by Jake Bible
“Mr. Shaw,” Loch said, leaning forward so Sno could see the exaggerated wink. “I trust that your new accommodations are satisfactory?”
All eyes fell on Sno. He would have reached under the table, taken the pistol waiting for him, and shot the idiot, but Pol was seated where Sno was supposed to be. Lucky for Loch, the pistol was out of reach. Sno would have to remedy that situation shortly. Not the shooting of Loch, but the retrieval of the pistol so Sno could protect Pol better if a move was made in the loud, bustling dining room.
“The new accommodations are perfect, Captain Loch,” Sno said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I don’t know if any of you heard, but Mr. Shaw’s first stateroom caught fire,” Loch said. There were several gasps. Fires were for the lesser mortals, not the galactic elite. “I know! Not sure what you did, sir, but please don’t let us have a repeat performance in your new rooms.”
There was polite, and not so polite, laughter from the diners. A few of the beings seated jokingly chided Sno for allowing such a thing to happen. Others nodded sympathetically, assuredly thinking to themselves horrible thoughts of belongings damaged.
“What is it you do, Mr. Shaw?” the woman seated to Sno’s right asked.
The woman was a Groshnel, an eight-armed, boneless race that must constantly gulp air in order to keep their bodies inflated and solid. Sno regarded her politely, an eyebrow raised.
“Ms.…?” Sno asked.
The woman looked taken aback by the question. She obviously assumed Sno would know her. While Sno was born into the galactic elite, he hadn’t kept up on the social hierarchy that dominated that class. The woman could have been queen of her own system and Sno wouldn’t have known. Unless that system was vitally important to SSD matters.
Instead of offering her name, the woman turned from Sno and began a conversation with the gentleman on her other side. Sno wasn’t exactly heartbroken over the snub.
Conversation rose as everyone waited for the first course to be served. Sno endured more questions, dodged them expertly then tried to block out the conversation the captain was having with an ancient-looking Spilfleck. The man was so old that his neck frill was almost shriveled up to nothing, barely a band of skin showing over his collarbones.
But, before Sno could completely ignore the conversation, the Spilfleck said, “I do hope I have enough funds available. I asked my secretary to combine six different accounts, but when you look about at who has joined us, there is no doubt that some financial heavyweights were clued in, as well. I am surprised given the short notice and scramble for tickets, but then we hardly have to wait, do we, Captain Loch?”
Loch’s eyes flitted towards Sno briefly then looked away just as fast. The captain and the old Spilfleck had Sno’s undivided attention. But Sno played it cool and pretended to be listening to a conversation between a Klav and Halgon two seats down from him.
“You know how much we try to accommodate everyone,” Loch said to the Spilfleck. “It was inconvenient, yes, but we managed to get everyone aboard that needed to be.”
“Quite right. Quite right,” the Spilfleck said. “Do we have a schedule yet?”
“When we reach the…system,” Loch said.
“The Bg—” the Spilfleck began to say, but the rest of his statement was drowned out by Loch coughing loudly.
“Are you alright, Captain?” Veben asked. “Can you hear me?”
“How does his hearing you matter?” Pol asked. “Beings choke when their airways are blocked, not when their aural pathways are blocked. He could certainly hear you all the way up until he died.”
“I am hardly near death,” Loch said as he stopped coughing and gave the table a warm smile. “Fit and fine.”
There was polite applause and Sno had to tamp down his rising disgust with the captain.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a soft voice said over the dining room’s speakers. “On behalf of the GS M’illi’ped and Captain Loch, we are proud to present a live broadcast of the unbelievably talented, Ms. X X!”
A space at the front of the dining room became illuminated with bright yellow light which quickly dissolved into a shimmering holo image. The image solidified and a tall woman, apparently of almost every race in the galaxy, appeared in a flowing, sheer dress that looked like it was made up of stars, not cloth.
The dining room erupted into excited applause and heads bent towards each other as guests whispered with anticipation. Even Sno knew who the galactic megastar was. There wasn’t a singer better known than Ms. X X. Veben caught his eye and gave him a wide smile.
Sno returned the smile, but it was a front. As the lights in the dining room dimmed to nothing, he knew if anyone was going to take a chance at snatching Pol, it would be during the performance. Sno twisted in his chair and casually looked about the dining room, ready to spot the being or beings that weren’t there for the dessert course.
Velly Tarcorf was smiling at him. Sno returned the smile and gave her a nod. She smirked as the first few notes of quite possibly the most popular song in the galaxy began. When Ms. X X belted out the lyrics with her signature bombastic enthusiasm, Velly pretended to be gagging into her handkerchief. Until half the guests at her table gave her a look of such reproach that Sno wondered if they wouldn’t murder her right there and then.
Velly tilted her head quickly to her right, indicating for Sno to meet her away from the tables. Sno shrugged and shook his head slowly. Velly frowned, narrowed her eyes then glanced at Captain Loch. The captain was staring straight at Sno instead of watching the performance. Sno met the man’s gaze and nodded politely. Loch seemed startled by the response and smoothed the orange fur down on his cheeks before twisting in his seat to watch Ms. X X start in on her second song.
Sno’s attention returned to scanning the dining room, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Velly several times during the third and fourth songs. The woman was facing the holo of the famous singer, but her eyes darted towards Sno continuously as if she knew when he was watching her. A smile played at the corner of her mouth. Sno suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss that smile.
But, despite his rising amor for the swift ship pilot, Sno’s work brain was in control. His romantic brain would have to take a seat and wait its turn. Sno listened politely to a too sweet, too sappy ballad about a man crying over his lost loves as he was sucked into the burning hot heart of a sun about to go supernova. The metaphor was a little overplayed for Sno’s taste, but the audience seemed to love it as there wasn’t a dry eye in the dining room.
Then he saw her. A waitress moving about the edge of the room, a tray of dirty glasses and plates in one hand. Her other hand was hidden inside her uniform jacket. There could be any number of reasons she had a hand in her jacket, but Sno knew from years on the job that she was hiding a weapon. The unmistakable outline of a muzzle poked at her jacket’s material as she threaded her way through the dining tables in Pol’s direction instead of heading to the kitchen doors in the complete opposite direction.
“Excuse me,” Sno said, standing up. He wiped his mouth, folded his napkin, and set it next to his drink. “I’ll be right back.”
No one paid him any attention. All eyes were on the performance. Except for Veben and Pol’s. They each gave Sno a quizzical look. Sno only grinned slightly as he walked the length of the Captain’s Table, came around the other side, and headed straight for the oncoming waitress.
It took the woman a couple seconds before she realized she’d been spotted. In that time, Sno was more than halfway to her. The waitress’s eyes widened in panic and she froze in place. Sno did not stop his progress and closed the distance between them.
Guests hissed and spat at Sno, depending on their cultural custom, as he briefly blocked their views of Ms. X X. He tried to ignore them, but some were rather enthusiastic with their shows of annoyance. One man, a wizened Klav that had only two of his many, many eyes not clouded over with cataracts, whipped out a tentacle and snapped Sno acr
oss the backs of the thighs as he passed.
Sno glared at the old Klav, but he didn’t stop his progress. The waitress was panicked and hunting for the fastest way out of the maze of tables and guests. Sno adjusted his direction and moved to cut off the waitress from one avenue of escape. The waitress set her tray down on a table, startling the guests, and spun about. She nearly sprinted towards the kitchen doors. Sno ignored the hisses and spittle that flew his way as he shoved through gaps between chairs and increased his speed of pursuit.
The doors had barely closed when Sno reached them. His hands were about to shove them wide when a shot rang out in the dining room. The shot was the energized blast of a plasma pistol and Sno spun around, his hand going for his Defta Stinger. But the Stinger wasn’t there. Investigator J’gorla had taken it as evidence. Instinct gave way to surprise which gave way to reticence as Sno remembered the only weapon he had was back under the Captain’s Table.
Guests were shouting and screaming, all up on their feet and racing to the nearest exit. The visual part of the broadcast holo of Ms. X X had been cut off, but the singer’s voice was still playing at full volume, providing a soundtrack to the panic that had enveloped the room. Sno shoved guests out of his way as he raced back to the Captain’s Table.
There was another blast then another and Sno became the only being in the room to not duck at the sounds. He stayed upright and could see plainly the terrified look on Veben’s face as she stood next to Pol, a pistol in her hand and aimed down at something at her feet. Sno couldn’t tell what or who she’d shot until he was only two tables away.
Security guards were closing in on Veben and Sno held up his hands, shouting at them to back off. They ignored his protests as they rushed to apprehend what they saw as the threat to the guests and the ship.
“It’s not her!” Sno yelled, but a moment too late as Veben was tackled around the waist by an overzealous guard.
Veben screamed as she was taken down and the pistol flew from her grip. Sno jumped and slid across the last dining table, coming down on his feet only a meter from Veben and the guard. He held out his hand, snagged the falling pistol, brought it back up, and pressed the hot muzzle to the guard’s temple.
“Let her go,” Sno said calmly. The guard let Veben go. “Good.”
“Drop the weapon!” another guard shouted.
“Listen to your comms, people!” Sno yelled as he slowly moved back from the guard and lowered the pistol.
Before the guard could regroup and get to his feet, Veben slapped him so hard across his left cheek that the sound of the vertebrae in his neck cracking echoed throughout the dining room, even over the continuing vocalizations of Ms. X X belting out some new song from her latest album.
“Identity confirmed,” a guard stated, pointing to Sno. “Apologies, Mr. Shaw.”
“Help her up,” Sno snapped at the struck guard.
The guard seemed conflicted, but finally offered a hand to Veben, helping her up off the floor. Sno gave her a questioning look and she nodded that she was fine. Pol was standing next to the Captain’s Table, eyes wide with fear, and looking like he wanted to bolt with the rest of the guests.
“He came at me so fast,” Pol said. He looked down at the floor. “How did he move so quickly?”
Pol was staring at a scorched corpse. It was a man, a human, in a server’s uniform. Veben had placed the shots perfectly in the man’s chest.
“Do not let that corpse out of your sight,” Sno ordered the guard as others approached. “And watch him! Veben?”
“I’m fine, love,” Veben said, glaring daggers at the guard that had assaulted her. “And I will make sure that Mr. Talpic is watched very closely.”
“Good,” Sno said and turned to face the kitchen doors. “Return to our stateroom as soon as Osol comes to retrieve you. Stay there and do not let anyone in except for me.”
“Go,” Veben said.
Sno went. He sprinted across the dining room, which was nearly empty of all guests, and burst through the kitchen doors. Stunned staff stood around, mouths agape, dishes going unwashed, food burning on the range, water running freely from the taps. No one moved to stop Sno, but no one moved to help him either.
When he shouted, “Which way did she go?” Sno only received confused stares.
“Useless.”
Sno pushed cooks and prep staff out of his way and hurried through the massive kitchen until he found a short corridor in the back. With pistol up and at the ready, Sno moved cautiously to the first door in the corridor. He listened, heard nothing, then yanked the door open and covered the room beyond with his pistol.
Storage. Boxes of supplies at the ready. Sno ignored the stacks and instead studied the floor of the room. He was looking for scuff marks from the boxes being moved, but the floor showed no signs that someone had tried hiding behind the stacks. They were pressed evenly up against the room’s walls.
Sno retreated and continued to the next door. He yanked that open to find an insanely long corridor. It was dimly lit and must have stretched for nearly the entire length of the ship. Quick access corridor for kitchen staff to deliver food on that deck to the many lounges, bars, snack stands, specialty eateries, and cafes.
The view down the corridor was unobstructed, and Sno knew his pursuit was at an end when he counted the dozens and dozens of doors that lined one side. The waitress could have gone through any one of those doors. Sno would have to backtrack and bring up the ship’s security surveillance to track her further. If she used the long corridor, and was still on the ship, he’d find out where.
Sno ducked back into the short kitchen corridor and regarded the last door. It was slightly ajar and there was a sound coming from inside. Sno carefully approached it, listened, grew puzzled then ripped the door all the way open, his pistol leading his way inside.
Another storage room, but not unoccupied like the last one. On the floor was a dazed Velly Tarcorf. Bright red blood had started to dry across the orange skin of her nose and face. Her eyes swam in her head as she struggled to remain conscious.
“Shit,” Sno said, tucking his pistol in his pocket as he knelt by Velly and checked her pulse. Erratic. He scooped her up in his arms and hurried back through the kitchen. “Hang on. We’ll get you to a med pod.”
23.
It took Osol over two hours before he arrived at Sno’s stateroom.
“Anything?” Sno asked.
“No,” Osol replied. “No identification on the man killed and no identification on the woman that escaped. We ran all vid surveillance of her over the past couple of days through every database at our disposal. She doesn’t exist. He doesn’t exist.”
“Grid ghosts,” Veben said from the couch, a very large tumbler of brown liquor held in both hands. “They happen.”
“Ignore her,” Sno said quietly to Osol. “That’s her fourth and she’s still coming down from the rush of the incident.”
“I can hear you, love,” Veben said, drinking liberally from the tumbler. “Do not speak as if I am of a diminished capacity. Certainly not the first, second, or third corpse I have seen in my lifetime.”
“Then perhaps that should be your last tumbler,” Sno suggested.
“Would you like some, love?” Veben asked, offering the tumbler. “I could cram it up your arse for you.”
“Yes, that’s the last one,” Sno said and waved a hand over his wrist and brought up the protocol for the servant bots. “No more alcohol for Ms. C’alpescue.”
“I’ll simply serve myself,” Veben said and attempted to stand. She made it approximately three centimeters before collapsing back into the couch. “Later. I am good for now.”
“Any ships leave the Mip?” Sno asked, turning his attention back to Osol.
“No,” Osol said. “And no sign of the woman escaping the dining room. If she went through the kitchen, then she must have used moltrans tech to get out because there is no vid evidence of her leaving.”
“Did someone say moltra
ns?” Pol asked as he came into the sitting room, a towel wrapped around his head and one wrapped around his waist. The man’s chest was shrunken in and his arms looked like toothpicks. “I have a way to track moltrans use. If the attempted assassins are using that kind of tech, then I will be able to not only find residual traces, I might be able to track that energetic residue to the destination.”
“That would be helpful,” Sno said. “But you are not leaving this stateroom for the remainder of the trip. I thought a luxury liner would be the perfect cover, but I was wrong. A public transport would be more secure.”
“Excuse me,” Osol said angrily.
“No offense,” Sno replied. “But you have too many privileged guests onboard and that privilege is a wild card that I did not anticipate. Beings are able to buy their way around the security protocols. I’m not saying you are bought and paid for, Osol, of course, but some of your people surely are. You said you had the dining room covered?”
“It was covered,” Osol insisted.
“Yet a potential killer or kidnapper dressed as a waiter was able to get close to Pol,” Sno countered. “And a second one was on her way. That is not covered, Osol. That is neglectful.”
“Are you expecting another apology?” Osol asked. “You will not be getting one. The neglect I am seeing is on your part. You chose this mode of transportation when you could have used a private ship to get to your destination.”
“Not with the Skrang out there,” Veben interrupted. “Those nasty Skrang bastards! Always trying to kill, kill, kill.”
Sno sighed as Veben kept muttering about kill, kill, kill, then tilted to her left, and in almost perfect slow motion, fell over onto her side on the couch. Her eyes closed and she began to snore.
“There we are,” Sno said. He thought for a moment then shook his head. “In the end, and the beginning, I suppose, yes, the responsibility is all on me. I accept that. But with the information I had been given, I could not risk using one of my ships or using a GF ship. I suspected that a luxury liner such as the Mip, with its clientele and need for absolute perfect security, would be the safest avenue of transport. The only reason I was wrong is that we are looking at several unknown factions all trying to get at Pol and no idea how many may have gotten aboard.”
