Duval Dirtbag

Murder On The Base

Chapter 38 - To Catch a Murderer (You’re Insured)

Style was, of course, a subjective opinion. For instance, the vehicles that Michael grew up watching every Sunday when his father truly took over the TV were very fast. Formula One cars looked like sharks, or bullets, on wheels. NASCAR cars looked like cookie cutter copies of cars that one could see on the highway or a car show; though Michael knew that was only the outside. Besides the types of cars, the races themselves were dynamically different.

Formula One tracks were dynamically shaped with sharp curves and nearly complete circles within the track itself. As well as straight-a-ways where the engines could really show off. And rarely did the drivers seem to turn the wheel. The speed at which they were traveling could not physically allow for the kind of steering wheel action that one saw on car chases in movies.

In NASCAR, you mostly turned left.

Michael had a preference. But his father did not. Dad watched it all: Formula One, NASCAR, drag racing, funny car racing. That was what Sundays were, just watching Dad watch racing. Other dads watched golf. That was their style.

Stylistically, the new floating racers looked, to Michael, at worst like PT Cruisers; at best like Plymouth Prowlers, a discontinued hot rod-looking car from way before the Shil’vati invasion. Either way, not really Michael’s style.

Michael could appreciate different kinds of cars, but they weren’t necessarily a part of his aesthetic. What he needed from a car was something that could get him to and from work.

So when he found himself inside a Shil’vati spaceship, the fact that it looked like a shiny purple brick didn’t matter to him. That it was going to get him from the base in Jacksonville to Daytona faster than how he and Bill had made the return trip was awesome.

Sure, there were bells and whistles and screens and buttons and readouts and obvious controlling mechanisms; Michael still felt like a kid in the backseat watching adults driving. There’s no way I could even reach the pedals! He thought in a mix of amusement and frustration. The average Shil’vati was seven feet tall. Michael was the American average of five nine. He chuckled to himself imagining Bill’s even shorter Filipino frame jumping up to try to grab levers that the Shil’vati pilot reached with ease.

Bill was strapped in beside Michael. Their seats didn’t seem like a part of the crew compartment. You know how you can drive through town and see offices that previously served another purpose? Say it’s an office where you could get help filing your taxes but you can tell it used to be a Pizza Hut. They were in seats that sat them easily, but this clearly used to be a holding cell for captives unlucky enough to get snatched by the Imperium’s claws. Stains of various hues of blood left their indelible mark. Michael tried not to think about it.

Bill helped distract Michael: he looked like a kid in a candy shop. His eyes were bright and tried to absorb everything. His smile was agape with wonder. His nose was wet. Well, that was exaggeration, but Michael imagined that Bill's expression was the human equivalent to a dog hanging its head out of the car window on a Sunday drive.

Michael had time for these musings as their ship went up through the troposphere. The thinning atmosphere revealed an ominous number of shining purple specks of light in the distance and not so distance. Michael’s stomach sank while thinking, Lord, how many of them were there? Outright rebellion was ridiculous. Nothing could withstand the shear numerical–let alone technological–superiority of the Shil’vati. This was the first time that Michael recognized the depth the word “Imperium” held. And this was just on Earth. There’s no telling how many ships would orbit a planet more established within the Imperium.

Michael’s stomach rose then as the Shil’vati ship started its descent toward Daytona. This was completely psychosomatic, as the Shil’vati tech adjusted pressures within the ship so that no passenger ought to be affected. But Michael had been on the Hellevator before and knew what this was supposed to feel like. On his seat’s armrest was a handle with a knob on top, like an upright dumbbell. He grabbed on for dear life. His hand was met with another. He shared an armrest with Bill. They both seemed to be having the same reaction. They met eyes for a fraction of a second and then both gripped harder. Gradually, they descended to the street in front of Sharon’s house.

Joph’rena marched toward the front door. Bill followed as fast as he could behind her. Michael lagged behind, thanking the ground for it’s solidity.

“Hey! You can’t just knock the door down!” Bill protested, still trying to get ahead of Joph’rena though her strides easily out measured his.

“This is a military investigation.” Joph’rena replied nonplussed by Bill’s protestations. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Michael looked up, “Meet in the middle, knock on the door like the damn po lease.”

“I am the police.” Joph’rena grinned. “Imperial police.” She then proceeded to knock on the door vigorously.

There was a deliberate time between the onset of the knocking and the door opening a taut chain lock’s distance. Sharon called out in an oddly sing-song voice, “Do you have a warrant?”

Michael asked ignorantly, “Jeez, how many times have the cops come to your door?”

“I guess you grew up WASP.” Bill replied snarkily, “Sit down, Pale Face.”

Old White Bill popped up behind Sharon, “Or when a goddamn Shil’vati ship lands in your front yard, protocol comes to the forefront of one’s mind.”

Bill turned back to the door, “Mom, we need to talk to the Pack, are they still here?”

Fala poked her head into view at a window along the frame of the door. “Yes, we’re here.”

Michael mumbled to himself, “You had from the time we left for a hospital, then drove to Jax, then to get back here–which was, admittedly, faster–but you all chose to hide out at Sharon’s house?”

Joph’rena got back to business. “Fala! Let me in, we need to talk.”

Fala gave it a moment’s consideration. She put a hand on Sharon’s shoulder, “Very well. Will you give me your word that no harm will come to myself or anyone else in this house?”

“I can make no such promise,” Joph’rena twisted her tusk and replied, “But I will do my best.”

Fala and Sharon shrugged at each other. “I guess that’s the best we can get.” They then let Joph’rena, Bill and Michael into the house.

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The Pack sat in an array that began with Ssgt. Remington on the left and ended with Finley on the right. Fala scooted herself into the center of the farthest most couch so that she had Harley and Linnet flanking her. Bel’a stood between couches nearer to Ssgt. Remmington. They had cushioned their Princess in layers of protection. Sharon, meanwhile, attended something in the kitchen. Old White Bill sat himself in the breakfast nook and opened a newspaper. Bill stood to Joph’rena’s right as she stood facing the Pack so that he was between them and his mother. Michael stood to Joph’rena’s left.

Joph’rena addressed the crowd, “You all aren’t technically AWOL, as it’s been less than five business days, but know if you choose to set up camp here in Daytona after that time it will be a court marshallable offense.” She twisted her tusk as was her habit when being dramatic. “I doubt that you all will do that when you hear what I have to say to you.” She drew up her omnipad quick enough to make Linnet flinch. She tried to grab and fling the display up to a wall out of habit and failed miserably. She grumbled and turned her small screen to the Pack and continued.

“As you all know, the Imperium is wrought with various intergalactic adversaries-trading partners: the Consortium and the Alliance. As well as various pirate groups who prey on our trade lines.

“Sometimes we are able to anticipate such attacks and are able to turn the tables, as was the case with the bounty of slugs we were able to consume recently.” Joph’rena held for a moment to savor her memory before she continued. “At other times, however, they remain a thorn in our side. One such thorn is the Armed Aurums.”

Ssgt. Remington growled throatily.

Joph’rena looked directly at Remy, “Yes. Those pirates.” She then turned to the Pack who also had their ears bent backward in irritation. “We have long suffered their attacks. They are small scale in the grand scheme of things but I know from your files and the files compiled by our friends Michael and Bill here, that they have had a particular impact on your…” Joph’rena fumbled for the right word, “crew, as it were.”

“I have been tasked with finding any lingering vestiges of the Aurums as the higher ups have narrowed the likely suspects down to our duty station. Lucky for me, I was able to delegate the menial task of combing through the company to these two.

“For whatever reason, when I interview people outside of the Shil’vati members, you all hold out on the details. But given neutral parties like Michael and Bill here, you all pour your hearts out.” Michael frowned at that particular delivery, but Joph’rena continued. “And I had my suspicions but when Bill showed up on the base skewered by his own knife—the weapon used in the murder on the base, I knew who I was looking for at last.”

Ssgt. Remington clenched his fists and demanded. “Who?”

Finley’s shaking had been fine tuning itself to a steady tremor the further into her explanation Joph’rena went. He sprang into action at the sound of Remy’s yelling question. He left a Finley-shaped cloud of dust leaving the living room and heading straight to the garage.

Bill had positioned himself to intercept but found himself in no condition to catch Finley, let alone hold him if he’d caught him with his recently stabbed arm. “Dammit!” He cried.

Ssgt. Remington’s fists and jaw opened in shock having seen Finley bolt from the room. “What?”

Joph’rena didn’t budge. Bill’s hands slipped uselessly on the now locked door to the garage. “Dammit!” was the balm he applied to this new failure in his plans.

Michael saw that that was a dead end, so he started toward the front door. Old White Bill happened to be getting up at the same time and bungled Michael’s attempt to get to the front door by walking the same way while pretending to read his newspaper. Old White Bill smiled slightly exclaiming over dramatically, “Oh, pardon me young man!” Michael glared at him in frustration before looking out the window along the door frame to see Finley speeding off in a metallic orange Corvette. Its sleek angles glinted brightly in the sun as it sped out of the driveway and onto the main road of the neighborhood.

Ssgt. Remington quavered, “He’s been an Armed Aurum this whole time!?”

The roar of the car held Joph’rena from answering immediately, “We haven’t pinpointed when exactly he came into the Aurums’ fold, but we’ll get it out of him eventually.” There was a high pitched squealing sound of tires slipping on pavement followed shortly by the heart wrenching sound of metal crunching.

Joph’rena chuckled, “Oh, well that was quick. I had this whole plan for low orbit ships to monitor the neighborhood if he thought he could slip away from us again. Ships. Drones. Heat seeker cameras. Just, a whole plethora of equipment aimed at this house, at the ready…”

“Goddammit!” Old White Bill snarled. “My beautiful baby!”

Joph’rena sighed, “...For him to just fuck it up and wreck a sports car before he got out of the neighborhood.”

“Oh calm down, Bill,” Sharon pooh poohed Old White Bill’s lamentations. “We’re insured.”

Old White Bill huffed, “Yes. I know. I-I just…my baby…”

Fala got up, “I hope Finley is ok.”

Joph’rena swiped at her omnipad and showed it to the Rakiri. “Finley left Bill’s knife at the scene of the crime.” She twisted her tusk. “There are two reasons I can think of for him to have done that. One, he knew that if it was Bill’s knife, we would immediately suspect the knife’s owner to be the murderer. However, the second reason showed his hubris and led to his downfall; he knew the proof of his crime would be turned in to the department on base where he worked. He could sneak it out of the evidence locker whenever he wanted and no one would be the wiser. Who knows how many trails went cold because he had access to any and all material that could tip off his involvement with the Aurums and any of their assorted interests?”

“Oh fuck him and all those gold-toothed bastards!” Remy growled as he headed toward the door. “I’ll kill him if he didn’t die in the wreck!” The big Rakiri practically pushed Michael over before bursting through the door. He was rendered motionless as soon as his body crossed the threshold. Shiny rhinestone-armored Shil’vati soldiers from the landed Shil’vati spaceship tased him before anyone in the house could stop him.

Joph’rena dropped her head, “Unfortunately, I had already planned for that reaction as well.” She raised her head again and looked at Fala. “I understand from your interview with the boys here that you’re some kind of Rakiri royalty. I’m sure that it must rankle you and your…” Again, Joph’rena struggled to find an appropriate word, “...kin, that you’re a lowly cog in the Shil’vati Imperium. But there’s only one Empress.” She saw the annoyed looks on the assembled and conscious Rakiri faces, looked over at Michael who had recovered from being shoved by Remy and followed up, “I will see what I can do about a special assignment or something if that will satisfy you and your…people.

Linnet looked at Fala and at Michael before admitting, “Look, this is a lot to take in at once. Can we have some time to think about what has happened and where we could go from here?”

Joph’rena squinted at Linnet then looked at Fala, “How about this: I’ll give you until midnight Friday to return to the base. If you aren’t back, there will be a warrant for your arrest and you’ll face a military tribunal, which will likely be me or others from the Interior like me.”

“Fair enough,” Fara accepted, “We will see you sometime between now and then.” She looked over at Bill, who had sat himself on a stool at the island. “You took our ride. How are we going to get back?”

Bill shrugged, “I rode in a spaceship.”

Joph’rena tapped on her omnipad a few times. “I have open orders with the Daytona station to either assist your return to Jacksonville or your arrest for insubordination.” She looked back at the soldiers who had Ssgt. Remington settled on a cot in the driveway. “Do you think you can get the big guy back into the house or should we take him with us?”

Harley stepped forward, “We’ve got him. What are you going to do with Finley?”

As if on cue, more soldiers in the gaudy bright armor had the unconscious Finley on another floating purple metal cot and were angling him up a ramp into the landed Shil’vati spaceship. Joph’rena nodded solemnly, “He’s mine.”

Michael looked sadly at Linnet. Her ears bent forward as if she could hear his silent calls for her to come back to Jacksonville with him. She looked back at Fala and then again at Michael. Her face showed him where her loyalties lay. Michael took a deep breath and turned to Joph’rena, “Are we done here?”

“As far as I’m concerned.” Joph’rena tucked her omnipad under her arm.

Michael gave Sharon a slight bow and Old Man Bill an even slighter smile, “Thanks for having me over. Again. I guess?”

Bill kissed his mom on the cheek on the way out, “I’ll call you later on.”

“Sure thing, Willy.” Sharon smiled absently.

“What about my car!” Old White Bill whined in Joph’rena’s direction.

Joph’rena smirked over her shoulder as she stepped out toward the driveway. “Didn’t you hear? You’re insured.”