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MICHAEL A. STACKPOLE
Father Flynn came flying around the corner on Deck 47 and bounced himself off a bulkhead. He appreciated the fact that the Qian station manager had such fine control over gravity that she managed to drop it to .75 Terran norm as he ran, letting him eat up more ground with each step. Never in his youth had he run that fast—save on a few worlds where running beat dying—and now, being past middle age, he relished the sensation of speed.
The lighter gravity ended at the entrance to Transient Lounge 47-214, which was known to the inhabitants of Purgatory Station as Clipp’s Joint. A small crowd had gathered there, with a couple of Zsytzii security officers having wrestled a Bouganshi back against the tavern’s far wall. Most of the others were human or humanoid—Clipp’s Joint only catered to OxeN—oxygen/nitrogen breathers—and was too small to accommodate many folks bringing in their own atmospheric gear.
The Xeno on the floor was mostly humanoid, and clearly wasn’t having an atmosphere problem. Not respiring tends to ease those troubles.
“Oh, for the love of Mike.” The priest shoved aside two gawkers and dropped to a knee beside the meter-long creature. The Bouganshi had done a great job of opening it from crotch to throat in a slash that sprayed oily black fluid over the floor and bar. The dead alien had two stubby legs and two pair of arms, the lower ones being shorter and thicker than the longer ones. It had no neck to speak of and not much more nose, but did have an oval mouth and two dark eyes. Vestigial fuzz covered its head, save for the face and where the ear-holes curled down above and behind the eyes.
Flynn kissed his liturgical stole and hung it around his neck, then looked up at the crowd. “Clipp, you called me down here. Do you know what this one is?”
Clipp, the big bartender, nodded. “Don’t know what he is, Father, but he was dead. You were the one to call. You can do something for him?”
The priest nodded. “Give him some peace, maybe.”
A woman with a shock of violet hair, and eyes and lips to match, nodded at the body. “I think it’s a Vaardysch. Not really a child of God, is it?”
Flynn shrugged. “I’ll not be second guessing who God will claim or who he won’t. I’m going to be giving him last rites—performing the sacrament of Extreme Unction. If you want to pray along, you’re welcome to; otherwise, a bit of respect for the dead would be nice.”
A few stayed, including Clipp, aping the priest’s motions as he made the sign of the cross. Had Flynn known anything about the Vaardysch—or even if the thing was a Vaardysch—he’d have chanced anointing it with the oil of the sick. It was olive oil that had been blessed, but Flynn didn’t know if it would somehow react with the creature’s flesh.
What he did know was that the station’s pathologist would note a foreign substance had been applied to the body post mortem. That would send old Kirong Keey into one of his foul moods, and Flynn had no desire to do that. At the best of times a Voulnir was difficult to deal with, but if a body bound for his domain had been tampered with, his fury would continue until he felt he had evened the score.
“Be a few stars that go nova before that happens...” The priest bowed his head and sketched a cross with his thumb in the air over the alien’s forehead. “Through this holy anointing and His most loving mercy, may the Lord assist you by the grace of the Holy Spirit so that, when you have been freed from your sins, He may save you and in His goodness raise you up. Amen.”
Father Flynn again made the Sign of the Cross, then staggered to his feet. He removed the purple stole from around his neck, kissed it, then folded it neatly up before turning to Clipp. “Why’d the Bouganshi slice him up?”
The big man shrugged mightily, then wandered around the end of the bar. “Not sure, Father. Would you like a drop?”
“A bit early yet, I’m thinking.” He leaned against the bar. Though white hair capped his head, and years had stiffened his joints just a mite, the priest had remained fairly trim. Unlike Clipp, he had no belly sloshing over his belt and no jowls that quivered when he talked. His azure eyes followed the bartender’s movements.
“What happened, Clipp?”
Flynn felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked left at the dark-skinned man sidling up to the bar next to him. “Now, Father, you’d not be happy if I decided to start doing your job, would you?”
“On the contrary, Captain Harrison, the Church has always welcomed those who find they have a vocation, even late in life.” The priest gave the security officer a wink. “Just trying to make sense of it, Jok. I had a feeling, I did, that Clipp wasn’t as forthcoming as he might have been.”
Harrison narrowed his brown eyes. “Go ahead and tell it, Clipp...”
The bartender sighed and wandered back down to their end of the bar, where he hunched over and kept his voice low. “I run a nice place here. You know that. You’ve both been in for a drop.”
The security officer arched an eyebrow. “Okay, you’ve asked me to dance, now let’s do the step.”
“Okay, so they come in here, the Bouganshi and the other, whatever he is. They’re together, talking, the Bouganshi translating orders and everything. They’re drinking. The little guy is holding his own, the Bouganshi is getting sloppy, the way they do, but they’re not bothering anyone.” Clipp pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and scrubbed at an invisible stain on the bar. “Then the little one says something. The Bouganshi says something; they go back and forth here, with the little one pulling variations off the same theme. I don’t know what he said, but suddenly the Bouganshi pulls that knife of his and cuts him. I didn’t see it, but I seen the aftermath.”
Harrison frowned and turned around, hooking his elbows on the bar as Clipp moved away to serve other customers. He looked across to where the two Zsytzii officers were binding the Bouganshi’s arms and hauling him off to the lockup. “The knives the Bouganshi carry, they’re just for ritual purposes, right?”
The priest shrugged. “That’s what I hear, but in the military I understand that ‘ritual’ can be broadly interpreted. The knives—ghoura-khai—are used for swearing oaths of honor, settling matters of same, as I’ve been told.”
The black man let a low growl rumble from his throat. “Worked another station closer to the Bouganshi colonies. Had a murder where it was done with khais—duel that scored more than first blood. The killer wouldn’t talk except to an elder—kind of a priest called an Adjudicator. We couldn’t do anything, so we turned him over to Bouganshi authorities and they dealt with it.”
“I guess, then, Jok, that’s what you’ll be doing here.”
“Yeah, but I hate not knowing, you know.” He glanced sidelong at the priest. “I bet he’d talk to you.”
“And you think I’d be violating the confidentiality of a priest and penitent?”
“Hypothetical situation, Father.”
Flynn shook his head adamantly. “No hypothetical about it. I’d like to know just as much as you would what happened. If they were acquainted as Clipp thinks, they likely traveled together. No luggage here, so they probably have a ship or rooms, I’m thinking. You’re already checking that.”
“Might give us some clues, sure.” He levered himself away from the bar as a forensics team came in, complete with two crime scene scanner drones and a gurney-drone that would take the body down to the morgue. “Time for me to work, Father. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“And you’ll let me know what you find out, will you, Jok?” The priest threw him a brief salute. “And thank your wife for the chapel decorations. Perfect for me, and Meresin didn’t complain too badly.”
“I will, Father, thanks.”
***
IN THE THREE DAYS FOLLOWING the murder, Father Flynn had thought about it some, but primarily as it might impact his duties as chaplain. He knew it was just as likely that any funeral ceremony might be turned over to the Mephist chaplain, Meresin, but he consulted the computers to learn what he could about the Vaardysch. What he found was meager, and mostly concerned trading cartels. Interstellar trade seemed concentrated in the hands of a few powerful trading families, and the Vaardysch were remarkable due to their seeming encyclopedic knowledge of transactions with their families’ trading partners down through the centuries.
Of their culture little was known, which was not all that unusual. The Qian Commonwealth was composed of thousands of member states, many of which were content to insulate their populations from the rest of the universe by electing a class of people to travel to the stars, leaving the rest at home in peace. The Vaardysch did not allow scholars to come study them. While a few traders’ anecdotes did provide some insight into the Vaardysch, Flynn found nothing about funerary rites.
Father Flynn looked up from the fly he was tying as Meresin pulled a fishing rod and reel from the wall and turned it over in his hands. “That one is a beaut. Any world I’ve fished, I’m always landing something with that one.”
The Unvorite smiled politely, gracing Flynn with a brief flash of sharp, black teeth. Tall and lithe, the Unvorite had skin the angry red of a bad sunburn. A crown of seven thorn-like horns ringed his head, poking up through long black hair. The largest horn clawed its way upward from his forehead, right at the hairline, and directly above his nose. A straight nose and bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, strong jaw and only slightly-sharpened ears made the Mephist priest devilishly handsome, which was typical of his species, both male and female.
Their skin-tone, the horns and the Mephist philosophy had quickly led many Terrans to cast them as Satan’s horde incarnate. In the years he’s spent with Meresin on Purgatory Station, Flynn had come to see the Unvorites more clearly and knew that such a simple characterization—like all such—just didn’t hold true. While he did not always agree with his Mephist counterpart, Flynn found him a likable sort who was capable of serious intellectual discussions as well as just enjoying himself raising hell.
Meresin tapped a black-taloned finger against the reel. “Once again, my friend, I fail to understand the enjoyment you get out of floating in a frail shell over deep water, engaging in a repetitive motion for hours on end.”
Flynn finished tying a knot with black thread and snipped the extra off. “Beautiful scenery, peaceful solitude, practicing a skill, hoping to make it better. You should understand how enjoyable that could be. After all, Mephisti is concerned with the quest for pleasure, is it not?”
The Mephist priest nodded and returned the fishing pole to the wall rack. “Indeed, it is, which makes it diametrically opposed to your austere canon of self-deprivation. However, you forget our second commandment: As long as it hurts nothing, do what you will.” He hooked a finger around. “Your sport, your pleasure, hurts these trout, or their analogs, therefore is outside the acceptable realm of pleasures as we define them...”
“And you’d be splitting hairs there, too, wouldn’t you, since I’ve seen you enjoying the process of getting yourself on the outside of a thick slice of meat. I’m not thinking the beast that surrendered your meal went pain free.”
“Ah, but we have an exception for foodstuffs.” The Unvorite narrowed his dark eyes. “If you needed the food and were eating what you caught...”
Flynn laughed. “Well, Meresin, truth be told I’d not mind it. Water being common, and evolution what it is, trout—or what pass for them—can be found all over the universe. Pity that their chemistry and mine don’t always mix, though the forces that made them finny and fish do make for great sport. I leave them with sore mouths, they leave a bit wiser.”
“You would argue that little harm is done, then, so taking pleasure from it is no sin?”
The Catholic priest arched an eyebrow. “We keeping score in your notation or mine?”
Meresin laughed. “Good point.” He sighed. “It’s a pity Father Olejniczak isn’t here anymore. He’d give me the sort of fight on this subject that you want out of your trout. When is he due back?”
Flynn rose from his chair and stretched. “He’s not coming back.”
“No? Why not?”
The white-haired man shifted his shoulders stiffly. “Marguerite really didn’t like the assignment out here, so when they got leave to go back to see Tad’s mother before she died, Marguerite asked the Bishop if Tad could be given a parish on Earth. I can’t be blaming her, really, given that raising children is difficult out here. Their eldest is just about the age to start school, and, with the third on the way...”
“I will miss him, though I cannot say the same for his wife.” Meresin flashed the diabolical smile that used to send shudders through Marguerite. “They are sending you another aide?”
“That is the plan, but when and who I don’t know.”
A gentle but insistent beeping from a rounded wall unit in the simple cabin’s corner cut through the clerics’ conversation. Flynn glanced over toward the corner. “Flynn, connect.”
In response to his command, the Qian station computer flashed the holographic image of a creature with four long, triple-jointed arms each of which ended in a hand with four stubby fingers attached. An exoskeleton covered the creature and what passed for a head was a narrow wedge shape that sprouted four antennae, two large, two small, a pair of compound eyes on stalks, and all but hid a tiny mouth. When Flynn had first seen a Voulnir, he’d thought it was the bastard child of a microcephalic octopus and a lobster—save that it was his height, a deep cerulean blue and had an attitude so sour that it banished visions of lobster bibs and drawn butter.
“Flynn Patric Dennis Father,” the Voulnir pathologist growled, “you have meddled in my affairs again.”
“And good day to you, Keey Kirong Doctor. I’m sorry to be hearing you are experiencing some difficulty today. What is it you think I’ve been doing?”
The Voulnir’s eye-stalks quivered with irritation. “The Vaardysch body—you plied your superstitious nonsense over it.”
“I gave it last rites, yes, but I didn’t touch it.”
“No matter. What you did interfered.”
Flynn crossed his arms over his chest and hardened his expression. “And what proof would you be having of that?”
The pathologist’s two right limbs pointed off outside the holographic image. “The proof I have is right here. Come down and see your handiwork. You got what you wanted.”
Flynn glanced at Meresin, but the Unvorite just shrugged. “What I wanted?”
“Yes, Flynn.” Keey’s antennae waved through the air. “The Vaardysch is alive.”
***
THE MEPHISTI RELIGION maintained resurrection was impossible, so Meresin willingly accompanied Flynn to the station’s morgue. Flynn was more than happy for the company. He was certain Keey’s rage over having scientific fact—a dead body—being reversed would be towering. The Voulnir was more than an atheist—he viewed all living creatures as meat machines and refused to even acknowledge a spiritual component to life. If he could not see it, touch it, cut it out and weigh it, it did not exist in his universe.
More than once Keey had noted, “Faith is belief without proof: a waste of brainwaves.”
Flynn also felt trepidation building in him over the idea that the Vaardysch’s resurrection would be blamed on him. His superiors in the Church had sent him to Purgatory Station to hide him away. Bringing something back to life, even way out on the fringes of the Qian Commonwealth, was likely to attract attention.
Meresin leaned back against the lift’s wall. “The last remote resurrection you had was, what, a good 2200 years ago? Lazarus?”
Flynn nodded. “Give or take a decade or so.”
“Hmmmmm, and look what they did to the one who managed that.” The Mephist priest glanced down at his palms. “Make it tough to grip a fishing rod.”
Father Flynn bristled for a moment, then realized what Meresin was trying to do to him. “You’re right. Resurrection isn’t something just anyone can do.”
“Well, no one can do it, if we’re scoring in my tradition.” The Unvorite smiled. “In fact, that’s as close to blasphemy as one can get.”
“Well, I’d not be wanting to be a blasphemer, no matter which way we’re scoring.” Flynn frowned. “Keey is sure the Vaardysch is alive, but he was just as sure it was dead. I’m not thinking my giving it last rites is what brought it back. Something else is going on here.”
The lift’s doors opened and the two clerics emerged at a run. After a short sprint down a corridor, they entered through a doorway to the left and found themselves in the morgue, arriving only a step behind Captain Harrison. It was an ovoid chamber in which three floors seemingly floated in the center, each one anchored in middle by a structural support beam running from pole to pole. The walls were lined with stainless-steel hexagonal hatches behind which bodies and supplies were stored. Drones moved up and down the walls like spiders, retrieving and storing items.
The morgue’s doors opened onto the large middle floor. Ascending a brief set of steps, the clerics came to a central dissection theatre, complete with several banks of lights hung from the floor above. The lights had been focused down on a stainless steel table upon which lay the Vaardysch body. It looked largely as it had when Flynn had last seen it, save that the clothes had been fully cut away and the gaping hole in it had been stapled shut.
The priest quickly noted one other change, a significant one.
The outer layer of its flesh had taken on a translucency. This included a white film over the eyes. Beneath that crystalline wrapping of flesh Flynn could see muscles and veins twitching and moving. Fingers and toes moved, too, but the toes moved as if they were inside glassy socks, not really causing the outer toe flesh to flex or move. Each eye, likewise, showed movement beneath its covering.
Flynn looked up at the Voulnir pathologist hunched over the other side of the table. “You’re thinking this is my doing?”
“I have eliminated every other possibility save one: that the Vaardysch are immortal.” Keey drummed his fingers against the metal table, causing a rumbling hum. “The body cooled, there was no brainwave activity, the creature was dead. Now it is not dead.”
Meresin frowned. “No offense intended, but do you know enough of the Vaardysch to determine if it was dead?”
“No respiration, no circulation, no neurological activity. It was dead—Voided as you might wish to call it, Meresin Mephist-ka.” Keey played his antennae over the Vaardysch body, rasping against the leathery outer flesh. “The body was stored until sensors reported a rise in temperature in the cell. We found basic life signs.”
The little Vaardysch suddenly arched its back and threw open its mouth. The clear flesh popped over its breastbone and tore, then split over its mouth. It hoarsely sucked in a breath, then coughed it out, spraying mucous from beneath the flesh into the air. Keey caught most of it, and backed off quickly to meticulously clean his antennae, while Flynn just produced a handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped at the dab that had landed on his forehead. Meresin, if he had been hit at all, gave no sign, and Harrison, at the alien’s feet, had been spared spattering.
Again the little creature arched its back, tearing the center seam more, on up to the throat. It made all four of its hands into fists and rotated its wrists. The leathery skin split, leaving the hands encased in gloves, which the creature quickly flicked off. It reached up and grasped the flesh on its throat and chin, then completed the split to the chest. It peeled the flesh back as if it were just doffing a hood, then sat up and began to wriggle out of its fleshy cocoon.
It blinked its eyes, then swiped at the residual goop clogging them with its lower hands, while the upper ones worked at clearing its earholes. The mucous fluid covering it began to run like sweat over its cheeks to its chest, and on down to form quite a puddle on the table by the time the creature had freed itself of its old flesh.
“Greetings.” The word came clicked but recognizable in Comm, the standard language of the Commonwealth. “I am Laiurish Dayanne of Norp and Gylan.”
Flynn was about to introduce himself when one of the Voulnir’s blue antennae tapped Laiurish on the shoulder. “Keey Kirong Doctor am I, and this is my domain. Harrison Jok Captain is of station security. Meresin Mephist-ka and Flynn Patric Dennis Father are spiritualists in residence here. There are things we must know. How is it you are alive?”
The little Vaardysch clutched its smaller arms to its chest. “You will forgive me, but such information is not mine to reveal.”
Harrison frowned. “Forgive me, Laiurish, but until this moment you were dead. We have in custody a Bouganshi...”
“Auran Ashke.”
The security officer nodded. “You’ve known him for a while.”
The little alien stood and began brushing glistening fluid down his body. Already his flesh had begun to darken. “He has traded with the Dayanne for many years.”
“Well, we have arrested him for your murder.”
Laiurish mustered what Flynn suspected passed for a smile. “Oh, he did not murder me.”
Harrison frowned. “Well, now the charges will have to be amended to attempted murder.”
“No, officer, he is a murderer.” The Vaardysch rested its upper fists on its low hips. “I was not murdered, but Norp, my parent, was.”
Flynn shook his head. “I’m hoping I’m not alone in thinking I’m missing something here.”
“What I will tell you of the Vaardysch I will say only because it is my experience in the universe that tells me that such as yourselves would be bound by an oath to preserve this information. It is not such that it would hurt the Vaardysch were it known, but it is not mine to reveal, save in such a serious situation as this. Would you all swear not to reveal what I will tell you?”
The clerics nodded, and Keey set his antennae through a complicated weaving pattern that signified the same thing. Harrison hesitated. “As much as I can within my official capacity, I will do so, yes. If my duty calls for some revelation, I cannot be bound, especially if justice will go undone.”
Laiurish thought for a second, then smiled. “That is acceptable, for I wish to see justice done, too. The Vaardysch, when we mate, implant an embryo in the parent body, deep next to the central nervous system canals. The embryo connects into the neural network in the body and is nurtured by the emotions and experiences of the parent. If the parent perishes, the embryo then takes over, repairing damage and assuming control of the body. If there is too much damage, the entity will never recover. In this case, it took a short time. In others it could take much longer.”
Meresin frowned. “Are you saying you have your parent’s memories of his life, and those of his parent, and his parent and so on?”
“Much is forgotten from one life to another, but some things remain.” Laiurish looked at Harrison. “You would wish to know if I remember my parent’s murder. I recall some of it, coming to the station, drinking, then the shock of the knife tearing me open. Then nothing until now.”
Harrison stroked a hand over his chin. “I will need a statement from you going into as much detail as you can recall. Do you have any idea why Ashke would murder your father?”
“Oh, yes, yes...They frequently argued over money. Their business agreement had been formed along Bouganshi lines, so the survivor would inherit everything. I can only think he sought the business for himself.”
“Greed, one of the Seven Deadly Sins...”
Meresin glanced at Flynn. “One of the Nine Minor Pleasures, you mean.”
The Catholic smiled. “Either way, I’m thinking it’s the core of this situation.” He looked at Laiurish. “Your command of Comm comes from your parent?”
“It does, as does my knowledge of market manipulation and many other difficult skills.” The Vaardysch tilted his head forward to let a bit of fluid run out of his earholes. “Redemption of the body and retention of skills and memories are a great evolutionary advantage.”
“So it seems.” Flynn smiled. “Quite an ordeal you’ve been through to be born. Welcome to the world.”
“Thank you.” Laiurish glanced at Keey. “You would not think ill of me if I wished to leave this morgue? I feel out of place here and, after my emergence, I need nutrition.”
The Voulnir wove his antennae, then approached the table. He stared one each of his eyes at the clerics, but spoke to the Vaardysch. “Your life is a natural process, which pleases me. It would be my pleasure to conduct you to quarters and find you food.”
The two humans and the Unvorite watched the Voulnir cradle Laiurish in his arms and carry him from the morgue. The Mephist priest smiled. “Well, there’s a miracle for you.”
Flynn frowned. “You heard the both of them, it was natural, nothing I did at all.”
“Not that, friend Flynn, but Keey acting civil, even almost pleasant.”
The Catholic priest nodded slowly as he folded his arms across his chest. “Indeed, not what I expected. Definitely a day for oddities.”
Harrison smiled. “At least we know what happened. As they say, ‘Out of the mouths of babes...’”
“Interesting point, I’m thinking, Jok, interesting point.” Flynn sighed. “Though relying on a baby truth to explain an adult situation like this leaves me not feeling good at all. Something is just not right here.”
“What are you going to do?”
A quick grin grew on Flynn’s face. “Pray. Seek some guidance and then, do what I’m called upon to do.”
***
THE BOUGANSHI DIDN’T even look up when the energy field capping his cell’s entryway quit humming. Like most of the males of his species, Auran Ashke was big by human standards, both in terms of height and sheer bulk. Dark grey skin covered the Bouganshi from the top of his hairless head to his toes, of which there were only four on each foot. The thickly-muscled arms ended in hands that had two thumbs and two fingers each. The way they were offset allowed for a strong grip that, when wrapped around a man’s forearm or throat, could snap bones very easily.
Despite the Xeno’s physical strength and the criminal history which Harrison had provided on Ashke, Father Flynn felt no fear entering the cell. The Bouganshi kept his dark eyes downcast and sat on a bunk with his knees drawn up to his chest. He gave no sign of having noticed Flynn entering the cell—the slit nostrils in the flat center of his face didn’t even twitch, much less flare.
Flynn seated himself on the foot of the bunk and looked straight at the cell’s opposite wall. He didn’t let his eyes flick toward Ashke, which meant the Bouganshi remained just a dark hulk peripherally visible to the right. The priest sat there silently, calmly, resting his empty hands palm up in his lap.
After a minute or so, the priest began speaking in low tones—which did little to hide his accent as he used the Bougan tongue. ”Meet Father Dennis Flynn. What has befallen Auran Ashke here dishonors your name and that of your ancestors.” The words had come from a study of the Bouganshi and were supposed to be those uttered by an Adjudicator—someone who functioned as a Judge, serving the gods of Law within their society.
From that point, Flynn was on his own and harbored no illusions about the likelihood of success. While the chances he would succeed and be able to get Ashke to say anything about what happened were small, he had to try. He knew, without a doubt, that the events that transpired in Clipp’s Joint were not as simple as they seemed.
He continued in Bougan, halting over some words—all the while thankful he’d taken time to reawaken his understanding of the language before he attempted the interview. “Know that your history of drunk and disorderly conduct charges has been found, and that it is believed that this time you decided to use more than your fists in a fight. There appears to be evidence that the accounts of your business with Norp Dayanne show some irregularities. It has been suggested that you were confronted with them and slew Norp before he could raise any alarm.”
Harrison’s reviewing of the accounts and discovery of funds transfers being made under the use of Ashke’s authorization codes had surprised Flynn. In the eyes of both Harrison and Keey, the scenario became obvious: if Norp were slain, Ashke would own everything, then could cover up his embezzlement. They theorized that Ashke had planned to murder Norp later, then was ambushed with an accusation in the bar. Drunk, and with a history of violence, Ashke struck out, killing his partner.
Flynn curled his hands into fists and lightly smacked his knuckles together. “You could have lashed out with a fist and crushed Norp in an instant. Your use of your ghoura-khai indicates that what passed between you was a matter of ghoura in your eyes. An accusation of accounting errors would not qualify. It was something else that Norp said.”
The priest fell silent again and waited. Quick though the Bouganshi might have been to strike under the influence of intoxicants, Bouganshi patience in making decisions while sober was legendary. As the old joke went, God made Heaven and Earth in six days, then stopped because He’d asked a Bouganshi what He should do next. He was still waiting for an answer.
“Ghoura,” the Bouganshi croaked in Comm. His gravelly voice did not wake Flynn up, because he’d not quite drifted off to sleep waiting for a reply, but he’d been close. “Norp said things violating ghoura. Asked him to stop. He refused. Asked again. He refused. Honor demanded his death.”
“And killing him hurt. He had been a friend.”
“A long time together. Learned much from Norp, owe much to Norp.” Ashke rapped a fist against his chest. “As Norp nurtured in the early times, he needed nurturing now. Took care of him, doing everything. He spoke Comm, but for a year used this voice.”
Flynn slowly nodded, sorting out the meanings of Ashke’s words. The Bouganshi, being eminently practical, eliminated the use of personal pronouns by the speaker, since it was obvious who was speaking. “You spoke for him?”
“Translated. He was forgetting Comm and some other things.” Ashke’s nostrils flared slightly. “Planned this as his last run. The ship would have been bound to his homeworld inside a year. He wanted to rest.”
“What did he say to you that violated ghoura?”
The Bouganshi’s hands snapped into fists and slammed together with a leathery crack. “Never repeated. Cannot remember him saying those things. Will not remember him saying them.”
Flynn nodded and let silence settle over them for a moment. “What about the money being moved out of your accounts under your authorizations?”
Ashke’s jaw opened revealing a serrated arc of teeth in what might have passed for a Bouganshi grin, but was likely to spark nightmares in men. “Codes existed but look at the equipment. Navigational computers have keypads made for Bouganshi hands. Transactional computers do not. No knowledge of missing money here.”
Father Flynn nodded, then sat forward and stood. “Thank you, Auran Ashke, you have given me much to consider.” The priest started to leave, then turned. “One other thing; what do you know of Norp’s family?”
The Bouganshi shrugged, his shoulders looking like grey mountains being lifted by an earthquake. “His partner Gylan was lost to him. He had a daughter by her who visited once. He said he also had a son by her, but that one is unknown here.”
“Thank you.”
Ashke looked up. “Father, a trial here, without Bouganshi Adjudicators?”
“It’s likely. The case against you appears to be strong. There were witnesses to your cutting him with the ghoura-khai. That such is not a crime in the eyes of the Bouganshi, if justified, will not work as a defense here. If you are tried, you will be convicted. There is a chance they might send you home for your punishment, though more likely send you to the prison on Chjoric Prime.”
The Bouganshi’s jaw clicked shut and he resumed his stony staring at the foot of the bunk.
Flynn watched him for a moment, then slipped out of the cell. The energy screen went back up and the two that cut off the portion of the outer corridor came down. Flynn knew, as he walked to where Harrison and Keey were waiting, that Auran Ashke was innocent of murder, but would suffer the consequences of being convicted nonetheless. He determined he couldn’t let that happen.
Harrison and Keey waited for him in the small conference room outside the station’s brig. The priest poured himself a glass of water and sipped it, letting his compatriots have their own taste of Bouganshi deliberation, then lowered the glass and appropriated a chair. “I’m thinking he’s innocent of murder.”
Keey gripped the narrow end of the table in four hands and jutted his body halfway down to Flynn. “What evidence have you of that?”
“I’ve spoken with him. I know it.”
A buzzing sneer entered Keey’s voice. “Accept it on faith as you do your superstitions? It would take a miracle for him to be proven innocent, since others witnessed his crime, including his victim.”
Flynn smiled. “There’s evidence in this case, Keey, plenty of it. First off, there’s been no establishment of a murder, has there? We have no cadaver. You may have certified that death occurred, but that body is up and running around. Deaths and medical revivals happen all the time. Even if someone were attacked and died, then was revived, there would be no murder charge.”
Harrison frowned. “But Norp must have died. If he did not die, how did Laiurish come to be?”
“That’s a good question, Jok.” The priest’s azure eyes narrowed. “Of course, the only source we have about Norp’s transformation is Laiurish. Given how closely he is involved here, I’m not thinking I like him as a reliable source.”
The security officer poured himself a glass of water. “Your point is taken, but it’s one that lawyers defending Ashke can sort out.”
“Why leave Ashke under suspicion when we can clear this up here?”
Keey’s antennae whipped through the air. “What trickery now? He committed a murder.”
“That’s what your death certificate says, Keey, but I’m thinking we can challenge that assumption. If you were to be convening a Coroner’s Court, we could settle the question.”
The pathologist rocked back and forward, his antennae pitter-patting down around Flynn’s hands. “It has been settled. There is no reason to question it. Norp was dead. It is certified.”
Flynn winced painfully. “Well, then, you’ll be forcing me to do something I don’t want to be doing.”
The Voulnir’s twin eyes jutted straight at him on their eyestalks. “What?”
“Well now, you have a body that you, as a scientist—as a totally atheistic, not-spirit-believing scientist—have certified as being dead. I gave the body last rites. Three days later, it’s up and around and walking and talking, remembering everything. Seems I’ll be filing reports with the diocese about a miracle—a full-out resurrection. Been a couple of millennia since we had any of those, and the last two created quite a stir.”
Flynn got up from his chair and began to pace, staring off into the distance. “Just think of it, Doctor. Purgatory Station will be crawling with clerics. The Catholic Church will send a team or two out, to scan everything, to interview you, download your drones, copy your files. And then the Mephists, they’ll have teams here to prove no resurrection took place at all.”
Harrison smiled. “Don’t forget all the Wheelers...”
“Jok Harrison, you know to be more respectful than that.” Flynn flashed a frown at him. “But, your point is well taken. Every faith that believes in reincarnation will be here and very happy that Laiurish Dayanne has his father’s memories. And the joy of it, Doctor, is that with you being so clearly anti-spirit, you make the perfect skeptical source. The fact that you said he was dead, and then were so touched by his resurrection to carry him off to find food, well, is there a news source or entertainment cartel that won’t be invading your domain to watch you work and tell your story? I’m thinking...”
“Enough!” Three out of four hands hammered the table, while the fourth broke a corner off it. “That would be... that would be...” Keey’s antennae whipped back and forth, causing Harrison to half-duck beneath the table. “You’ll have your court. You wish to be there, of course. Representing Ashke. Being the devil’s advocate?”
The priest hesitated, then nodded. “I’m not thinking you really know what you’re suggesting, but it works. I’ll be seeing you in your court.”
***
WHILE THE MURDER HAD not attracted over-much attention outside the OxeN community on Purgatory Station, the news that Kirong Keey was going to allow a cleric to challenge one of his findings did create a stir. Offers to assist Father Flynn came from throughout the station, less out of a desire to have Keey’s finding questioned than to get access to the proceeding itself. Two of the station's three competing news providers even offered to pay for famous lawyers to serve as Flynn’s co-counsel, but the priest demurred.
Meresin smiled as he waited with Flynn at the Advocate’s table. “I do understand your approach, my friend, though I would have to argue from the point of view that there was no murder. Since we know resurrection is impossible, Norp never could have returned from the dead, therefore never was dead and must be masquerading as Laiurish for some reason.”
“You know I find your theory of the case fascinating, right? Still, I won’t be using it.” Flynn frowned. “My arguing from Mephist dogma, you don’t think that would be a wee bit suspicious?”
“As if anything you will say will sway Keey.” Meresin slowly shook his head. “What we believe and how we exist is an anathema to him. I strikes me as curious that we have no trouble accepting what he takes as true, but what we believe is utterly outside his realm of experience.”
“True, but there’s the advantage. We can play by his rules. He doesn’t want to understand ours.” Flynn glanced at the notes he’d made on his databook, then looked up as the Voulnir sidled his way to the padded post upon which he would perch to rule. “Time to get started.”
The court had been set up in the morgue, with the main floor having been cleared. Tables had been set up for Keey and the Advocate, then chairs had been arranged for witnesses, including one beside Keey’s table for whomever was testifying at the moment. Keey had banned all news providers and spectators from the room, citing a lack of seating. The fact that there was plenty of room for more chairs had nothing to do with the amount of seating Keey had made available.
“The coroner’s court inquiry into the death of Dayanne Norp will commence now.” The Voulnir’s antennae made a swishing sound as they whipped through the air. “In order to establish events... yes, Flynn Patric Dennis Father?”
Flynn didn’t let the annoyance in Keey’s voice deter him from standing. “If you’re being of a mind to speed things along, Doctor, the Advocate is willing to ah... stipulate is the legal term—I’d be willing to take on faith that Auran Ashke did use a ghoura-khai to open Norp from stem to stern. Captain Harrison’s reports, as well as your autopsy and any witness statements about the assault in Clipp’s Joint can be entered into the record.”
The Voulnir jutted his head forward, with all four upper limbs folded and rising like towers around it. “If you are willing to stipulate to all of these things, then continuing this inquiry is foolish.”
“Wait, we have to establish there was a murder.” Flynn looked toward the witness chairs, past Harrison, to where Laiurish sat. “I have a few questions for the victim that should establish just exactly what crime we’re dealing with here.”
Keey’s antennae clattered against the table, then he unfurled two arms. “Out, all of you, save the Advocate, his aide, Harrison Captain and Laiurish. Go. If anyone breathes a word of what they have seen or heard here and you will return to the morgue sooner than you desire.”
Once the extraneous witnesses had been scattered, the pathologist beckoned the Vaardysch forward with an arm. “Do you swear on your honor as a citizen of the Commonwealth to tell the truth in this matter, fully and completely?”
“I do.” The little alien hauled himself up into witness chair and folded all four arms across his chest.
Flynn smiled as he approached the witness and Keey. “Just a couple of questions. I’m bearing in mind the delicacy of your situation and the oath you extracted from those of us who are here now concerning questions about Vaardysch culture and nature.”
The Vaardysch nodded. “Your consideration is appreciated.”
Flynn glanced back at Meresin for a moment, then smiled. “My learned friend pointed out that your explanation of how you came to be here, and how the Vaardysch reproduce, seems to be flawed. If one Vaardysch has to die for a new one to be born, you would have a stable population, but it never would have increased to the present size.”
Laiurish leaned forward. “Forgive the misunderstanding. Under normal circumstances—and certainly those under which we evolved—when there was a sufficient supply of food, an individual would gorge himself, increasing his mass, then a division would take place. It would require several years for the new person to attain adult status, no matter how long he had been harbored in his parent. Norp expected, upon his return to our world, to divest himself of me in this manner.
“What happened to him is something that we used in times of great environmental stress. There have even been cases where one of our number died on a glacier and was frozen, only to be discovered millennia later. That individual’s offspring, when thawed, was able to recount much of his parent’s life. This is a boon to archeology. It is an added benefit to being such a hearty species.”
The priest nodded. “I can see that. Now, I’m wondering, how much about your biology did Ashke know?”
“Nothing. Norp was not the sort to speak of forbidden subjects and, to be honest, given Ashke’s history of drunkenness, the chance of his revealing confidential information was too high to take the risk.”
“Oh, very good point.” Flynn stroked a hand over his chin. “Here you said that you shared your parent’s memories, right up to the point when you were cut, then nothing until you revived...”
“That’s correct.”
“And in Captain Harrison’s investigation he found that money had been embezzled from the business Norp and Ashke ran, using Ashke’s computer authorization codes. You never mentioned Norp having discovered the irregularities.”
Laiurish turned and looked at Keey. “I was still disoriented from revival, I fear. The shock of my parent’s death, coupled with the fact that it was over the embezzlement that they argued... I think that created a mental block. Remembering the discussion would recall the trauma and the pain...”
The coroner’s antennae twitched. “Of course.”
“And your parent’s death and your birth, that is a purely natural phenomena?”
“It is.”
“I’m thinking that reassures the court.” Flynn smiled broadly. “After all, Doctor Keey was set to blame me for your resurrection.”
The Vaardysch sat upright for a second. “Ah, your prayer asking for me to be raised up.”
“Yes.”
Pressing all four hands to the table-top, the Voulnir leaned forward. “I fail to discern a pattern to your questions, Advocate. You’ve established to my satisfaction that Norp was murdered and that Ashke Auran was the one who struck the knife-blow that did it. Since Ashke knew nothing of Vaardysch biology, he could not have known his partner’s memories would survive. His intent was to murder, and murder he did. Those facts are very clear. Am I to have faith that things are not as they seem to be?”
“One more question, Doctor, and I would be hoping all would become clear.” Flynn turned to the witness. “As the doctor notes, Ashke knew nothing of your biology, so he couldn’t have expected you to survive. The question is, given how hearty you knew your species to be, was there any doubt in your mind that you would survive the attack?”
“What?” The Vaardysch blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you do.” Flynn looked at Keey. “This is what happened and I’m assuming you’ll be able to confirm most of it with Vaardysch authorities when they get here. Ashke said Norp was slowing down, that they were going to return to Vaardysch at the end of this run. Norp had at least one child there. Laiurish here would be born and have a number of years before he would be in a position to take over the business, during which time someone else would have control of what he saw as his birthright. After all, he’d been the one traveling with Norp all these years.
“I’m supposing that as Norp slowed down, there were points where Laiurish here could exert control, and he made the best of them. He arranged the embezzlement and didn’t use it to provoke Ashke. When I spoke to Ashke, he spoke freely about the embezzlement, but refused to mention the violation of ghoura that provoked the attack. Laiurish used information Norp had learned to provoke Ashke into attacking his parent. Laiurish knew he’d inherit the body and all of the business, since Ashke would surrender any claim on it by virtue of being convicted of Norp’s murder.”
Keey’s eyestalks retracted closer to his exoskeleton. “A fantastic theory, but you can’t prove any of it.”
“But I can prove Laiurish lied.”
“I did not!”
“But you did. You said you remembered nothing from cut to resurrection.” Flynn folded his arms over his chest. “Still, you knew my prayer called for you to be raised up again. Now I’m knowing Doctor Keey didn’t tell you what I said, being as how he takes it all as superstitious nonsense. And you can be claiming to have learned the prayer by accessing the local computer, but Captain Harrison has pulled all records of access to such data and none are traced to you.”
The Vaardysch started to rise, but the Voulnir clamped a hand onto its back. “Do not force me to do another autopsy on you.”
“You’ve proven nothing.”
Flynn shrugged. “I think the court will agree I’ve showed there was a murder here. You goaded Ashke into murdering your father. I’m thinking you should be held on charges of conspiracy to commit murder—the murder of Norp.”
Keey hoisted the struggling Vaardysch into the air. “Harrison Captain, please conduct this one away. I order him held until suitable authorities from Vaardysch can arrive and take custody of him.”
Flynn smiled. “And what about Ashke?”
Harrison laughed. “I think we need his cell for a real criminal.”
“Release the Bouganshi.” Keey all but threw the Vaardysch at the security officer. “And the rest of you, get out of my morgue.”
***
AS UNIVERSAL AS TROUT were amid the stars, likewise was quite common a predilection for sapient species to distill very smooth and fine-tasting single-malt beverages. Father Flynn, the Unvorite and Captain Harrison sat in a booth at the back of Clipp’s Joint, savoring amber liquor.
The priest raised his glass and watched the light shine through the whisky. “I’m thinking it’s from Nyvath IV, laid down about fifty years ago.”
Meresin smiled. “Well, now the world is Nyvath III, but the whisky is eighty years old.”
Harrison sipped his drink, then smiled. “Fifty, eighty, who cares? It’s as smooth as Father Flynn was before Keey. I thought the good doctor was going to turn purple and explode when you brought up how your prayer had revived Laiurish.”
Flynn smiled devilishly. “I’m thinking both Laiurish and Keey thought I was asking that question to needle Keey. That’s why Laiurish answered the way he did, with disdain, to win points with Keey.”
“Playing into your hands.” Meresin raised his glass in a salute. “That was the most entertaining of boring, stuffy procedural events I have witnessed.”
“Thank you.”
Harrison set his glass back on the table and narrowed his eyes. “I understand the whole scenario, Father, but what I don’t get is why you didn’t just accept that Ashke had done it? And I’m not going to let you tell us that it was just all too neat. Laiurish did build a great frame, but...”
The priest nodded, then rolled his glass back and forth between his palms. “I was all set to accept it, save for one thing. Laiurish is born of a trauma that kills his parent. He witnesses the whole thing, but never asks why it happened.”
“But he couldn’t, since he knew he’d faked the embezzlement data.” The security officer frowned. “He had to leave that for me to discover, otherwise the frame would have been just too perfect.”
“True, but that’s not quite the why I’m talking about. Your question goes to criminal motive. Mine is based on the injustice of tragedy.” Flynn sighed. “One thing that comes with my vocation, one of my responsibilities, is helping folks deal with traumas. Murder, the death of a loved one, a dear sweet child being taken by a horrible accident, all of these things I counsel people through.
“I help them deal with why and how these things happen. It doesn’t matter if you can draw a very clear chain of events leading up to a result, the people involved always want to know why it happened to their lover or parent or child. They question the injustice of the event, often wanting to know how God could let it happen. The desire to make sense of it in the grander scheme of things runs through all such situations, but Laiurish never asked that sort of question.”
The Unvorite pursed his lips. “Perhaps, my friend, to ask that question is not in the Vaardysch nature.”
Flynn shook his head. “It has to be, Meresin. For any species to make it this far, to have reached the stars, they have to be problem solvers. That means they recognize patterns. Any time a pattern goes against you, you ask why. He didn’t because he knew why; not realizing that even if he knew everything, he’d still be asking that other why question. He just wasn’t doing what anyone else in that situation would, which made me uneasy. Then when Ashke wouldn’t speak about the honor violation, but would talk about the embezzlement, the obvious motive for the Bouganshi vanished. That left Laiurish as the only other individual who profited from Norp’s death. He had to have been behind it, and we just had to prove it.”
Harrison smiled and raised his glass. “Well, then, here’s to the man who recognized when a pattern wasn’t a pattern and asked why.”
“And to hoping,” added Flynn with a laugh, “that, if there has to be a next time someone is murdered, we’ll see a familiar pattern, and the victim will stay dead.”