The Blue King Murders

by Tom Shepherd

  “Lady Justice is swinging her sword, Your Honor.”

  “Get specific, Mr. Matthews, or I’ll have all of you arrested—queens, defense attorneys, prosecutors, the lot of you! I may arrest the spectators if this keeps up. We are on simulcast to over 2.1 trillion Quirt-Thymeans. Are you trying to ruin my career a month before retirement?” He hunched his shoulders. “Forgive me, Queen Veraposta. But the Quirt-Thymean Empire demands the truth, and I have invested too many years in this courtroom to deny them their right to know.”

  “Your exemplary service is noted, great jurist.” Veraposta turned to the lead defense attorney. “Tell them everything, Tyler Matthews.”

  The Judge held up a finger before Yerzail could object. Felizool ordered everyone back in place, dropped the cone of silence, and reactivated the media links. They went back on the record with Terran-Pharmaadoodil translations.

  Tyler glanced at Lovey, concerned she would resent his intrusion into her cross-examination. Frost shovel-gestured at him. Get with it, Boss-man. He nodded.

  “Carry on, Mr. Matthews,” Felizool said.

  “And keep calm,” Tyler mumbled. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  He narrated the events in Leola’s bed chamber carefully, because he knew Suzie would read this transcript someday, and he did not have a death wish.

  “Last night, the Second Queen did in fact invite me to her bedroom and attempt to seduce me. She is a beautiful woman, and I admit it was tempting. But my fiancé makes her look like a withered tree.”

  Leola recoiled in horror, like Tyler had struck her.

  He ignored Leola. “Then her compulsive chemistry kicked in, and she had me on the verge of infidelity. Fortunately, before we… uh… did it, she made a mistake. Leola told me that, after I finished coupling with her, I was supposed to go down the hall, kill Veraposta with a knife, and cut off the First Queen’s head. That grisly image cleared away some of the haze.

  “I fumbled in my robe pocket for a self-injecting anti-toxin created by my cousin, Dr. Solorio. But Leola saw me. My mind was still more-or-less under her control, so I confessed it was medication to counteract pheromonic exposure. She ordered me to give it to her, and I jammed the tube into her outstretched hand, and the self-injector pumped the drug into the heel.”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Matthews.” He address the purple Queen. “Highness, please show us your hand.”

  Leola raised her right palm. No mark.

  “Check the other one,” Tyler said. “She’s a lefty.”

  “The left, Highness,” Felizool ordered. On the heel of that hand, a greenish scab had formed over a recent puncture.

  “How did you receive the wound?” Felizool said.

  “Tyler Matthews stabbed me with an anti-pheromonic compound.” She studied the injury with a quizzical look on her face.

  “For some reason, the antidote reversed her pheromonic powers,” Tyler continued. “She believed everything I said. So, I gave her a quick summary of a night-long session of sexual encounters, including eighteen climaxes for me and about seventy for her. Finally, I told her that I had slipped away before dawn and killed Veraposta, just as directed.”

  “Amazing,” Felizool said. “Queen Leola, is Tyler Matthew telling the truth? Did you order him to kill your Sister Queen?”

  Yerzail waved a blue hand, “Your Honor, surely the stories of a Terran alien who faces execution himself cannot be taken—”

  “Of course.” Leola sounded a bit miffed. “I told Tyler to kill the First Queen, and he obeyed. No one can resist me.”

  Lovey Frost said, “Just like you told Veraposta, Zenna-Zenn, and Yumiko to remember they murdered Bandu-Jeewan, when in fact you killed the Blue King.”

  “Yes,” Leola said without emotion.

  “How did you kill him?” Frost said.

  “With Veraposta’s rifle blaster. I reduced the fool to charcoal on the floor of the bed chamber.” She smiled. “It was delightful.”

  “Later you told Veraposta to recant her confession,” Lovey said, “because you wanted her to believe Zenna killed Emperor Bandu.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. But I still had to eliminate Veraposta. Then I realized Tyler Matthews was available to kill the First Queen for me. He completed my perfect plan.”

  Veraposta’s voice broke. “We are sisters—”

  “We are nothing of the sort!” the purple Queen said. “I am one-quarter Thymean. The Judge knows what that means. I will never be chosen First Wife of the King, except by Writ of Succession. I came here as Third Wife.”

  “You killed Second Queen, Argalia Instaka, to move up?” Frost said.

  “I had no choice,” Leola said. “That full-Quirt cunt was a high order pheromonist, like me. But I never registered, so she never suspected my power. Argalia kept Bandu in her bed by planting evil memories against Veraposta and members of the nobility. She started his campaign to eliminate rivals by shuffling wives and husbands. I pushed her off the top balcony at the garden atrium. It was a service to the Empire. She splattered nicely.”

  “Making you Second Queen,” Lovey said.

  “Now, I am First Queen. Tyler Matthews eliminated Veraposta. I must ascend the imperial throne.”

  “I almost pity you,” Veraposta said.

  “Silence, imposter!” the purple Queen shrieked. “I made Tyler Matthews kill the real Veraposta.”

  “Leola, why are you confessing so quickly?” Lovey said. “Did you make a deal with the court for clemency?”

  “She certainly did not!” Judge Felizool thundered.

  “Full disclosure, Your Honor,” Tyler said. “When she was under the influence of her own body chemicals, I told Queen Leola to deliver the whole truth, as she understood it, in court today.”

  “This is unprecedented,” the Judge said. “Perhaps we should adjourn for First Lunch and consider—”

  “Judge, we have a confession,” Tyler said. “You have the authority. The Quirt-Thymean people are watching.”

  Felizool gazed into the active holo-cameras and sighed. “Court Police, please take Second Queen Leola Rhautina into custody.”

  “Your Honor,” Lovey Frost said, “may I suggest restricting her keepers to ectotherms, perhaps the Kolovite members of your police force? Cold-bloods are impervious to pheromonic chemistry.”

  “So ordered.” Felizool directed his green bailiff to lead the confused, murderous purple Queen away.

  “Your Honor,” Tyler said, “defense asks for a directed verdict of not guilty for Prince Zenna-Zenn and his consort, Yumiko Matsuda.”

  “Ordinarily that requires a majority vote of the holo-viewers of Annistyn,” Felizool said. “But this certainly is not an ordinary trial. I’ll issue that directed order of acquittal, pending the outcome of jury balloting.”

  Lovey glanced at her lead counsel and silently mouthed, “Thank you.” As Zenna-Zenn’s wife, Counselor Frost could not make the request under Quirt-Thymean law. The motion to acquit had to come from Tyler.

  Demarcus Platte rushed into the courtroom and waved, thumbs-up. J.B.’s surprise witness had arrived. Tyler smiled broadly.

  “Judge Felizool, before you adjourn for First Lunch, the defense calls one final witness.”

  “Mr. Matthews, have you no pity on an old man? The case is over. You have prevailed.”

  “Justice has triumphed, but the battle is not yet won.”

  Felizool sighed. “I am tired and hungry. But I suppose the 2.1 trillion Quirt-Thymeans watching today will forgive one last breach of courtroom procedure.”

  “Thank you, sir. The defense calls the First King and rightful ruler of the Quirt-Thymean Empire.”

  Mixed cries of hope and confusion swept the room. Holo-cameras swiveled to the rear center doors as the missing half of the Star Lawyers team—J.B. and Rosalie Matthews, Suzie and Parvati—entered the courtroom. Behind them a Quirt-Thymean in midnight black robes, embroidered with the blue-and-green colors of commerce, lingered at the doorway. The newcomer took a breath, then
marched through a stunned, disbelieving crowd. He looked exactly like the murdered king.

  “Your Highness?” Judge Felizool rose from his seat.

  He invaded the well without invitation, but no one objected. “I’m certainly not Emperor Bandu, risen from the grave.”

  “Are you—you must be Prince T’paeken Heirzos?”

  “Yes, Venerable Jurist. I am Bandu’s twin brother.”

  Yerzail sprang back into action like a sapling bent by a windstorm. “With respect, Judge Felizool, I must protest. Although of royal blood, Prince Heirzos is a fugitive from justice. Surely you cannot acknowledge any claim to the throne by a confessed regicide and arms dealer!”

  “How do you know he’s an arms dealer?” Tyler said.

  “I have heard rumors,” Yerzail said uneasily.

  “Really?” It’s lunchtime, bitch. “Not because you were involved in Leola’s plot to buy weapons from the Dengathi and return the Quirt-Thymean Empire to its old ways of conquest?” He waited for the translation.

  “I reject your lying insinuations!”

  Murmuring filled the courtroom. Felizool asked for quiet.

  “This is another distraction by Tyler Matthews, Your Honor,” Yerzail said. “I ask for a decision from our jury of citizens, reaffirming Queen Veraposta as ruler of the Empire until a suitable Prince Consort is selected by our ancient traditions and—”

  “A suitable Prince Consort?” Tyler cut him off. “Like your limp-dick eldest son, Prince Tal-Vashtoon Kamariikaaa? Was he under Leola’s spell, or did they plot this together?”

  “My son is a wise and loyal member of the ancient royal bloodline.”

  Heirzos laughed. “With Bandu gone and Veraposta eliminated, did your foolhardy son intend to marry Leola and become Emperor? If so, you’d better thank the Star Lawyers, because the purple Queen would have killed him, too.”

  Tyler glanced at Felizool. “I’m sure my client, Crown Prince T’paeken, meant no offense to good purple guys like you, sir.”

  “Certainly not, Venerable Jurist,” Heirzos said.

  “Well…” the old Judge smiled and waved a hand. “She was three-quarters blue Quirt.”

  Yerzail would not concede. “High Queen Veraposta was ready to name my son—”

  “Enough!” Veraposta, still posted in the well as a witness, raised both fists. “Tell them, T’paeken.”

  “You are a brave sovereign. Forgive me for doubting you.” Heirzos addressed the court. “My brother became First Husband to Queen Veraposta when I fled after killing our father in self-defense. Before that night, she was my First Wife, and by tradition while I live, I remained her Second Husband, even in exile.”

  “So, Your Honor,” Tyler said. “Correct me if I don’t understand Quirt-Thymean politics, but a vote on a Prince Consort is not required since Queen Veraposta now becomes First Wife to the hereditary ruler, Prince T’paeken. They are King and Queen, equals.”

  “What about the regicide!” Yerzail demanded.

  “Self-defense is an exculpatory factor,” Tyler said.

  “I was there,” Veraposta said. “Heirzos and I were preparing for bed when his father, High King Karlott-Poozel, burst into the bed chamber brandishing a blaster. A few minutes later, the King was dead. I told Prince Heirzos to run, and that I would go with him. But he refused to take me into the life of a fugitive. I kissed my husband for the last time, and became First Wife to his brother, Bandu-Jeewan.”

  “What is it with your crazy kings and blasters in the bedrooms?” Tyler muttered. “No offense. I’m an alien.”

  “Power unchecked by constitutional constraints,” Veraposta said, “spoils like unrefrigerated milk.”

  “Highness, your story, while very romantic, is highly suspicious,” Yerzail said. “You will be better managed when married to a Prince Consort who is no fugitive from justice. Someone who can constrain your emotional outbursts.”

  From the defense table, Rosalie caught Tyler’s eye. She gestured to her ankle holster, a let-me-shoot-this-fool movement. Tyler shook his head slightly, and hoped no one else had noticed. He rejoined the argument.

  “There you go again, Yerzy,” Tyler said. “Might as well have the words flashing across every holo-video streaming the Empire—‘Listen up, Quirts and Thymeans. This is a paid political announcement for my son as First King and Ruler.’”

  “Your honor!” Yerzail threw his blue arms wide to heaven.

  “Overruled, Chief Prosecutor. I find myself agreeing with Tyler Matthews, and that is a disturbing turn of events,” Felizool said.

  “But Your Honor—”

  “Yerzail, sit down before I have you arrested.”

  “On what charge, you old fool!” the Chief Prosecutor snapped.

  Tyler shook his head. Oooh, no. When will these idiots learn Courtroom Survival Rule Number One? Never bark at a Judge, even one with doggie ears.

  “What charge?” Felizool wagged a finger at the bailiff and pointed to the Chief Prosecutor. “I will think of something, and the penalty will be excruciating.”

  When the Court Police led Yerzail away, his assistant counselors and research clerks stood and applauded. The Judge bowed slightly to Heirzos and Veraposta, who stood close together below his bench. Tyler took Lovey’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Self-defense is exculpatory,” Judge Felizool declared. “Since both ranking members of Quirt-Thyme royalty agree that High King Karlott-Poozel’s death was the result of criminal assault with the intent to kill his own son, I summarily dismiss all charges against Crown Prince Heirzos, hereafter to be known as First King and ruler of the Quirt-Thyme Empire. Let the people register their assent by ballot wherever this broadcast travels throughout our worlds and colonies.”

  The bailiff repeated his summons to vote in both High and Low Caste Pharmaadoodil , then translated the words into five other languages spoken by Quirts and Thymeans. Rosalie told Tyler a complete language spread was impossible, since the vast, ancient Empire hosted over eight million tribal, regional, and alien languages and dialects.

  

  By the next morning, the balloting ran so heavily in favor of Heirzos that the Chief of Festivals declared Toorlazimbaa re-opened for an additional ten day celebration to honor the new High King and Queen. Mr. Blue celebrated by joyful coitus with his Third Wife, Queen Veraposta, while Heirzos privately interviewed princess candidates for wives number two and three.

  Lovey Frost smirked and reminded Tyler: “It’s good to be king.”

  On the fourth day of the coronation festival, Heirzos gave a rousing speech to parliament in which he denounced the neo-expansionists by name and pledged to work with peaceful spacefaring star nations for improved trade and mutual security, starting with their Parvian neighbors.

  Smart move, Tyler decided. Better career choice than screwing with the Parves.

  On the fifth day, Suzie allowed Tyler back into their bedroom aboard the Patrick Henry. He had slept on the sofa in their holographic suite since the trial ended.

  “You’re here on probation,” Suzie told him at the bedroom door.

  “Babe, I didn’t do anything with Leola.”

  “That’s not what Julieta tells me.”

  “We never, you know…”

  “Screwed?”

  “Never!”

  “Did you want to?” Suzie turned in the doorway and blocked him with an arm on the frame.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Tell me about the yes.”

  “She blasted me with enough pheromones to make a guy want to hump a dead horse.”

  “And the no?”

  “Did you read the trial transcript?”

  Suzie smiled slightly. “I make her look like ‘a withered tree’?”

  “Yes!”

  “Bloody liar,” Suzie said. “The bitch is gorgeous.”

  “Love makes the difference,” Tyler said.

  “So, if you didn’t love me, I’d be uglier than Leola, and you would hav
e fucked her?”

  Tyler grabbed his head and groaned. “I’m going back to the sofa. Let me know when I’m forgiven.”

  “No, you’re abso-blooming-lutely not forgiven!” She grabbed his shirt and kissed him. “Missed, desired, passionately loved, yes.”

  “I’ll take that…”

  They kissed and ripped off clothes from the door to the bed.

  

  Sixteen hours later, hunger drove them temporarily apart. They got up for breakfast without bothering to get dressed.

  Suzie summoned a fry up—her words for an English skillet breakfast of sausages, bacon, fried eggs, tomatoes and mushroom with a side of toasted muffins—from the repaired food dispenser while Tyler checked his datacom for new mail.

  An Apexcom message from Kansas City awaited. It was only three hours old and encoded to his DNA. He expected a note from his father about J.B.’s successful defense of Uncle Charlie and a general dismissal of the role Tyler had played in stabilizing the Quirt-Thymean Empire and thwarting the neo-expansionist weapons purchasers.

  When he saw the stamp of origination, Tyler was surprised. Not a diatribe from Dad in Terran Standard, the message was written in Español Nuevo and came from his mother, Admiral Bianca Solorio-Matthews.

  “Suzie, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He read it silently.

  She served their breakfast skillets and curled up in a chair, feet on the seat, teacup on bare knees. Both were ravenous. Neither touched a bite. Suzie listened carefully while Tyler read it again, this time aloud.

  My Beloved Wolf,

  Vitally important you call home immediately. Do not mention this message to anyone else—not J.B., Rosalie, Esteban, or Julieta, and especially not your father. I leave it to your discretion whether to include your fiancé in the loop. I am trusting you with a secret which could destroy the Family. Do not let me down, hijo. Sabes que tu madre te ama.”

  Tyler put down the datacom and picked up a sliced muffin. They ate silently while he mentally processed the message. Suzie waited a few moments, then asked how he was doing.