The Blue King Murders

by Tom Shepherd

  With twenty-eight seconds until her next course correction, Arabella recorded a three-second burst-message to Rodney and posted it. She added a second, longer message, which consumed the remainder of her time.

  The Beagle howled around Charybdis clockwise, picking up speed as the corvette emerged from behind the second black hole. When her orbit crossed the centerline between singularities, the Beagle reached one-quarter lightspeed. Now, only battered shields and quivering internal dampeners protected the humans and A.I. holograms from the full blast of X-ray radiation and the crushing acceleration to sub-light speeds.

  To further complicate matters, time distortions from the ergosphere collided with the Einsteinian formula for objects approaching the speed of light. Arabella had no idea when or where the Beagle would emerge, provided the plucky ship survived at all. She attempted to integrate the variables into a mathematic solution, but the MLC was under assault by space-time and hard radiation. Too complex. Too complex. It sputtered and coughed out splintered algorithms. She gave up and turned full attention to flying the corvette.

  It was now or never, break free or die. Arabella pushed the engines two hundred percent past redline. She felt herself slipping from the controls, shored up by force of will. For my Family and for Rodney.

  Her holo-matrix shriveled as the bridge took a final, immeasurable blast of X-rays. Arabella’s link to the MLC was dissolving. Her logic systems were gone. She fought to remember her name, her function, her bodily shape. All she could recall was, What would Suzie do? But she had no idea who this Suzie was, or what she was supposed to do. Everything was fading.

  I don’t know what happened… but I must have failed.

  She looked up at her monitors. The Beagle emerged from the valley of death, broke free, and careened into deep space at speeds close to half-light velocity. Her memory slowly rebooted, but the clarity was gone. She contacted the MLC one last time, to execute a shut-down command. Overheated, irradiated, sub-light engines, teetering at the brink of explosion, began a gradual, pre-programmed spooling down toward station-keeping. In a few minutes, the Beagle would be holding position far from the twin demons just evaded. She stretched a hand and could see through it. A ghost hand. A memory of what I was, but no longer me. The ship… please, Allah, let us be far beyond danger.

  Parvati appeared on the bridge. “Arabella!” She tried to embrace her friend, who was softly glowing energy, shimmering like desert heat.

  The ghostly figure smiled wearily. “My beautiful Hindu friend. I think… we… did it.”

  “You did it.” Parvati started to cry. “You did it.”

  The light faded, and Arabella was gone.

  Eight

  Thirty minutes after reaching the safety of station-keeping in deep space, the holograms began slowly raising the temperature in cargo bay two, allowing the frozen mix of metallic foam, CO2, and water ice to melt. Even after taking a beating by gravity, hyper-acceleration, and hard radiation, the ship’s auto-cleanup system behaved perfectly, separating the various components and returning each to ordinary function.

  When the system finally defrosted the biologicals in EVA suits, not a soul was injured. Lucy the cat bounced out of the leg of her EVA suit, gave a meow, and stretched. She sniffed the air and suddenly grew five meters tall with blue-green fur and a teddy-bear face. The crew member holograms stepped back, but Rosalie and Suzie grabbed Lucy’s tummy and embraced her. The giant bear cooed like a baby.

  “She feels so soft!” Suzie said.

  “Lucy must’ve been cold,” Rosalie said. “This is a Kalian mountain bear, native to the Tleone homeworld. Herbivore, very gentle species. Warm fur. Almost hunted to extinction centuries ago.”

  Suzie procured a radiation datacom from a cargo bay equipment locker and checked everyone for X-ray exposure. No significant damage had occurred. A follow-up treatment by any competent medical practitioner could erase all doubts.

  A few minutes later, J.B. gathered the crew—humans, holograms, and shape-shifter—in the Beagle’s smallish conference room. Rodney protested, demanding the right to stay with his engines, but Suzie gently persuaded him to attend the debriefing. He arrived last and stood in the corner until Suzie had Ulrika conjure up a chair. J.B. pointed to the vacant space, and Rodney complied. His face like carved stone, he sat sideways in the chair, leaning an elbow on the table.

  “We lost a crew member,” J.B. said, “but Arabella’s heroism saved all of us.

  Parvati, wrapped in a white sari, asked to speak. “She sent a message—two messages—to the Patrick Henry at the Imperial Hub. They were for Lieutenant Rooney. I do not know what they contain.”

  “Can we retrieve them?” Rosalie tried to smile, but her lips trembled.

  Rodney closed his eyes. “I don’t want them.”

  “What…?” Gasping, Rosalie turned to the other redhead aboard. “How can you say that?”

  “I—I don’t want to see her again. It’s… it’s just not right!” He slammed his fist on the table.

  J.B. leaned toward him without touching. “Lieutenant, I know this is hard. But somebody must view those messages.”

  “Why?” Rodney cried. “Why can’t we let her go? She’s dead.” Tears trickled down his freckled face. “My Arabella is dead…”

  “Luv, we know you are hurting, but J.B. is right,” Suzie said. “Her messages might help us learn why that Quirt-Thymean Gate turned out to be a bloody death trap.”

  “Then you look at them, or J.B.,” Rodney said. “Anybody but me.”

  J.B. shook his head. “They’ll wait.”

  “Rodney, I have a personal need to tell you something,” Parvati said. “May I proceed?”

  He shrugged.

  “She was my friend. I wear white to mourn her, after the custom of the Hindu religion.” She smoothed the sari with a flat hand. “On the bridge, just before sending me to safety, Arabella said, ‘Tell Rodney I love him. Tell him to look for me among the stars.’”

  Lieutenant Rooney broke down and wept.

  J.B. stood, and the crew rose with him. He asked Parvati to lead them in prayer. She draped the white sari over her head and chanted a mourning prayer from the Mahabharata in Neo-Classical Sanskrit. J.B. closed with an “Our Father” from Arabella’s Eastern Orthodox tradition. Catholics aboard—Rosalie, J.B., and recent convert Suzie—crossed themselves.

  “I’m sorry, but we must look to the safety of the ship,” J.B. said. “We will all grieve privately, and if you want I’ll schedule a memorial service once we are under way.”

  “That would be most appropriate,” Parvati said.

  J.B. had a stray thought. “Suzie, what is the date?”

  “Monday, April 18, 3104.”

  “My chronometer has Friday, April 15,” Rosalie said.

  “It’s that dodgy Einsteinian physics again,” Suzie said. “When the Beagle reached one-half lightspeed during the escape maneuver, we lost three days in time, relativistically. Instead of Friday, it’s Monday.”

  “So, we skipped the weekend. Can’t afford to forfeit pretrial days like that,” J.B. said. “Is the locator online? Are we safe here?”

  “We traveled 1.3 billion kilometers,” Myong Li said. “Totally beyond the monsters’ grasp.”

  “Good. Let’s take two hours for the organics to get something to eat and a little rest. Holographic crew, you might start checking ship’s systems,” J.B. suggested. “Staff meeting at 10:30.”

  Rodney stopped at the door and waited for J.B. They walked together in silence to the steps leading to the ship’s automated galley.

  “Sir, I’m not hungry. I need to run a diagnostic on sub-light and FTL engines. Without light-plus, we’re dead in space.”

  “How about communications?”

  “Online, sir. Checked that first.”

  “Can I get a voice hook-up with my brother back at the Hub?”

  “Sure. At this distance—less than two hundred light years from Annistyn—you’ll experience negligib
le delay in voice traffic, even without Apexcom.”

  “Remind me to get the new system installed after this mission.” J.B. put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re hurting with you, Rodney.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  J.B. climbed up to the galley and ordered a box breakfast of bacon and eggs with buttered toast. The computer served up a raw, whole trout. It was dead, but that wasn’t the point. J.B. recycled his first attempt and opted for fruit and cheese. This time he got diced ham and broccoli, smothered in onions. At least it was cooked.

  “Where is Dorla León when I need her?” he grumbled.

  A few minutes later he was eating his makeshift breakfast at the auxiliary command station beside the Captain’s chair. Coffee arrived, delivered by dark, sensuous Zalika, compliments of sister Rosalie. He thanked the African delight, who smiled stunningly.

  “I like all this starship crewing and admin work, but remember, baby, I have other professional skills, which you are welcome to experience.” She kissed his cheek. “My name isn’t Vickie, and I don’t give quickies.”

  When she climbed down from the command deck, J.B.’s hand was quivering so hard he dripped coffee on the co-pilot console. He mopped up the brown drops with his jumpsuit sleeve before accessing the communications network.

  Tyler’s smiling face appeared in the monitor. “Hey, J.B. Thought I’d hear from you by yesterday. How’s the trip so far?”

  “Shut up and listen.” He softened his tone. “Sorry. It’s been an ugly day.”

  Tyler’s eyes tightened. “Tell me.”

  When he finished briefing his brother, J.B. spread his hands to the empty bridge. “So, I gave everybody two hours to eat and do a preliminary damage survey of their systems before we spool up for FTL.”

  “Any chance you flew to the wrong coordinates?”

  J.B. raised an eyebrow. “With Suzie in command, Myong Li at Navigation, and Parvati at the helm?”

  “Yeah, no chance whatsoever,” Tyler agreed.

  “Either the Gate map is wrong, or somebody tried to kill us. Again.”

  “Or both. You said the map indicated the Jump Gate was inside the event horizon.” Tyler scratched his head above the ear. “Maybe the binary drifted into the Gate’s location and swallowed it whole.”

  “I think that’s very likely.” J.B. sipped his coffee. “But it didn’t happen after the Quirt-Thymean edition of the Gate map was compiled. Black holes can’t travel faster than light. It must have sucked up the Jump Gate thousands, maybe millions of years ago. We’re less than two hundred light years away from you. That makes it the closest Gate to the Quirt capital at Annistyn.”

  “They fucking knew,” Tyler said darkly. “It’s time to take the fight to the opposition.”

  “What’s the plan?” J.B. said.

  “I’m going down to the planet.”

  J.B. took a breath. “Don’t get caught, Ty. It’s hard to defend Mr. Blue from prison.”

  “I’ll be careful. What about you?”

  “Mentally bouncing between trying a different Jump Gate, or abandoning the Gate route and going max FTL. We’ll get there much later, but at least we’ll get there.”

  “Look, good news is that whoever provided that booby-trapped map probably expected the binary black holes to kill you straight away. The rest of the locations are either accurate or bogus but benign.”

  J.B. shrugged. “I suppose we could continue Parvati’s pattern. Stop short of each Gate, sensor readings. If it’s okay, proceed with caution.”

  “You’ll lose a few hours, but safety margins go up exponentially.”

  “How’s Lovey Frost?” J.B. said.

  “Aboard the Henry, recovering quickly under care of Dr. Julieta and Nurse Dorla. She’ll be ready to work Mr. Blue’s case in a couple days.”

  “Great! One more question—do you have Arabella’s messages to Rodney?” J.B. said. “Apparently, she sent him two love notes before her program was decompiled.”

  “Let me check. Yes, we have both. Hmmm. Rather large burst-messages, especially the second one. I’ll forward everything to the Beagle, at your current location.”

  “That’ll work. We’ll probably be here about three more hours before heading to another Gate, assuming the kid can shake off his grief and think clearly enough to get the FTL back online.”

  “You’ll have to re-route your course to compensate for loss of the first Jump Gate.”

  “Be not afraid, Little Brother and former weekend planet hunter. I know how to fly the Gates, too.”

  Tyler smiled. “Smart-ass. Talk later. Glad you’re weren’t squashed by the binary. Love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go do the Lord’s work.” J.B. closed the link. He may be smiling for my benefit, but I know that look in Tyler’s eye. Somebody tried to murder his Family and fiancé. Woe to the culprits if he gets his hands on them. He’s worse than Mother.

  

  Demarcus Platte ushered Erkinood Atbarasoo, A.K.A. Sash, into the small conference room of the Star Lawyers holo-offices suite aboard the Patrick Henry, where Tyler and Julieta awaited. The cheery Quirt-Thymean bounced through the frosted glass doorway and hailed the younger Matthews brother.

  “My friend, Tyler Ivey! ‘Sup, man? How can I assist you today?”

  Tyler glanced at Demarcus, whose countenance reminded him of a Zulu warrior before battle. “Inspector, did the suspect say anything incriminating yet?”

  Sash laughed. “Suspect?”

  “Didn’t ask, sir,” the Chief Investigator said. “Want me to secure a confession?”

  “Let’s try standard Q&A first.”

  “Confession?” Sash lost all traces of a smile. “I don’t know what’s happening. Please tell me why I’m here.”

  “Nice stab at bewilderment, but I’m not buying it,” Tyler said.

  Demarcus grunted. “Bad acting.”

  Sash trembled. “What is happening?”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Platte said, “but I wouldn’t recommend it as a survival strategy.”

  “Do you want me to shoot him?” Julieta pulled a kinetic blaster from her ankle holster.

  Tyler waved her off. “Not yet.”

  “Shoot me? What did I do!”

  Tyler grabbed the short, blue man by his thick kaftan belt and yanked him uncomfortably close. “You tried to kill my Family.”

  “What? No!”

  “You sent J.B. a map to the Jump Gates,’ Tyler said. “That map almost killed them.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t know what you’re—”

  Tyler grabbed Sash by the scruff of the neck, spun him around, and bent the Quirt-Thymean over the conference table. “You will tell me what I want to know, or I swear to God I will jam a blaster up your ass and commence firing.”

  “You won’t do that, Tyler Ivey. You’re a very good human. You can’t kill me in hot blood. It is against your nature.”

  “Maybe I can’t,” Tyler agreed. “But Cousin Julieta, the medical doctor, is also a professional dispatcher with—how many kills?”

  “Four hundred eighteen.”

  Demarcus nodded. “She’s a killing machine, Mr. Atbarasoo. You better take this interview seriously.”

  Sash laughed nervously. “You are trying to frighten me.”

  “Oh, hell, yes,” Tyler said.

  “Want me to leave the room, sir?” Platte said at the doorway.

  “Do you have an ethical problem, Inspector?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then stick around. I may need to dispose of a body.”

  The blue alien snickered, an unsteady, uncertain sound. “You don’t frighten me.”

  Tyler turned to his cousin. “Julieta?”

  She pulled her kinetic blaster from an ankle holster, adjusted the lethality index, and stuck it against the young Quirt’s rectal sphincter.

  “Like my cousin said, I’m a physician. I know where your organs are located. I can put three, four rounds up the b
ack door before you’re gone.”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  She fired.

  Sash squealed in agony. “You killed me! You killed me! I’m dead! I’m dead!” He attempted to reach for his wounded anus, but she slapped his hands away.

  “No, no. no. That was only your medial liver lobe. You still have the anterior and posterior lobes.”

  “Get me to a clinic—I’ll die!”

  “You’re alive, for the moment,” Tyler said. “Who altered that Jump Gate map, substituting a black hole for bookmark number one?”

  “Black hole? There must be some mistake.”

  Tyler sighed. “Wrong answer.” He nodded to Julieta, who fired again.

  Sash howled like a weasel in a bear trap. He cried real tears. “I don’t want to die! Please stop.”

  Demarcus strolled to the conference table and bent to check the damage. “Ummmm, man. You’re all fucked up. Green blood, smoking asshole.”

  “I’m gonna die… please help me…” Sash blubbered incoherently.

  “Dr. Solorio, how many lobes does he have left?” Tyler said.

  “Just the anterior,” Julieta said. “But Quirts have four kidneys. Plenty of targets.”

  “Okay, fire at will.”

  “Stop, stop! I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Tyler sneered. “You’d suck my dick to get away from her blaster. How can I believe anything you say?”

  “Veraposta had the Gate map sent to me, and I forwarded it to you without looking at it. That’s all I know. Now get me to a clinic!” He reached again for his backside, but Julieta batted his hands, harder.

  “Are you blaming your sister?” Tyler said.

  “No! I’m telling you the truth.”

  Tyler’s mind reeled. Alluring, voluptuous Veraposta—victim of a rogue king’s abuse—plotting to murder the people he loved? What could she possibly gain?

  “Keep talking, Sash. Why did Veraposta do it?”

  “I never said she did anything!” the desperate Quirt insisted. “It must have been a terrible mistake.”

  Julieta frowned. “Tyler, can I quit pretending to hurt him, and really hurt him now?”