of the large bed to the intricate art on the walls. ’Whix hesitated, glancing around, trying to grasp every detail. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite tell what.
He did another scan of the room, then another, slower, one.
His eyes were drawn to the top of a desk seemingly made of some sort of large animal pelvic bone. His eyes narrowed. The painting over the desk cast a shadow and seemed slightly askew on one corner, as though something had pushed it forward and it was no longer flush against the wall. That’s what had seemed off, in such a well-kept and perfectly maintained room.
“What do we have here?”’Whix muttered as he reached up to pull the painting down.
Behind it, nestled in a hastily-crafted crevasse in the faux stone wall, not quite deep enough to completely hide the artifact, cozied up another painting.
Smaller than he’d anticipated, the colors were striking and the wild brush strokes probably unmistakable to the trained eye.
“Clonsen,” the Tolian summoned, as he continued to admire what he could only assume to be the missing Vani’sh’la painting. His theory was soon backed by the many enthusiastic facts offered by his partner.
’Whix only half listened.
Why would the commissioner’s son steal his own painting?
“We should return to the security offices,”’Whix concluded. Something about this whole affair reeked. And he needed to figure out what, sooner rather than later.
* * *
• • •
Commander of the Trade Pact Enforcers for this sector, Lydis Bowman, paced back and forth in her office. The space was a grudging loan from Plexis Security, swept for eavesdropping devices and featuring shiny new enforcer-quality locks on the doors. Neither Inspector Wallace, head of that security, nor Plexis were happy to have her cruiser, the mighty Conciliator, parked near incoming customers.
Not that Bowman cared. “I have the Board Members breathing down my neck and a potential bomber on top of the Intergalactic Lichen Conference. Which starts today. We’re about to be swamped with delegates from three hundred systems. It’s our job to ensure their safety and to make sure they don’t feel our presence. Without upsetting the local Jellies.” She glared at Terk, all of her annoyance temporarily focused on him.
Terk, who was much taller, broader and, by all accounts, carried more firepower than his commander, nonetheless had to stop himself from shifting uncomfortably.
She relented and sighed, sitting down.
“I have to focus on the conference safety. That has to be my priority. Too many high-level scientists and fancy politicians coming to schmooze.”
Terk was starting to relax again but stiffened back up as she focused back on him, narrowing her eyes.
“I need someone on this bomb. And a few other cases Plexis can’t handle.” Bowman tapped her eyebrow, activating her com. “Send him in.”
Terk turned around to see a familiar face above a very new Trade Pact Enforcer uniform.
“Constable Terk,” P’tr wit ’Whix greeted, one eye on him and the other tracking Bowman. Terk found himself wishing he could do the same.
“Welcome back,” Terk said. The Tolian had been gone for six months for special enforcer training, something Terk had done earlier in his career, as well. The Tolian didn’t look too scathed for it, which Terk respected.
“As I was saying,” Bowman continued, as though the three had been having a casual conversation. “I need someone to handle distractions while my attention is on conference security.” She added under her breath, “My undivided attention has been requested.”
“So, we need to make sure station security is maintained?” Terk offered, crossing his arms.
Bowman waved his words away as though they offended her. “No no, any of their half-brained asleep constables can handle the day-to-day, even with Wallace in charge.” She scowled. “I want eyes on the cases with Trade Pact implications. And no slipups.”
She stood again, and ’Whix snapped to attention. Terk’s arms were still crossed, though he hated the stretch of the uniform seams against his shoulders. A din of voices came through the walls, grating on his nerves. Plexis Security—and the Jar—were still under lockdown while techs cleared any other possible bomb threats.
And they weren’t necessarily the loudest out there, either. Everyone apparently needed to be here today.
“You two are already working such cases. I want you to keep following those leads together. No supervision from me. I expect by-the-book work and nothing that’ll hit any—and I mean any—of the various newsvids here. If anything not lichen-related hits the news over the next few days, or Wallace’s desk, I’m coming straight to you.”
She straightened her uniform, then stared them both down. Terk uncrossed his arms and stood almost fully at attention. Bowman wasn’t one to trifle with, and he knew that. Fair but tough was the kindest way to describe the efficient commander of the enforcers.
“You’re teamed up until further notice. I’m moving your partners to conference security. Consider it a test. I need personal staff. You might do.” She narrowed her eyes some more. “Don’t disappoint me.”
And she was gone, shouting orders as she headed toward the five linked conference centers near the heart of one of Plexis’ cleaner districts.
Terk turned to ’Whix and grinned.
“I’ve got a bomb. What do you have?”
* * *
• • •
After some debate, they’d decided to first ensure no one would actually get blown up.
That would definitely make Bowman unhappy.
Plexis didn’t suffer from a lack of scrap dealers, but black market components were a bit rarer, unless you were going full-out latest tech. This wire was functional but more dangerous than practical. As for how it arrived in the secured corridor? On a hunch, Terk led ’Whix to a dealer of his acquaintance. The Festor’s offerings were mostly junk, for cheap, along with a slew of other less than legal items.
Items that conveniently found their way into the offices of Plexis Security, as it happened. For the guards, and some for the detainees of the Jar. Good odds the owner would remember their last encounter. Just for fun, he’d done his best to shut the place down.
Two enforcers anywhere in Plexis weren’t exactly a welcome sight. Eyes followed them. Some sellers vanished into the shadows.
Terk stopped at the booth where the merchant had his ooze-streaked back to him, and coughed. The Festor turned around, fear flip-flopping on his face for a fraction of a second before offering them a wan smile, hands fumbling at the bib beneath its ample chins. “What can I do for two of the sector’s finest?”
He avoided meeting Terk’s eyes, probably hoping the enforcer didn’t remember him. As if Terk would forget. Still, no point in completely terrifying the being. Not yet, anyway.
“You can tell me where this comes from,” Terk showed him the wire, “and how it got into the security section.”
The Festor made a good show of examining the wire. “I don�
��t believe I recognize this item, Hom Enforcer.” A betraying green oozed from every pore.
Terk leaned in. The seller’s neck bulged as he swallowed. The Human could see green beading around his pointed ears. “You remember nothing?”
“Well,” the Festor said with a thin laugh, “we get a lot of business here. But I remember, ah, I remember that I had some wires with me one day, while doing a delivery in the facilities. There was this one young Hom—waiting for a resolution to some dispute or other. He’d very striking purple hair. Just loved wires. And I thought: it’s just old junk. We laughed about it, joking he would build some sort of squidlike . . .” he stopped, seeing the look on Terk’s face. “Well, you get the idea.”
“You remember this young Hom’s face and name, perhaps?”’Whix offered, in a much gentler tone. Terk bit back a grin.
Good cop, bad cop, it is.
“Looked Human to me, but I don’t quite recall his features. His hair will give him away,” the seller said, looking hopeful at Terk, who could almost hear the unspoken words: Did I say enough to get him off my back?
Terk turned to ’Whix with a raised eyebrow.
The Tolian kept one eye on the scrap merchant, either to make sure he wouldn’t run or to unnerve him. Terk wasn’t sure, but he certainly appreciated the gesture.
“I think we have enough to keep pushing this investigation forward,” the Tolian suggested. The merchant seemed pleased that he was no longer the enforcer’s main focus.
Before Terk could answer, ’Whix turned his head toward the merchant, keeping his body facing his partner, which was a slightly disturbing move from the Human’s point of view.
“But if we need more details,” the Tolian said, his own voice a harsh series of clicks. “We’ll expect to find you here.”
The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis Page 14
