An illegal bowling ball? “Shouldn’t you be speaking with the bowling officials to determine that?” I didn’t want to be involved—I had enough to do.

“We will. However, the person who owns the bowling ball insists on having you included.” After further investigation, I found out an Itlan bowler had complained about Chrissy’s ball.

“The rules clearly state that a bowler cannot play with a different ball after the official practices have begun,” said the Itlan named Teena, to a quintet of bowling officials and the IBC representative.

Before anyone else had a chance to respond, I said, “You’re correct. I have seen that rule. However, in Chrissy’s case, her ball was confiscated as evidence in a murder investigation. I believe an exception should be made.”

“No exceptions,” said the Itlan. The scent of vanilla grew stronger.

“Really.” However, I don’t think the Itlan understood my sarcasm. “Then how about all the players who had their bowling balls destroyed in the locker room?”

“No exceptions.”

“So a good portion of the bowlers would be unable to play. The Itlans would be okay, of course, since you don’t use the locker room.”

The absurdity of the complaint became obvious, so the officials quickly conferred and made the appropriate ruling. Before Teena, the Itlan, walked away, I asked her a question.

“Why did you try to sabotage the tournament? This doesn’t seem like an Itlan action.”

Teena didn’t answer.

“Who suggested this to you?”

“Rheinon.”

“Who?”

She just shook her head.

I waved her away.

After the Tristorian IBC official apologized for taking up my time, Dino and I were left to ourselves.

“That ruse didn’t work,” I said. “I can’t believe the Itlans would be that obvious about trying to eliminate most of the bowlers. And I want to know who that Rheinon is, Dino.” I glared at this Rheinon, too.

“The Itlans are a very excitable race,” said Dino. “They tend to speak before considering all variables, and this tournament is very important to them.”

“That doesn’t mean they should be unethical, and neither should the Rheinon.” I wanted to hit something.

“Ethics may be understood differently by each race,” said Dino.

May? “Doesn’t that make an alliance difficult to control?”

Dino didn’t answer.

My thoughts churned trying to understand how even the simplest concepts could be managed in an alliance.

I sighed. “I’m going home. The tournament starts tomorrow, and I’m exhausted. I need some rest. Don’t forget, we have an early morning meeting.”

* * * *

Weariness made me a little shaky on my short drive home. Standing in my home, I realized I hadn’t thought about my dog all day. Mom, sitting on the living room couch, had triggered my remorse.

Before I had a chance to speak, she said, “No news is good news, as I seem to be saying all the time recently. Maori is holding her own and if she has a good night, she should be well on the way to recovery.”

I didn’t say a word—just flopped down beside her. We unwound together while I told her about my day.

“Regarding Dino’s comment about ethics being understood differently, how’s that going to affect your murder investigations?” Tracy asked.

“My initial thoughts, Mom, make me think I’m going to be second guessing every conclusion I come to, every decision I make. Certainly, I’ll be asking myself how a fill-in-the-blanks-alien would consider this. For example, Ugon confessed to killing Keepe Style but thought there was nothing wrong with his actions. He’s denied killing Skitem-Carry, and I’m going to have to believe him since he thinks killing is acceptable.”

“It certainly means you have to keep your mind open about possibilities. However, the logic you use to solve problems shouldn’t have to change. It’s just the reasons for actions that are going to be a little gray.”

Her statement made me feel a lot better about my problem-solving abilities.

“Actually, can I get you to look into a few things for me?”

“What things?” she asked.

Mom’s careful analysis of a situation before agreeing to anything had frustrated me as an impatient teenager. As an adult, I now understood her concerns.

“Well, I definitely need to know about the different ethics—if for nothing else than to forestall further incidents. And why are Rheinon religious people the only ones allowed to touch knives or anything that cuts?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“And how important is the number twelve?”

“Okay, you certainly have raised some interesting questions. Let me see what I can find out.”

We chatted for a few more minutes and then I retired. Inspired by Mom’s thoughts on the situation, dreams and nightmares filled my sleep.

* * * *

The precinct meeting the next morning had a few grumpy looking people. The stress of multiple murders had started to take its toll.

“Okay, everyone, let’s perk up. One murder has been solved, so this is a good thing. We have another long day ahead of us. In addition to solving the second murder—since Ugon says he didn’t do it, and I believe him—it’s also the first actual round of the Intergalactic Bowling competition. Just so you understand what’s happening, today is the first half of Round One. Each bowler will play six games. Then tomorrow will be the second half where another six games are played. Each team totals up their twelve games for every member and the team with the highest score from each world will go on to Round Two. You’ll see a lot of bowling and a lot of stress.”

“Do they play six games in a row?” asked Harrison.

“No—three in the morning, and another three in the afternoon. The bowlers get a rest in between.”

“Is the score for a perfect game still three hundred?” asked Harrison.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“It depends on whether you use base ten or base twelve.”

From the looks on the faces before me, apparently my joke confused everyone. They didn’t understand the background.

“Sorry, let me explain. We count in base ten, as you know. And in our normal ten-pin bowling, a perfect game is three hundred. However, because some of the aliens count in base twelve and bowl twelve pin, bowling in the BRITE Alliance has been standardized at twelve pins and twelve frames—meaning twelve times you go up to bowl. So if you got all possible strikes in a game of twelve frames your score would be 432, as we count, and three hundred in base twelve.”

I looked around the squad room. About half appeared to have understood my explanation.

“Okay, those who don’t understand, you know what computers are for.”

My notes were a jumble, but I managed to gather together a few questions to ask. “Brian, is the additional security in place?”

“Almost. I just need to find a few more officers to complete the schedule. I should be finished shortly.”

“Any flak from the alien heads of security?”

“No. In fact, they’re all being most cooperative, particularly Neer E Know, the Rheinon security chief.”

I looked around to see how Dino took the compliment, but I couldn’t find him.

“Jack, what’s your take on the politics of the BRITE Alliance?”

“Absolutely confusing. I’m making some headway, but not much.” He ran his hand through his hair; his frustration showed.

“To add to your headache, Dino mentioned that each species has a different code of ethics.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea, but I’m sure it affects the politics of the Alliance.” That should keep Jack under control for a bit, I thought.

“As for our second murder, any revelations, any possible suspects, any possible reasons, any possible anything?” I asked, my question producing some cranky faces. I paused for a moment. “Since we’ve found no physical evidence to help us with the second murder, I want everyone to study the reactions of the players. My suspicion is our solution will involve alien politics in some way, but we need to find evidence.”

We packed up and journeyed to Revolutions.

* * * *

The second floor swarmed with bowlers, officials, and spectators. And the temperature inside Revolutions had risen. Organized chaos greeted us. The spectators had their bleachers on every floor, and on my way in I’d noticed a line-up of people outside waiting for spaces to come free.

Brian and I wandered down the walkway behind the lanes. All teams were getting in a few final practice throws to loosen up and also try and read the lanes. I wondered about today’s oil patterns. I would inquire later.

We heard an Itlan team arguing during our approach. After they recognized us, the talking stopped. Normally, Itlans liked to babble. This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered this situation. “Any problems here?” I asked, being proactive.

The Itlans looked at each other. Then one said, “No problems, detective. We are helping each other with some final coaching.”

Pretty loud coaching, I thought. Maybe they were dis- cussing why their bowling ball ploy hadn’t worked.

At that moment, Dino tottered up, so I said to them, “That’s fine. Good luck today.”

I motioned Dino away from the Itlans.

“Did I miss anything? Sorry I am late. I needed to check in with my staff.”

I had a thought. “I have a project for you, Dino. I need you to find out why some of the Itlans always seem to be arguing. This is not the first time I’ve noticed them doing so. Do you have any idea why?”

“It could be any number of things. The Itlans tend to get excited and talk a lot.” Dino continued, “But this is a worthy project. I will get on it right away.” Dino bustled off.

“Were you trying to get rid of him?” asked Brian.

“No. At least, I don’t think so. His diplomatic expertise may help us in regards to this curious situation.” Brian appeared sceptical.

For the next two and a half hours, the second floor would pulse with concentration. Being a bowler myself, I understood the energy and commitment, although non-bowlers were known to think otherwise. And this being an intergalactic event produced even more pressure. The first round gave a team the chance to represent their home world.

About an hour later, Dino returned. “I believe I have found the answer to your quandary. The Itlans were arguing over a personal matter. Itlans are divided into clans and only work or play with others of their own clan.” Dino took a deep breath. “Actually, that is not entirely true. They do have limited contact; otherwise their world would not run very well. The three teams the Itlans have entered in this competition are each from a different clan.” Dino paused.

“So if Itlans have difficulty interacting with other clans, it must be difficult for them to be in a competition such as this,” I said.

“It is a challenge. However, the issue that caused the argument you have encountered is personal. Two Itlans, from different teams, have formed an attachment. Let us call it a personal relationship. Very taboo since different clans are involved. The Itlan diplomatic corps knows about the coupling, but they have done nothing in the hope the situation will dissolve.”

“Is that likely?” Relationships did rear their heads at inappropriate times.

“I do not know, but there is nothing you or I can do about it.” Dino rubbed his hairless head. Perhaps rubbing relaxed him.

I considered how this situation might affect the tournament. How did clan coupling affect the Itlan gene pool? My curiosity made my mind swim with questions.

Reluctantly, I settled down to watch the rest of the first three games. At the conclusion of the morning’s games, the bowling participants moved to the restaurant for their break. I anticipated numerous strategy sessions.

Smith joined Brian, Dino, and me at a table. I had angled my chair to watch the entire restaurant.

“I don’t know if Canada is going to be able to take over the lead for Earth,” said Smith.

“It does seem a bit hopeless,” I replied. “However, you never know, it’s only the first three games of twelve. We’ve pulled out the stops before.”

“Well, if you were still on the team, I’m sure there would be no question,” said Smith.

I shook my head. Although disappointed for not being part of the team, I’d only been the spare.

“You know those Tristorians, with their four legs, have a very unusual approach to the lanes. At first I thought they would fall over. Now I wonder how they can move so fast,” said Smith.

Smith had a valid point. Of all the alien bowling styles the Tristorians had the most unique.

“You have no idea the thoughts the Rheinon have had about the human style of bowling,” said Dino.

I smiled. Dino correctly pointed out we were only thinking about things from our own perspective.

“No doubt. And I’m sure the Itlans, Bremen, and Tristorians also have their own unique opinions,” I said.

The afternoon three-game-session proceeded smoothly. Only one disagreement arose. Two teams couldn’t agree whether a particular bowling ball had jumped out of the gutter to knock down a pin. Thankfully, the recordings were clear.

At the end of the day’s six games, Canada had sneaked up to second place amongst the human teams. I looked forward to the final half of Round One.

In the meantime, Revolutions threw a banquet for everyone involved in the competition—police included.

I ran home to clean up, and arrived back at the bowling alley before the majority of participants had returned.

Inspector Hayden buttonholed me. “What progress have you made?”

He had received regular updates, but I decided to be tactful. “We’ve solved all incidents except for the murder at The Peak. And we’ve found out a great deal about the alien societies. This is helping me defuse minor incidents as they occur.”

“Excellent. I’ll forward your information. The uproar never stops. Apparently, this is the first time murder has occurred at a bowling competition. The talk of removing you from the investigation continues but, so far, I’ve been able to reassure the naysayers.”

Thomas patted me on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work and enjoy your evening.” He returned to his table.

Enjoy my evening?

Jack sat beside me at the banquet table, but I couldn’t find Brian. “What have you been up to?” I asked Jack. I would have to have another talk with him about reporting his whereabouts to me, but not tonight. Both of us were in reasonably good humor, so I decided to let it go.

“I’ve been researching a lot, especially taking into consideration your comments about ethics. I’m convinced we’re missing a lot of clues by being ignorant of their cultures.”

“You’re probably right. In fact, Dino found out today why the Itlans have been arguing so much. They are a clan-based society, and a couple of Itlans from different clans have been breaking protocol.”

“Really? That ties in with what I have learned about the Tristorians. They are very, very careful not to offend anyone. We know they’re normally non-confrontational at the best of times but, currently, they’re being particularly discreet. The Tristorians are very close to being the next leaders of the BRITE Alliance. Apparently, they have ac- cumulated almost enough points. If they win this bowling tournament, they’ll have the most points.”

“That’s pretty much what Dino told me, but leadership depends on a bowling tournament?” I shook my head.

“There’re only a tiny number of points separating the Bremen, Rheinon, and Tristorians. Humans are nowhere near. We haven’t participated in enough activities, or other considerations, to be a contender. And the Itlans are pretty far behind, too,” said Jack.

“Do you think our murders are connected?”

“Ugon killing Keepe Style, a Tristorian bowler, could certainly follow this reasoning. However, the death of Skitem-Carry, the official, doesn’t seem to fit.”

“I have to agree with you.” And I did. Skitem-Carry’s murder seemed out of place.

My evening passed pleasantly. I spoke to numerous bowlers and officials, and I didn’t bother the restaurant for any recipes. Jack turned out to be an entertaining companion. But Brian never showed, and he didn’t answer his com. At home, I got the welcome news from my mother that Maori’s road to recovery seemed certain. She would be home in a day or two.

After I read a few reports, I retired for the evening. Around five the next morning, I got a call from Inspector Hayden.

“A whole group of aliens are down sick. We don’t know how serious it is.”