The Blue King Murders

by Tom Shepherd

  “Joyous Toorlazimbaa. We wanted to be able to tell our family group that these digits contacted the great hero Tyler Matthews,” Rosalie translated. They spoke a few more sentences, but she cleared her throat. “Uh….and other things.”

  “What else did they say?” Tyler asked. “Don’t worry. It won’t go to my head.”

  “It was…I don’t want to—”

  “Come on, Sis. I can handle it.”

  She sighed. “They said you’ll be unavailable soon, and they won’t get another chance.”

  “Unavailable?”

  “Well…dead, actually. Must have been a metaphor.”

  “The Quirts don’t use metaphors.” He glanced at the crews, who appeared to be cleaning up after the decon operation. “I’d like to know what’s going on here. Why did their planetary defense guard shoot at us, and why does that nice young couple think I’m doomed?”

  “I can help you with that, Counselor.” A black haired, caramel-faced, deliciously shaped woman of African descent hopped off an open-topped floating vehicle. “Welcome to the Diplomatic Quad.”

  Tyler’s mouth dropped open. “Lovey Frost?”

  The last time he’d seen her, Lieutenant Frost had burgundy hair and served as a prosecutor with the Navy’s JAG Corps stationed on Sedalia-3. Since the Matthews colony world lay at the edge of Gated space, and since his father’s private fleet was always infuriating the toothless central government of the Terran Commonwealth, Tyler assumed Naval HQ had sent the icy hot Lieutenant Frost into exile to punish Noah Matthews. Or perhaps she committed some trivial offense against the good order and discipline of the military.

  He never had an opportunity to raise the issue, because she was hammering Chief Paco León at his murder trial. The Matthews brothers won the case, springing Paco, but Tyler suspected Prosecutor Frost did not consider them friends of the court.

  Now she appeared on the deck of this Quirt-Thyme mega-station, thousands of light years from Sedalia. To his further surprise, Frost had traded her Navy uniform for a dark green jumpsuit, not unlike the standard apparel for consultants hired by Matthews Interstellar Industries.

  “Your place or mine?” Lovey said coyly.

  Man, there was a time I’d have bitten that hook. “What the hell are you doing out here, Lieutenant?”

  “Prince Zenna-Zenn’s family placed me on retainer,” she said. “I’m your second chair.”

  “Bull cookies. You’re not a Star Lawyer. We’ve been retained by his family.”

  Lovey Frost shook her head rhythmically, twisting upper body like a dancer, and Tyler had to force himself not to follow the jiggles downstream. “Mister Matthews, do you know that you are facing the death penalty?”

  “I know the Quirts considered regicide a capital offense, but—”

  “Not just Mr. Blue. You are personally facing execution if you cannot persuade a majority of citizens of his innocence.”

  Tyler swallowed. “They kill the lawyers?”

  “Not all the lawyers. The lead defense attorney. You.” She smiled wickedly. “But only in a regicide. And only if you lose.”

  Tyler turned to Rosalie. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rosalie winced. “Quirt-Thymean literature on crime and punishment is ancient and vast. And, as you keep telling me, I’m not a lawyer.”

  “It hasn’t happened in a hundred generations,” Frost said. “But they are serious as a supernova about punishing Zenna-Zenn for this murder. And killing you, too.”

  J.B. leaned toward his brother. “Reconsidering the case?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Can we please get off the flight deck?” Lovey said. “You might enjoy stretching your legs after being cooped up for the long journey here. My quarters are in this Quad, not far. I’ll brief your team in a comfortable setting.”

  “I’d like to see what she’s got,” J.B.’s face flushed. “About the case, I mean.”

  “Briefing only.” Tyler thumbed at her transport. “Lead on, O Queen Eternal.”

  Lovey’s hovercar whisked through pedestrian and floater traffic, changing levels at two vertical shafts, which Rosalie said were marked ascent and descent. Everywhere they went, the QTs had planted fruit trees and covered the open spaces with banks of green and violet plants that Tyler assumed were also edible. On levels above, more vegetables hung in cascading strings. The whole Station was a garden of fresh foods.

  Lovey parked the floater and led them along a greenbelt and under a half-moon trellis. Purple flowers dangled from the curved, inner surface and filled the air with scents of mint, curry and chocolate.

  The far end of the floral tunnel opened to a habitat section. After a few more minutes walking, Frost tapped an access code and the hatch slid open, revealing a spacious apartment. While they waited outside, Demarcus made a quick sweep of the room and nodded to pronounce it clear. He leaned against the inside bulkhead next to the hatch, standing guard as usual.

  “I love the view from my place,” Frost said.

  The large living space began with a carpeted greeting area and waist-high, curved brick wall that sheltered a conversation-pit with half-circle sofa and large, knee-high, burnished bonze coffee table. At the far end of the sunken couch, logs crackled in yellow flame within a glass-boxed fireplace. Maybe a hologram? Oddly familiar sight, like a mountain cabin back home.

  But this was an orbiting space station. Behind the glass fireplace a floor-to-ceiling observation alcove revealed ships gliding between the coppery Imperial Hub and blue-white Annistyn, homeworld of the Quit-Thyme Empire. Half the planet had slipped into night, its narrow, dark seas illumined by strings of light stretching across necks of land to link blazing, fairyland cities.

  Rosalie perched by the fireplace. She found a dish of nuts and nibbled while keeping an eye on the door. J.B. and Tyler went to the alcove and watched three freighters drift toward docking ports in the upper pylons of the Diplomatic Quad. The edges of two other quads were barely visible to the port and starboard.

  Lovey Frost murmured a few words and a pair of light blue androids materialized from a dark kitchen to the right of the conversation pit. They carried trays of poured drinks.

  Tyler hefted a glass as the robot glided by. Heavy crystal, red liquid beverage with a hint of roses, black cherries and currants. “Alcohol content?” he asked.

  “Fourteen per cent,” the android rasped in Terran. “Food will be served eventually. Be patient.”

  J.B. lightly sniffed the vintage. “Pinot noir? Very nice.”

  “Your opinion is not required,” the android said.

  “Make a note,” Frost called to the robotic servant. “This unit requires maintenance. Social protocols malfunctioning. Return to base.”

  It shuffled back to the serving shaft in a dim corner of the apartment then disappeared. The other android followed.

  “Okay, Lieutenant, I have some questions.” Tyler said.

  “Not a lieutenant anymore.” Lovey Frost’s lithe figure silhouetted against the crescent planet.

  Tyler sipped the pinot and approached her. “How did you get here from Sedalia so quickly?”

  She frowned. “Want to put me under oath first?”

  Tyler tapped his datacom. “Suzie, do you have access to a computer link at my location?”

  “Yes, luv. Never far away when you’re grilling a beautiful woman.”

  Frost smiled slightly. “I’ll take that compliment.”

  Tyler ignored her. “Download to this site, babe.” Suzie appeared so quickly that Tyler hopped backward for fear of collision with his buxom blonde bio-energetic sweetheart.

  “How did you do that?” Lovey said. “Did Matthews Corp discover teleportation? That’s supposed to be impossible.”

  Tyler grunted. “It’s not impossible.”

  His mind flashed on the first time he encountered teleportation. He and Suzie were floating in space suits, 2.5 million light years away in the Andromeda galaxy. Their O2 levels were seriously depleted
, and they faced imminent death by asphyxiation, until they were teleported aboard an alien starcraft by the mysterious energy being Abuela.

  “We haven’t figured out teleportation yet,” Tyler said. “But it’s on Dad’s wish list.”

  “I’m a genie,” Suzie said. “The Universe is my bottle.”

  Lovey saluted her. “Honey, with moves like that, you can be whatever you want.”

  Suzie laughed. “I’m working on being human. That’s hard enough.”

  “Ummm, you are so right,” Lovey agreed.

  Tyler raised a hand. “Uh, hello. Can we get back to business? She said they’re going to kill me.”

  “Not if we win,” his fiancé said.

  “Counselor, we need to ask you some questions,” J.B. said. “Suzie, can you record this conversation in the Henry’s MLC?”

  “Linked and recording.”

  “I’ve got one for openers.” J.B. returned to Tyler’s original inquiry. “Ms. Frost, how did you beat us to the Quirt-Thyme homeworld? Sedalia is thousands of light years farther than our starting point in the Sacred Protectorate.”

  “Mr. Blue’s kinsman is an Admiral of the blue fleet. They sent a fast cruiser to pick me up. We Gated to the Empire in thirty-nine hours.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” Tyler said. “Ain’t no Jump Gates beyond the Perseus Ring.”

  “Beg to differ, Counselor,” Lovey said. “The Quirts have ancient Gates bookmarked throughout the Outer Arm. With the same problems we face in the Orion and Perseus—you know, sporadic navigational anomalies and pirates parked at the Gates.”

  Tyler and J.B. exchanged glances. J.B. spoke first. “That would explain how their fleet got to Suryadivan Prime overnight when it took us eleven days to get here.”

  Tyler’s mind reeled. Talk about Dad’s wish list! The Old Man would pay a planetary ransom for the data in those bookmarks. It’s hardly a secret that T. Noah Matthews III wants to make M-double-I the ultimate trading power in the galaxy. The QT Jump Gate map will practically guarantee it.

  Tyler briefly fantasized about dangling that morsel over Dad’s nose at a well-chosen moment, maybe the next time they locked horns. If Shakespeare’s line about the past as prologue held true, Tyler would need an escape hatch before too long.

  “So, assuming you are telling the truth,” Tyler continued, “and you were in fact abducted by aliens—”

  “Don’t get cute, Tyler.” Suzie snapped. “I like her.”

  “I’m working here,” he shot back. “Ms. Frost, why did Indigo ask for you?”

  She lowered her head, a panther about to spring. Lovey looked up at Tyler through dark bangs. “Because I am a bad-assed, black bitch who will fight like hell to get him acquitted.”

  Demarcus Platte laughed, regained his composure, and returned to guard duty.

  Tyler folded his arms. “What’s your link to Mr. Blue?”

  “I worked with Zenna-Zenn for three years on your Sedalia sandbar colony. He’s clever, obscure, humorless, and he eats too much. But I have never met a kinder, more honorable sentient being from any world.”

  “Also one helluva lawyer, albeit cleverly disguised,” J.B. said.

  Lovey said, “When the blue people came for me at Sedalia—which was still in ruins after the pirates chasing you had bombarded the port from orbit—I abandoned ship and decided to help my friend.”

  “You resigned your Navy commission?” J.B. said.

  “I made a career decision.”

  “Not much career to lose,” Tyler said. “They’d already sent you to the edge of Terran space.”

  Suzie growled. “Tyler…”

  “No, he’s right,” Lovey said. “Career in ruins, like Sedalia. So, I have become a free agent, authorized to practice law in the Quirt-Thyme Empire for the duration of this trial. Who knows where that might lead?”

  “Hire her,” Suzie ordered. “I have a strong feeling about this.”

  “Wait,” Tyler said. “She might not want to—”

  “I accept,” Lovey Frost said.

  Tyler looked to his older brother. “I don’t know about this.”

  J.B. shrugged. “We need somebody who can travel to the surface and interview witnesses without getting shot on sight.”

  Tyler glared at Lovey. “Why didn’t you volunteer for first chair, to save your friend? Death sentence too high a price for loyalty?”

  Suzie slapped his shoulder.

  “Hey! That hurt.”

  “Women can’t be lead counsel in this culture,” Lovey said. “If I could, you’d be my second chair.”

  J.B. approached her. “Ms. Frost—”

  “Lovey.”

  He started again. “Ms. Frost, by accepting provisional employment with Star Lawyers, you are agreeing to defer to Tyler and myself in legal matters. Feel free to dispute with us vociferously, until the call is made.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I don’t agree,” Tyler said. “I’m supposed to be the boss of this outfit.”

  “Ty, you are sooooo outvoted,” Rosalie said.

  Lovey Frost smiled slyly. “I can brief the case whenever the Boss-man is ready.”

  “All right,” Tyler grumbled. “Provisional hire. And she needs to work on her people skills.”

  Rosalie and Suzie laughed deliriously at Tyler’s projected self-description, but cut it short under his disapproving glare.

  “And I’m not comfortable being called Boss-man.” Especially not by someone of African heritage, but he didn’t say that aloud. It was a conversation he had been meaning to have with Demarcus, too. Whites had abused people of color for centuries before the Terran Commonwealth established the equality of all sentient beings as a fundamental right. Still, the old language lingered here and there. Even as sarcasm, it made him uncomfortable. Tyler couldn’t stand intolerance. Well, he didn’t much like the Dengathi, but everybody despised the Frogs. And the arrogant, mud-faced Rek Kett—

  “May I please brief the case now, Mr. Tyler Noah Matthews the Fourth?” Lovey arched an eyebrow.

  Jolted from his reverie, Tyler gestured regally. “Proceed in a judicious manner.”

  Suzie took another swing, but he ducked this time.

  They moved to the conversation pit, where Lovey projected a holographic image above the metal coffee table. It was a half-sized blue alien with typical short-doggy ears. He wore dark red robes and a flat-brimmed, copper headdress piled high with simulated raw fruits, green and purple vegetables and thick fillets of cooked fish. His left hand held a hooked, bronze scepter wrapped with a metallic net. It reminded Tyler of ancient fishing equipment. Of course. Food-centric culture, crown of prized edibles and procurement implements as Father of the feast.

  “Our murder victim,” Frost said. “His Imperial Highness, Emperor Bandu-Jeewan Ringadool-Khelida-LeBokk. Rajah of the LeBokk Dynasty, High Sovereign of Annistyn, and Ruler of the Quirt-Thymean Empire. Sometimes called the Blue King.” Lovey frowned at the holo-image. “This fellow displayed an annoying tendency to control the multitudes of Secondary, Tertiary and Lesser Sub-Princes by shifting members of family groups without consent.”

  “I have no idea what the fuck that means.”

  “Tyler!” Suzie swatted his arm again. “You should slap your own face for saying that.”

  “Ow—quit hitting me!”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “May I try to explain?” Rosalie said. “Quirt Thymeans have a strong caste system with a multi-tiered arrangement of sexual access.”

  “A what?” Tyler said.

  “It can’t be diagramed without 3D images. Children are born to large dynastic groups, depending on social class,” Rosalie said. “They will eventually choose three marriage partners from groups with similar standing in the society. Some partners they will live with; others they will just have lawful sexual access at their mutual convenience.”

  “All opposite-sex?” J.B. said.

  “Heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual—it doesn’t matter,�
�� Rosalie said. “Children are encouraged to experiment with sex within the larger group until they reach the age of fertility, which occurs five years after they are sexually mature. That’s when they choose three partners for life.”

  “Okay, are you saying somebody killed Mr. High Blue Sovereign because he revamped the mating rituals?” Tyler sipped the strong wine.

  “It wasn’t about social policy,” Lovey said. “King Bandu-Jeewan disciplined his senior people—princely castes and lesser nobility—by selectively dissolving their marriage pods and reassigning everyone to other sexual and domestic partners.”

  “Did he have the authority to do that?” J.B. said.

  Lovey smirked. “Like the philosopher Mel Brooks said, ‘It’s good to be King.’”

  Tyler said, “The Empire is a parliamentary democracy, right? Why not tell this royal mook to stay out of their bedrooms? Screw whomever they please. There ain’t no Catholics out here.”

  Lovey put her hands on her hips. “Because, Counselor, except for the Momentary Fidelity custom during Toorlazimbaa, adult sex outside a marriage pod is forbidden to members of the nobility. Punishable by banishment or life at hard labor in a mining colony.”

  “And they live twice as long as humans,” Rosalie said.

  “Now, that I didn’t know,” Lovey admitted.

  “Tyler has a point,” J.B. said. “Why can’t parliament resist a tyrannical king?”

  “Despite their sexual adventures at Toorlazimbaa,” Rosalie said, “Quirt-Thymean society is actually quite conservative. The King represents the Divine Spirit. Their religious literature affirms, ‘One Presence, One Power, One King.’ If you defy the Ruler, you set yourself against the metaphysical order of the Universe.”

  “I was wrong,” Tyler said. “There are Catholics out here.”

  A whirring, grinding sound billowed from the dark corner where the androids disappeared. Lovey frowned. “That damned access shaft is jammed again. I may have to cancel First Lunch. They fine you for missing meals. Give me a second.” She switched off the holographic King and stepped into the dark kitchen.