by Tom Shepherd
It took only a few hours before Charlie’s women began parading into the new, downtown Bekka-Capella offices of Star Lawyers, Inc., to give their depositions. Suzie allowed Ulrika and Zalika to decide who would greet the witnesses and who would assist during the actual Q&A. Scandinavian Ulrika opted for receptionist duty while African Zalika sat beside Suzie at the deposition table. Suzie was secretly glad they had chosen this configuration, which presented an ethnically diverse set of interviewers instead of two blondes with a black secretary out front.
The first witness was a rather short, dark haired Meklavite woman with a curvaceous figure accentuated by a skin-tight bodysuit. She introduced herself as Entoneia Matthews, wife number thirty-four.
“How shall we properly address you?” Suzie asked in perfect Z-C.
“Entoneia will do.” She winked. “Or Mrs. Matthews. Your option.”
“Why did you marry Charles Matthews?” Zalika’s newly downloaded language skills were heavily accented but understandable. “Were you after the Family money?”
“He has money?” She chuckled. “No, Counselor. He offered me freedom from a life of celibacy and a chance to explore my sexuality while being compensated for the learning experiences.”
“Why ‘celibacy’?” Zalika said.
“Wealthy females stock their stables with ten, sometimes twenty, eligible bachelors. Even for well-bred, attractive women like myself, not enough acceptable men remain for everyone to hook a satisfying fish.”
“Acceptable, satisfying men?” Zalika said. “Never met one who couldn’t rise to the occasion with proper attention and medicinal—”
“Zalika, please stay on task,” Suzie said.
“Unless our species are completely dissimilar,” Entoneia said, “you surely know what I mean. Not all males are desirable companions.”
“Mrs. Matthews,” Suzie said carefully, “is it your testimony that you freely chose this lifestyle?”
“Yes.”
“The life of a prostitute?” Zalika said.
“No, and the question is offensive. True, I accept gifts in compensation for my time from the men I date. Usually money, but also jewelry, artwork, even real estate.”
“You call it compensation,” Suzie said. “How is that not prostitution?”
“We both benefit. We both enjoy the sex and companionship. It is a social encounter. No, make that a romantic encounter.”
“You provided a GFE,” Zalika said.
Suzie explained the acronym.
“A girlfriend-experience, yes,” Entoneia said thoughtfully. “Although I have never before heard it described with that compound noun in Zyra-Crispin. I am the gentleman’s lover for the evening. I’ve often have several dates with the same person, and I never see more than one man per evening.”
Suzie shook her head. “And you don’t considered these trysts a form of employment?”
“That is correct. I have a career. I do not need the revenue.”
Zalika shook her head. “Let me get this straight. If the hobbyist did not compensate you—”
“Another strange euphemism—hobbyist,” Entoneia said. “They are real dates, not hook-ups in a drinking place to trade sex for cash.”
“If your date fails to compensate you, will you sleep with him anyway?” Zalika said.
“Of course. I like all the men I fuck. Occasionally, I have refused sex because we had no chemistry. A few nice men were too poor to contribute anything. We made love anyway. Sometimes on multiple dates.”
“That’s fucking unprofessional,” Zalika blurted.
“Fucking wasn’t a profession to me.”
“Most people consider hookers to be strictly business,” Suzie said. “Someone who doesn’t get involved with their clients.”
“But I always do. That’s why I don’t consider myself a hooker, prostitute, whore, sex slaves—your language has so many pejorative words for the life I have freely chosen.”
“Well,” Zalika said, “The good ones—true GFEs—blur the line between business and pleasure by offering romantic fantasy, I’ll give you that. But the average provider delivers sex without kisses and damned little cuddling before or after.”
“That’s prostitution, cold and perfunctory,” Entoneia said. “Street whores, low-wage call girls, and women in assembly line sex-houses—they have that attitude. Sex traffickers who abuse women like that are the vile creatures you have described. My experience is very different.”
“Actual romance was a requirement for you?” Zalika said.
“Yes, at least enough attraction to make it fun for both of us.”
Suzie nodded. “Do you have an exit strategy?”
“At first, all I wanted was a social life. Meeting new men, romantic dinners filled with sparkling conversation, followed by pleasant sex. Then I saw the possibility of finding a special someone. Don’t laugh. I’m now looking for a life-long, monogamous relationship.” Entoneia smiled faintly. “Thanks to Charlie, I have a few prospects.”
Suzie and Zalika interviewed eight of Charlie’s “wives” in fourteen hours of intensive questioning. Everyone told essentially the same story. With little opportunity to meet potential mates in the small population of unmarried men, Charlie’s set-up appealed to lonely women who hungered for romance. So, they became another Mrs. Matthews to receive legal cover under the rules of mate-sharing designed for stables. The government was shocked by this application of the law, which apparently no one ever considered prior to Charlie’s adaptation. Officials ignored the women in Charlie’s service and prosecuted the match-maker instead.
Charlie’s women unanimously agreed to testify in his behalf. All Suzie had to do was figure out how their testimony would benefit the defense. So far, the women they deposed sounded more like witnesses for the prosecution.
Ten
An hour after springing Charlie from lock up, J.B. communicated their request for safe passage to T’paeken Heirzos, whose official title was Lerrotica Senior Recreational Manager. Surprisingly, the answer came back quickly, an invitation for Star Lawyers Corporation to visit the mob boss at his casino. The response guaranteed unfettered travel to and from the terraformed moon and complimentary accommodations at Lerrotica.
“Oh, he is definitely gonna kill us,” Charlie muttered.
Rosalie took J.B. aside and offered to eliminate the threat with a little visit to Lerrotica by Naca Jen. Her brother replied with a stare cold enough to start an ice age.
An hour before sunset they lifted off from Bekka-Capella for the forty-five minute jaunt to F-7’s largest moon. With Parvati at the helm, J.B. went down to engineering to check on Rodney. He found the redhaired Lieutenant bending over the main readout panel.
“How’s the ship performing?” J.B. said.
“Okay, I guess. We’re within tolerances.” Rooney leaned on the console as if he needed its support to stand upright. “I viewed the first message from Arabie. It was a goodbye note. I can’t watch it again.”
“Did you delete it?”
“No.”
J.B. nodded. “Arabella sent you two messages.”
“I won’t open the other one. It hurts too much.”
“The second is a massive file with holographic component. Aren’t you curious?”
“I think she created a holographic simulation where we can be together one last time. I don’t want a fantasy game. I have real memories.” Rodney’s eyes flashed with anger. “You haven’t looked at—?”
“Absolutely not. Nobody peeked at your private mail.”
He slumped in his chair at the engineering console. “Sorry, sir. I’m trying to stay professional.”
“Everyone understands. We hurt with you.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Call me at the bridge if you need a break.”
“It’s just a sublight hop to Lerrotica. Less than an hour, even with controlled flight vectors. But thanks.”
As soon as J.B. returned to the bridge, Rodney buzzed from eng
ineering. “Look, I didn’t want to say this when you were down here. I didn’t want you to think I’m off my game.”
“Tell me.”
“Something isn’t right with the propulsion package, Mr. Matthews.”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“Like I said, the engines are performing within tolerances, but there’s a wobble in the deck. It’s slight, but it’s real.”
“Does the MLC show any indication of a malfunction?” J.B. brought up the engineering readouts on his viewscreen.
“No, sir.”
“Do a quick diagnostic,” Charlie suggested.
“Already did, sir. Nothing found.”
“You had a similar premonition about the lateral stabilizer,” J.B. reminded him. “Did the maintenance crews at Bekka-Capella find anything while we were ashore?”
“No, sir.”
“Look, Rodney, I respect your instincts, but we’re on final approach to Lerrotica,” J.B. said. “Can you hold course for fifteen minutes? You can smoke out the gremlins once we’re down.”
“I know, I know. But something isn’t—uh-oh!”
“Lieutenant, talk to me,” J.B. said.
“I’ve lost propulsion control. We’re accelerating.”
“Sir, the helm is not answering to course commands,” Parvati said. “We are falling toward the polar region of Lerrotica. Impact in three minutes, twenty seconds.”
“Rodney, get propulsion and helm back online,” J.B. ordered.
“I’m locked out. Something in the MLC’s program has seized control of the ship.”
J.B. turned to his helmsman. “Parvati, can you go internal and unscramble the mess?”
Her image flickered. “Negative, sir. The MLC is barring outside interference.”
“What can we do?” Charlie squirmed in his seat, tightening seat restraints.
“It must be a hostile program,” Parvati said. “Suzie could infiltrate the MLC, but I don’t have her level of sophistication.”
“Arabella did,” Lieutenant Rooney said over the comms.
Rosalie spoke to her viewscreen. “Rodney, I have a wild idea. How large is the second message she sent you?”
“19.4 quantum compacted petabytes.”
“Isn’t that’s too big for a simulation?” Rosalie said. Lucy, the shape-shifter cat, meowed agreement from Rosalie’s lap.
“Praise Vishnu!” Parvati shouted. “She sent her whole program, like Suzie did.”
After escaping Kichirou Tsuchiya’s pirate fleet during their first mission along the Rim, the Legal Beagle was days away from home base at Suryadivan Prime when Suzie—who was then only a hologram, not the bio-energetic being she later became—risked self-destruction by burst-transmitting her program to Tyler over a failing, patched-together comm system in order to warn her fiancé of the approaching enemy armada.
Myong Li objected. “Impossible. Suzie did not copy—”
“There wasn’t enough space left in memory,” Parvati said. “Abuela packed the Beagle’s computer with all the stolen programs. But they’ve been transferred to the Patrick Henry.”
Rodney frowned. “What are you talking—”
“Don’t you understand? Her second message isn’t a message. Arabella is alive!” Parvati cried.
“Rodney, access that second download,” J.B. said.
“Yes, sir!”
Now, the whole crew prayed Arabella had successfully repeated Suzie’s bold gambit. Not just for her survival, but theirs too.
“Please God, please God, please God…” Lieutenant Rooney called up his unread mail and hit the open key. Arabella appeared, ghost-like, in the engineering bay.
“Rodney?”
“Arabie, is it really you?”
“I look like a jellyfish.” She held up a transparent, glowing arm. “Install my program, you idiot!”
Rodney hammered the colored squares on his console. Instantly, Arabella stood before him, a fleshy, olive skinned hologram. She leaped into his arms and they kissed furiously.
“Stop it—that’s an order!” J.B. said from the command deck. “Arabella, check ship’s status, now.”
She paused and cocked her head like a Bedouin listening to sounds in the night. “Oh, crap! You’re going to crash into that moon. Didn’t I just save this ship from a black hole?”
“Thirteen days ago,” J.B. said. “You’re up again.”
“It’s a virus. The Beagle has been sabotaged.”
“Fix it!”
“Yes, sir.” She disappeared from J.B.’s monitor.
Charlie called up a glass of bourbon and ice in his food dispenser and loosened the seat restraints. The whiskey arrived neat. Charlie shrugged.
“Well, here’s to making ice cubes at Lerrotica’s north pole. Or not.” He leaned toward Parvati. “If we survive, I’d like to sign up for your next Kama Sutra workshop, my dear.”
“Be cautious, sir,” she said with a sly smile. “Ecstasy can kill men of your age.”
“My age? I’m sizzling with virility.”
“Uncle Charlie, would you please not proposition members of my crew during an in-flight crisis?” J.B. said.
“By volunteering for her seminar?”
“You have propulsion and helm control,” Rodney reported from engineering.
J.B. slapped the armrest. “Parvati!”
“Yes, sir.” The Legal Beagle pulled up from its death spiral and leveled off at fifty kilometers. The corvette rejoined its plotted approach vector for landing at Prosperity City just south of the equator, the only true city on Lerrotica.
J.B. touched a key on his panel. “Way to go, Arabella. You may resume your attack on Lieutenant Rooney.”
The video feed from engineering went dark, but the sounds of heavy breathing and moans of delight suggested command permission was not really required. J.B. smiled and shut off the audio. With less than ten minutes until touchdown, he decided to give Rodney and Arabella every second of the landing sequence to enjoy each other in private.
Eleven
For the Lerrotica negotiations team, J.B. chose Rosalie, Parvati and Charlie. He told his garrulous uncle to let Rosalie handle diplomacy while J.B. attended to legal details. Rosalie wanted to take Lucy, but J.B. ruled her hyper-protective shapeshifter too difficult to control, especially if they encountered anything remotely resembling a threat. Lucy’s recent history included transformations into a golden eagle, Spanish fighting bull, panther, and full-sized T-Rex. Reluctantly, she locked Lucy in their quarters aboard the Legal Beagle.
Brahmin-dotted Parvati, resplendent in a gold and blue sari, carried a field scanner, which raised some eyebrows at the casino security grid. She also disappeared from the screen when they attempted to run a DNA analysis and micro-imagery of her lithe frame.
“I am a hologram,” she announced, matter-of-factly. “My program projects through the bronze bracelet I am wearing.”
J.B. considered intervening, but the guards scanned Parvati’s high-tech wrist band and waved her through. For a moment he worried about Rosalie’s weapons tucked in ankle holsters under her long skirt. Fortunately, Justicia Para Todos, her ancient guild of Latina dispatchers, had developed scan-safe, stealth technology centuries ago.
T’paeken Heirzos waited for them on the private level of Waterway Casino, seated a balcony table with a view of Prosperity City’s Central Canal and the jeweled cityscape beyond. A trio of serious-looking men in dark suits stood guard a few paces from the table—Mindorian, Meklavite, or human, J.B. couldn’t tell. But he knew instantly the species of their host. Short dog-like ears framed his blue, humanoid face.
“Mister Matthews,” Parvati said softly, “he is—”
“Quirt-Thymean,” J.B. said. Now that’s an interesting development.
“I understand you’re familiar with my people,” Heirzos said in Terran Standard. He wore a midnight black, Quirt-Thymean robe of commerce. Blue and purple embroidery stretched along the hem, up the front and branched
down each arm to a silver wrist cuff.
“Yes, sir.” J.B. glared at Charlie. “No one briefed me on your ethnicity, so the Quirt-Thymean connection is a delightful surprise.”
“Welcome to Waterway Casino. Please, everyone take a seat.” Heirzos pointed at Charlie. “Except you. I will not allow you a place at my table until we review the ground rules of our discussion tonight.”
“Of course,” Charlie said graciously. “Kindly proceed.”
J.B. fought to hide his amazement. He expected a snide reply from his indelicate uncle, who watched as they took their places at the table.
“You have an agreeable facility here, sir. Enhanced, no doubt, by all the attractive women frequenting your casino,” J.B. said.
“I know what you are thinking, but most women you’ll see at Waterway Casino are not personal entertainers,” Heirzos said. “We attract a fair number of professional females from the government factories and research facilities in the northern hemisphere.”
“The small towns during our initial approach,” Parvati said.
T’paeken nodded. “Lerrotica is becoming a player in research and development for the Meklavite Union. I am happy to provide the players someplace to play.”
Rosalie, Parvati and J.B. sat in surprisingly comfortable hardwood chairs and accepted goblets of purple beverage poured by humanoid waiters who appeared from nowhere. As a hologram, Parvati could neither eat nor drink, but she kept a hand courteously on the stem.
The blue mob boss ignored the elder Matthews and spoke directly to J.B. “I granted your team safe conduct strictly to negotiate a settlement for your uncle’s damages to my organization. As soon as you depart Lerrotica, the white flag comes down.”
“Unless we settle our dispute before returning to Bekka-Capella.” J.B. sipped the purple wine and waited for Heirzos to respond.
