by Ward Wagher
The driver looked back at Frank and then forward again. “A Stirling Cycle engine, Sir.”
“Is that like a steam motor?”
“Not exactly, Sir. We have some steam power around. This uses an external heat source like a steam engine, but has a self-contained working fluid – some kind of Freon, I think. There’s not a separate boiler.”
Frank leaned back and rubbed his chin. “I can’t imagine how that would work. I guess I’ll have to do some research on it; has me curious.”
“I’ve heard about them,” Wendy said. “Steam and Stirling Cycle plants would pop up from time to time when we analyzed developing planets – in NIS, you know. I had to look it up myself. The idea goes back seven or eight hundred years. I think it was invented in the same century as steam power.”
Frank leaned forward again. “What kind of fuel does this use?”
“Currently kerosene, Sir; but sometimes ethanol or methanol. Depends on what’s available. Kerosene works the best.”
Wendy leaned over closer to Frank. “That sort of gives you an idea of the level of technology here,” she said quietly. “This is the starport for the entire world. If Montora is as backwards as your brother indicated, it’s apt to be interesting.”
“We have an entire culture to learn, and quickly,” he replied. “With everything else, I don’t want to step in something inadvertently. Which, I wonder, if that is what happened to Jack.”
She shook her head as she gazed through a dirty window at the scenery. “I still cannot believe Jack and Sharon are gone. Shar was just about my best friend.”
Frank patted her leg, but said nothing further.
The terminal was in a similar state as the jitney. Originally built from native stone and ceramic, it represented a faded elegance. Puddles of water were spotted randomly about where the recent storm had seeped through the roof. The interior lighting was either non-functional, or turned off during the day. The sunlight streaming through the windows did little to lift the dusty gloom.
The line past the customs desk moved slowly, more due to the sloth of the inspector than any detailed examination of the waiting shuttle passengers. Frank carefully watched the actions of each passenger and their interaction with the customs inspector. After a half dozen people had moved through, Frank spoke softly to Wendy.
“Let’s use our Naval Reserve ID today.”
Wendy glanced at Frank and then unobtrusively placed her passport back in her bag and pulled out the black and gold League Navy ID folder. The Merchant League Navy functioned as a quasi-government in the human inhabited universe. A Naval ID was used as a passport by current and retired Naval personnel and carried heavier authority than most planetary IDs. It was accorded nearly diplomatic status.
Frank pulled out his money clip and looked at it thoughtfully. He pulled a couple of bills from the center of the clip. He folded one and handed it to Wendy. “Slip this to the inspector along with your ID.”
“Lubricating the process, I see.” She didn’t speak loudly enough for anyone else to hear.
“I want him to see the Navy ranking and the cash and not pay attention to the names.”
“Do you think they’re watching for us?”
“Probably not for us specifically, but I suspect there will be an eye out for somebody.”
The Nymans let the line carry them forward until they were in front of the inspector.
“Papers, please!” The Customs Inspector was a small rotund man, less than five and a half feet tall. His uniform was ill-fitting and dirty. He was missing a hat and his gray hair waved in every direction. He stuck out his hand for the IDs without looking up.
“Purpose of your visit,” he said as he opened the folder. He saw the money first and slipped the bill into his pocket.
When he saw the ID his eyebrows raised. He quickly looked up at Frank. “Captain, my apologies.” His lower lip quivered as he spoke. “If we had known you were among the arrivals we could have expedited Customs.”
“Not a problem, Inspector. We’re just passing through and wanted to visit the Navy Office while we were here.”
“Of course, and this would be your…” he trailed off.
“Wife,” Wendy said as she handed him her ID.
“Yes, er, Commander. Welcome to Hepplewhite both of you.” He snapped the folders closed. “Please allow me to arrange transportation for you.”
“Not necessary, Inspector,” Frank said. “You are very busy and we don’t want to be any trouble.”
“But it is no problem.”
“Thank you, Inspector. You’ve already been very helpful. We can make our own way from here.” He took Wendy’s arm and eased away from the desk.
“Very well. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
They walked along the corridor looking for the exit. “I’d like to get to the Navy office in Cambridge before it closes today, Wen. Hopefully they’ll have a place to put us up.”
“We can afford a hotel, Frank.”
“Yes, but I want to keep a low profile. I hope Inspector Fumble-Fingers back there didn’t place our names.”
“He was too busy sucking up to the brass, I think.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Do you suspect the local government of being involved with what happened to Jack and Sharon?”
“I do not feel it wise to rule out anything at this point. We have too little information.”
An athletic looking blond woman walked up to them. “Excuse me, Sir.”
The Nymans stopped and looked at the woman.
“Would you be Captain and Mrs. Nyman?”
“Who is asking,” Frank said coldly.
The woman held out a Navy ID. “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Daphne Locke. Commander Ciera asked if you might join him.”
“Hai Ciera is here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And he knew we were coming?”
“Not precisely, Sir. He tasked me with watching the arrivals for someone associated with your brother, or the situation.” Frank looked carefully at the ID, then around the terminal. He nodded to the two beefy looking middle-aged men behind the Lieutenant.
“You I know. How did Otto get you here so quickly.”
“Hello, Skipper,” the taller of the two said.
Nyman turned to his wife. “Sweetheart, you remember Sergeants Smith and Jones.”
“Oh, do I ever!” she said as she stepped forward and hugged both of them. “Every time I’m in an extended conversation with an old Navy friend, the question always comes up, ‘What ever happened to Smith & Jones?’ You’ve been out, what, fifteen years? And they still talk about you.”
“Yeah, well, Commander,” Smith said, “they just appreciated finesse.”
“And they also appreciated the skill at which you two avoided the stockade.”
“I guess we can’t stand here in the middle of the terminal attracting attention,” Frank said. “I assume you have transportation?”
Smith nodded to the Lieutenant. “We’re sort of hanging around with Commander Ciera.”
Locke spoke, “Yes, Sir. If you will come with me, please.”
They followed the lieutenant out to a parking area and stopped at a battered Rancher vanlet. The two sergeants had spread out, clearly acting as security.
“They have these here too?” Frank said, pointing to the vehicle.
“Yes, Sir. As I understand it, they import a few from Harcourt’s World because they are cheap. If you allow me to take your luggage.” She opened the boot and put the bags there. Jones slipped into the far back seat. Smith helped the Nymans into the center seat, and then climbed into the front with the Lieutenant, who was driving.
“So, Smith, tell me how you two got here so quickly. I sent the message to the colonel a week before we left Harcourt to come here. He should just be getting it by now. The Baltic Regiment is on Addison’s Planet right now, right?”
The sergeant in the front seat interrupted his constant scanning of the en
vironment to glance briefly at Nyman. “Commander Jorgenson, one of Admiral Krause’s people, sent a message to the colonel, I think as soon as he became aware of the situation on Hepplewhite.”
“And the colonel assumed I would be in route as soon as I found out about it and decided I couldn’t wipe my own nose.”
Wendy squeezed his arm.
“Sorry, Smith. I got carried away there.”
“Not a problem, Sir. And begging the Captain’s pardon, that’s exactly what the colonel told us.”
Wendy coughed and snorted. “Well, there’s somebody else who has you pegged, Frank.”
“Just what I deserve for consorting with mercenary colonels,” Frank laughed.
Locke smoothly merged the groundcar into the traffic moving towards the city. “The commander has a compound here in Cambridge. He feels it to be a better choice than a hotel.”
“So we’re not going to the Navy Offices, then, Lieutenant?”
“No, Sir. The commander recommends you stay unofficial. He instructed me to take you there if you desired, though.”
“I believe we’ll take the commander’s advice for the time being. He generally has good reasons for his actions.”
“Do you know the commander, Sir?”
“I guess you could say that. Although, let me turn the question around to you. Do you have need to know?”
“No, Sir. Sorry Sir.”
“No need to apologize, Lieutenant. I’m simply trying to size up the security Commander Ciera has arranged.”
“Yes, Sir. In addition to the two mastiffs here with us, the commander has several assets in place to watch the compound as well as act as the back door for us today.”
Smith turned and smiled at the Lieutenant. “I think I like you, LT. I’ll kill you first.”
Locke immediately shot back, “Been watching old vids in your spare time, Sarge? That’s such an intellectual pursuit.”
Frank interrupted, “You have people trolling for tails, then?”
“Yes, Sir. The duke has security police watching everything. Fortunately they are not very good.”
“You are aware, Lieutenant, of the dangers of underestimating the opposition. Are you one of the commander’s protégés?”
“Yes, Sir. And, yes, Sir.” The blond woman nodded.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the estimable commander again.” Frank said.
Chapter Three
“What are you hoping to prove by coming out here?” Hai Ciera sat in an Adirondack chair on the patio behind his home. Frank and Wendy each sat on either side of a table containing a pitcher of juice and glasses.
Frank spoke first, “What else could we have done? My Brother and his wife are both dead. We are the only surviving family. Somebody needs to sort this mess out.”
“We have an estate to settle too,” Wendy said.
Ciera crossed his arms and leaned back. “Didn’t Admiral Krause warn you of the danger? Did you even talk to him?”
“Yes, he came to Harcourt a week before we shipped out to here. It was right after we heard about Jack…” Frank stopped speaking for a moment.
Ciera’s hard look softened. “Hey, look Frank, I’m sorry about Jack and Sharon. They were my friends too.”
“The admiral told us the duke was a nasty creature, and wondered if he had something to do with the murders. We assume a back-water planet like this is probably not very safe,” Frank said. “We’re used to that.”
“You have no idea how unsafe,” Ciera said. “The longer I’m here the more frightening it becomes.”
A maid walked out onto the patio carrying a tray of snacks. Frank gazed around the patio and studied the landscaping. The artfully arranged shrubbery and trees hid most of the wall surrounding the yard. But the afternoon sunlight sparkled across broken glass embedded in the top of the wall. Smith & Jones prowled the yard while keeping an ear on the conversation.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“That will be all for now thank you,” Ciera said.
The serving girl walked back into the house.
“You can hire local help cheap here,” Ciera said. “I am really not trying to live like the hoi polloi.”
“You’ve never struck me as that type, Hai. I was wondering about security with the locals working for you.”
“There is always that. Nobody around here has any money, so I assume I could be outbid by someone with a score to settle. I watch my back carefully.”
“How safe is this compound?” Frank asked.
“Against the riffraff in this town? That’s not a real problem. In addition to the physical security, I’ve got the place wired to a fair-thee-well. But that’s not the issue here, is it?”
“So you’re telling me my brother’s murder was committed by common criminals, rather than by the political element?”
“I don’t know. Whoever it was left no evidence I could uncover, other than the SkinSynth. That alone would point me to the criminal element. The duke’s people just aren’t that good.”
“The admiral mentioned the SkinSynth,” Frank said.
SkinSynth was an artificial skin, originally developed for medical use. The criminal class had discovered by spraying themselves with the compound, they would leave no traceable DNA at a crime scene. The downside was the systemic poisoning which occurred when someone covered themselves completely in SkinSynth and did not remove it within a short period of time – usually a couple of hours.
“The duke’s investigators didn’t find the SkinSynth traces, so they didn’t look for where somebody had shucked it,” Ciera said. “I poked around quietly and also found nothing. We think the assailants left via aircraft.”
“Could the duke have hired somebody on the other side of the law to keep his hands clean?” Wendy asked.
“Oh absolutely, Commander. The question in my mind is whether the duke is intelligent enough to do something like that. I’ve been poking around and trying to get a feel for the duke and his government. For someone of his reputation, he keeps a low profile.”
“What is his reputation?” Wendy said.
“He is said to be seriously short on brain-power. You know about his brother, right?”
“Carlo Roma,” Wendy said. “A mover and shaker in the league.”
“Right. Well, Duke Hepplewhite is Guilietto Roma, Carlo’s brother. Carlo bought the duchy, installed his little brother and sends him an allowance.”
“Keeping him away from the centers of power, then?” Frank said.
“I used to think that,” Ciera said. “You know, knock over the older brother and take over the family business. In this case, Nano Roma. But I am beginning to suspect it was to keep the dimwitted brother away from the embarrassment he would surely cause in Earth.”
“Curious. And you think he was involved in the murders. What, then, was the motive?” Frank asked.
“That is the puzzler,” Hai said. “Your brother wanted to turn Montora into a tourist mecca and that would have benefited everyone on the planet. Officially, the duke’s government and most of the NGOs supported him.”
“And you found otherwise?”
“Not specifically. People either didn’t know, or didn’t want to talk.”
“So, if they didn’t want to talk, that means they are hiding something?” Frank said.
“Not necessarily. Our beloved duke is flaky enough that nobody wants to draw undue attention to themselves. There have been some disappearances, but again, nothing to tie it to. And now I’ve started to attract some attention.”
“That’s never bothered you before. You were always good at attracting attention so you could start unraveling the thread.”
“True, but I have an infrastructure tying me down now. That’s why I want to get Daphne out of here. She’s not as good as she thinks she is. My thought is for you to take Smith & Jones up to Montora. I’ll put Daphne on the next ship out. Then I’ll close down the house and go to ground. I think Wendy should leave
also.”
“No,” she said.
“Work from the shadows, right?” Frank said, ignoring Wendy.
“Exactly. If nothing else, it makes people nervous and they start doing dumb things.”
“Okay,” Wendy said, “So we will take Frick and Frack and head to Montora tomorrow and then you can get Daphne on her merry way. Any problem cutting orders for her?”
