The Rustic Faces the Music

There was a rustic who lived on the outskirts of the kingdom and who had gone to the big city to learn how to better serve the King. There was a dispute over what kind of music should be used by the King's army. The rustic, being very ignorant of those sorts of things, obtained a guide to show him the various options.

The first one involved a large pipe organ playing complex hymns. The rustic found the whole thing very majestic. The people wore fine clothes and suits. He was told it was the classical approach.

"This is the older form of music," said the guide.

"Is it the oldest music used by the army?" asked the rustic.

"No, but it is the oldest most people remember."

The next group used the piano. They were simpler, but a more lively. The rustic liked it, though he could see why some modern people might see it as a bit old-fashioned and boring. The people were still wearing their good clothes, but not quite as fancy. This was called the old favorites.

The following group went for a guitar and banjo. They were more lively, and the rustic found himself clapping his hands and stamping his feet. The people were wearing more casual clothes. This approach was called country.

The fourth group had electric guitars and drums. They were louder, with more of a driving beat. The people were dressed considerably more casually, and some of the men had long hair. This music was called soft rock.

The final group had electric guitars, drums, and loudspeakers. They were very fast and loud and nearly blew you out of the room. The rustic liked it, but he saw why some might regard it as too loud and chaotic. The people were very casual, almost a little grungy. This was full scale rock and roll.

As the rustic walked away, he turned to the guide and said, "I do not see anything in the King's manual regarding type of music. Why not allow people whatever they happen to want? Or better yet, learn to respect other people's choice of music and even learn to appreciate the kinds they are not familiar with. I like all of them to some degree and would like to see them all incorporated together."

The guide rolled his eyes to show what he thought of the naivete of this statement.       

Body from Nowhere

An unidentified body appearing suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, was not generally considered enough to call for me, John Talltree of Terran Investigations. But when that body appeared in the control room of a top secret government facility, it was a different matter entirely. Soutateruios on the world of Caltus was utterly top secret (I have learned it is better not to ask the reason for the existence of such facilities), and only a very few even knew of its existence. But someone had caused a dead body to appear there.

"So was there a security system in place?" I asked Pemitia, governor of Caltus. The governor was a frog-like being, a little shorter than a man, who clung to the wall from suction cups on his hands and feet. His ability to turn his head almost totally around to look you in the eye from that position was very disconcerting.

"Yes," he replied, "one of the finest, and only a very few had the codes to alter it. It was not supposed to let anyone in whose DNA, retina, and fingerprints were not on file. This individual's clearly was not.  We checked on the computer and there was no one registered there."

"Could someone bring in a guest?"

"Yes, but they have to register them on the computer. There is nothing registered on there."

"Looks like someone has messed with the computer."

"That is our best guess, but they would have to know or figure out the codes and be enough of an expert to reprogram it. I have our computer experts working on how this might have been done and what, if anything, can be recovered. But they have not gotten very far yet."

"I would like to interview the various members of the project staff and see if I can learn anything from them."

"It will be arranged."

The first person I talked to was the security officer, Ann Paulsen. She was a short Terran  woman with brown hair and a scar down the side of her face. "The body appeared at 11:17 p.m. Terran time."

"Out of thin air?" I asked.

"Based on the security record, that's what it looked like. One second it was not there, the next second it was, with no indication how it had come to be there. But the computer people tell me they are missing even the normal things that should be in the record in the time before the body appeared. It's like someone deliberately scrubbed the record."

"Who would be capable of doing this?"

"The only people with access to the codes other than me are the two project managers, Joe Emerson and Claudia Crowley. None of us have the skill to do this type of reprogramming.The only ones capable of reprogramming the computer are the computer techs, who do not have the codes to access the computer on that level."

"Who has access to this facility?"

"There are seven permanent personnel who are checked and rechecked before they are hired, but anyone can go bad. There is also a maintenance crew who covers for all the things the robots don't do, but they do not enter the place until the computer is locked down. Besides, they do not have the passwords to even log onto the computer, let alone reprogram it."

"Have you been able to identify the body?"

"It is no one that is in our computer. The is no ID or chip on the body. We have sent his DNA, fingerprints, and retina scan to records to look for a match. But this is a right to privacy planet and does not require universal record keeping. So whether he will be identified is up in the air. But the interesting thing is he is a Butopian and is wearing the colors of the blacksmith's guild."

"Is computer programing seen as under that guild?"

"No,  but some of the hardware associated with computers falls under that guild."

"How did he die?"

"Knife to the heart. We figure he must have trusted his killer because he was stabbed from the front, with no signs of a struggle."

Joe Emerson was pacing up and down his office nervously. "Did you pass on the codes to anyone?" I asked.

"No, I did nothing of the sort," he replied.

"Were they written down somewhere?"

"No, one of the qualifications for this job is that you are capable of memorizing the codes by heart and do not need to write them down."

"Do you know of any of your personnel who were acting suspiciously or who you have reason to believe would be interested in selling government secrets?"

"Not that I know of."

Claudia Crowley confirmed what Joe Emerson had said. Also, she was in charge of hiring and confirmed that all the personnel were clean, with nothing suspicious in their past.

The conversation with the computer techs I will not even try to reproduce. Most of it was so technical that I understood very little of it. But what I did understand amounted to the following. It certainly was possible to wipe the tapes, but there were so many fail-safes and protections involved that they very much doubted it could be done by a civilian. Even if someone had succeeded in wiping the record, it generally would be possible to recover it. They would very much like to know how eliminating the record so totally was done. But unless someone was a secret computer whiz, it was hard to see who could have done it
.
The computer techs also denied knowing anyone who was suspicious or who wanted to steal information from the project. I was beginning to suspect that if any of these personnel knew anything to indicate who might be behind this, they would not tell me.

The last two  members of the personnel were scientists, who I suspected were the heart of the project. Dr Susan Masters was an older woman, with black hair which I guessed  was artificial. "Do you know any one of the personnel who was acting suspiciously or who would try to leak information from the project?" I asked.

"It is not my place to hobnob with the rabble," she returned. "I know nothing of them, and they know nothing of me. It is better that way."

The last member was Dr. Karen Smith. She was younger, blonde, and lively. "I have been working so hard, I have not had much of a chance to get to know the rest of the personnel," she replied. "Dr. Masters is something of a slave driver, and I had no time for getting to know people."

I felt to some extent I was being stonewalled. This is  not surprising. Even innocent people can be reluctant to turn their friends and co-workers in to the police. The question was how could I get past it. Or possibly they were all telling the truth. Which brought up the question of how the culprit had covered their tracks so well.

That night I was thinking and praying to God, and the answer hit me. I went out to check a few things out and to get a report together. Sometimes the empire was a strange mixture of the new and the old.

The next day I got Pemitia, Joe Emerson, Claudia Crowley, and Ann Paulsen together. I took them down a maintenance corridor on the outer perimeter of the project. I came up to a place where four large conduits went into the wall. "You have a state of the art security system, but this is where the power goes in to run it."

"There are supposed to be back-ups," remarked Emerson.

"There are four conduits and four back-ups, from four different sources. But they all come in through this same opening. If you come closer, you can see where these conduits have been cut and spliced together again."

"You mean they did not reprogram the  computer, they just pulled the plug?" responded Crowley.

"But who were they?" asked Pemita.

"The maintenance crew," I replied, "They were the ones who would be working in these corridors. They had the skill set to do what was done here. They were obscure enough that no one even bothered doing a thorough background check on them."

"But the murder?" asked Paulsen.

"There evidently was some sort of falling out," I replied. "The victim was probably an outside tech they hired to help them out with what they wanted to do. He objected to something, and they killed him. They must have got the wind up and fled, leaving the body. But I if you want all the details, I suggest you get that from them."

But they found that the maintenance crew had already fled. They immediately sent out a crew of searchers to find them and bring them back, I never heard whether they ever caught them or not. But I was convinced that even something as big and powerful as the Empire could not ignore the obscure people or the little details. For God often used those to work His will in the universe.

The Kidnapped Daughter

As I waited for my appointment, I looked through the people in my vid one more time. They were the people high enough in the imperial hierarchy to have ordered my former boss and friend, Bill Stanford, to kill me and for him to feel he had no choice but to obey. I did not think it was one of Bill's immediate superiors, for Bill would have found a way around them. Bill was good at politics on his own level. But how could John Talltree, ordinary investigator, get a chance to investigate these people? What was on the media was always completely positive and undoubtedly untrue. But how could I ever get to the real people behind the propaganda? I then did what I should have done in the first place and prayed.

Just then I was interrupted by a vid call. It was Stephen Lewis, Bill's replacement. A bit too conventional for my taste, but a nice guy. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but we have an emergency. Some terrorist group has kidnapped a councilor's daughter and killed the councilor and his wife. I know this is not usually your cup of tea, but you are one of the few investigators, considering time dilation, to be close enough to get there soon enough to be of any use."

"On my way," I responded. Looked like my other case would have to be placed on hold for the moment.

The councilors were once the rulers of the empire, like a congress or a parliament. They had long ago become appointed by the emperor and were his cronies and servants. In some cases they had become hereditary. But they still exercised a lot of real power, and one being killed and his daughter kidnapped was a real problem. When I arrived on the planet Bouqertac, things were in a bit of a chaotic state, but I asked to be taken to the planetary investigator on the case. "What can you tell me about the kidnapping?" I asked.

"The girl was Terran and 16 years old and seems to have been taken from her room," she replied. She was a Qourdhokian named Phytaoi and was short and reptilian. "There was a note there to wait for further instructions. Her parents were found dead in the den below. Blaster shots from an unknown blaster, looks like a Towerazian, probably the same gun for both. We have searched for it but have not found it."

"Who found the bodies and the notes?"

"A couple of maids, who reported it to the head butler. You can talk to them if you like, but they told us nothing useful. Also, no one will admit to letting the kidnappers in."

"Any idea who the kidnappers are?"

"They claim to be from the Roudasikian Liberation Front and want the ransom to fund the cause. The RLF has indeed taken credit."

"It is not their MO. The RLF is more known for drive-by murders than kidnapping for ransom. But maybe they are branching out. Any ransom demands?"

"Yes, though we had a hard time finding them. They were eventually found on Mr. Campbell, the father's, vid. They are fairly straightforward, and I have some experience with ransom drops. Do you want me to set it up for you?"

"Yes, I have little experience with them. Go ahead and arrange things, and I will investigate and see if we can find them some other way."

The head butler was an old and conventional  type of butler, who did not like trouble. He was an Opartion named Jartyw, a tall thin humanoid with leathery skin. I could not tell if the if his blank expression was the result of his occupation or his species.  "Most disturbing incident. The stars must have been in a bad quadrant today."

"I do not share your belief in the stars," I replied, "but I will admit this is indeed disturbing. What do you know about these events?"

"Very little, sir. The maids reported these unfortunate events to me and I reported them to the authorities. I know little more than that."

"Did you notice any strange or suspicious events immediately before or after the incidents?"

"No, sir, I did not."

"Could I speak with the maids who found the bodies and the letter?"

"Yes, but I have asked my assistant butler, Sam Copper, to help you. He is a Terran and is better at this sort of thing than the rest of us."

Sam Copper turned out to be a talkative middle-aged man. "I hear you police have all sorts of machines that will help you catch criminals: DNA tests, fingerprinting, identification of blasters. Is any of that likely to be of help here?" Sam remarked.

"They have not settled the case yet. But there are results we have not gotten back yet."

"And here I thought with all your modern gadgetry that you did not have anything to do but read the results and nab the culprit."

"It is not quite that easy."

"The blaster marks looked like a Towerazian. A little high-end for a common terrorist isn't it?"

"They are more upper middle level, but it is a little high-end. But maybe they stole it somewhere."

As we arrived at the maid's dispatch room, Sam called out, "Wertianius, Moturpoinus, front and center; the police have some more questions." Two tentacled Quitpozians separated from the rest and came over.

"It was just so terrible," said Wertianus, who had found the body, "I came in, and they were just lying there dead."

"When were they last seen alive?" I asked.

"At 8:00 a.m., Terran time. They had asked not to be disturbed until lunch at 12:00 noon. And we have found out they are serious about such things."

"Did you see any strangers in the house anywhere?"

"No, no one I did not know."

"Any strange or unusual incidents?"

 "No, sir."

"Were you the daughter, Susan's, maid?" I asked Moturpoinus.

"Yes, I was always running in and out of her room, running errands and helping her out."

"What was her schedule?"

"Oh, she did not follow anything like that, she just made things up as she went along."

"When did anyone last see her before she disappeared?"

"I had been in there with her about an hour earlier. I had gone over to the store outlet in the house to purchase some things for her. Her parents did not want her to have one in her own room, too much of a tendency for impulse purchasing."

"Did you see any strangers or any strange incidents?"

"Nothing abnormal."

 The ransom drop was in an open field away from the road. An air-car  dropped off the container with the ransom in it and sped off. On either side there were air-cars parked there earlier, hidden in the foliage. After a time there appeared an armored air-car. It made a pass over the two air-cars parked on either side, guns blazing. This disabled them and did considerable damage. It grabbed the ransom and sped off.

"The tracker is still working," remarked Phytaoi. "Follow them to their destination." Our air-car, parked well back from the ransom site, took off.

"What about your people in the other cars?" I asked.

"We have people standing by to help them," she replied. "They were prepared for what was going to happen and knew what they were getting into. But everyone expects you to try to catch them when you deliver the ransom. The key is to have one more plan than they do."

We rendezvoused with a battle cruiser on the edge of space, and they also landed on a larger ship, though not the size of ours. As we approached each other, an incoming message came up on the screen. There was a very tall and slender humanoid, holding a blaster to the head of a thin Terran girl with brown hair. "I have the councilor's daughter here. Let us go, or I will shoot her."

"If you kill her there is nothing to prevent our killing every last one of you," stated Phytaoi. "Are you going to surrender, or do we have to do this the hard way."

Later, Phytaoi remarked to me, "Well, that is that. No terrorists, just a bunch of greedy thieves hoping to live high off the hog with a big ransom."

"It is not quite over," I explained. "Could we get all the people involved together."

"The first thing I noticed about this," I began when everyone was gathered, "was that it had to be an inside job. The kidnappers came in and out without anyone seeing them, which means they knew exactly what they were doing. And that took inside help. Further there was only one person who could pull it off and that was Moturpoinus, her maid. Moturpoinus, by her own admission, was always going in and out of her mistress's room at irregular intervals. I have checked with the other servants and they confirm this. Without Moturpoinus on their side, they would not be able to count on finding the girl alone. There also seems to have been the deposit of regular large amounts to her monetary accounts. I must conclude that she is the one responsible for the kidnapping."

"The second problem was the double murder. The kidnappers did not do it. They wanted the ransom to be paid, and the parents were the most likely to do it. Also, they were sending demands to Mr. Campbell's vid in the hopes of getting the ransom. They did not know he was dead. So someone else took advantage of the situation to kill the Campbells and blame it on the kidnappers. Then I noticed that Sam Cooper did not act like a servant. He treated me as more of an equal and ordered the other servants around. So I did some investigating. I found out he was really George Campbell, a cousin of Oliver Campbell who he had not seen since childhood, and the next in line for the concilorship  after Susan. He had evidently come here in disguise, looking for an opportunity, and he ultimately found it. It would leave only Susan (assuming she survived the kidnapping) between him and the power he wanted. So he took action accordingly."

After it was over, Susan Campbell came up to me and said, "I thank you for your help. I trusted those two, and if you had not pointed it out, I would have kept trusting them until one of them really succeeded in killing me. If there is anything I can do for you, you have only to ask."

"I appreciate the thought," I replied, "and someday I might need to take you up on it."

And I walked away, asking myself whether this could somehow be an answer to my prayer. I could not see how a teenage girl who would undoubtedly be put under guardians until she came of age could be relevant to my problem. But if this was the answer to my prayer, I trusted that God would explain to me what, if anything, I needed to do about it, and when.  
   
     

The Servants

A scientific entrepreneur had been murdered. This would not normally be a case for John Talltree of the Terran Investigation Corps. But the murdered man had claimed to have invented a working universal teleporter. The existing teleporters worked perfectly well on inanimate objects (there was some question about plants), but for animate living things, what they produced at the other end, was an exact duplicate with no life in it. Some from my own Christian position had used this to argue that this proved a living being had a soul. The materialists, naturally enough, claimed it was a glitch in the process and expected it to be quickly resolved. But the bottom line was that a universal teleporter would be a highly valuable commodity, and the Terran empire wanted it, or at least to be sure an enemy did not get it. And the plans for it had been deleted off of the entrepreneur's vid. So I was on the job.

The entrepreneur, who was Qes, a Foermarian, was found dead in his office, with evidence suggesting a servant revolt. The Peinokazians had served (it was not clear if they should be fully classed as slaves) the Foermarians for many generations. The Foermarians were tall, thin humanoids (about a head's height taller than a Terran) with a fringe of tentacles around their heads. The Peinokazians were about half the height and looked like nothing so much as a Terran pig that walked upright and had hands and feet in the place  of hoofs. The Peinokazians were on the whole domestic servants or industrial workers. They claimed they were happy and were in a much better situation then when they had been living in mud huts. There was no consistent history of violence between the two races. But near Qes's body were pieces of Peinokazian clothing and traces of Peinokazian DNA, as if there had been struggle. Als,o two of Qes's Peinokazian servants, Bemzo and Fuwno, were missing. 

I entered into a room full of people. Geurnore, the governor, stood in the corner and said nothing. At the table in front of me were Tef, Qes' wife, and Par, his daughter and collaborator. Next was Oiroum of Laudig, a Click, surprisingly far from Earth, and Durponan, Qes' assistant. Next were Pok, Qes's backer, and Nou and Kaj, investors competing with each other to purchase the teleporter. Then there were Porlo, foreman of Qes's Peinokazian servants, and a couple of Foermarians in the back who I took to be security officers or police."I will have to ask you all to come forward with an alibi if you have one," I stated. "This is not a matter of suspicion, but just a matter of routine. The more people we can eliminate up front, the easier the investigation will be." 

Since no one seemed to be volunteering I continued, "Who found the body?"

"Mister Pok and I (Click),"stated Oiroum, "Mister Pok said he needed (click) to see Mister Qes urgently(CLICK), and we found him murdered (CLICK). We left everything the way it was (Click) and called the police."

"Why did you need to see Qes?" I asked Pok, "If you do not mind telling us."

"I was going to tell him I wanted him to quit dragging his feet in the negotiations," stated Pok, with a hint of suppressed anger. "I wanted some return on my investment."

"Did you ever see this teleporter work?"

"No, but Qes, Par, Oiroum, and a number of their assistants claimed they had seen it function and gave me detailed stories of what it had done. Their stories were all consistent."

I turned to Oiroum, "You have assistants?"

"Qes, Par and I (click) did all the real research," replied Oiroum. "But we have a crew of Durporanains (Click) who do technical work and run errands (click)."

"Are any of you capable of reproducing the plans for the teleporter?"

"(CLICK) Not without Qes (CLICK) or his plans."


"Who was the last person to see Qes alive?" I asked.

"Nou and I," stated Kaj. "We had come to say we both found his price unreasonably high. He claimed he had another buyer who had offered that, and we thought he was lying. In the end he agreed to consider our offer, and we left him, still quite clearly alive."

"How much time between when you left and Pok and Oiroum came?"

"We figure it was approximately sixteen Terran minutes."

I turned to Porlo, "Tell me about Bemzo and Fuwno and their relationship with Qes?"

"They were, as far as I knew, good Peinokazians," he replied. "I saw no tendency to rebel against their master."

"Were there problems between them and Qes?"

"There are always minor difficulties and rubs in life. But I know of no continuous problems."

At this point another Peinokazian wearing a strange costume came barging into the room. He looked at me and said, "I must speak to you in private."

As I began to rise, Tef jumped to her feet and yelled, "Get that outsider Peinokazian out of here. I will have no loose cannons in my house."

As the two Foermarian, who had been standing in back were dragging the interloper out, he turned to me and shouted, "The teleporter is a fake."

As I was leaving, Par came up to me and said, "I was unwilling to mention it in public, but I do have an alibi. I was with my lover, Bol. My father objected to him, but I saw him in secret anyway. Even though my father is gone, I am unwilling to mention casually what I did. But if it comes down to a murder accusation, he will support me. Also, there are members of his household who can swear they saw me come and go."

"Is there some way I could speak him, purely off the record? If this all comes out I would like to be able to tell my superiors I followed up on your story."

"I will ask."

I was entering my rented room, wanting a chance to think about the case, when everything went black.

Being hit on the head is never fun. And this time I woke up to shaking and words, "Get up, you lazy Terran. I am not going to carry you. If you cannot  walk, I am leaving you here." Coming into focus, I saw a light brown snout and vaguely remembered it belonged to a Pie-something-or-other. I also had some memory of someone with that face and those clothes being forced out of a room.

"Give me a second," I yelped. "You must have a hard head, if they knocked you out too and you have recovered this fast."

I sat up, which proved a mistake. But after the world stopped spinning and the pain subsided, I looked around. We were in a desolate desert place, with a few scrub bushes and a number of large rock outcroppings. It seems someone had left us out to die.

"You can find the way out of this wilderness?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "the safe-house is north by northwest."

"You know directions from here?"

"So Terrans are like the Foermarians? Unable to read magnetic lines?"

"I have many fine qualities, but that is not one of them."

"Well, mister soft-headed, magna-blind alien, can you make to shelter?"

"So much for the fabled Peinokazian politeness and subservience."

"When you get to the safe-house, you will be given a choice. Swear to reveal nothing of our location and plans, or be put to death. If you take the oath, you are a friend and friends do not talk servant-speak. If you make the other choice, it will not matter."

"Well, with your permission, I will put that decision off until I know more. But could I have just a few minutes to look this place over for clues."

"Once the detective, always the detective."

"It is in my blood. But the way I look at it, someone tried to kill me. And if we can work out an agreement where you let me live, I would like to know who else is standing in line. Did you notice anything about the guy who clubbed you?"

"Only that the blow seemed to come from high up. Probably not a Peinokazian."

"Mine did not seem to come from below, but that is easier to fake. Do you think it was done by one person?"

"It could have been, but Nuo, Kaj and Pok all have bully boys they can use to do the hard work. You do realize it was probably one of the people in that room where I did the shout out. Stupid of me, I know, but I had no better plan."

"That will help if I ever come up with some suspects that were not in that room or closely connected to someone who was. Is what you said true or merely intended to get my attention?"

"The whole thing is a fake, intended to allow Qes to make money off of the successful buyer. Porlo and his people will support me in this"

I got up off my hands and knees and nearly had my head explode again. "Well?" he said.

"Standard off-road air-car, probably of the Sarkian make. No footprints, probably just tossed us out the back door and took off. If I had a full lab, I might be able to tell more. But I figure, by the time I can get the instruments here, the wind will have blown everything away. Lead on, mister hard-headed, magna-detector."

"Maybe we should share names," he suggested as he walked off. I stumbled behind him as best I could, but it did console me a bit to see that he was also stumbling a little as he walked.

"I am John Talltree," I responded, "I do not stand much on formality. Any reasonable combination will do."

"I am Dorino of Madegon, though the second half is illegal in public, and mine, especially mine. I am descended from one of the old royal families dating before the Foermarians came."

"Does that put you in charge of this shooting match?"

"Sort of, though I have very little real enforceable power. Also there are five others like me, but they are on different parts of the planet."

"And what is this thing you are in charge of?"

"It really is true we are better off under the Foermarians than we were before them. But we have made a behind-the-scenes organization to work for Peinokazian interests. It helps that the Foermarians tend to think we are substandard mentally. We also try to restrain hotheads from causing trouble prematurely. We hope someday to acquire enough of  Foermarian technology to take over or at least leave and find our own planet. But we do not want to show our hand too early."

"But do the Foermarians never mistreat you?"

"They believe it is bad luck to mistreat a Peinokazian. Bad things tend to happen to people who do such things."

"Some of which might be deliberately engineered?"

"It is a possibility."

"What about Qes?"

"That we should have done something so totally incompetent would be incredible. We have experts who handle these things. There was no real black mark against the Qes family. Tef is a little hard-headed, as you saw. But it is the kind of thing one laughs about over a hot mug of gloutin in the evening. I had hoped the death of her husband and the presence of a Terran investigator would calm her down, but I proved wrong. But it would have been unjust and stupid for us to move against them like that."

I shivered a little bit that Dorino seemed to consider the slight to his competence more important than the justice of the matter. "Could Bemzo and Fuwno have simply lost control and responded to something Qes did?" I asked.

"Bemzo and Fuwno were good Peinokazians," he explained, "and there is no record of any bad blood between them and  Qes. But if something like that happened they should have run off to a safe-house. We have handled the disappearance of Peinokazians before. They turn up on a different part of the planet with another name. But Bemzo and Fuwno did not show up. We think that someone killed them as part of a plan to frame them for Qes's murder."

"Then you have as much stake as I do in solving this murder."

"How devoted are you to the empire?"

"I am a Christian. I believe in doing what is just. In some cases that means upholding those who are the appropriate governing authorities. But not always. As for my opinion of the Empire to say anything about it that is not positive will get me in a heap of trouble; therefore, I prefer to remain silent."

"Then I will be frank with you. This whole thing looks to us like a potential disaster. It could produce a war between us and the Foermarians. A war we are unprepared for and unlikely to win. But worse, it could bring the empire down on us, with their not uncommon policy of wipe everyone out. Yes we could use help in this investigation."

We came into a tunnel in the side of a rock outcropping that looked like the other outcroppings to me. "How did you know this was the one?"

"We build our safe-houses in places with high concentrations of magnetic ores," he replied. "Sticks out to us like a sore thumb."

We were met just inside by a young Peinokazian with a vid. It showed an underground advertisement of a teleporter for sale. I turned to Dorino and said, "Now you will have to decide how much you are willing to trust me."

The warehouse was dark, and the only light was in the center of the room. My leg was starting to cramp when several figures in black walked into the center of the room. "Hold it right there, came a voice from the darkness. Four went for their guns, but fell down dead. Some Peinokazians, however docile, were crack shots with a blaster.

But the chief figure in the center was already running away back into the shadows. "Hold it right there Oiroum," I yelled. "I know who you are and will hunt you down if I have to."

He turned, ripping off his mask and yelled in anger, "How in the (clickety, clack, clack) do you know who I am?"

"Sixteen minutes is plenty of time to murder a man, spread some false evidence, and delete some files, if you know all the passwords and codes and other requirements to get into the files. But I could not imagine a scoundrel like Qes leaving his files unprotected, especially since one look would blow his fraud. So either one of you was an incredible computer expert, which none of you looked to be, or the culprit had already been given access and knew the procedure. That meant you or Par. Par had an alibi, which was not unbreakable, but it made sense. That left you. But why?"

"We were tired of being Clicks doing all the Terrans hard work," he said (somehow he seemed too agitated to click). "We did not want to be servants, we wanted to be masters. But we knew Qes would vanish into the woodwork, leaving us with what he felt was our share, maybe nothing. I wanted it all. So I killed him and was planning to sell the plans myself and keep the full price. Then that meddling servant came in and said the plans were all fake and caused the obvious buyers to want to back out. So I was reduced to this. I tried to blame the whole thing on the Peinokazians because I thought their acquiescence to service disgusting. And now I do not regret it.'

"Glad to be of disservice," remarked Dorino from the darkness.

I rounded up Oiroum and his remaining accomplices to turn over to the authorities.

Then came the moment of truth. "I cannot agree with all the things you do or might do. But I did not come here to seek you. And you have been of great help to me in my real quest. Also, the idea of seeing the empire on another killing spree does not appeal to me at all. So while I cannot even guarantee we will be on the same side next time we meet, I am willing to swear I will not give away your secrets. Is that acceptable?" I asked.

"Given the difficult nature of the situation, we accept it." replied Dorino.

And I walked away with a really bad taste in my mouth. Was I now responsible for whatever they decided to do? But all I could see was large numbers of little piglets being blasted for, however misguidedly, trying to produce a safe place for themselves in a dangerous galaxy. So I walked away sad, but I walked away.         

To Prevent a Murder

I was sitting at my desk on earth when Sophia Wildman and Guriuop of Korbiow came rushing into my office. Sophia was a compact, brown-haired woman who was my immediate superior, though I usually got my orders from Bill Samuels, the Old Man. Guriuop, her assistant, was one of those called the Clicks, the insectoid immigrants who did many of the hard jobs that remained on earth which Terrans did not want.

"John Talltree," said Sophia, "the Old Man wants us for a briefing immediately."

I got up and followed them to the briefing room. The room was crowded with other members of Terran Enforcement Corps. The Old Man took the center podium. Bill was an older man and my oldest and best friend in the Corps. He had been my mentor and had taught me what I needed to know to be an agent of the Corps.

Bill began, "We have a problem. You all know about the upcoming Boundaries Directors meeting involving four area directors from the four chief imperial trouble spots. We have received a number of mechanical messages saying that they will kill one of the directors during the meeting. This could be by a crank, but our analysts do not think, so or at least do not think we can take the chance. The killing of one of these directors would set imperial policy back many years in their area and produce considerable panic and chaos. We have been asked to prevent this."

Doug Gershon, who was in charge of the patrol branch, stood up, "I will put a large number of Clicks out into the area surrounding the meeting to protect the directors."

"Then the investigative branch will do everything we can to find the perpetrator,"  remarked Bill.

Sofia turned to me, "I will get my army of Clicks checking out all the information we can on the directors and who might want to kill them. You go out and work your magic.'

"I wish people would quit looking at me as so much of a wonder worker," I said. "Someday my 'magic' is liable to completely fail me. But I will do what I can. But let me know if you turn up anything."

"Certainly, Sherlock, I will get the Baker Street Irregulars on the case."

Conversations like that always make me nervous.

I went up to Bill and asked, "Have the directors been notified about this, and if not, are they going to be?"

"I suppose they will have to be," he returned.

"Then can I volunteer for the job. It will give me an opportunity to meet the directors and their households and to look them over."

"Certainly, go to it, young man."

Director Joe Morgan was a stocky, muscular man in a  military uniform. With him were his son, Ben, and his daughter Sue, both also in military attire. I understand their mother had left him some time ago. "Thanks for the heads up," stated Joe. "I am not afraid of them. But I will keep my eyes peeled."

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" I asked. " Just to try to help track the culprit down."

"Go ahead, shoot."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to kill you?"

"Oratius, ruler of the Xuroxia, or even more likely Yurtia, his minister of war. I have been slowly slicing off pieces of their territory for some time. Of course, they could not have come themselves. The Xuroxians are very recognizable. Insectoids with small bodies and large wings. And they are not found inside the empire, except in specialized cases under close watch. But they could hire someone or use a client race."

"Anyone else that might want to kill you?" I asked.

"None I know of. I run a tight ship."

"How many are there here with you?"

"Just me and the kids and Furidianus, our Quitpozian housekeeper, and a ten man military honor guard."

I remembered the four-armed Quitpozians. I wondered if they had some reason for hiring themselves out as domestic servants.

I had thanked him for his time and was on the way out the door, when Ben met me. "You need to know that father had an assistant named Saul Warner. He was highly competent and well liked by the troops, more than father, as he was more friendly with them and father is a strict disciplinarian. Father dismissed him with no good reason, and he or someone under him may be holding a grudge."


As I approached my air-car I noticed four reptilians with blasters lounging in front of it. "Where do you think you're going?" asked the leader. "This is our neighborhood and we want to know who you are before we shoot you down."

I turned to one side and said, "What was that, officer?" These were obviously not professionals. One of the oldest tricks in the book, and they fell for it and looked. I had three of them down with my pocket blaster before they realized what was going on. The other one ran away as fast as he could, right into the arms of a Click patrol squad.

"Investigative Officer John Talltree," I stated, showing my ID to the Click in charge.

"These Guruineds are criminal (click) scum (CLICK)." he replied, "I will see (Click) they are taken care of (Click)."

"Just see none  of them get to the director," I replied.

I was surprised at Director Anthony Duncan's residence to find the door opened by a Puglatonian. He was clothed in Terran garb and looked very close to human. He met me and with all politeness and escorted me into Anthony's presence. After presenting my news, I asked "You have Puglatonians on staff?"

"Certainly," he replied, "these are honor bound to serve me for various reasons. Much more reliable then human servants. Besides, it gives me the opportunity to study them close up. If I am to use scientific methods of dealing with people, I must understand their mentality and their habits."

"How many do you have?"

"Eight in all."

"Do you know of anyone who would want to kill you?"

"Not that I know of. There is  High Second Officer Purthan Davanus among the Puglatonians, who is fairly challenging. But I try to rule in a carefully planned, scientific way to reduce tensions. And I think they know if they killed me they would just get another director, who might be worse than me."

"How many people in your party?"

"Other than the Puglatonians, just me and my companion, Sheila."

On my way out, somehow I missed my Puglatonian guide and got turned around, going the wrong way. As I turned a corner, I glimpsed a woman with long, black hair, presumably Sheila,  kissing a Puglatonian. We all three turned and hurried away in opposite directions.

As I approached my air-car, as a habit I checked my door monitor. My air-car had a state-of-the-art security system, but there were always state-of-the-art security system disablers.  So I had added a monitor to tell me if any doors had been opened since I was gone. Someone had opened a door. I stood a distance away behind cover and punched the remote door opener. The air-car went up in a ball of fire. After explaining things to the Clicks and going back to the motor pool for a new air-car, I proceeded to the next director.

The way into Raymond Robinson's office was covered with objects d'art, many of which were made of silver and gold with costly stones. I found him behind his desk, accompanied by his major domo, Triskijoi from Oijpo, an avian species. He stood a little higher than a human, with arms under his wings. I went in and delivered my message. Then I asked, "Is there anyone who would want to kill you?"

"I cannot imagine who," he replied. "We are all one big happy family, right Triskijoi? If we can just keep the horrid Kamortians out, everything will be fine."

"You have quite a collection of artworks here."

"Splendid, is it not? I am a collector. Would you like me to show you through it?"

"Maybe some other time. But I still have one more director to warn. How many are there in your party?'

"Other then Triskijoi here, I have twenty Busgodian fighting men as my body guard. They will not find getting to me easy."

As I walked out, Triskijoi met me in the hallway. "I probably should not be saying this," he remarked, "but I believe you need to know. The director pays for his collection with multiple types of exactions from the various peoples of his area. Many small-minded people have claimed this is cruel and unjust. Some of these might take it into their minds to try to kill him."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. "If certain people are unhappy with the director, why are you trying to protect him?"

"You Terrans can do things some see as questionable. But I have heard the Kamortians are large slugs who eat other rational beings. I do not want the area to fall to them, no matter what."

I did not know if that was propaganda or really true, but he clearly believed it.

I approached my air-car very carefully. I did not see any obvious danger. I tried opening the doors from a distance, and nothing happened. I was thinking I might be jumping to conclusions, but I decided to try one more thing. I started the air-car by remote and sent it up slowly into the traffic pattern. Just then, a large cargo carrier came careening around the corner. It ran into the top of my air-car, smashing it in, causing the air-car to fall in a huge wreck. The motor pool was not going to be happy with me for destroying two air-cars in one day.

 As I entered Director Charles Galvin's quarters, I heard music playing.As I entered into his sitting room, the director was on a sofa, watching a dance by Noiterianasian females. The Noiterianasians are like a jellyfish with legs, and I could not imagine the dance being sensuous to anybody but another Noiterianasian, (though there was a certain beauty to it). I cannot say the same of the various human females attending the director, who were in a greater state of undress then I regarded as really appropriate. I explained to the director my errand. "What a batch of spoilsports," he remarked, "killing a director, what fun is there in that?"

"Do you know of anyone who would want to kill you?" I asked.

"I cannot imagine why. Granted there are various people near our area who are a little testy. But I have visited their worlds and greatly enjoyed them. There is this wonderful bar on Hiontetias. I do not see why they would see the need to kill me."

"How many are in your party?"

"Well, the dancers you have seen, and my assistants. And I have this wonderful band from Yutpek. I also have  a human comedian, named Sidney Snead. It's a shame that jokes do not communicate well between species. But won't you pull up a seat and have some wine, or something stronger if you prefer."

It was only with considerable difficulty I was able to beg off this invitation, and I heard a few of the "assistants" giggling behind my back as I left.

As I stealthily approached my air-car, I saw a man leaning against it. He had a blaster out, and the way he moved he looked like a professional. I carefully made my way around the area and came out to the side and slightly behind him. "What are you doing to my car?" I yelled . He turned but was not quick enough. I left him for the Clicks to clean up and went out with deep regret to do what I needed to do.

I got Bill on communications. "I have information that I do not feel comfortable giving to you over the air. Can we meet someplace?"

"I am out and about, running some important errands," he said, "but meet me at these coordinates and we can talk."

The coordinates turned out to be a bad part of town, with no one on the streets. I walked out, blaster drawn. "Drop it," said Bill coming out from behind a pillar behind me. I dropped my blaster.

"Why?" I asked.

"I had no choice - orders. It was you or me, and if they killed me they would only send someone else to get you. This command was from high enough up I could not say no. How did you know?"

"Twice may be a coincidence, but four times is a deliberate plan. And you were the only one who knew where I was going."

I still had my pocket blaster, but Bill knew I still had my pocket blaster. I think I got the trick from him. And Bill was one of the best shots in the corps. But even if I somehow got the drop on him and killed him, I was still in trouble. Killing your superior officer, unless you had witnesses or hard evidence, was always an executable offense, and I had neither. Even if Bill's recorder disabler allowed me to record his statements, his claim he was following orders would only be the last nail in my coffin. I had not seen and still did not seen a way out of this one.

"Sorry kid, goodbye," Bill said. And he was hit by two blaster bolts. Sophia and Guriuop came into view around a building. "I guess we better report this," she stated.

"How do we explain it?" I asked.

"We don't." she replied. "For some strange reason, Bill went crazy and tried to kill one of his operatives. Let them try to explain this, if they dare."

"Then you figured all this out?"

"No. Elementary, my dear Sherlock, Bill told us. He said he could never live with himself if he killed you. but if he rebelled he would simply be taken out of the way and someone else sent to kill you. And if he did a crummy job they would kill him and still go after you. But Guriuop and I were still free to act. And if we caught him red-handed before three witnesses, it would at least make them stop and consider before trying again. But he had to hope you would make it through his not too obviously feeble attempts to kill you to bring this to a personal confrontation."

"You realize that you may have involved yourselves in my troubles."

"Risk is our business. But I am not having one of my best operatives killed because someone upstairs does not like your face. I just wish there was some way we could have done it without sacrificing the Old Man."

"I agree with that, but what about the murder threat?"

"That was all rigged to get at you."

So I had an enemy. Someone high enough in the hierarchy that Bill could not refuse them. Someone high enough up that they felt they could send the whole enforcement division on a wild goose chase just to get one man. Some days it just did not pay to leave the office.        

Undercover

I have never liked undercover assignments. And this was one of the worst . A Terran ambassador and his daughter had been murdered in Puglatonian territory. The Puglatonians were our chief competitors on the eastern side of the empire. There were those on our side who were pushing for war. Some were speculating that some Puglatonian had done this because they wanted a war. Also, the Puglatonian desire to save face was making them unwilling to back down. They were refusing entry to all Terran officials. So I was being changed from John Talltree, agent of Terra, to John Talltree, media reporter. Even this was highly suspicious, needless to say, but I had to have some sort of excuse to hang around the scene of a murder and at least try to ask questions. And I was quite likely to be arrested as a spy. So here I was in Puglatonian territory, on Tuttion, the world where the ambassador, Thomas Ridgecraft, had been killed. My guide was Yr'runtitaia, Ridgecraft's majordomo the manager of his household, and the only one there who knew my real purpose. He was a Weqtiuziotian, and was humanoid, with leathery skin and six tentacles in the place of arms.

"Tell me about Ambassador Ridgecraft," I asked.

"He was very old-school," Yr'runtitaia answered. "Very upright and full of the glory of the empire. He was very forceful and ambitious, but also very fair-minded. He seemed always in a dream world, where the empire was much better than it really was. But it took a lot of his vigor out of him when his wife died seven years ago. His children, Darla his daughter, who was his chief assistant and died with him, and his son Tony, who is an ambassador on Guidoriwia, at least seem to have followed closely in his steps.'

"You were the one who found them dead?"

"Yes, Rutianus, the ambassador's maid, and I walked in together and saw them lying dead, with blaster burns on their chests and a look of very definite surprise on their faces. It looked like they had gotten up from his desk and were walking to the door to receive a visitor when they were shot down. Also, there was written on the wall of the office by blaster fire the word 'nouton'. It is a Puglatonian word that defies translation but it means loosely, 'Honor has been satisfied.' The blaster that did it was never identified, though it seems to be a standard Puglatonian model."

"Who were the last ones to see them alive?"

"As far we could tell, it was the Puglatonian official, Third Officer Vupthis Raber, his son Tabin, and Zoitarus, Ms. Ridgecraft's maid. Zoitarus saw the father and son leaving the ambassador's office, and Ambassador Ridgecraft and his daughter came out to see them on their way. She said the ambassador and his daughter looked in perfectly good health and seemed in reasonably good spirits. Vupthis, however, seemed aloof and uncomfortable, and Tabin was looking daggers. She says she saw the ambassador and his daughter go back into the office and Raber and his son go out the front door towards their air-cab."

"I would like to speak with the staff. Ask the Rabers very politely if they will allow me to interview them."

The first one I spoke with was Samuel Morton,  financial advisor. He was an old, rumpled individual who looked like the stereotype of an accountant. He clearly felt uncomfortable speaking with the press and was seeing me on sufferance. I was trying to ask politely, as a reporter, rather than demand. Not always successfully. "Do you know of anything that might throw light on this murder? Did anyone hate him?"

"There were a number of Puglatonians who were hostile toward him, but there is only one that clearly stands out. His name was High Second Officer Purthan Davanus. He was always putting the ambassador down in public places, and the ambassador would always give as good as he got. The First Ambassador, Luton Teramus, the ambassador's opposite, also appeared more cold and aloof than normal. But otherwise I can think of no one."

"Was there anything in the ambassador's finances that would suggest why he might have been killed?"

"I am not in the habit of discussing my employer's finances with the press."

After he left, I turned to Yr'runtitaia and asked him, "Could you ask for an interview with all the major Puglatonians who dealt with the ambassador. I want to talk with Davanus, but I do not want to single him out. By the way, was there anything irregular about the ambassador's finances?"

"Not that I could tell, sir," he replied.

 Rutianus, the ambassador's maid, was a Quitpozian. She had four arms, with a torso that went all the way to the floor and no legs. She seemed to ooze along on the base of her torso. She confirmed all that  Yr'runtitaia had told me about finding the bodies.  Yr'runtitaia was there listening but did not seem in any way to be coaching her.

"Do you know of anything else that might have a bearing on the case?" I asked.

"Well, I have not told this to anyone and was waiting for some real proof, but I think we have a spy among us," she replied, "The ambassador received most of his information and orders on independent vid cards, to prevent them being hacked into. There were a number of times I found them disarranged, like someone had sorted through them."

"Did the ambassador notice this?"

"I do not know, but he never mentioned it to me."

Darla's maid, Zoitarus, was the same species as Rutianus, but had a very different personality. She was greatly enamored with the idea of being in a vidcast and even offered me pictures of her for the feature, which I reluctantly accepted. She confirmed she was one of the last people to see the victims alive. She spoke on and on for hours about various things, particularly humorous tales about the practical implications of the Pugtonian code of honor. But I have picked out those things that seem relevant.

She said that Davanus once stalked out of the room when Ridgecraft suggested that the strategy in how he handled one of his early military engagements was flawed. She said she had once seen Tabin spying on Darla, watching her from a distant hiding place behind some bushes  as she went about her business. When told, Darla had grimaced and asked to be notified if it ever happened again. She also mentioned walking in on Ridgecraft and Darla when they were arguing over how to deal with Teramus, who seemed to be being particularly, and perhaps unreasonably, stubborn over two key points in the negotiations.

Then  Yr'runtitaia came in with some news. "The Puglatonian officials have almost uniformly refused to talk to the press. The only exception is the Rabers, father and son, who are on their way."

"Is this all of your staff?" I  asked.

"Yes. We take on extras sometimes when needed, but we have not done so this trip. The ambassador made a point of the fact he cooked his own meals and did many of his domestic duties himself."

While I was waiting, I visited the crime scene. As usual, it was almost totally cleaned up, except for the word burned in large letters on the wall.

The Puglatonians were humanoid and might have been considered good-looking from a human point of view. They were, however, covered with iridescent scales and had a crest instead of hair. The older Raber seemed slightly truculent, "Yes, we saw them last. We were discussing a couple of issues that needed to be settled if I were to endorse  Ridgecraft's program. My son and I were seen leaving the place, we got in our air-cab and went home. We were seen to arrive at 3.15 tor, which was .18 tor after the body was found. If you check the driver's record, we made no stops along the way. Any other questions?"

"When you left the ambassador's house, did you see anyone in or near the house except his staff?" I asked.

"No."

The younger Raber was more withdrawn. He confirmed his father's story and then fell silent. "Did you see anyone in or near the house except the ambassador's staff?" I asked after a pause.

"I do not remember seeing anyone," he said reluctantly.

"Do you know of anyone who would want to kill the ambassador?"

"He was a Terran, but not particularly."

I got in my air-cab to return to my room for the night. I would rather have driven myself, but it was considered a point of honor for everyone with any significance to have a air-car with a driver. As I sat there, running over the case in my mind, I was interrupted by the perception that the cab was accelerating under me at an ever increasing speed. I began to hear the warning blasts (the Puglatonian equivalent of horns) and the sound of swerving cars outside. I ran up front and pushed the buttons to speak with the driver, with no response. I pounded on the plastic shield that covered an opening between me and driver until I realized it was probably a vid screen rather than a window. The doors were locked, but I pulled out my blaster and blew the lock. Outside I could see that we were going with increasing speed straight through the center of of a high traffic area. Other cars were dodging in various directions to get out of way. And we were already going too fast for me to jump, especially in this crowded area. I am not a mechanic, but I tried to remember everything I had been told about this type of air-car. I thought I remembered that if you disabled the cooling system, it would conk out the engine somewhat slowly. I took aim at where I thought the key control for the cooling system was, and fired. Going back to the door I was pleased to see the car was slowly losing momentum. It helped that the other cars were hurrying as far as possible out of our way. As soon as the speed seemed down enough, I jumped for it. I skinned both elbows, both knees, and one thigh, but I did want to follow the air-car all the way to a stop. In the end it rolled, smashing in the ceiling of the car, though not entirely. When it had come to a full stop, I ran over to it and blasted open the driver's door. Inside was the remains of a fairly common robot, such as you buy at a standard electronics shop. It had arms and legs and could be programed to carry out basic commands. It had almost killed me, but it had given me the answer to both my problems.

It took far into the night to go through the hoops of the Puglatonian police system. And I still wonder what Central thought about all the bribes I put on my expense account that night. But I was still up bright and early to settle the thing, once and for all.  Yr'runtitaia was sitting there, waiting where he had said he would be. He was good, but I could tell he was surprised to see me. "Why did you do it?" I asked. "Why did you betray your trust?"

"What makes you think I did?" he responded.

"It had to be you. The only thing worth killing me for was to prevent me from reporting there was a traitor among you. And you were the only one besides me who heard that. You are the obvious culprit."

"Yeah, it was me. What has the Empire ever done for me except make me a lackey in carrying out its program? Besides, they paid well and promised me freedom for my home planet when they conquered. I am the traitor. But I did not kill Ridgecr. . . ." He fell over dead.

The old poison trick. It was to be expected. But he was right about one thing. He did not kill Ridgecraft. Ridgecraft was a cash-cow for him. And I did not see the Puglatonians trusting him with an assassination  And he had seemed happy enough to have me here until I got onto his secret.

Tabin Raber did not want to see me, but I told him I had something to tell him that he needed to know. "Did you know that your model of air-cab has a weight sensor? It will tell that there was only one person in it on the return ride that day." It was, of course, a total bluff. By the time I had managed to impound that car, his father would have found a way to dispose of it. But did he know that?

Suddenly his eyes, which had seemed so blank, blazed with fire. "I wanted her. I had to have her. The red-haired, green-eyed wench, so unlike our people. I would have settled for just one time. She tried to tell me nicely. But then she said I disgusted her. Did she not see it was a matter of honor? Did she not see I had to avenge myself?"

"But why kill her father?"

"He had produced her, the brat. I needed to cover my tracks. There were more reasons for killing him than her. I thought they would think it was political."

"At the price of a war?"

"Who cares if our brave soldiers killed a few Terrans? It was my honor that was at stake." He pulled up a blaster, aimed it at his head, and fired. My guess is, it was the same blaster.

I had no authority there. But I had recorded the whole confession. I did not dare take the blaster for fear of starting a new manhunt. I hoped that what I had would be enough to stop a war. But I could not be sure. The whole thing had looked from the beginning like something personal. I did not see a any basis in thinking there was a point of honor between the Ridgecrafts and the Puglatonian empire as a whole. Tabin's change in observed attitude before and after the murder was suspicious. And his spying on Darla's movements seemed to serve no espionage purpose. But he seemed to have an alibi. Until I realized that there was generally no need for the passengers to see the driver or vice versa. His father would have considered it a point of honor to cover for his son. He may have even put the son up to it. Tabin could then have obtained a rental car and used every trick and shortcut he knew to get home first. His father may have even requested a scenic route. They then went in together.

People have foolishly thought casual sex would help solve certain problems such as jealousy. It does not; it aggravates them. Under conventional moral standards, you looked for the right person for you. If someone refused you, they were not the right one and you went on looking. But under the new system, every refusal was personal. For Darla, sex with an alien was disgusting. There are different personal opinions on that (it is a matter of morality that theologians and philosophers still debate). But under sexual freedom, it was a personal affront.     

        
  

  

The Vanished Princess

The princess was missing, presumed dead. There was no sign of a body. There also had been no sign of any ransom demands. The planet of Noiterianas was in a highly volatile sector. It was assumed that some neighboring world was planning to take advantage of the situation. Therefore, they had called in me, John Talltree, to find the killer.

Princess of Noiterianas was a nominal title left in place by the empire, which really ruled the planet. Nonetheless, she had considerable loyalty from the people. This princess, Goiderous Ferpius Bernmus IV, was still young, the older members of the family having been killed in the imperial takeover. It had been thought politic to leave her with a title but little real power.

The planet of Noiterianas was a water world, generously dotted with islands but with no real continents. The inhabitants resembled nothing so much as a jellyfish with legs and were equally at home on land and in the water. I had brought my underwater gear, just in case.

The governor, Xerwas, was an amphibian who looked like a fish with legs. "Where was the princess last seen?" I asked him.

"She left her dwelling early in the morning," he said. "Her servants remember her leaving. She said she was going to the official audience hall. We allowed her to hear requests from the people, though we carefully controlled what was actually granted. The hall was only three streets down, and as far as we know she never arrived. Those are busy streets, but even after repeated appeals no one has come forward to admit to seeing anything."

"Would they have recognized the princess?"

"She was frequently on the vid and was well known. But she was not highly recognizable, and she never wore her regalia outside the audience hall. I think an inattentive person could have walked right past her and not noticed. At least no one has claimed to have seen her."

I took my issued aircar to the princess's dwelling. But on the way I drove over the streets in question. They were certainly crowded, with aircar traffic above (the streets were intended to limit the aircars to specific routes) and pedestrian traffic below. I might have to check again early in the morning.

The major domo of the household was an older Noiterianasian named Keras Poufatius. "Of course she was here that morning," he said. "I do not see why you insist on asking the same question over and over."

"Did you see her?" I asked.

"Yes, I see to it that her breakfast is properly brought in and if there is anything else she needs. I saw her go out the door. Do you think I am lax in doing my job?"

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"Not a thing."

The cook, Yardes Faswer, seemed broader than was normal for a Noiterianasian. "I have said once and I have said a thousand times," he remarked, "I made her breakfast and brought it out to her. I did not actually see her go out the door, but she said she was walking over to the audience hall."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, why should there be?"

The maid, Vordis Qerus, was tall and thin, even more than even usual for a female Nioterianasian. "Why do you imperial flunkies disturb me with more questions?" she said. "Do you not see I have my work to do? I saw the mistress when she got up that morning, but did not see her leave the house. But it is obvious she is not still here."

"Did you see anything out of the ordinary?" I asked.

"Everything was just as normal."

The princess's air car driver, Purtius Latima, was tall for a male. "I do my job," he said. "I went down and asked my lady whether she had need of the aircar. She said no, she preferred to walk. I saw her go out the door. Why do we keep rehearsing this over and over?"

"Was there anything out of the ordinary?" I asked.

"Not that I saw."

I went over to the audience hall and talked to Opiuhis Lundris, the door keeper. "I come in every morning when the hall is open before the ruler gets here," he explained. "I unlock the doors and make sure everything is prepared for His or Her Majesty. I have done this my whole life for a number of rulers. But that morning I waited and no one came, so I notified the imperial authorities. I am pleased to see you are taking this seriously enough to investigate."

Reighis Qwerutes was the head of the princess's honor guard. "We were in the main hall, just waiting," he said. "We were already getting nervous when we were informed the princess was missing. Tell me, is there any hope she is still alive?"

"Nobody seems to think so," I responded.

"That is a shame. She was the last of the direct line. They will probably find a distant relative to replace her, but I do not know who."

Trailing suspects is not my specialty. And trailing someone on a water planet is even more difficult. But sometimes you have got to do what you have to do. I stuck carefully to the shadows until we reached a deserted beach. Then I turned on the switch on my water belt and followed him in. The water belt creates a forcefield to keep the water out and the air in. Shame it is not strong enough to do the same for a blaster bolt. By God's providence we were in the shallows, which meant I could hide behind rocks and seaweed. In the open sea it is almost impossible to follow someone without being noticed. A large sea creature passed over my head as I crouched among the seaweed. But it was eating the seaweed and therefore was probably not interested in me.

Finally we came to a group of underwater houses on stilts. They looked like a row of giant mushrooms. There was an opening in the bottom that my quarry plunged in through. I waited for a few minutes, pulled my blaster, and swam up after him.

In one corner of the room was Keras Poufatius. In the other was seated a Noiterianasian female. "Princess Goiderous Ferpius Bernmus IV, I presume," I stated.

"How did you know?" she replied.

"All your house servants were uniformly hostile. I could believe one, possibly two, were traitors or simply had abrasive personalities, but not all of them. So the simplest solution was that they were supporting you and following your orders. So what are you doing here?"

"I am aware of what your empire does to planets - grabs their resources and enslaves their people. And I knew that I had no power to resist it. But empires are temporary; they fall apart over time. I have every confidence that one day we will be free again. But I could not preside over the destruction of my people. So I decided to go into hiding. Now I suppose you will drag me back."

I had prayed long and hard about this. I still do not know if I did the right thing. Certainly, if word ever got back to Central, they would have my head. They would say a free princess was a possible rallying point for rebellion. And they would be right. But sometimes you have to serve God rather than men. "I came here to find a murderer," I said. "I see no murderers here." Then I exited back into the sea. 

The Tunnels

The hole was about four inches in diameter, and my arm only went up it so far. But a murderer seemed to have made it all the way through. "What is this for?" I asked.

"It is for maintenance, Mr Talltree," replied Orsodia. Like most Burusians he reminded me of an alligator that stood on two legs and had lost its tail. "They did not want any service opening in a cluster of interrogation booths that a human could walk into. As you know, the clusters are designed so the interrogator locks himself into the main interrogation room and those to be examined are locked in the booths. The interrogator speaks by vid and uses whatever methods he deems appropriate. But the examined have no access to him. So they built these and use robotic arms to reach back in there and do repairs. They wanted to avoid incidents like this."

"I have read the reports, but tell me again what happened."

"Interrogator Famex was locked in his room and had four subjects in the booths. Famex was known for being hard core and good at his work. He had all four brought in at together on the theory that waiting  and not knowing when he would start on them helped break people down. He was giving his opening speech to all four at once, with hopes of starting the process. But he used pictures that were calculated to get to people. There was no visual recorded. Suddenly, there was the clang of the cover of the tunnel coming off and falling to the floor and a series of thuds. Later Famex was found dead, having been beaten to death by the horn of a wunbei beast from his home planet. He had killed the wunbei in a hunt in his youth, and he kept it in his interrogation room, claiming it brought him luck. The cover was left off the tunne,l suggesting it was the way of entrance. The covers in the subjects rooms were all in place, but the culprit had plenty of time to put one back. But I do not see how it could have been done."

"What type of persons were those being examined?"

"They were all aliens, each of a different kind. But they are all of approximate human size. There is, at the shortest distance, 100 yards of tunnel between the booths and the interrogation room. Far further then any of them should have been able to reach. We are continuing to investigate whether any of them could have an unusual ability to be able to do that, but so far we have found no evidence of one. We have also searched them and the entire cluster for any sign of a mechanical device that could have been used for this purpose and have found none."

"Who besides Famex could have unlocked the door to his room?"

"Only the commander of the base, the deputy commander, and the chief maintenance officer. But the clank of the cover coming off clearly preceeds the thuds of Famex being attacked. I cannot see him sitting there while someone removed the cover without asking what he was doing."

"Was Famex armed?"

"There was a blaster sitting on the table beside his chair. It did not look like it was ever moved."

The first subject was Cas-Rasmir, who was a bulbous head above a swarm of tentacles. He was thought the best suspect because of the tentacles, but they only looked to be about five feet, and there was no evidence they could stretch to 100 yards or that his head could fit into the tunnels. He had been arrested for placing a bomb in a public building.

"I have nothing to say to you, representative of an oppressive regime. You and your kind shall be swept away by the strength of the revolution. I did not kill the lackey of the regime, but would have gladly done so if I had the opportunity."

"Did you see any indication of who did kill him?"

"No, and I would not give the killer away to you if I had."

Lourama Wasinel was an insectoid. She was a tall, fragile-looking thing, all arms and legs. But the main body parts, though small, were too big to fit in the tunnel. She was there because her mate had been suspected of espionage and had been killed when they tried to arrest him. It was thought she knew something of his activities.

"Please let me go," she pleaded. "My children need me. I know nothing of spies. I just want to get back to what is left of my family."

"Do you know anything about who killed Famex?" I asked.

"I heard a clang and some thuds, and that is all I know. Please let me go."

Juddaredaffula resembled a giant slug. He was obviously too big around for the tunnels, though I found myself wondering if he could somehow elongate that amorphous-looking sack of a body so it was thin and long enough to pass though. There was no evidence his people were able to do this. He had been arrested as part of a protest against the Empire's taking a mount his people regarded as holy to use for a governor's palace. It was hoped that under interrogation he would reveal his co-conspirators.

"Do you know anything about who killed Famex?" I asked.

"I do not know anything about killing," he replied, "I do not want to kill. I do not want to be involved with killing. I just wanted to protect the sacred ground. The ground of my ancestors. No killing. It is what I said at the very beginning."

Derg of Mushaz seemed the least likely to fit in tunnels. He was humanoid, but stockier and slightly taller then a man normally would be. He had a hard time getting through a doorway, let alone into a tunnel. He and some of his friends had gotten drunk and gotten in a fight with some enforcers. He was here because his friends had escaped and he had refused to identify them.

"What is the deal?" he snorted. "If you are going to shoot me, shoot me. But let's quit all this dancing around. What is the trouble now?"

"Do have any idea who killed Famex?" I asked.

"I don't know and I don't care. Just go on with this, or let me go;"

I sat staring at Famex's records describing his past cases. I felt myself struggling. I was not sure whether to reveal Famex's killer or give him a medal. I struggled over what was the right thing to do. I could get away with it. Even if it came out later, no one would know I had figured it out. I would face nothing but a slight loss of reputation. But what was the right thing to do? I thought and prayed far into the night. Then I made my decision.

Orsodia put out the word that Lourama Wasinel Had been taken into custody having put forth some evidence that would reveal the killer.

I sat in a dark corner, waiting as the doors lock slowly opened. A dark figure stealthily entered the room and brought down a metal bar on the figure on the bed. And he winced back, the bar stinging his hands as it hit metal and not soft flesh. The lights came on, and Orsodia and his troopers charged and were immediately meet by a flurry of blows. The intruder was brought down by the first blaster shot. Seeing his obvious ferocity made me feel better about what I had done. 

"Pursa Boursa, Chief of Maintenance," blurted out Orsodia. "I do not understand."

"I am not a biologist, but I just could not believe anyone could get through those tunnels," I explained later. "But there was one person who could come in and remove that cover without even arousing Famex's curiosity, and that was the Chief of Maintenance. He must have arranged it beforehand, and Famex did not want to interrupt his speech by greeting him when he entered. He deliberately dropped the cover and then attacked Famex before he realized what was going on. The fact he knew the horn was there to be used for a weapon indicated someone familiar with Famex and his habits. Then he left, leaving us with the impression that someone had made it in through the tunnels."

"Why?" asked Orsodia.

"I cannot prove it, but Pursa Boursa was a Uroik'ian. There were two Uroik'ian brothers who were smugglers. One of them was taken and refused to give away the other. He died under interrogation by Famex. I suspect Pursa was the missing brother, out for revenge."

I stared up into the stars, thinking. What if Pursa had been someone who was clearly innocent prior to the empire interfering in his life. What should I have done? Was it ever right for me to take the law into my own hand by letting someone else take the law into their own hands? Or should I just say, a murderer is a murderer and as such needed to punished? I felt that taking the law into my own hands was never an acceptable option. But I prayed I never had to make that decision.

 

The Christmas Crime

The sign that said Merry Christmas was covered with black paint. The author of the sign lay near it, slouched on the table, his head dented in, There was an advent wreath lying smashed against the hall and a small artificial tree knocked  over, with many of the ornaments broken. Even a metal cross, which was the murder weapon, lay broken on the floor. The one-room cabin was otherwise fairly bare. It was housing for the economically disadvantaged, made with prefab plastic walls and little space for living in. There was a vid screen on a small cabinet, but I did not dare touch it till the fingerprint finders and DNA testers were done.

Very seldom was I able to get to the actual scene of the crime in a timely fashion. Usually it took place light years away, and by the time someone said, "Call in John Talltree," and I got there, it was all cleaned up. But this time it had happened on Earth and was so potentially explosive that I was called in immediately.

"I told him not to do it," said a female voice from the door. "It was just asking for it, to post things open like that. Best keep it to yourself, I always say."

"Who (click) are you?" said police officer Uriut of Korup by my side. He was was an insectioid with a large head and even larger carapace.  The Durporanians, or Clicks as they were popularly called, had been on earth a long time and tended to take the tough jobs few Terrans seemed to want. Their nickname came from the fact their own language was a series of clicks which they tended to intersperse in their Terran.

"I am Sophia Goldschmidt," she replied, "I live across the way."

"Did you (Click) see anyone come in here (click)?" asked Uriut.

"No, but it was probably Mr. Carver. He is the local strict atheist and is always railing against such things. I told Mr. Wilson here he was tempting fate, putting on a show like he did."

"Can you show (CLICK) us the way to Mr. Carver's (click) home?"

She took us out in the street and pointed out to us a house three doors down. We then saw her vanish into a house across the way and caught a glimpse of a Hanukah menorah well inside the house as she entered.

Although the empire had made the Pageant of the Glory of the Empire the official winter celebration, all other types of celebrations were permitted and, in theory, encouraged. It did not always work out that way in practice. And an incident like this could stir feelings on all sides and end up in violence. No wonder Central had sent for me. 

George Carver was everything that Goldschmidt said and more. "That Zechariah Wilson is a fanatic," he said, "nothing but anti-science and blind faith. And he always makes such a big deal of it too. Always talking about it and all this fuss over that holiday he celebrates. Someone needs to beat some sense into him."

"Would you be willing to do it?" I asked.

"What do you mean?'

"He was found beaten to death in his cabin today."

The blood drained out of his face and his mouth moved like he was trying to talk, but nothing came out.

"Did you see anyone going into that cabin today?" I continued.

"No one, I saw no one," he continued weakly.

"Pagan, it is all pagan," remarked Brittany Philips, another of Mr. Wilson's neighbors with a frown that would curdle new milk. "All this Christmas stuff is just derived from paganism."

"What (CLICK) is paganism (click)?" asked Uriut.

"I don't know what it would mean to off-worlders like you. But on earth people worshiped many gods who were immoral and capricious. And they killed their own children and engaged in orgies to make the crops grow. Most of them have died out, but there are some still around. Take Cornelia Cooper, a few streets down. But their customs are preserved in the old holidays like Christmas."

"Terrans kill (Click) their children and engage (CLICK) in orgies for Christmas?"

"No, but all that is associated with paganism is corrupting. Take this Zechariah Wilson. He had the reputation of being a righteous man, but I am sure he was a hypocrite underneath. I once saw him talking with a prostitute. That's what celebrating pagan holidays will do to you."

"Did you see anyone (clicK) go to Mr. Wilson's cabin (click), tonight?"

"No," she said, stalking around her more barren than normal cabin. "I would not be interested in anything like that."

The next neighbor, James Benson was, surprisingly, engaging in the ancient art of doing watercolor on canvas. He was working on a picture of an old sailing ship. "Yes, I have met this Mr. Wilson," he said. "A bit overboard on this Christian stuff, but to each his own, I say. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Must be the saying of some great philosopher or other."

"I believe it is from one of the ancient vid-shows," I remarked. "Something called 'Star Trek.' Did you see anyone going to Mr. Wilson's cabin tonight."

"Mind my own business, that's my motto. I did not see anything of the sort."

The next cabin we came to was obviously a special build. It went well back from the front door and looked like a multi-family dwelling. It had a series of doors on each side, with windows high up and well covered. Allure Wilder threw open the door furiously after we had identified ourselves. "Police, is this more persecution? It's the Society for the Elimination of Prostitution again. I have told them and I will tell you, prostitution is a legal business; deal with it. All these accusations about our under-feeding our employees and kidnapping them from foreign parts. All lies, I tell you. They have been thoroughly investigated and nothing has been found."

"We are not here about that," I remarked. "Mr. Wilson down the street was murdered, and we need to know if you or your employees or customers saw anything."

"Murdered? I can't say I'm surprised. Always going around spouting that Christian stuff. It's true he did organize those drives to give food to poor people. But he was always sharing that Jesus thing, even with my girls. Telling them he would help them out of the business. I tell you what better business is there to be in for girls like these? Drudge work, everything else is nothing but drudge work. Here they get good pay, three square meals a day and a roof over their head, and they only have to work five nights a week."

"Well, you realize that Mr. Wilson or I talking about Jesus is perfectly legal," I remarked. "You know, like prostitution. But we need to talk to your employees and clients about what they may have seen."

"My clients will never stand for that."

"Why? What they are doing is perfectly legal."

It took us some time to talk to the prostitutes and their clients. (I suspected some of the clients had managed to sneak out the back.) From them we learned nothing of any use. When we made it out, there was one cabin whose light was still on.

Allen Deering leaned back in his chair and said, "Yeah, I knew Zeke. A bit of a fanatic about that Jesus stuff, but not a bad guy when you got to know him."

"In what way (click)?" asked Uriut.

"He used to be a traveling salesman for a pharmaceutical firm. He traveled the stars, selling their stuff. But they did not have a good pension plan and he had no close family and friends - time lapse, you know. So he ended up here. But the tales he could tell if he wanted to. He told me about the dance of the colored clouds on Artuwon. Said it was incredibly beautiful."

"It is," I remarked. "I have seen it."

"So you are one of them, too. Sorry I cannot do anything to help you with your case, but I did not see a thing. But I want to ask a favor. I know you need it for evidence, but on his vid screen with his Bible and other religious stuff there is a series of vids of places he had gone. His vids of the mineral falls of Hliwiyth are incredible. I do not know if their are any clear heirs, and I would hate to see them just deleted. If no one else wants them, can I have them?"

"I will see what I can do." I replied.

Uriut and I said good night and agreed to meet at the lab tomorrow to see what they could come up with .

The following afternoon, James Benson seemed surprised to see us appear at his door again.

"You are sloppy," I remarked, "incredibly sloppy. Do you not even watch old detective vids. Your DNA and fingerprints were all over that place. You even scratched your finger on the edge of the advent wreath when you broke it and left us a blood sample. Did you not know that these would be on record after your military service, no matter how brief?"

"The man was a fanatic," shouted Benson. "Why was he not willing to be normal like the rest of us? He had to believe something different. It would have been all right if he kept it to himself. But he was always telling people. So narrow and intolerant. That last time he was telling me, I broke. I am sorry I killed him, but he brought it on himself."

As the prisoner was carried off in custody, Uriut turned to me. "You knew (CLick) even before the tests (click). You specifically (CLICK) asked about him at the lab. How (click) did you know?"

"You would have found out, anyway. But everybody else had strong opinions about Mr. Wilson, one way or the other," I returned. "Only he seemed indifferent. I had to wonder whether he had reason to want to appear indifferent. Also, in these sparse cabins, who else had or had a reason to have paint?"

After I had parted with Uriut, I heard a voice from the darkness that said, "Can I speak to you?" The woman who appeared in front of me was barely twenty. She was wearing a coat to keep out the cold, but from the parts that showed and the way she was shivering, I suspected she was wearing very little under it. "Ms. Wilder said you have the same beliefs as Mr. Wilson," she continued. "He was telling me about Jesus, but I still had some questions. Could you help me?"

At the risk of incurring the disapproval of Brittany Philips, I responded, "Sure, but let's go find a place that is warm where we can talk about."

And we walked off into the night.