by Tom Shepherd
“Do you love her? Does she love you? Tell her in advance what you gotta do.”
“She won’t understand. Hell, I don’t even understand.”
“Ty, are you operating from that old ‘easier to get forgiven than to get permission’ bullshit cliché? No woman ever believed that. Tell her.”
“I’ll consider it. Anything else for me?”
“Yes! How did I forget?”
“The sex talk mind-wiped you?”
“Smartass.” Julieta took a blunt-tip, self-injecting syringe from her pocket. “My team worked all afternoon to synthesize an anti-pheromone drug. But here’s the caveat—we did it without samples from a Thymean pheremonist. All data was about blue Quirts, not the purple variation of the species.”
“Why would that matter? Isn’t purple coloring just a racial trait?” Tyler turned the syringe over. Shamrock green liquid followed Newton’s law and flowed to the opposite end of the tube.
“Here’s the problem,” Julieta said. “When the Quirts conquered their Thymean cousins, they stupidly destroyed all medical and scientific records on the purple species variant. They wanted everybody to consider Quirt-Thymeans as wholly identical, except in pigment. A racist motive that persists in Imperial culture.”
Tyler nodded. “Pure-blooded, purple Thymeans can’t succeed to the throne or hold high office in the Parliament.”
“Totally Orwellian,” Julieta said. “All Quirt-Thymeans are equal, but some are more equal than others.”
“So, will this injection protect me against her chemistry?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Best guess?”
“Without more data on Thymean bio-chemistry, I really don’t know. But it’s better than nothing. Soon as you recognize the effects of pheromonic mind control—for example, inanimate objects start to romp around—slap the auto-injector against your thigh.”
“Why not inject before I get there?”
“The compound is chock full of powerful, anti-hallucinogenic drugs. Well, basically anti-psychotics. Use with extreme caution. I don’t know how it will affect a brain not experiencing pheromone-induced psychosis.”
“You’re not inspiring a lot of confidence in me today, Cuz.”
“I’m clear about you, Ty. It’s the science that’s foggy.”
“Can I ask one more question?” Tyler hesitated. “If we do it, Leola and me, is there any chance I could, you know—”
“Knock her up?”
Tyler scowled. “I would have put it more delicately.”
Julieta reached up and patted his head affectionately. “You’re becoming your older brother—you know that, right?”
“Answer the question.”
She leaned against a lab table, where holo-chemists worked with complex tubes to circulate canary yellow fluids.
“Inter-species fertilization is hard to predict, even when you’ve got the same basic package of sexual organs and pregnancy routes. Christ, it’s hard enough for some human couples to conceive, let alone two members of species who evolved thousands of light years apart.”
“So, no contraceptive required?”
“First, I wouldn’t know what to give you. Second, no contraceptive is fool-proof when you’re talking inter-species mating. Third, and maybe most important—unlike humans, Quirt-Thymean females have multiple ways to conceive. Not just coitus. Their eggs can absorb ordinary male cells and lift heterogametic chromosomes to fertilizer a female. Could happen by deep-mouth kissing, ingesting semen while performing fellatio, or receiving it during anal penetration. Even male salivary secretions from cunnilingus can provide—”
“Okay, okay! TMI, Doc. Just tell me if my dad could have a dog-eared, light purple grandchild.”
She laughed. “Nobody’s done the research to answer that question. But Q-T females apparently have the ability to ward off unwanted fertilization, so I’m guessing the Matthews Homo sapiens bloodline is safe. Bring me samples of skin, spit, and pussy juice, and I’ll tell you more.”
“Great. Not only am I a rat, now I’m a lab rat.”
A forensic researcher, an Asian woman with golden skin and close-cut midnight black hair, rushed into the laboratory carrying a sealed red tube. Tyler recognized it as a document container from the Palace.
“This was just delivered, Doctor Solorio.” Her lightly accented voice hinted of the Turkic speaking people of Northeast Asia. “A handsome Quirt in military uniform waits in the cargo bay for Mr. Matthews to reply.”
She handed the crimson cylinder to Julieta. “Thank you, Sarnai. Go back to work until I call you.”
The Tartar beauty smiled. “Shall I entertain the messenger? Perhaps a little refreshing intercourse—”
“Stay in medical mode, please.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She scurried off to the lab tables.
Julieta sighed. “Reprogramed them myself. Cleared their primary sexual provider designation in favor of med science and forensic tech. Yet every one of my lab ladies retains a wild side. Well, who am I to judge?” She glanced at the salutation on the package. “It’s from Her Highness. In Terran Standard, no less.”
“Well?” Tyler opened a hand.
“Hmmm… Nice scent. I wonder—perfume or pheromones?” She scanned the container with a hand-held device, then passed it to him. “Just a pretty smell. You’re safe.”
“Dunno know how he does it,” Tyler said, “but this smells like Inspector Platte’s good contacts.”
“Demarcus has a knack for making friends in all places,” Julieta agreed. “I can’t wait to hear what the purple Queen wrote.”
Tyler broke the seal and shook the cannister until a scroll slid free. Composed in perfect Terran calligraphy on elegant, high quality parchment, the document crinkled in his fingers, not from age.
“Indulge my forensic curiosity. May I see it?” Julieta said. “Hmmm… Written by a left-handed female, I’d guess. See how the crossed T’s reveal the so-called ‘sarcasm stroke’? When lefties cross the bar, the pointed end is usually to he left.”
“Okay, left-handed. Why female?” Tyler retrieved the scroll.
“The perfume, dumbass.”
“Oh, that.” He read it aloud.
By the Hand of HRH Leola Rhautina
Second Queen of the Quirt-Thyme Empire
Delivered Unto: Tyler Noah Matthews IV
Leader of the Terran Defense Team, Star Lawyers
Joyous Toorlazimbaa—may the blessings of divine pleasure fall upon you!
Mr. Matthews,
I have evidence you will want to hear in your defense of Prince Zenna-Zenn. Please come to my chambers tonight before First Dinner so we may discuss a resolution to our mutual satisfaction. Do not fear entrapment. I shall be quite alone, at your mercy.
As this is the final night of Toorlazimbaa, perhaps we can discuss legal affairs over a festive meal with excellent Thymean wines?
In the spirit of the season, you may linger afterward as long as you choose. This invitation includes an opportunity to celebrate the Sensual Rites of Closure as my exclusive guest of Momentary Fidelity, unless you are prohibited from coupling with me by your austere Human Catholic religion.
Kindly RSVP by the messenger who delivered this note. We need not be adversaries, I hope you agree. My limbs tremble at the thought of opening to you.
Leola, Second Queen
“Ay-yay-yay! A ‘come-fuck-me’ invite from una mujer ardiente.” Julieta chuckled. “Mount her, Primo, and you’re riding la tigresa.”
Tyler felt like shouting, “Hey, screwing Leola and scratching her tushy for evidence is your idea, Prima!”
He let it go with a heavy sigh. A roll in the sack with the purple wild thing was a tempting fantasy, but Catholic guilt always kicked in at the last possible moment, simultaneously saving and ruining the day. Where’s that holographic Father Cárcel when I need him?
Speaking of unemployed clergy. “Have you seen your brother? I need Esteban nearby tonight.”
She winced. “Is that a good idea?”
“I’ll say he’s my bodyguard. He can wait outside.”
“He’s not Barry,” Julieta said. “Esteban never got over being a monk. And he will feel every emotion you experience behind closed doors. Is that really fair?”
“He’ll know if I’m in pain or under attack. Maybe he can set his empathic senses to ignore anything else.” Tyler tactfully omitted the fact that Esteban occasionally accepted perks from corporate customers, to include high-class, female providers.
“You can ask him.” She kissed his cheek. “Be careful. Talk to Suzie.”
Tyler sent a reply to Leola, accepting her gracious invitation. Then he climbed to the Patrick Henry’s command deck and activated the Apexcom. Cousin Julieta was right. He had to talk with Suzie.
J.B. was alone on the bridge as the Legal Beagle plunged through hyperspace toward the next Gate location. He answered the incoming, voice-only Apexcom transmission from the Patrick Henry, still parked at the Imperial Hub orbiting the Quirt-Thyme homeworld of Annistyn.
“It’s great to hear from you,” Tyler said. “How’s your trial going?”
“Charges dismissed. We’re en route your location. Sorry I didn’t send a report. I’ve been busy with… things.”
“Things?” Tyler said slyly. “Whose things?”
“Uh… Parvati and I are… together.”
“You dawg—congratulations! No wonder you’re off the grid.”
“I’ll fire off that after-action report tonight.”
Tyler laughed mischievously. “Don’t you have another all-nighter to pull?”
“Actually, I could use a break. Don’t misunderstand—I’m extraordinarily lucky to have an amazing woman like Parvati. But as an intimate partner, she is… formidable.”
“Always the romantic,” Tyler said. “Where’s the Legal Beagle now?”
“About eighteen hours from Annistyn. The Quirt map of unknown gates is proving to be priceless. Oh! Can’t believe I almost forgot—I’m bringing a surprise witness, if you need him.” J.B. explained the details.
“Fuck, yeah! Can you be in the courtroom tomorrow, mid-morning, local time?”
“We’ll push the Beagle hard. Look for me,” J.B. said. “Here’s Suzie. I’ll give you some privacy.” He repeated he would send a full report later tonight, then left the bridge.
Since the Apexcom connection between the Henry and Beagle was voice only, for the first time he was glad he didn’t have to look into Suzie’s clear blue eyes during a conversation.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said into the transmitter on the deserted bridge. “Are you alone? Can we talk?”
“Tyler!” Suzie said. “God, I have missed you! How’s the trial going?”
“At a bit of a crisis point right now. That’s why I called.”
“Are you winning? Do the bloody Quirts still want to hang you if Mr. Blue is found guilty of—”
“Hon, we really need to talk.”
“What’s the matter? Did somebody die? Julieta, Esteban, Mr. Blue? Lovey! Did she never come out of the coma after the robots—”
“Nobody died.”
“Oh, good God! You scared me.”
“I have to do something, and you’re not going to like it.”
“Oh?” Her voice cracked on the lone syllable. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“No, no! Of course not.”
“Backing out of the engagement, then? It’s all right. I can wait. We don’t have to set a date.”
“Suzie, listen, please.” Tyler took a deep breath. Suspecting her mind was a whirlwind of ill tidings, he blurted it out. “I have to visit the Second Queen—the purple, part-Thymean Leola Rhautina—in her chambers tonight. And I may need to sleep with her.” Tyler heard Suzie breathing across the interstellar gulf between them.
“Why?” she whispered.
He calmly laid out their predicament. “To win the case and save Mr. Blue from execution, the defense must prove she is a high order pheremonist. That takes forensic evidence of a highly intimate nature.”
“How intimate?” Suzie’s voice became stronger, sharper.
“Julieta says—”
“Don’t fucking blame this on your cousin.”
“You’re right. The choice is mine.”
“Is there any other way to get the evidence you need? A court order, medical records…?”
“It’s unlikely Quirt-Thymean courts will order their Queen to undergo bio-intrusive tests or to reveal her medical history. If we try that route and lose, she’ll know we’re onto her game.”
“That’s why you intend to shag the purple Queen, so Julieta can recover the samples from your mouth and your John Thomas?”
He swallowed. “That’s the plan.”
“Can’t you find someone else to do it?. Have Demarcus hire a young stud from the city, or bribe one of her current lovers.”
“We’re out of time. Tonight is the last evening of Toorlabamba. Court reconvenes tomorrow morning.”
“Why the Second Queen? I thought Veraposta was the evil Queen in this bloody fairytale.”
“It’s a long story. I will tell you in great detail soon. But now—”
“Now you want me to give my boyfriend—my fiancé—permission to bed another woman? Is that why you called, to absolve your guilty conscience?”
“I called because I love you, and I don’t want to do this. If there was another option, I’d take it.”
She grumbled inaudibly. “And if Zenna is convicted, you die beside him. Well, that saves me the trouble of murdering you and the blue Queen and the purple Queen.”
Tyler laughed lightly. “What, they get a pass because I get hanged?”
“Don’t start joking with me, you wazzock!”
“Suzie, if you are absolutely opposed to this, I won’t do it.”
“Bugger that! I want Zenna set free, and you alive and well, so I can remind you, for the rest of your married life, what I was willing to endure to save your miserable arse. Go fuck that purple tart. You get one Mulligan per life, Buster Brown. That ticket is now punched.”
“I don’t know what to say. I love you, Suzie.”
“Right. Well, that was what you needed to say.” She huffed. “And thank you for telling me before it happened. If I’d learned about your forensic foreplay post facto, I’d probably have called off the wedding.”
Tyler was at the verge of tears. “You are my life. I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t. Now, go get the damned evidence,” Suzie ordered. “I’m signing off before I change my mind.”
The Apexcom slipped into light static.
Twenty-Four
Last Day of Toorlazimbaa
19:30 hours
Imperial Palace at Annistyn
Inner Chambers of Leola Rhautina, Second Queen
Leola rolled away from her eating table, rested an elbow on the plush rug, and smiled playfully. “Are you well and satisfied?”
Tyler aped her movement, keeping a respectable distance between them, and recited his part of the Ritual of Appreciation. “Oh, yes. My stomach rests easy. You bless me by inquiring after my nutritional needs.”
He wondered if Esteban, who waited in the outer greeting hall, had eaten as well. Tyler asked his cousin to monitor the feelings within the Queen’s inner sanctum, but only for signs of physical danger or acts of impending violence. The former monk agreed, pledging not to snoop. Esteban knew the delicate nature of Tyler’s mission tonight, albeit not the specific details of his plan to gather forensic evidence.
Tyler gazed up at the flamingo ceiling and its dark pink arches supporting the dome roof. They dined in traditional Quirt-Thymean fashion—thick, soft rugs supporting their lightly robed bodies, surrounded by pillows for resting and short tables to hold the endless stream of food dishes brought by servants. It vaguely reminded him of feasts in ancient Rome, although Caesar reclined on a couch
not a hand-woven carpet that looked vaguely Moroccan.
“Did you enjoy the animal proteins? I had my chef prepare much meat because you Terrans are infamous carnivores.” She growled and giggled musically.
“Omnivores, like you, lovely lady.”
“Lovely Queen.”
“Why is that important to you?” He leaned back. Okay, snookums, you want to play word games—I’ll play psychiatrist.
“Titles and power are important to everyone, Tyler Matthews.” She raised the wine cup in her left hand to signal a servant to refill it. “Although not everyone can handle them.”
Tyler raised his cup for an equal portion. “Your logic is firm as your command of Terran Standard. Where did you learn our lingua franca?”
Leola’s smile transformed her already gorgeous face to the glowing countenance of a lilac goddess, so radiant it hurt to stare at her. Tyler was sliding down a whirlwind. He looked away, fixating on the fuscia ceiling.
“Many years ago,” she said, “I taught exo-linguistics at the Imperial University on Xanthei-6. My favorite alien languages were Zyra-Crispin and Terran.”
That connected more dots. Zyra-Crispin was the common language of the Meklavite Union. J.B. had discovered a covert operation to sell weapons to Quirt-Thymean insurrectionists at Lerrotica, a terraformed moon of the Mek colony on Farroleok-7. So, she speaks Meklavite. In collusion with the weapons runners and revolutionaries?
“If you are complete,” she said, rising, “we can continue the Toorlazimbaa festivities and converse while enjoying ourselves.”
Tyler stood. “I’m game.” Stray thought. Unintentional pun? Am I the game, and is Leola the hunter tonight? Or is she merely playing games with me? He touched the pocket of his robe and felt the comforting bulge of Julieta’s self-injecting tube of pheromonic anti-toxins.
Leola beckoned with a gesture. “Come with me, Tyler Matthews.”
He checked the carpeted dining room for moving pillows or dancing wall paintings. No signs of pheromonic delusion yet. Maybe she didn’t have the gift after all.
