Thirteen Authors With New Takes on Sherlock Holmes

by Michael A. Ventrella

  I felt hope rise in my heart. “Then you will come with me to Al-Boeme?”

  “No,” Baskur said, settling down with his paws crossed before him like a sphinx. “Have they not told you I’m retired? I don’t go out on cases any longer. I prefer to remain among my own kind.”

  “But a man was murdered!” I exclaimed, dropping to my knees on the guest cushion and setting the bowl aside. “Prunli of Cinque Narangova, the ambassador from a planet of five large continents that circles an orange sun eight light years from here, was found dead in his chambers in the capital city on Al-Boeme.” I named our third planet from the sun, the chief of the satellites circling Dayel and the center of government for the system.

  “Humans die all the time.” Baskur lifted a paw. “It is an ordinary occurrence.”

  “But there are no clues to this murder,” I said. “None at all.”

  At last I saw a hint of interest on his mobile face.

  “No clues? I am sure there are surveillance cameras, communication records, trace evidence, and eyewitnesses who can help the authorities to determine the perpetrator.”

  “None at all,” I said. “Captain Boycott, my source on Al-Boeme, said that the electronic surveillance was turned off and all records from the hour involved were wiped irretrievably. The room was swept clean and sanitized before anyone realized that there was a body concealed within. Prunli was alone when he died, and the door locked with his own code. Captain Boycott immediately put the room into stasis. Knowing I was coming to Panettiere, she asked me to request your help. Please come. I have a ship waiting.” I gestured toward the exit. “Sir, the circumstances are mysterious, and the matter is a vital one. Cinque Narangova has become a valuable trading partner with Dayel in recent years. Prunli’s murder could jeopardize that.”

  “Most interesting,” Baskur said. He shook his great head, and his jowls flapped. “It is not the victim who interests you. No, Boycott is someone you’re very fond of. An old romance, one that ended amicably. No!” He got up and circled me again. “Ah, those Ganston aromas! Yes, I sense Al-Boeme, but from long, long ago. The odor of violets is pervasive. Thank you for letting me absorb the scents.”

  “The worker is worthy of the fee,” I said, with another polite nod.

  “A parlor trick.” Baskur laughed, a snorting, snuffling noise. He studied me for a long while with a curious look on his long face, then held up a paw. “Come closer. I have not yet taken my fee.”

  Curious, I moved nearer to the Great Investigator. Baskur turned his broad muzzle up to my hand. I held it out for him to sniff.

  SNAP! He clamped his jaws upon my hand.

  “Ow!” I felt his teeth pierce my skin. Baskur opened his jaws and drew back. I clasped my hand to my chest. It throbbed and dripped blood onto the carpeted floor. Another of the Norridings darted forward with a roll of white bandage. Reluctantly, I allowed her to stanch the bleeding.

  “I perceive that you’ve been the recipient of many a worthwhile fee yourself,” Baskur said, his tongue darting out to clear all my blood from his face. “Your system is rich with particles from many a distant world, ones you have absorbed as well as those that you have consumed. In time I will identify all of them. You are married or attached to a female of your species. I sense that you also have offspring. Three, I believe. Two of the same gender as yourself, and one indeterminate.”

  “But how would you know that?” I asked, astounded by his accuracy. “None of them have been with me since before I landed on Alpha Ganston.”

  “With your physical relationships, there is an exchange of microbes and cells,” Baskur said. He shook his head vigorously and his jowls flapped noisily. “You retain traces of everyone with whom you have had contact. Even airborne particles become part of your physical self. The female has not had frequent contact with you of late. I perceive this by the weak concentration of her cells in your body. Yet there are three distinct clusters of cells that share traits with her and also with you. Hence, three children. You may of course have others with whom you are not in contact.”

  He had precisely pinpointed the relationship between me and my current mate. We were in the last months of our second ten-year contract. The marriage had broken down irretrievably years before and was due to end, but I shared custody of my beloved children.

  “Remarkable! You can tell that people are related by the combination of cells in their bodies? Are you able to distinguish generations? You can perceive my brother, or my father, and how often we have come into contact with one another?”

  “Oh, yes,” Baskur said.

  “Astounding,” I said. “My assignments never brought me to Panettiere before. What an amazing species you Norridings are. But humans frequently change partners and have offspring with more than one. We come into casual contact with many others of our kind, and with other species. Don’t they blur after a while?”

  The Great Investigator flapped his jowls once again. “That is one of the reasons that I have retired. Everyone is becoming too homogenous, including my people with yours. Now that I have consumed some of your cells, you’re part of me, too. And I of you. But it means I am less of myself and more of everyone whom I have ever touched or smelled. To maintain my individuality, I need to remain apart from contact with other beings and not gather further artifacts within my person. But you have intrigued me with your tale, middle-aged human journalist. For your sake, I will break my self-imposed exile. A true locked room mystery! It will be my last and greatest case. Let us go to the scene of the crime.”

  The transit within the system took a matter of hours, half of it accelerating to a near-light speed and the other half decelerating. Most of that time the Great Investigator spent rolling around on a mat of irregular, long-pile carpeting that his three assistants installed in the cabin. He was, they confided, a bit addicted to shag. Although the rubbery backing of the mat sent horrible odors circulating through the ventilation system of my fleet craft, I felt it was a small price to pay for obtaining Baskur’s services.

  As a reporter for the popular news media, I was eager to observe him in action, though my chief motivation was to protect my contact. As Baskur had deduced, Ariana Boycott was a dear friend, one with whom I had once been very close. We had nearly joined our lives together.

  After our affair ended, Ariana had become involved with Prunli. At the time, he had been an attaché to the previous envoy. Their relationship had been stormy. I worried how deeply she was involved. Could she be responsible for his death? The clues had been destroyed. Calling in an outside authority made it seem as though all she sought was the truth, when the action might be a cynical blind.

  I caught Baskur’s eyes upon me. He flipped upright.

  “It would be daring if she asked you to bring me if she was in fact guilty,” he said.

  I flicked my fingers. “I see too many vids to think that isn’t possible, but I hope—I pray—that it isn’t so.” Then I blinked. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “Because it was all over your face,” Baskur said, with a growl that sounded like a chuckle. “I hope the case is not as easy to solve. Otherwise, I would rather have stayed at home.”

  When we arrived at Security Headquarters in Al-Boeme’s capital city of Prak, Captain Ariana Boycott was waiting upon the landing strip, clad in the narrow, floor-length blue coat and hat of her rank. She looked as cool and beautiful as she had the last time we had been together, five years before. Her thick auburn hair was all but hidden beneath the tall hat, but the warm, honey-colored complexion and deep green eyes like tourmalines gladdened the eye. My heart pounded in my chest, something that I fancied was not lost upon my companion. An entourage of fifteen officers, both human and android, surrounded her. Its size indicated that she had grown considerably in importance since the last time we had seen one another. Our eyes met. She smiled, and my heart pounded more strongly. She still had the power to move my soul.

  As he had with me, Baskur snuffled her all over. S
he spread her arms out and waited patiently for him to complete his examination.

  “I’m grateful that you came, sir,” Ariana said. She gestured to the waiting throng. “This is my staff. Each of them has either examined the hotel room or been instrumental in preserving evidence. Besides these, there’s the hotel staff, the ambassador’s own aides, and fourteen members of other diplomatic services who had several meetings with Prunli during the three days before his death.”

  “So many?” the Great Investigator asked, regarding them with dismay. “Ah, well.” He leaped up onto every one of the police escort in turn, giving them the thorough going-over that he had me, though I noticed that he was getting more nervous all the time. His long, whiplike tail switched back and forth.

  “We must proceed to the location,” he said. “Quickly! I do not want to make contact with more particles than is absolutely necessary.”

  Boycott nodded. We exchanged no more than the briefest glance before escorting Baskur into a waiting hovervan marked with police livery. The Great Investigator and I, along with his minions, occupied a spotlessly clean compartment alone.

  The city of Prak had changed little since my last assignment there, except to grow in size. The buildings all seemed to be part of a grand design, ornate and beautiful as well as functional. Small details struck the eye as we passed them. I turned often to mention them to my traveling companion, but found him deep in thought.

  The rooftop of the pink stucco Grand Hotel Al-Boeme was empty when we set down. I fancy that Captain Boycott had seen to it that we made contact with no one else, as per the Great Investigator’s wishes. From there, she led us into a mirror-walled turbovator encrusted with gold scrolls and cherub’s heads. We descended only one floor. It made sense that the ambassador had occupied a penthouse suite.

  “Nothing has been disturbed since we found him,” Ariana said, leading us through an opulent and quiet corridor. “Once our evidence drones found there were no traces, we sealed the room.”

  “In hopes of attracting my attention,” Baskur said, with an amused glance. “You must have been very confident that I would come.”

  “Hopeful, that is all,” Ariana said. “You must understand that we want to avoid an interstellar incident.”

  A featureless, all-gray android waited outside the door of the suite. Boycott presented her credentials. A slot popped open in the android’s chest cavity to accept the card. The mechanical placed one manipulative extremity against the wall beside the door. The double portals parted. A rush of air gusted out into our faces. Baskur inhaled deeply.

  He turned to the rest of us, then his gaze lighted upon me.

  “I know that you are not involved in this matter, and I have your scent stowed,” he said. “Pray accompany me. You persuaded me to come. You may as well see it out.”

  “It would be an honor.” I bowed deeply.

  The door shut upon the police contingent, leaving us alone in the crime scene. I set my data drone on full record mode and let it float up toward the ceiling of the room. Baskur’s inspection of the chamber would be a treasure for my broadcast channel, providing he allowed me to use any of it.

  “What do you see here, human?” Baskur asked.

  I scanned the chamber. The body lay as it had been left, on the floor beside a yellow upholstered divan. Now that the stasis lock had been removed, the corpse would begin to decay. I sensed no putrefaction, only bodily functions that normally accompanied the final moment of mortality.

  Ambassador Prunli had been a handsome human, although he had begun to gain weight around the belly. He had a square jaw, broad cheekbones, noble forehead—growing more noble by the year, I was pleased to say, as time had plucked more and more of his rich chestnut hair from it—and a sweeping mustache that put my facial adornment to shame. I admit to some satisfaction in seeing that deterioration of a rival, although the rivalry was long in the past. His face bore the expression of surprise. The brutal attack had been swift as well as bloody. As the stasis had kept all things fresh, the bodily fluids remained liquid. Even his eyes still glistened, as though death had occurred only moments before. Cringing at the notion that he might at any moment sit up and speak, I stayed at a distance. The Great Investigator, though, dived onto the corpse and began to sniff from top to toe and back again.

  “Most interesting,” he said, gathering in great gulps of air. He tasted the body, the carpet, the surface of the furniture, and even the artwork displayed upon the walls. A bronze statue of a feather in a paneled recess particularly attracted his attention. Now and again he emitted little cries of encouragement to himself. I found it repellent that he could lick a corpse so happily.

  “You look as though you enjoy that,” I said.

  “I do! Now, please be quiet. I must concentrate.”

  He circled around and around the body, gathering up particles of scent and matter with his nose and tongue.

  “The scene is not so devoid of clues as we were told,” Baskur said. “If anything, we might thank the cleaner, because it removed a lot of the extraneous material with which we would otherwise have to deal. Instead, I can almost become Ambassador Prunli.” He gave one final sniff to the terrible wounds in the neck and chest, then bit the man’s hand. I cried out.

  “Did you have to do that?”

  Baskur didn’t answer, engaged as he was in licking the congealing blood from his face, absorbing, as I knew, the essence of the dead man before us.

  At that moment, the door to the suite slid open, and Captain Boycott entered with two of her officers at her back.

  Baskur looked up at her, his warm brown eyes fixed on her face.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, bewildered. “Have you found anything that can help me solve this murder?”

  The Great Investigator shook his head vigorously as if to clear it. He let out a deep sigh.

  “Yes, Captain, I have. There’s nothing more I can do. I must see all of those who have been with or near the suite before too much time has passed. Quickly!”

  “That’s impossible,” she said. “Many of those who passed through here are honored diplomats, all engaged in important trade and peace discussions. I can’t compel them to come and be interrogated.”

  “Of course you can! Tell them that there is a scandal brewing that will affect all of Al-Boeme! I can only hold it back if I learn the truth, and swiftly!”

  Ariana’s green eyes flicked to me. I nodded. Her mouth twisted in a wry grimace.

  “All right, then. I’ll do my best to get them together. Shall we say two hours?”

  “Arrange it. Ah, but wait,” he said, as she began to leave. Let your assistants make the calls. Will you remain here for a moment?”

  “Certainly,” Ariana said, though she looked puzzled. She signed to her associates, then let the door close. “What is this about?”

  “What was your relationship with the victim?”

  She shot an uncomfortable glance at me.

  “Why, nothing. I hadn’t seen him for several years.”

  Baskur let out his grunting laugh.

  “Come, come, Captain Boycott. You called me in. You must know what I can do and what I have learned.”

  She looked shamefaced at being caught in a lie.

  “We were lovers. When he asked to see me, I came out of curiosity. I stayed…out of curiosity.”

  “It’s none of my business,” he said, but the expression on his long face said otherwise. For myself, I was trying to control a feeling of unreasonable jealousy. We were no longer together. I had no right. “I’m going back to the ship to wait.”

  Once reensconced upon the unspeakable shag carpet, the Great Investigator threw himself back and forth, pondering the evidence. His minions brought him food and water, each of which he spurned impatiently.

  “Is there really a scandal?” I asked, watching him toss and turn like a restless sleeper.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “And your friend knows it. Tha
t’s why she called me in, instead of relying upon local investigators to uncover it. As for what it is, I won’t know until I examine the witnesses.” He glanced at me. “And you need not worry. She’s as attached to you as you are to her. I don’t need to have sampled her cells to determine that. Pure observation proves it to me. When does your current marriage contract expire? Soon?”

  “That’s rather tactless of you, as well as none of your business,” I said, offended and surprised at the same time.

  “You’ve made it my business, both of you,” he said, sounding weary. His eyes drooped. “And because you are so attached to her, and I have sampled your cells, so am I. I love her, even though she’s not of my species. But she is of yours. Now, go. I need to think.”

  I departed, sputtering in confusion.

  • • •

  The gathering we joined was a truly distinguished one. I recognized diplomats and envoys from several planets within the Dayel system and from many worlds outside. As Baskur’s temporary chronicler, I was admitted, but not strictly welcomed. While they reclined on cushions and chaises longues, I and several members of the hotel staff were relegated to straight-backed chairs in the corner. At least my drone could rove unrestricted.

  Their curiosity about Baskur overwhelmed their indignation and discomfort at being summoned, even more so when he began to examine them.

  “Is this really necessary?” demanded Honored Otso of Caledon, a human of indeterminate gender like my youngest child, as Baskur snuffled his way down xir long blue silk dress and paid special attention to the jeweled chains hanging around xir neck and wrists.

  “Not only necessary, but vital,” Baskur insisted. He returned to xir face and sniffed it again. He withdrew and allowed his long tongue to cleanse his facial fur of all traces. He moved on to Tik-tik, a tall, narrow-waisted being with a striped coat from Susk. From here, the envoy smelled like honey. I wondered what other traces Baskur discovered among the black and gold fluff.