by Tom Shepherd
“Matthews KC-HQ is way closer to the Carina Arm than we are at the Rim,” Tyler said. “Doesn’t it make better sense to send your high-paid litigators from Terra?”
“Like I said. Family matter.”
Noah sat back, resting his head against the chair. The chair reacted by bending slightly. Tyler had to remind himself this was a solidified hologram, not his flesh-and-blood father.
“Your mother is worried about Charlie. God knows why, but she’s always liked my worthless brother.”
“We have a murder case in progress,” J.B. said. “Our friend, Mr. Blue, is on trial for his life.”
“I’m sorry about your friend, but this is serious,” Noah said. “They want to execute Charlie.”
Tyler raised a hand, student-like. “For multiple crimes, right. What are the charges? You ain’t told us nothing yet.”
“Since you ask so graciously, in such well-educated Terran Standard—”
Tyler groaned. “C’mon, Dad…”
“They’re accusing him of sedition.”
“Sedition?” J.B. laughed. “Charles Francis Matthews?”
“Afraid so.”
Tyler leaned forward, pressing the table like he was preparing to do a push-up. “Define sedition, Dad. What exactly did Charlie do?”
“He enticed a number of women to accept his proposal of marriage.”
“A number?” J.B. said. “What number?”
“Wait, don’t the Meks allow multiple spouses?” Tyler said.
“They do,” Rosalie said. “It’s a matriarchal society. Wealthy women often have stables—their term for harems—which vary in size depending on how many husbands they can support. Usually four, sometimes five, but there is no legal limit.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Tyler said.
J.B. said, “How many women did he entice?”
Noah scratched his head, just over the ear. Tyler hated when Dad did that. It reminded him of the traits he picked up from The Old Man.
“Yeah… at last count…” Noah said, “…two hundred seventy-eight.”
Rosalie put a hand over her mouth, but Tyler saw her chest convulse slightly. Little Sis thinks this is funny?
“We’re talking about our fifty-something, slightly gray, slightly pudgy, penniless Uncle Charlie?” Tyler said.
“Not penniless. Remember the last time I cut him off—when he tried to overthrow the government on Tucson-4? Your mother set him up with a secret trust fund. Don’t tell her I know.”
“How is enticing women an act of sedition among Meks?” J.B. said.
“It shouldn’t be,” Suzie said. “Meklavite criminal codes impose lethal punishment only for acts against the State. They haven’t inflicted a death sentence for two hundred Terran years. I can brief you on the exact definitions of all their capital offenses, plus all historic case files.”
“How do you know that?” Noah said. “Good God—can you read Zyra-Crispin?”
“Fluently,” she said.
With its bizarre grammar—eleven verb tenses, thirty-eight distinctive types of adjective-adverbs, and seventeen noun cases—spoken Meklavite was a tough language for humans to master. And its nightmarish written form was almost indecipherable. Eleven thousand basic symbols were arranged in infinite—yes, infinite—combinations to form new words. Think three-dimensional Chinese characters, each composed of smaller characters that changed meanings as the radicals rotated or tilted.
Human scholars required eight to ten years hard study to read Zyra-Crispin at the elementary school level. There were no linguistic implants available. Rosalie had elementary skills in the spoken language, but could not read a word of the text.
“Suzie is a bio-energetic lifeform,” J.B. explained. “She can access any nearby computer and speaks more languages than Rosalie. Also, she is an attorney.”
“And terrific in the sack,” Tyler added.
Suzie jabbed his arm, hard. “Thank you.”
Noah raised an eyebrow at his younger son. “So, that’s what you meant when you introduced us. ‘No bullshit when you learn the details.’ Well, don’t worry. She’s bright and gorgeous and your mother adores her. If she keeps you out of trouble, that’s good enough for me.”
Suzie kissed his holographic cheek. “You old sweetie.”
Noah’s smile suddenly disappeared. “Uh… can you have—?”
“Yes,” she said. “If we want them.”
Touché, Dad. Tyler rubbed the arm Suzie punched. His father kissed his fiancé’s forehead and went back to mogul mode.
“Look, we’re wasting time,” Noah said. “The Meks owe me a few favors. I received a communique from the Coven Assembly warning me of Charlie’s upcoming trial and probable execution.”
“How is polygamy, even on a biblical scale, a death offense among the Meklavites?” J.B. said.
Julieta turned to Noah. “Sounds like fantastic hypocrisy.”
“If the colony is far from the Mek homeworld, perhaps it has evolved different laws,” Esteban suggested.
“Not likely.” Even without fluency in written Mek, Rosalie’s knowledge of exo-anthropology was mind-boggling. “The Meklavite legal system is twenty-eight thousand years old. One law code prevails among all their worlds and colonies.”
Noah turned to Tyler. “I gave you my word that Star Lawyers could operate as an independent subsidiary of Matthews Interstellar. So, I’m asking, not demanding. Will you go to the Farroleok system and get your brainless uncle out of jail?”
“We won’t abandon Mr. Blue,” Tyler said. “But we can’t let the Meks try and fry Uncle Charlie. So, here’s a compromise. We’ll divide into two teams. One stays here, one flies to the Carina Arm.”
“Good plan,” J.B. concurred.
The Old Man nodded. “I can sell that to your mother.”
“When’s the trial?” Tyler said.
“Twenty-one days,” his father said. “Just enough time to fly there at max FTL.”
“With no chance for investigation or prep,” Tyler said.
“Maybe you can get a continuance,” Noah suggested.
Suzie shook her head. “Mek law doesn’t allow postponements.”
Noah sighed. “Get there fast as possible and save his dumb ass.”
Tyler said, “Tell Mom we’re on the job.”
“Mr. Matthews, we shall need a retainer,” Ulrika said.
J.B. nodded. “It’s just good business, you know.”
“Of course. I’ll have Lulu Treymore’s assistant transfer funds to your account at the Bank of Rahjen.” Noah rose, and everyone stood with him. “Be safe. Don’t do anything I would’ve done at your age.”
Tyler smiled. “Of course not, Dad.”
His father glanced at Julieta, then Rosalie. “Easy on the locals, wherever you go.”
Rosalie smiled broadly. “Just an exo-anthropologist.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Noah. Hippocratic Oath.”
Noah snickered and disappeared as the Apexcom link closed.
Tyler held up his hands. “And now we have two capital cases.”
J.B. said, “Dad could be mistaken about Charlie’s jeopardy.”
Rosalie shook her head. “If the Coven Assembly sent Daddy a warning, I’m inclined to believe them.”
Suzie’s nose wrinkled. “Rosalie, luv, the Meks are a matriarchy. What does that suggest to you?”
“Men have very little—of course! Women are polygynous, but men are required to be monogamous. No wonder it’s a capital offense.”
“I’m not following,” Tyler said.
“Women have the option of forming a stable with multiple husbands, but husbands get one wife,” Rosalie said.
“Which makes acquiring multiple wives an act of sedition against the Meklavite Union,” Suzie added. “It would destabilize the social order.”
J.B. said, “Ty, you should take the Legal Beagle to Farroleok-7. It’s not safe for you here.”
Tyler shook his head. “Think about it, Bea
r. We need to send a female team. It’s a matriarchy.”
Rosalie nodded. “They descended from primordial bands guided by witches. Today, they use witchcraft as a form of nature worship.”
“Like our Wiccans,” Tyler said.
“Human witch societies are composed of men and women,” Rosalie said. “The Meks never let go of female-dominated spirituality. It evolved to political leadership.”
“With Lovey in the hospital, the only female lawyer we have is Suzie,” J.B. said. “No offense, my dear, but you’re new to this profession.”
“I can handle it,” Suzie insisted.
“You probably can,” Tyler said. “But it isn’t prudent to try a capital case without a second chair.”
“Exactly,” J.B. said. “Maybe the Meks will accept a male assistant.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Tyler said. “And it ought to be you.”
“The Quirt-Thymeans are gunning for you, not me.”
“Because I’m first chair. As soon as I leave, that honor falls on you.”
“Who will be your second chair?” J.B. said.
“With any luck, Lovey will be out of stasis and ready to go when the trial starts. If not, I’ll download a legal education into a couple ladies from the Henry’s memory bank. We’ll holo-project to the courtroom.”
Suzie pouted. “I don’t fancy another separation. Last time I ended up hiding from pirates in a pitch-black ocean, fifty klicks under the ice of a frozen planet. Lovely trip.”
“You’re a bloody Star Lawyer, luv,” Tyler said. “Stiff upper lip. Muddle through. Keep calm and carry—”
“Oh, shut up,” Suzie said. “Who else goes to Farroleok?”
He turned to his sister. “Rosalie? The team might need your special talents.”
She clapped her hands. “I’m up for another road trip.”
“J.B., you’re in command,” Tyler said, “but Suzie knows the holographic ladies better. Maybe she should pick the crew.”
J.B. nodded. “One request. Rodney Rooney as chief engineer.”
Suzie said, “Arabella to keep him on task, Parvati and Myong Li on the bridge. And I’d like Ulrika and Zalika for admin backup. Is that okay, Jerry?”
“Sure.” J.B. smiled. Nobody but Adelaide LeBlanc called him Jerry, his preferred nickname.
Tyler’s nose twitched. “Suzie, how long will it take the Beagle to reach the Farroleok system?”
“Twenty days. According to Chief León, the Henry could get there in fifteen, if her engines weren’t down for maintenance.”
Tyler grinned. “Another compelling reason to attend the toga party tonight.”
“I’m not following you,” J.B. said.
“Remember how Lovey got here? She said the Quirts have bookmarks for ancient Gates from the Outer Arm to the Perseus. And they don’t publish the information, or Dad would have it already. We need to procure their Gate map. Somebody at the party will know how.”
J.B. nodded. “Risky operation. I’m guessing the map is highly classified.”
“Maybe I can hack into their astrometrical archives,” Suzie said.
“It’s worth a try,” Tyler agreed.
Cousin Esteban frowned darkly. “Spying on a friendly power?”
Tyler grunted. “Oh, yeah. Like that’s never happened before.”
Esteban mumbled something in Latin, which Tyler vaguely recognized as biblical. The former monk added in Spanish, “The last party we attended, I was arrested for attempted murder.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Esteban.” Tyler threw up his hands. “Free food and drink. Opportunities to exploit contacts. Dispatchers to evade. Gratuitous sex. Have you no zest for life? And, so help me, if you quote St. Jerome’s Vulgate Bible again—”
“It was the 1979 Nova Vulgata,” Esteban corrected.
“Tyler, stay in your adult,” Rosalie said sweetly.
“Amen,” J.B. said. “With or without the Gate map, the Legal Beagle needs comprehensive pre-flight prep, to include recharging both drive chambers, before we can launch for longer than a day trip.”
“Rodney and Paco can handle it,” Suzie said.
“Since we’re spying on a crowd—excuse me, mingling, socializing—we could use some force multipliers,” Tyler said. “Suzie, you think a few of the resident A.I. programs might enjoy an evening out?”
“Abso-blooming-lutely.”
Rosalie stood. “Let’s see if the Henry’s fabrication system can reproduce suitable evening ware for humans and holograms.”
J.B. nodded crisply. “Great! How about a box of Chief León’s holo-projecting bracelets, one for each… uh… force multiplier?”
“Right. Magic bracelets for the holo-crew. I’ll brief the ladies on appropriate party behavior.” Suzie’s eyes darted playfully to Ulrika, whose head was bent toward her data display. “Don’t want anybody returning with a pocketful of coin from exploiting the expats.”
“Joyous Toorlazimbaa!” Julieta cried.
“I will attend.” Esteban sighed. “Dinner. No orgy.”
Five
Before tonight’s event, Tyler thought the rooftop Mardi Gras at the Matthews Trade Embassy on the Suryadivan homeworld was the finest bash he ever attended on an alien world. While the Imperial Orbital Hub wasn’t a world, it presented a magnificent outlook to see one. A two story optical viewport offered panoramic sights of the islands and narrow seas of Annistyn, and the array of wispy rings and white moons draped around her like a pearl necklace.
A storm system southeast of the largest continent portended heavy rainfall for the mainland. Tyler wished he could walk in the rain again. Instead, he had to be content with watching the deluge from above, like a disobedient demi-god confined to the ramparts of Olympus.
Suzie disrupted his medley of mythology and sightseeing with a report on the Gate map. The news wasn’t good.
“Either it’s not in the network,” she said, “or they’ve got it locked behind an invisible door. I’m bloody good at unlocking data in a binary cyberverse, so either this represents highly advanced coding, or it’s not there. I think the latter.”
“Maybe transforming from A.I. program to bio-energetic lifeform enervated your ability to navigate a network,” Tyler mused.
“Possibly, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve lost a step in the cyberverse. The data is just not aboard.” She took a standard datacom from her auxiliary pocket.
“How about Quirt-Thyme vessels moored at the Hub?” he said. “They must have Jump Gate data aboard. Shouldn’t their umbilicals permit data flow both ways?”
“Thought of that. Quirts don’t hook into the grid when they dock.” Suzie put her head on his shoulder. “Sorry, Ty. That Gate map isn’t accessible. They must guard it like the Crown Jewels.”
“I’d rather dance under the stars with you,” Tyler said, “but we gotta mingle. C’mon.” He took her hand and they waded into the throngs of Toorlazimbaa revelers.
In the first half-hour, Tyler encountered humanoids from most of the spacefaring cultures doing business with the Terran Commonwealth, plus several new races from Rim worlds unknown to humans. And there were non-humanoids, too. Hard-shelled mollusks who slid forward on a retractable, tongue-like foot. Hovering feathered creatures who resembled large, short-beaked hummingbirds. And Yegosians, man-sized insectoids with large eyes and dome-like heads for the oversized brain they reputedly carried. Yegosians were one of the most ancient spacefaring races in the galaxy, but Tyler had never met one before tonight.
There was a brief kerfuffle with a pair of squat, multi-legged, beetle-beings who sniffed Tyler with gentle feelers and crackled in a language few humans had ever heard. Lacking referenced in the Terran database aboard the Henry, Suzie linked to the Station’s linguistic archives and was able to interpret, albeit with difficulty. Her new, human vocal cords couldn’t reproduce the sounds accurately, and there were a few seconds of confusion when Suzie creaked, “We are happy to mash you.”
When they cla
ttered in horror, she corrected the sound.
“Meet you. Sorry!”
They chittered away happily, sending puffs of purple fog into the air of the crowded ballroom.
With the insectoids lost in the crowd, Tyler smirked. “Bugger, that.”
She groaned. “Oh, you think you’re so bloody clever. Next time, you talk to the multipedes.”
“Nah. I’ve got you to bug me. It’s a party. Let’s feast.” He wandered toward the nearest food tables.
QT parties were all about eating and drinking. Buffet style, with nowhere to sit and no plates to pile high. Guests were expected to graze endlessly, and the finger foods, raw vegetables, assorted bowls of soup, small loaves of bread and baked sweets facilitated this arrangement. Each table had a medical sanitizer to keep the fare from picking up pathogens or stray chemicals from the touch of alien appendages.
Apparently, the chef had prepared dishes for celebrants from non-herbivore species, too. Tyler discovered a lightly toasted meat patty, wrapped in leafy yellow lettuce, that was quite delicious. Suzie nibbled on purple fruit stalks and hardboiled eggs. QT etiquette did not permit drinking while eating, so they finished their first mini-meal and helped themselves to goblets of light blue wine. Tyler found the vintage surprisingly crisp and dry, reminiscent of Sauvignon Blanc.
“I hope Toorlazimbaa is a good experience for you, Counselor Matthews.”
Tyler turned to greet the speaker, expecting a Terran expatriate. He was surprised to find Quirt-Thymean male with silver flecks in his dark mane. He wore a cape embroidered with an assortment of copper and gold symbols, none of which Tyler recognized.
“Yerzail Kamariikaaa,” he said. “Chief Prosecutor of the Imperial Court at Annistyn-Kloore. I will be handling your uncle’s case personally.”
“Your Terran is perfect, almost no accent,” Tyler said. Well, you sound like a bitch in heat, but your grammar’s okay.
“When I was a youth, I spent five years on Terra as legal attaché to our Consulate at Jerusalem.”
“The world capital is my favorite place except for Kansas City. May I introduce my fiancé, Counselor Suzanne London.”
