by S F Chapman
Now the old investigator found that he was unwittingly leading the inquisitive little girl through the lab.
She stared up at him with dark, saucer-shaped eyes. “What shall we look at next, Daddy?”
Ryo smiled at the girl, “There's a small particle accelerator in the basement that we can peek at, I have no idea of how it works but it has plenty of pipes and wires.”
“OK,” Dilma pouted a bit at the prospect of seeing more great things without receiving sufficient explanations.
Ryo pointed to a door and they shuffled off.
The old Investigator sighed as they walked down the hallway together; he had to get some help for the formidable task of raising the girl.
• • •
It was about 3 AM, she groggily estimated.
The tiny apartment that they shared was uncomfortably cold, Keira realized as she snuggled closer to Lev in a sleepy attempt to purloin some of his body heat.
The chilliness of the last several days matched her mood.
After months of relative peace between the two of them, Lev had gotten restless again and decided to take a break from his efforts to complete his doctorate studies at the University.
The relentless tug of the Enlightenment Crusade seemed to be pulling him away from her.
Keira dreaded his involvement with the mildly subversive student group not only because it drew his attention away from their relationship but also because the organization contained a great many attractive and promiscuous women.
Before Ryo Trop had introduced them, Lev had bed-hopped with far too many of the Crusaders. It had taken months of effort on Keira's part to get Lev to settle down and pledge monogamy to her. They had even talked recently of engagement and eventual marriage.
She shivered in the cold apartment.
In the morning, after stopping by to see his mother in the Old Town District, Lev would leave for New Rome with a group of activists to agitate for slave's rights in EurAfrica. Many of the Crusaders had been jailed in New Rome in the last few months and three had even been killed in skirmishes with the locals.
Keira had made him swear that he would exercise caution and remain faithful but she certainly had doubts.
She stroked the profuse hair on his chest as he slept and listened wistfully to the slow cadence of his breathing.
The physical hazards of social activism seemed minor compared to the carnal perils presented by pretty young women.
• • •
Well, that's odd.
Chief Inspector Helga Bennet slowly reread the Daily Unsolved Crimes Briefing in her dim workroom at the Free City Inquisitor's Office.
An unusually high number of suspicious deaths had been recorded in the Space Salvage Industry in the last three weeks.
The curmudgeonly woman thumbed through a stack of reports on her desk for a file that she'd read two days earlier from Mariner's Station on Mars.
Helga scanned the rather routine Crime Scene Report.
The description of Decedent Number 2 listed the poor soul's occupation as “Grappler's Mate” onboard the Salvage Ship Defiance.
The recent murder on Mars seemed to fit right into the crime wave.
Why would someone target junkmen? They were a rough-and-tumble group but otherwise fairly innocuous.
She would certainly alert the Prime Minister to her suspicions during this morning's daily update.
Undoubtedly the Prime Minister would direct the Inquisitor's Office to investigate further.
The bigger problem, Helga ruminated as she stacked the reports together, was that the inquiry would require an Investigator of the highest expertise.
Unfortunately her best man was currently unavailable.
• • •
They stood together in the little foyer of the townhouse on Breton Street where Jana had raised Lev, he in his traveling clothes and she in her bathrobe and slippers, both dreading the icy harshness of the dawn just beyond the front door.
Jana Fesai briefly glared at her son, “I have to say that I'm rather disappointed that you've decided to put off your studies again.”
“Sorry,” Lev cringed at the scolding.
Only she was able to induce guilt in him for his occasional misdeeds. Try as she might, certainly Keira couldn't invoke the same sense of shame that his mother could effortlessly produce. “I like to think that I'm helping to improve the lives of others, Mom.”
Jana softened a bit as she straightened the wide collar of his chartreuse Pea Coat; “I suppose that is a noble cause.”
He brushed her fidgety fingers away from his finery, “Thanks; I wish that Keira felt the same way.”
“Well;” Jana groaned, “you are leaving your rather temperamental fiancée in the lurch to head out to the dangers of New Rome. I can't say that I'm unsympathetic towards the poor sweet thing.”
He stared at her in consternation for several seconds, “It's important that I help to free the enslaved and better the lives of the disadvantaged in EurAfrica.”
She nodded.
The young man hoisted his knapsack and pulled open the door.
“Be careful;” she caught his arm and reached up to kiss his cheek, “and remember that you're the most important person around for both Keira and I.”
“Don't worry Mom;” Lev finally smiled, “I know.”
4. News Item: One year on: The destruction of Arusha
Dateline: 2nd of August, 2446; Free City, Earth
In a grim testament to its significance in the recent history of humanity, essentially all members of our lowly species recall where they were one year ago today when they learned of the barbaric destruction of the opulent EurAfrican capital of Arusha.
At the time of the colossal aerial blast high above the Maasai steppes, no one knew of the treacherous and vengeful plot by the now thankfully slain Supreme Imperial Warlord of the Outer Reaches, Dimitri Verhovnyi against his half-brother, Daniel Kufuzu, the Exalted Warlord of EurAfrica.
The petty sibling squabble instigated by Verhovnyi caused the madman to engage several bands of space pirates to fulfill his wicked desire to slay his brother.
The murder weapon was, of course, the huge matter/antimatter explosive device that destroyed the jewel of East Africa.
The most horrific of deeds also massacred nine million residents of the capital city: unfortunate innocents slaughtered by a maniac.
The wide swath of death and devastation had begun exactly two months and one day earlier when Verhovnyi's vile henchmen stole the volatile antimatter used to make the bomb from the Lunar Ultra Energy Research Lab on the plains of the Sea of Crisis, kidnapping several scientists and obliterating the facility to boot.
Amongst those captured by the space raiders was Free City University's most talented researcher, Dr. Jana Fesai. Fortunately, she and most of the other abductees were freed months later by a tenacious and clever band led by Inspector Ryo Trop of the Free City Inquisitor's Office. Most of the exploits that preceded the return of the hostages and the mysterious death of the Warlord of the Outer Reaches remain hidden behind an impenetrable shroud cast over the inquiry by those at the highest levels of Free City Government.
We may never know what really happened in this most horrendous of human affairs.
Those that wish to honor the murdered citizens of Arusha are encouraged to attend memorial services held this evening at the War Atrocities Monument in Roscommon Park.
5. Through the eyes of Sabra MacFarland
She slowly twisted around in the warm, dark room and opened her eyes.
Where was she?
For a good half-minute, twenty-year-old part-time Experimental Studies student Sabra MacFarland tried to silently discover where she had spent the night.
She was sandwiched uncomfortably between two others who were still slumbering. By the particular body odors she guessed that there was a sweaty man to her left and perhaps a recently aroused woman to her right.
Citrus and vanilla? Sabra frowned.
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She could barely detect the two fragrances that mingled with the earthy smells of her mysterious bedmates.
Citrus and vanilla were the current favorite variations of incense amongst the loose group of her cohorts in the Enlightenment Crusade.
It was slowly coming back to her now.
Her pudgy fingers glided lightly over what she guessed was the woman's waist. Fine beadwork on a loosely fitting vest, nothing underneath.
It was probably her older sister Desiree, she decided.
In her thick and over-imbibed state Sabra recalled meeting up with Des and several others at a wild counter-culture club last night.
Screaming Supplicants, Sabra winced.
The club was called Screaming Supplicants. There had been strange music and plenty of dancing; certainly stimulants and hallucinogens as well.
Her head throbbed from the recent debauchery.
It would be best if she left before the others awoke. Hopefully no one would remember that she'd been here.
Desiree in particular wouldn't want her cute little sister catching the attention of the warm and sweaty man softly snoring next to her.
She located her clothes and skulked out into a cold adjoining hallway before putting them on.
Sabra tepidly brushed back her grimy brown hair and slipped on her shabby fake fur knee high boots.
Her stomach growled and she was developing a splitting headache.
Sabra tiptoed past several locked doors before she finally found an exit.
Just outside she stood shivering in the chilly early morning gloom on the high front landing of a run down apartment building in one of the seedy outlying districts of Free City.
She still had no idea of where she had ended up.
• • •
After wandering through several nearly deserted blocks, Sabra located a run-down corner bakery that was open.
She smiled hesitantly to the stern and judgmental old man at the counter and ordered a poppy seed bagel and a cup of hot tea.
The skeptical clerk slid the shop's payment interface towards her.
Sabra hoped that she still had some funds in her account to cover the snack.
She swiped her fingertip over the interface.
“4.25 Standard Units charged to Sabra MacFarland,” the device replied.
Satisfied with her solvency, the old man twisted around to retrieve a bagel and beverage for her.
The payment interface chirped an unwelcome addition, “Sabra MacFarland's account balance is now zero.”
The clerk shook his head disapprovingly as he pushed the order towards her.
• • •
It had developed into a particularly crappy morning, Sabra bemoaned as she shivered on the cold bench seat. Fortunately the Free City street transports had always been free, she realized as she bumped along with a few dozing hourly workers in the lumbering old shuttle. Her one essential class at Free City University was in about an hour; hopefully she would be on time.
Sabra felt especially crummy as stared out at the gloominess of the gray early morning metropolis. She hadn't had a bath in weeks, her clothes were tattered and filthy and she was still maddeningly hungry.
In an all too common moment of selfless humanitarianism, Sabra had given away most of her poppy seed bagel to a downtrodden street beggar that she'd met while waiting for the transport to arrive; a noble deed that she now dolefully regretted.
• • •
She slipped into the Experimental Studies classroom at Free City University with a few minutes to spare. About a dozen of her scraggily classmates were milling around in the large rectangular room devoid of furniture. Investigations Into Alternative Lifestyles 501 was an experiential lab class with no need for anything as inhibiting as desks and lecterns. The as-of-yet to arrive instructor had promised that the students would genuinely “feel” their way through the course, both emotionally and physically.
Sabra ruminated on her current lack of funds and her general downward slide towards vagrancy as she regarded her chitchatting peers. Certainly one or two of them would be willing to help out.
She skirted around several of the cattier and well-off teens who had engaged a short high-spirited redheaded woman that Sabra hadn't seen before in the classroom. Sabra sidled up to one of her casual chums; a tall, lanky and often rather conceited fellow named Edlin.
He smirked lasciviously at the possibilities that her arrival might soon produce.
Sabra stroked the profuse hair on his sinewy arm as she cynically trifled with him.
He pressed suggestively against her, “What's up, baby cakes?”
Her eyes twinkled invitingly as she stared up at him, “I ran out of funds this morning. Could you spot me some change for a few days?”
Edlin beamed at his good fortune, his rough hands clasped her waist and crept up towards her breasts.
“What's in it for me?”
A small catlike hand clamped tightly to Edlin's forearm; the long nails, not unlike feline claws, dug into his blotchy flesh. He whimpered from the unexpected assault.
Edlin and Sabra turned in unison towards the assailant.
It was the unfamiliar redhead, now with an especially scornful look of fiery indignation.
“Get lost, you pig!” she growled.
Edlin let loose his hands and left in a huff.
Sabra stared remorsefully at her rescuer, “I know he's a sleazy toss-pot, but I was just trying to borrow a few Units to get me by for a week or so.”
The mysterious woman softened a bit, “I'll help you out Miss MacFarland, without the need to sell yourself to some greasy low-life for a bit of spare change.”
Her savior produced a communication device, “Please credit one hundred Standard Units to Miss Sabra MacFarland.”
Sabra studied the visitor with a mix of gratitude and curiosity; her apparently wealthy benefactor had the odd vocal inflections and word choices of a foreigner.
The communications device acknowledged the transaction.
“Thank you so much,” Sabra whispered.
As the woman turned to leave the classroom, Sabra caught her arm, “You're new here. Where did you come from?”
The redhead grinned enigmatically, “Long ago from the not-so-wild west, dearie.”
She slipped away from Sabra and quickly left the room.
• • •
In the dimly lit anteroom just across the hallway from the classroom now crowded with boisterous Investigations Into Alternative Lifestyles 501 students, the mysterious visitor studied the screen of her communication device as it connected to that of her colleague in the office.
The face of the middle-aged man appeared, “Zmuda here. What do you have for me?”
The woman grinned mischievously at the question; “I've been trailing her for two days now. You were right Lieutenant; Sabra MacFarland is naive, unkempt and a bit trampy but she has strong ideals and an intriguing underlying sense of street-smarts.”
He nodded at the woman's assessment.
“Overall, I think that she's perfect for what you have in mind.”
“Good;” he smiled, “we'll make the arrangements right away. Hurry back to headquarters, Sabina.”
The connection terminated and the stealthy redhead disappeared into the noisy hallway.
6. 21.080N, 12.271E
Tariq squatted briefly in the shade at the base of the ruins; he set the ancient long-barreled Bedouin rifle against the crumbling old wall and stared across the surrounding dunes.
The sun had risen only about an hour ago and already it was scorchingly hot in the early August desert.
He fidgeted with his shemagh face scarf which was the required orange striped with green wore by all of the Desert Serfs. Although not originally one of the sparsely scattered locals, Tariq was certainly outfitted as one.
The searing heat of the early morning had caused the surrounding sands to simmer hypnotically, he noted.
Their Master at the EurAfrican Im
perial Military Base in Tunis had hastily sent Tariq and his two workmates to this desolate inferno a year ago.
After months of sweltering isolation and painstaking work, their vital task was nearing completion.
• • •
For over six and a half thousand years Tunis and its outlying boroughs have suffered through repeated onslaughts.
The particularly strategic coastal promontory with a commanding view of the Gulf of Tunis and the Mediterranean beyond was first settled by Berber traders and later grew to become the fabled Phoenician city of Carthage. The ancient city's location at the southern edge of the narrows between Sicily and North Africa allowed the Carthaginians to tightly control ship traffic and, by extension, trade in much of the eastern Mediterranean.
This advantage quickly led to conflict, most notably with the Romans who eventually enslaved nearly all of the residents after laying waste to the metropolis in 146 BC.
As spiteful as the Romans had been towards the Carthaginians, the location was unmistakably optimal as a trading port and Julius Caesar eventually rebuilt the city. Development quickly spread inland to the area now occupied by Tunis.
When the long Roman rule faltered during the chaos that proceeded the Dark Ages; Genseric, King of the Vandals overtook the city. A half century past before the wobbly remnants of Roman power recaptured the metropolis.
The area later fell to the Arab Muslims that swept across North Africa towards Gibraltar and eventually on into the Iberian Peninsula. Tunis became an important Arab military outpost and trading port during the Dark Ages that shrouded most of Europe to the north in provincial ignorance.
Centuries later during the Eighth Crusade, European Christians briefly tussled with the locals for control of the choice location but the effort proved disastrous. Shortly thereafter Andalusian Muslims and Jews cast out from their homeland arrived in Tunis and the area again flourished in comparative peace for over two hundred and fifty years.
In the 16th Century, the Ottoman Empire battled back and forth with Christians from Spain and Tunis fell for a time into the hands of Europeans. The Ottomans retook the city and it quickly became an opulent center of commerce and skullduggery. Tunis was a primary port for the Barbary Coast pirates that mainly dealt in captured Christian slaves for the Islamic markets of North Africa and the Middle East.
