The Blue King Murders

by Tom Shepherd

  Down on the Tradeshow floor, J.B. shuddered at the thought of a crew full of cutthroats overwhelming his sister by sheer numbers. Even a professional dispatcher can be killed.

  “There’s nothing to be done,” Heirzos said. “Let’s get out of here before the roof collapses.”

  J.B. ignored him. “Rodney, will that mini-cutter fly through the break in the overhead?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “You and Arabella launch the little bird and—”

  “The cutter won’t support my holo-program.” Arabella quick-kissed Rodney. “Go get Rosalie.”

  J.B. mentally kicked himself. Arabella, Parvati, Myong Li—all of the holographic crew—only existed where they maintained contact with the holo-projecting equipment aboard the Legal Beagle. As a bio-energetic lifeform, Suzie alone carried her projection system at the quantum level of her existence.

  Suzie jumped into the action plan like she had read J.B.’s mind. “I’m with Mr. Rooney.”

  Arabella pecked her cheek. “Take care of my flyboy.”

  “I’m not letting you do this alone,” J.B. said. “Arabella, collect our ladies and get Mr. Heirzos to the Beagle.”

  “Will do…wait,” Arabella said. “Where’s Lucy? Did anybody see Lucy?”

  “Get back to the ship,” J.B. ordered. “Lucy can take care of herself.”

  “What about me?” Tavares said. “I need your help, Jota Bê.”

  “You can go to hell,” J.B. said. “Don’t show your face again.”

  Still dripping nose blood, Tavares disappeared wordlessly into the crowds milling about the ruined displays.

  “The bad guys are getting away,” J.B. said. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

  J.B., Rodney and Suzie squeezed into the deflated cockpit like three bodies packed in a dark shower stall.

  “Give me a second.” Suzie worked furiously at the holographic control panels which auto-displayed when she slid into her seat. “Bloody hell. The symbols are Zyra-Crispin, but I don’t recognize the language.”

  “Is it another Meklavite dialect?” Rodney said. “Most worlds have thousands of spoken languages.”

  “I can’t tell. Maybe there’s a Rosetta key inside the shuttle’s MLC.” She attempted to access the little ship’s network directly, reaching out with her bio-energetic matrix like a communications device seeking a receiver. No contact. “Rodney, is the computer online?”

  “Checking… Not powered. You have to activate it from the command console.”

  “Come on, people!” J.B. said. “My sister is aboard that pirate ship.”

  “Let me try something.” Rodney tapped a sequence at his station. Panels above and around all three posts came alive, and the cockpit filled with a whirling sound as air gushed into the tiny space.

  “Yes! I’m into the MLC,” Suzie cried. “What did you do?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Dumb luck. I hit every green key on my display.”

  “Oh, Crikey! I found the Rosetta. The language of this shuttle is Quirt-Thymean Pharmaadoodil written in Zyra-Crispin characters. I can convert the onscreen commands to Terran Standard in the Latin alphabet—there!”

  “Alleluia, it’s readable,” J.B. said. “Rodney, spool up the engines before the bastards get away.”

  Rising through the broken roof like a bat from a cave, the micro-shuttle cleared the pavilion and expanded to full size. No longer a slender booth, the little ship swelled to an impressive vessel. Larger than Tyler’s unarmed Sioux City had been, the inflatable ship boasted twin drive nacelles and full weaponry like a fighter.

  “Impressive, Mr. Rooney,” Susie said. “I don’t suppose this bloody Swiss jackknife actually carries live rounds?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Rodney ticked off the deadly particulars—four laser cannon, twenty explosive missiles, and twin anti-EM pulse banks to knock out hostile jamming.

  “Wowzers.” Suzie glanced at Rooney, who just smiled.

  “The Jackknife,” J.B. mused. “No offense to Arabella, but that’s a more descriptive name.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rodney said. “Arabie was embarrassed, anyway.”

  “Suzie, the helm,” J.B. said from his tiny console. “I’ve got weaps.”

  “Oh, yeah! Nabbed their energy signature,” Rodney said. “Setting the Jackknife’s pursuit course.”

  “Let’s get those manky rotters. Give me full power on demand,” Suzie said. “Can this little bird go FTL?”

  “I dunno. Checking…yep! And if I’m reading this right, she’s faster than a scalded cat in a dog run.”

  J.B. sat back in the surprisingly comfy tactical module, but he felt anything but comfortable. I hope we don’t need light-plus. God knows what will have happened to Rosalie by the time we close with them.

  Suzie increase speed, but FTL was not required for this short trip. The newly designated shuttle-cutter Jackknife slipped away from the thin gravity of Lerrotica, zipped past dozens of smaller moons, whipped around the ringed planet’s bands of frozen ice particles, and dipped into the exosphere of Farroleok-7.

  Twenty-One

  Straddling the X-ray cannon with Lucy clinging to her back, Rosalie Matthews ascended through an open bay door of the pirate ship, which appeared to be a small cruiser. Spotlights hit the rising weapon from several directions and voices shouted about a stowaway in Zyra-Crispin, the major language of the Meklavite Union. Her stomach wrenched at the shipboard switch to artificial gravity. When the tractor hatch slid closed beneath her, Rosalie felt the ship glide forward and accelerate. As with any decent inertial dampener system aboard a spacefaring vessel, she couldn’t tell if the ship had gone to FTL.

  “Lucy, stay where you are.” She wrapped legs around the cigar shaped device, reached down and pulled both blasters. Blinded by the fierce lights, Rosalie could not acquire a target, so she trained one blaster at the edge of the access platform, where the pirates should be and pointed the other weapon at the metal surface between her legs.

  “She rides the cannon!” a deep male voice said from behind the glare.

  “Destroy the enemy!” another man screeched.

  “Fire one shot, I’ll destroy this weapon,” Rosalie said in perfect Zyra-Crispin. She whispered in Terran, “Lucy, hop off. Velociraptor, maximum size. Nasty attitude. Attack on command.”

  The cat leapt to the deck and transformed into a three-meter, blue-green, lightly feathered predator with dozens of serrated teeth, slashing claws on the small arms and feet, and a whipping tail. Lucy-the-raptor snarled and the crew reacted with shrieks of terror.

  “One word from me, you become dinner meat,” Rosalie promised.

  “Wait!” An oddly familiar voice said. “This is not a Meklavite female. She is Rosalie Matthews of the Terran Star Lawyers. Her people are no friends to our oppressors.”

  “Who’s there?” Rosalie shaded her eyes with a blaster-grasping hand held aloft. “I recognize that voice—Tevitak-1108, the court chaperon?”

  “Welcome aboard Colonial Guardian 207. Please restrain your pet. Trust me when I promise no harm will come to you.

  “I’m supposed to believe that, after you just mowed down unarmed spectators at the Tradeshow?” Rosalie never moved her other weapon hand away from its position, thrust into the flank of the screen-buster.

  “That was not us, Miss Matthews,” Tevitak said. “Come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

  The raptor hissed, bobbing her head. “Yeah, I agree, Lucy.” Rosalie tightened her leg grip on the X-ray cannon. “I like it fine where I’m sitting. Convince me right here, Mr. Court Chaperon.”

  “Bring the prisoner,” a deep voice said, the speaker hidden by the glare. “And turn off the locator beams.”

  White lights went dark, but it took several minutes before Rosalie’s eyes adjusted to the dimly lit cargo bay. She began spotting humanoid figures as they moved around the edge of the access platform.

  Targets acquired.

  After engaging the unseen ship with her sidearms from the pa
vilion floor, she estimated less than twenty kinetic rounds remained. She could nail a lot of pirates, but not them all, even with Lucy’s help. All right. Let’s try diplomacy. If that doesn’t work, open fire and unleash the bipedal carnivore.

  “Over here, Miss Matthews,” Tevitak said. “Do you recognize this person?”

  Rosalie turned slightly. A slender humanoid female in red robe with black stripes on the arms stood between two male crew members, who held her by the elbows. She resembled a human of Mexican or Central American ancestry, but Rosalie knew her DNA was pure Meklavite.

  “Lady Kalilee,” Rosalie said. The blue-green raptor growled. Do you feel something, Lucy?

  “Believe not a word these lying male traitors tell you!” the Public Defender said.

  “She is the liar,” Tevitak said. “And the traitor. Her inner circle has been plotting a revolution against the Meklavite Union. They are in league with elements of the Quirt-Thymean Empire to amass weapons and ships to forge civil wars against both home governments.”

  “Silence, you disgusting beast!” Kalilee sputtered.

  “I do not fear you, Lady,” Tevitak said. “Your treachery is over.”

  “How can you take the word of a male servant over my solemn vow of female veracity?”

  Rosalie laughed. “Bitch, I’m not even a lawyer, but that objection is fucking over-ruled.”

  “When she learned your Matthews Company purchased the X-ray cannon,” Tevitak said, “Lady Kalilee commandeered CG 207 to attack the Tradeshow and tractor the weapon aboard. I came along as her amanuensis. My companions flew the ship and were ordered to open fire.”

  “We refused,” the deep voice said, supported by a chorus of grunts around the bay.

  “May I present Anurawalk-1871, Captain of this vessel?” Tevitak said.

  Captain Anurawalk was a large man for a Meklavite, with dark eyes and shoulder-length dark brown hair. He sported a small goatee, and his thin smile hinted of genteel modesty.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” Rosalie said coolly. “But the circumstances are far from resolved to my satisfaction.”

  “Ask me any question,” the Captain offered.

  “If you refused to cooperate with Kalilee, how did the ship fire on the Tradeshow?”

  “The traitor brought Dengathi mercenaries aboard,” Anurawalk said. “After I refused to fire on civilians, the Frogs took over and delivered the fatal bombardment. We rose in rebellion, overpowered the Dengathi, and were loathe to discover what destruction our ship had wrought.”

  “I suggested we drop the weapon from altitude and depart,” Tevitak said. “Captain Anurawalk feared the cannon might explode, causing more loss of life. You are lucky he over-ruled me.”

  “I did not know you rode the tractor beam when my crew neutralized the last Dengathi,” the Captain said. “I ordered departure, intending to deliver the device to its rightful owners. That is when we discovered you, straddling the cannon, sitting in our cargo bay.”

  “How do I know you aren’t making up this whole story?” Rosalie said. Lucy yapped and nodded her menacing head.

  Anurawalk motioned and his crewmen dragged three Dengathi from the shadows and forced them to the deck. “Here is your evidence. We have eight more in custody. Two we killed.”

  Rosalie glanced at Lady Kalilee. “Does the Coven Assembly know the game you’re playing?”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Wise move. My brothers would advise you to remain silent.” Rosalie holstered her weapons and turned to the purring velociraptor. “Lucy, back to kitty-mode. Tevitak and his friends have convinced me.”

  The raptor shrank to a blue-and-green tabby cat, meowed and rubbed against Anurawalk’s jumpsuit leg. He smiled and scratched Lucy’s ear.

  “We land shortly at Bekka-Capella,” Tevitak said. “Perhaps you will explain to the authorities what happened today?”

  “With great pleasure. And if you need legal representation, the Star Lawyers will defend you in court.” Rosalie climbed off the X-ray cannon and flexed her stiff legs.

  “Captain! A small fighter approaches from the direction of Lerrotica,” a crew member reported. “Shall our gunners destroy it?”

  “We are not pirates. Open a channel to the pursuit ship,” Anurawalk said. “Pipe it in here.”

  

  J.B. spoke with his sister from the shuttle-cutter Jackknife, then told Rodney and Suzie to follow the Colonial Guardian 207 to a military starport at the capital city, Bekka-Capella. After a little more diplomacy, mediated by multi-lingual Rosalie Matthews, Meklavite female officers boarded the vessel and arrested Kalilee and the Dengathi mercenaries for murder, piracy, and high treason against the Meklavite Union.

  By morning, M-double-I stevedores safely loaded the screen-buster onto the Cargo Carrier Wollongong where Captain Silas placed it under heavily armed guard.

  A few days later the Colonial Coven Assembly of Farroleok-7 awarded Tevitak-1108, Captain Anurawalk-1871, and the crew of CG 207 blanket clemency for any and all actions taken during their efforts to protect the Meklavite Union from acts of treason and mayhem.

  In consideration for the assistance M-double-I rendered in thwarting a plot to overthrow the Colonial government, and with the corroborating testimony of T’paeken Heirzos and Court Chaperon Tevitak-1108, a specially appointed Supreme Judge—female, of course—dismissed with prejudice all charges in the case of Colony v. Charles Francis Matthews. The government’s lone condition was that Uncle Charlie folded his tents and disappeared posthaste into the great, wide galaxy.

  The court also annulled all Charlie’s hareem marriages—current count stood at two-hundred-eighty-three—and granted the women an equal measure of clemency without requiring exile.

  As a final measure of self-protection, the Coven Assembly, on orders from the Meklavite Union central government, ordered T’paeken Heirzos to leave Mek space and never return. Heirzos grudgingly accepted the judgement.

  “I’ll miss my life on Lerrotica, but I suppose there’s still a vacancy in the High King department of the Quirt-Thyme Empire,” he said with a smile. “Maybe I’ll apply for the job.” He asked for a ride back to Annistyn. J.B. promised him not just passage but legal representation at his final destination.

  Charlie, on the other hand, was less jocund about the Mek plea bargain. “The bitches who rule this Union will continue oppressing women and men. I’ve accomplished nothing.”

  His family pushed their uncle to accept. “All things considered,” J.B. said, “it’s a magnanimous offer. No prison time, no mind-wipe, no forfeiture of capital. Take the deal.”

  For a brief, terrifying moment, Charlie teeter-tottered between accepting the Court’s mercy and fighting the system. “Women get dozens of husbands, but men are not allowed two wives. It isn’t right.”

  “Do you really want two wives?” Suzie said.

  “You’ve never married,” J.B. said. “Not before this bogus ‘business venture’ with your bourgeois whores.”

  “A little respect, Nephew. My wives were providers, not whores,” Charlie snorted. “And my intimate preferences are not the point. It’s a human rights issue. There is no gender equality in the Meklavite Union.”

  “Uncle Charlie, they’re humanoids, but not Homo sapiens,” Rosalie reminded him. “The Meklavite social order evolved in different circumstances. What is normative to them may seem aberrant to us, but they’re not us.”

  “Doesn’t equality matter?” Charlie said.

  “Equality does not mean everyone is the same,” Parvati said.

  “Have you spoken with Mek males who want dozens of wives?” Suzie demanded.

  “Not specifically, no, but—”

  “Life diversifies abundantly, Mister Charlie,” Parvati said kindly. “Even among humans. Some Muslim sects are polygynous, allowing men to have four wives, but the women are limited to one husband. There are still remote villages in India where a common practice is polyandry—one
wife with several husbands. Usually brothers marry one wife to keep the family patrimony undivided.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—”

  “Do you really want to play Nelson Mandela to a culture you do not understand?” Rosalie said.

  “That’s not heroic, it’s bloody arrogant,” Suzie said.

  “If you fight this battle,” J.B. added, “your clemency package goes out the airlock.”

  Charlie sighed. “I have to think it over.”

  Twelve hours later the issue was settled by confidential Apexcom from Tyler Noah Matthews III, who offered his brother a job far from Farroleok-7. Faced with life in prison, mindwipe, or an opportunity for new adventures, Charlie bowed to the inevitable and took the deal. He would not reveal the details to anyone, but the Family vagabond boarded the C.C. Wollongong with a smile on his face just before it sailed for home and who-knows-what ports along the way.

  

  J.B. stood on the edge of the taxiway, under the arch of planetary rings and a spectacular display of crescent moons. Parvati waited with him in the cool breeze and they watched the giant cargo ship lift off in a pre-dawn sky.

  She shivered and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. Reflexively, he put an arm around her to share body warmth. Although a hologram, her finely tuned AI program allowed Parvati to experience weather like a biological woman. Parvati’s lips formed a smile as she tucked her slight frame against him. They lingered long after the Wollongong disappeared in the darkness. The night sky gave way to pale dawn before either spoke.

  “We should get back,” J.B. finally said. “Rodney says the Beagle is ready to fly.”

  “When may I make you ready to fly?” She reached up and touched his cheek. The bronze, holo-projective bracelet slid from her wrist down the slim arm. “Is there anything you want, my dear, kindhearted Jeremiah?”

  “Well, about that.” He cleared his throat. “I have been meaning to ask you… about that.”