by Tom Shepherd
“I’ll find who’s behind the bomb,” Demarcus said. “Made a few contacts at the Gobikan. Mid-level LEOs who know everything that happens in this capital. They speak a little Terran and understand money-talk fluently.”
“Spend what’s needed. We’ll cover you.”
“I’ll be home before dinner with answers,” Platte said.
“Demarcus,” Rosalie said, “this was a professional hit. I’m an exo-anthropologist, and I can rattle off plenty of spacefaring cultures with traditions of hired murder. Get the specifics—who and where.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Platte said.
Tyler heard the peculiar roo-boo-roo-boo sirens of Deiro Yord emergency vehicles chugging in the distance. “Suryadivan cops are coming. Took ’em long enough.”
“Probably the Religious Police,” Platte said. “I’ve got your location. Stay out of sight. Work your way along the tree line to the passenger pickup station on the north end of the meadow.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Wait for a two-passenger skimmer, unit number 872-932. It will be clean and empty. Do not—repeat, do not—get in any other vehicle. Keep this link open. I want to monitor your progress.”
“Can’t they track us the same way?”
“All our comm links are phase-shifted every half second, undetectable without the master pattern. Are you moving yet?”
“On the run.” Tyler slipped the open datacom into a pocket. He raised his face and called up to Lucy-bird. “Fly to Patrick Henry. Become the cat. We’ll join you.”
The falcon dipped one last time, climbed high, and entered a graceful arc that took the shape-shifter westward toward the spaceport. She soon disappeared against the afternoon sun.
“Let’s go,” Tyler said to his sister. “I need you to read the Suryadivan numbers on the skimmer—”
Before they moved another step, a pair of lime-green Religious Police cars dropped into the meadow. Tyler raised his hands and whispered to Rosalie. “Please tell me ‘hands up’ doesn’t mean ‘fuck you’ in Suryadivan.”
“Do this.” Rosalie raised her palms and waved in a center-outward, circular pattern. Tyler imitated her. Blood trickled down one arm from the glass cuts in his palm. Rosalie translated a loudspeaker demand for them to board one vehicle apiece.
“Ask where we’re going.”
“You don’t argue with the RPs.”
An RP officer searched Tyler, found the open commlink, removed its battery, and tucked the device back in his pocket. A female officer checked Rosalie but found nothing requiring action. She marched Rosalie to the patrol car on the right and they climbed inside.
Tyler boarded the other police vehicle and the meadow quickly dropped away. The RP craft zipped over green zones and pointy-topped building complexes until downtown Pokey Town yielded to residential neighborhoods in the urban pattern Tyler had seen on so many worlds. After about twenty minutes, the police craft descended to a wide lawn edging a lakeside estate. He counted seven buildings, but a beige château with three main towers dominated the property. Each turret displayed the characteristic Suryadivan ice cream swirl at the point.
A gazebo with a domed, bronze roof and circled by a low hedge marked the center of the lawn. The resting place offered an excellent view of the lake and skyline of Deiro Yord. Tyler easily recognized the egg-shaped Gobikan dominating the distant cityscape.
Religious Police escorted the Matthews siblings to the gazebo, where a middle-aged Suryadivan male in white clerical robes awaited them.
Rosalie spoke softly in Spanish. “That’s a Pontiff, a member of the ruling circle of the theocratic side of the government.”
Tyler slowed his pace. “How bad is this?”
“They won’t kill us. Too public.”
Their host nodded to the Religious Police, who departed to wait by the hover cars. He gestured to a bench seat and took the opposite perch. He spoke competent Terran, which surprised Tyler.
“I am Father Jakok, member of the Supreme Council of Pontiffs and the successor designate to become Supreme Pontiff next year. You are Tyler Noah Matthews and Rosalie Matthews.”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler said. “Forgive me if I do not know the proper way to address someone in your position.”
“You my call me Holiness, or Pontiff Jakok, or Father Jakok. I am delighted to meet members of a trading family as important as the Matthews Interstellar Industries.” He frowned. “You are bleeding.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Jakok summoned servants who quickly wrapped a pressure bandage around Tyler’s hand.
He nodded to the Pontiff. “Thank you.”
“Do you know why I summoned you here?”
“I assume you want to assure us the attempted assassination today was not part of a plot against the Terran Commonwealth.” Tyler wanted to add, “All right, Father Jerkoff, let’s cut the bullshit.” But he stayed in his adult. For now.
“That is, of course, an important point I wish to make.” Jakok waved, and a pair of blue-robed attendants appeared with trays of drinks and pastries and a folding table, which they deployed in the small space of the gazebo. One special cup, brightly polished silver, carried two characters from the Suryadivan language.
Pope’s Chalice, Tyler guessed.
“May I offer you refreshment?” Jakok said.
“Thank you, Holiness.” Rosalie took a copper cup and a tiny piece of sugared bread. She glared at Tyler.
“Thank you, Father.” Tyler grabbed a large fruit pastry.
“I brought you to my home to discuss clemency for your kinsman, Esteban Solorio.”
“We’re listening,” Tyler said.
“The evidence clearly shows Señor Solorio pushed Greeter Lox Aspi from the roof of your Trade Embassy, intending to kill the victim. The penalty for attempted murder of a Gobikan official is death.”
“These fruit cakes are good, but your story isn’t.” Tyler replaced the half-eaten pastry on its tray. “We have a different view of the events. We’ll settle the issue at trial.”
“Do you want to risk your kinsman’s life?” Jakok said. “In our legal system, I have the power to declare him guilty and send for the hangman, immediately.”
Tyler’s blood pounded at his temples. “Are you threatening the Matthews Family, Your Holiness? Because our father, who art on Terra, will consider that a declaration of war.”
“Of course he isn’t,” Rosalie said sweetly. “He is merely explaining how Suryadivan law differs from Terran. I believe he has an offer to make. Am I correct, Holiness?”
Bless you, Rosalie. Diplomacy is not my strong suit. I’d like to choke this prissy terrorist in a housecoat until he tells the whole truth.
“Of course. I would never threaten such distinguished guests.”
“I’m still listening,” Tyler said icily.
“My offer is very simple, Mr. Matthews.” The Pontiff took a long drink from his silver cup, wiped his lips with a cloth, and continued. “Abandon your claim to the Alpha Site near sacred Adao, and your kinsman will walk free this very hour.”
Blackmail. Did this asshole have any idea how repulsive extortion was to humans? Sure, a well-placed bribe—call it a settlement offer—was part of the legal equation in Terran law. Both sides gain something in a delicately constructed, incentive-based resolution of a civil suit. That’s contract law.
But blackmail? That’s when the Mafia says, “Gimme dis, or I’ll hurt you.” That’s just plain criminal.
Tyler stood, unconcerned with protocol. Rosalie set down her cup and rose with him. “Thank you for the refreshments and the bandage, Holiness,” he said. “Your offer is rejected.”
“Surely we can—”
“Furthermore, if you order the summary execution of my cousin, Esteban Solorio, I personally guarantee the combined military fleets of Matthews-Solorio Enterprises will descend on the Suryadivan Sacred Protectorate and extract a heavy penalty in return. We will tolerate nothing but impartial justice
under the laws of evidence. Do you have any questions… Holiness?”
Jakok’s mouth quivered. His head fin snapped vertically, like someone had kicked him in the chest. “I… I… assure you, our court system will render a just verdict.”
Tyler looked the Pontiff squarely in the eye. “One more suggestion. Find the assholes who tried to kill us today, or I cannot guarantee what may happen. My mother has no sense of humor about people who threaten her children.”
Tyler and Rosalie boarded an automated hover car for the flight back to the Henry. After they found their seats, she leaned toward him. “We have to work on your people skills, Ty.”
“I stayed in my adult.”
Rosalie smirked. “Channeling the best of Mom and Dad?”
“The Pontiffs are deeply involved in this shit. Jakok probably ordered his stooges to place the bomb.”
“We don’t know what’s going on yet.” Rosalie looked out the window as the craft lifted off. “You scared him, but other players may not care if the Suryadivans go to war with M-double-I.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Let me see your hand.” She inspected his wound, which still oozed blood. “You’ll need a few minutes under a medi-lamp.” She found a first aid kit in the hovercraft and replaced the bloodstained bandage.
“I wish this whole mission could be healed so quickly.” He frowned at her. “You’re too nice to be a Matthews. Ever had your DNA checked?”
She chuckled. “Have I fooled you that completely?”
Tyler sat back and closed his eyes as the hover car cruised toward the Henry’s dock at the spaceport. How was he supposed to secure the Alpha Site and exonerate Esteban in nine days?
Twenty-Seven
Late that afternoon Demarcus showed up at the ship with Yumiko in tow. He called for a team meeting in the conference room to report his findings. While the staff gathered, Investigator Matsuda suffered through a series of warm greetings and the occasional hug from Star Lawyers and the Patrick Henry’s holographic crew, which she received with the classical Japanese blend of stiffness and poise.
With everyone seated, Platte outlined his research on the bomb incident. Type of explosive, lethality, method of detonation, and other details. Finally, he told them what everyone wanted to know—the identity of the men who tried to kill Tyler and Rosalie and Lucy.
“The bad guys delivered your booby-trapped hover car to the public transit authority two days ago,” Demarcus said. “They embedded a bomb in the vehicle frame. Virtually undetectable, unless you’re scanning for exotic alloys not found on this world.”
“Bloody hell,” Suzie said softly.
“Who did it?” Rosalie’s demand rang so sharply Tyler turned his head. Her eyes glistened hard blue, like Father. For a moment, Tyler didn’t recognize his own sister, and it frightened him a little.
“Dengathi mercenaries.” Platte’s voice sounded like sharpened steel, clearing its scabbard.
“Dengathi? What in God’s Name do the Frogs have against us?” J.B. said. “They’re neither explorers nor entrepreneurs.”
“They are traders,” Mr. Blue said. “With an unfortunate tendency toward piracy.”
Platte said. “My informant says the Frogs were acting on orders from the House of Sakura.”
“Dad’s old friend, Hideki Tsuchiya.” J.B. said. “Hard to believe.”
“Maybe not the Tsuchiya family,” Tyler said. “Other factions within Sakura House might want Jump Gate Omega to fail.”
“Kichi-san shows up in the capital, delivers a veiled threat from his father, and you get bombed the next day,” J.B. said.
Platte turned to Suzie. “Ma’am, didn’t those Suryadivan flunkies divulge the spy’s code name?”
“Lucky Star.”
“In Japanese,” Yumiko said, “Kichirou means Lucky Son.”
“Son is not necessarily a star,” Tyler said defensively. “I can’t believe Kichi-san would harm us.”
J.B. nodded. “Here’s a point in his favor—you said his father’s ultimatum was ‘get the damned Gate open,’ not ‘back off or die.’”
Rosalie touched the Investigator’s arm. “Demarcus, are you absolutely sure it was cold-blooded Dengathi amphibians who planted the bomb, not warm-blooded marsupial-amphibians?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where are the Frogs staying?” Tyler said.
Demarcus checked his datacom pad. “The Galactic Shelter. Big hotel, north edge of the city. Caters to off-worlders.”
“We should tell the Suryadivan authorities,” J.B. said.
“Oh, yeah. Local law enforcement, our best friends,” Tyler said. “We oughta hire our own mercenaries and return the favor.”
“The name of this firm is Star Lawyers, not the Yakuza,” J.B. said. “We stay within the rule of law.”
“Our enemies don’t!” Tyler pounded the table with his good fist. “Did you ever consider Dad made me senior partner because he knew how I would react in times like these?”
J.B. glared at him across the table. Both balled their fists. “Maybe he gave you the job to prod me from lethargy and keep you in line.”
“Hey, boys.” Suzie flashed a smile. “Take it outside.”
The brothers grunted, almost in unison.
“Don’t you have a more pressing problem?” Suzie said. “You’re due in court tonight. The future of Matthews Interstellar is at stake.”
“Oh, that,” Tyler said. “Right.”
“You need to be sharp,” J.B. said.
“I’m ready,” Tyler said. “And I want both Suzie and Rosalie.”
“Yes, I want to go,” Suzie said.
Rosalie nodded vigorously.
“All right,” J.B. said. “Demarcus and I will contact the RPs about the Dengathi threat.”
“The Henry’s backup MLC can translate for you,” Suzie said.
J.B. nodded. “That works.”
Demarcus turned to Tyler. “Boss, I need to accompany you. Yumiko can handle security here.”
“Hai, Demarcus-san.”
“While I’m gone, I want a stone wall of force fields raised around this ship,” Platte said.
“I have all your notes,” she said.
“Okay,” Tyler said. “Any other problems?”
“I don’t want to expose Lucy to danger again,” Rosalie said. “She’s resting in serpent mode.”
“Let her sleep. Grandma Gemma might object if we kept the child up too late.”
J.B. extended a hand. “Good luck, Ty. Keep your cool.”
A smile flickered across Tyler’s face as they shook on it. “Just like always, Brother Bear.”
* * * *
Suzie treated Tyler’s cuts with the medi-lamp and the wound healed within a few minutes. With both hands functional, Tyler studied translations of Suryadivan case law until the call for evening prayer time rang out across the city. Still wearing the holo-projecting wristband, he met Rosalie at the departure ramp. She didn’t look well.
“I need a few more minutes,” she said. “I’ve been throwing up since the meeting ended.” She had the bloodshot eyes and haggard look of someone fighting a bad stomach flu bug.
“Have you been to the medical bay?”
“Just came from there. I feel a little better, but no promises I won’t heave on the carpet in Gemma’s court.”
“Better stay home. Suzie is fluent in Suryadivan and has legal training.”
“Damn. I wanted to support you.”
“Yeah, I think Judge Gemma bonded with you,” he said. “Too bad.”
He tapped his wristband, and Suzie materialized in a gray pantsuit and dark blue shawl. When Tyler briefed her, she nodded and said she could solve both problems. In an eye blink she went fuzzy and reappeared exactly like Rosalie, bloodshot eyes and all.
“God—is that what I look like?” Rosalie moaned. “I may not survive!”
“Sorry!” Suzie transformed her sick Rosalie-image to peach-blush cheeks, auburn hair, sen
suous Latina lips and modestly curved body. She gave Tyler a peck on the cheek and spoke in Rosalie’s baby-doll voice. “How do I look, Big Brother?”
“Creepy,” he said. “You’re making me feel like a sex offender.”
“My favorite pervert.” Suzie poked him in the ribs.
Rosalie tried to laughed. “Bad Tyler.”
He kissed his real sister’s head. “Get healthy. There’s plenty to do. Fight a theocratic culture, dodge pirates and mercenaries, et cetera.”
* * * *
With Demarcus to clear the way of potential hazards and keep a lookout for dispatchers, Tyler and Suzie-Rosalie arrived without incident. Platte said he wanted to reconnect with his new assets here at the Gobikan and would meet them after trial.
Gemma’s courtroom crowd had thinned compared to day court, but legal junkies and news media waited patiently for the judge to reappear. Across from the defense table, a squad of official-looking Suryadivan males and females in the dark red legal robes of government attorneys perched at the edge of their seats.
Tyler had done remedial homework for tonight’s appearance before the Matron, so he recognized courtroom details now that he’d missed earlier in the day. The open floor space between two sides of a legal dispute was known as the sand pit. Neither sand nor pit but a thick tawny rug, its name recalled earlier times when adversaries settled disputes by combat in an outdoor arena filled with sand. The center point was called the Ring of Truth, where witnesses stood to give sworn testimony.
The People’s Advocates leaned toward the aisle as Tyler and Suzie passed by, as if they wanted to size up their opponents. Tyler dropped onto his seat and waved cheerily at the opposition, and the prosecutors looked away with such comic abruptness that Tyler and Suzie snickered aloud.
When Matron Judge Gemma entered the courtroom in her blue-and-white striped poncho, everyone but Tyler and Suzie bowed their heads as low as their seating arrangements allowed. As off-worlders, they received a courtesy discharge from the obligation to pay homage to the judge as a representative of the Forty-Six gods and goddesses.
