Murder on the Orion Express

by Nate Streeper

  Alice and her parents, rather. My ex-in-laws were a little worse for wear—like most of the passengers on the Titanic IV, they’d endured over two years of pirate enslavement—but they’d survived. They’d resigned themselves to being captive for the rest of their lives. Reuniting with their daughters must have felt like a second life, entirely.

  I was about to throw Listic up and have her pin our location on port’s holoboard, but Margo already spotted us and was heading our way. I hadn’t seen her for quite a few years. She had done something different with her hair. Still tall and lithe. Still indisputably beautiful.

  “My god,” Margo said, crying. “My god.” The family of four hugged each other, sobbing. I couldn’t help but tear up, myself. “Alice, thank god. Mom. Dad. I can’t... I can’t...”

  “I’m okay, Margo,” Alice said. “We’re okay.”

  “I know. I know you are.” She held her out at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “I was just so worried. So worried.” She hugged her again.

  Eventually, after they had their fill of consolation, Margo walked over to me.

  “Alan,” she said, offering me a deep hug. Then she stepped back and gave me an earnest stare. “Thank you, Alan. You came through for me. For all of us.” She cleared her throat and looked over at Gina. “Who’s your friend?”

  Before I could answer, Gina piped up. “I’m Bliss. Nice to meet you, Ms. Freed.” She reached her hand out. Margo shook it.

  “Would the two of you care to join us?” Margo asked. “I was going to take everyone back to my place...”

  “No, that’s alright,” I answered. I could tell she was a bit relieved by my response. She had a lot of catching up to do with her family, and I wasn’t part of her life anymore. “Bliss and I need to get back. We have another flight to catch. Back to Victoria.”

  “Oh. Oh, alright then,” Margo answered. “Well, know that you’re always welcome.”

  “Just a minute,” Alice said, walking over to me. She matched Margo’s prior look of sincerity. “Thanks, Alan. For keeping me safe. Seriously.”

  “Let’s be honest,” I answered. “You had my back as often as I had yours. You’ll make a fine GalactiCop, someday.”

  “Thanks. I guess I learned from the best.” She put her arms around me for a final hug. “Stay in touch, okay?”

  “It’ll be hard not to,” I replied. “After all, we share an island, now.”

  “Yeah.” She laughed as she pulled away from me. “Weird, right?”

  Margo scrutinized me and cocked her head. “There’s something different about you, Alan. I don’t know what it is, exactly...”

  I thought about what I’d been through lately. About how I felt. I suppose it all came down to mojo. Of course, the new wardrobe the crew had provided me with back on the SpaceFleet cruiser didn’t hurt, either.

  “Must be the shoes,” I said.

  She looked down at them—they were indeed nice shoes—then met my eyes again. She tried to suppress a smile of approval, but I picked up on it. I used to seek the hell out of that smile, but now I discovered I didn’t need it, anymore. It was liberating.

  “Well, whatever it is, it suits you,” she said. “Take care of yourself.”

  I nodded. “You too.”

  She turned and put her arm around Alice’s shoulder as they walked to the port’s exit with their parents.

  Gina approached me from behind. “I still can’t believe we have a place of our own. An entire island? It almost seems overkill.”

  I glanced at her. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  She looked confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “No idea. Stupid Earth saying.”

  She approached the holoboard and traced its flight schedule with her eyes. “So according to this, the next flight to Victoria—actually, the first ever flight to Victoria—is in five hours.”

  I remained silent.

  “But you’re not actually going to Victoria, are you?”

  “No,” I answered. “I’m not.”

  “No,” she said. “No, I’m not, either.”

  We looked at each other and smiled. We’d always be partners. But we’d never be partners.

  “So, where to, then, Mr. Blades?” Gina asked. “The three of us have an island on a fresh planet at our disposal, and none of us seem anxious to take up the offer.”

  “It’ll make for a good summer home,” I said. “I mean, who’d pass up a summer home?”

  “Point.”

  “I’m just saying, I don’t want to live there. Not all the time. Boring, right?”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ll still cross paths. Good chance the three of us will even find each other there at the same time. Not like it’s a timeshare, or anything. I promise, if you show up when I’m already there, I won’t kick you off.”

  She laughed. “Nor will I.” Her laughter died quickly, and she cleared her throat. “Okay, so I’ll go first. I’m going back to Quartermast. CyberOps is still my calling. Always has been. On to the next job. Now, it’s your turn. You staying here? On New Gaia?”

  “No,” I said, almost laughing at the notion. “Oh, god, no. Honestly? This may sound ridiculous, but... I’m going back to Fillion.” She looked at me, surprised. I shrugged. “Odd as it seems, it feels like home to me, now. My apartment. My movie collection. My friends. Dejah’s stew. And people there need help. They really do need help, you know? I was going about this whole private detective thing all wrong. It felt like a role I’d ended up in. But now, it feels like something I’m choosing. And that makes all the difference. Does that make any sense?”

  “It does,” she answered with an honest smile. “It really does.”

  “Besides,” I answered. “I still owe Landlady Marple last month’s rent.”

  She laughed. “Always a man true to your promises, Alan Blades.”

  “I try to be. I promised you we’d take down Denreiker, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” she answered. “And you did.”

  “We did.”

  We looked back at the flight schedules on the holoboard.

  Quartermast, Wing A.

  Fillion, Wing B.

  She’d be heading left. I’d be heading right.

  “Well then,” she said.

  “Well then,” I said.

  We hugged.

  We parted ways.

  I headed down the corridor to Wing B. My flight would be leaving in a few hours. And, as usual, while I walked from Point A to Point B, I assessed the situation. But I wanted a sounding board. Someone who would cut through all the crap.

  I tossed Listic into the air.

  “What’s up, boss?” She looked around. “Hey, we’re on New Gaia! Where’s Margo? Where’s Alice? Where’s Gina? Alan, where are all your lady friends? Tell me you didn’t blow it.”

  “We’ve all gone our separate ways,” I said.

  “And this is good?” she asked. “I mean, those are three amazing women, Alan!”

  “They are.” I thought about it. “They kick a lot of ass. They have a lot of ambition. And they have their own stories to live.” I took a deep breath. “But this story?”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Well, Listic,” I said. “This one’s mine.”

  ∙ • ∙

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a novel is by no means a solitary endeavor. I owe enormous gratitude to the following people and organizations:

  My girlfriend, Daphne Garlick. You did far more than support me through this undertaking. You invested yourself on every level. Beta reading, content editing, line editing, plot point organizing, cover designing, paperback formatting, book publishing, web designing, Facebook marketing... The list goes on. You were my harshest critic when I became overconfident, and you were my l
oudest cheerleader when I needed a boost. Thank you for being everything I needed you to be, and more.

  My pop, Daniel Streeper. Thank you being the first writer I ever knew.

  My mom, Kathleen Streeper. Thank you for always believing in me.

  My brother, Josh Streeper. Thank you for helping me shape my imagination.

  My long-lost cousin, Len Streeper. Thank you for feedback, guidance, and inspiration.

  My primary beta readers: Jason Briggs, Amy Blume, Jeremy Gold, Cynde Callera, Jazz Shepard, Shyama Osborne, and Olivia Jaramillo. Thank you for suffering through entire half-baked manuscripts and helping me shape them into this novel.

  My cover artist, Dharitha ‘Dee’ Pathirana. Thank you for bringing my characters to life.

  My copy editor, Aria Jacobsen. Thank you for your attention to detail. (Any mishtakes on this page are my own.)

  My monthly writing group members: Sabine French, Christine Logsdon, Lisa Lamb, Kelly Giles, Sharon Whatley, Sia Morhardt, Yvette Keller, Calla Gold, Risa Erskine, Vanessa Massel, Meghan Fitz. Thank you for helping me put more polish on my prose.

  My cheerleaders: Mac Talley, Lee Wardlaw, Bob Ficarra, Hank Romero, Mitchell Bogatz, Patrick Mackay, Elizabeth Garlick, Page O’Brien, Lynn Dubinsky, Angela Nowlin, Colleen Young, Phillis Castagna, Debbie Dunn, Bryan Dunn, Beau Wilding, Tiffany Kim, and Sheila Heim. All my friends and peers. Thank you for pushing me forward.

  My cats: Eleanor, Kitty, and Sir Finnegan Walter O’Malley. Thank you for sitting on my keyboard and reminding me to chill.

  My kick-starter, National Novel Writing Month. Thank you for inspiring this novel’s first draft.

  My method of distribution, Kindle Direct Publishing. Thank you for giving unknown authors like me a chance.

  My role models: Hugh Howey, Andy Weir, and E L James. Thank you for convincing me to self-publish.

  My intimate tutors: Anne Lammott, Stephen King, and Walter Mosely. Thank you for writing the best books about writing that have ever been written.

  My primary sources of inspiration: Agatha Christie, Raymond Chandler, Adam Douglass, Philip K. Dick, William Gibson, Roger Zelazny, George Lucas, Joss Whedon... and all the other giants whose shoulders I am so obviously standing on. Thank you for giving my life direction. I couldn’t have done this without you.

  ∙ • ∙

  About the Author

  Nate Streeper is a librarian by day, and an author by night. Located in Santa Barbara, California, he spends his free time running along the waterfront, reading science fiction, creating wacky card games, collecting comic books, binging on Netflix, playing with his cats, and writing... eventually writing.

  www.natestreeper.com