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The Option

Fading Paradise

Redder Pastures

Murder Mystery Styles of C. D. Moulton

"!"

Characters from the Flight of the Maita Series

Hellstorm on Helstrom

Smashwords Edition © 2013

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida. His education is in genetics and botany. He has traveled over much of the world, particularly when he was in music as a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager and landscaper – among other things.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 200 books published as of this time in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides in Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. Several have "adopted" him as their father. He funds those he can afford through the universities, where they have all excelled. "The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money. Culturally, they are very wealthy) to pursue higher education." CD is involved in fighting to protect their rights. He is also involved in fighting the rampant corruption in the courts and politics there. (E-book, free download Fading Paradise) CD loves Panamá and the people. He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

The Option

by C. D. Moulton

Author's note: this was published back in the mid-nineties in a fanzine. It was rated very highly.

The Option

The strangest things happen when one least is prepared for them.

Take today, for an instance.

I wasn't expecting anything more than I usually find when I'm just wasting time. I was in the swamps down by the glades, looking for some of the native orchids to use in hybridizing. Some of them, such as Epidendrum conopseum, are quite cold-hardy and I'd like to breed a bunch of garden types. Epi. conopseum is small and has no color, but, crossed with something like Rhyn. digbyana, you could get something that would survive frosts, be medium sized and would possibly be quite pretty on top of it.

I digress.

I had found several fine specimens that gave me pollen (I wouldn't move the plants, even if it was legal) and was preparing to get back to the Jeep with my little phials. They were each labelled carefully as to location and characteristics of the parent, then placed in a wooden case for safekeeping.

I remember every step to that point vividly. I was going through the swampy slush, my boots making vulgar sounds in the mud, thinking about a Cyrtopodium I had spied high in a cypress crown. I would have to come back in season to see the blooms – bring binoculars. The plant was a good ninety feet high, so no getting pollen from that one!

Now, before I go any further, I personally KNEW that jerk, Rey, was behind all of it!

Let's face it, he hates my guts (Don't ask me why. Just because I grow flowers or something) and plays around with the superstition bit. Claims to be a full-fledged warlock, in fact. I once told him if he was fully fledged he should fly away somewhere. He didn't get the point, but got mad. He has the IQ of a small bird, I guess.

Where was I? – Oh, yes.

I was almost in sight of the Jeep when this sort of THING stepped onto the path ahead of me. It was what must be called a gargoyle – you know, like those things on English castles. It was a dirty grey/brown, about seven feet tall, oily feathers, clawed feet, a nasty curved beak, a tail and fur on its legs. Is that a gargoyle or a harpy? I can never get that stuff straight.

Anyhow, it sort of croaked to me in really bad English. It knew my name and all that is why I figure it had to be sent by Rey. It said it had come for my soul or some such crap. It was carrying this sickle type of knife.

I know a little judo so I wasn't really worried about that. I have the sense to know a flying thing has hollow bones and not too much weight. I could probably throw it off, if it came to that. I was more interested than scared.

I asked if Rey had sent it and it went into a spiel about not disclosing who had called it up. I said that was just lawyers and doctors, not demons.

I noticed it was staying under the shade of the trees while I was in the full sunlight. I asked if it was overly sensitive to light. It got sort of chatty and said it was from a far different sort of world and the sun here was really painful to its eyes, as well as able to burn it pretty bad in a short time. I had my Foster Grants hanging around my neck, not doing anything, so I told it to try them out.

It didn't have ears in a place to hang them, but said they really did help. I told it to keep them. I had several pairs of the things. It said it really shouldn't take presents from me because it was here to kill me, but I said I didn't think, number one, that it was anything personal or, number two, that it could kill me if all I had to do was stay in the sunlight.

It said that, from what it understood, most people on this world would panic from just seeing it, meaning it wouldn't have any trouble.

I told it that was just true about the ones who believed in the demon and devil crap, then it said it was a demon and was here, so maybe I'd better believe.

I made some joke about an exorcist and a demon, then it told one about a priest and a rabbi trying to exorcise a demon. That reminded me of another. We got to trading jokes and before I knew it we were sitting on a log, laughing like a couple of fools.

I'm glad no one saw us. It would be hell trying to explain.

We got back around to my planned demise and it said that it was brought to this world when an energy portal was opened and it would be trapped here unless the one who brought it sent it back. It sort of was forced to do what it was ordered. The "I'm here for your soul!" bit is just a standard line, as it didn't have the foggiest notion what a soul was supposed to be and wouldn't know what to do with one if it had it. All it would do was kill me and go home.

It now had a problem because it liked me. It definitely did NOT like Rey (Who it referred to only as "the one who sent me,") and it honestly wasn't a violent sort, usually, unless someone really got it PO'ed.

I admitted that I kind of thought it was a fun sort of character and that I liked it too, in a weird way.

I mean, I could see its problem right off. Kill me and go home or don't kill me and maybe be stuck here.

We didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, then I asked exactly what the order had been, what was said before and what was said after.

I mean, I've read those stories about the wording. I watch lawyer shows on TV. Sometimes.

"I've called you because I can't stand that flower freak, Bill Jenkins. Just thinking about him makes my blood boil. This planet isn't big enough for me and Jenkins both, so you know what to do. You go home when the job's done and not before."

That was it!

I told it to get in the Jeep and we'd go give Rey the choice of sending Taroff (That was its name) home and forgetting the whole thing or never knowing peace again.

See, if Taroff was trapped here it could make life hell for Rey until it was sent back. It could hang around and scare off the few (if any) friends he had left.

Taroff said it had a sort of code that it had to follow the order and I joked that it wasn't given any specific order. It had just been told that the world wasn't big enough for both Rey and me at the same time. That wasn't any order!

It hid low in the Jeep (I had the sides and top on. It was expected to rain) as I drove back to the house, where Taroff and I went in and had a couple of beers, then Taroff said it would try to get Rey to rescind the orders or work out something else and left.

Now I'VE got to study this occult crap and learn how to open the portal. It seems Taroff explained the situation to Rey, Rey said it would go home when it took care of the problem and not before and Taroff said it suddenly occured to it that Rey had guaranteed it passage home "As soon as the orders are followed exactly."

Taroff decided there were two ways to solve the problem. The wording left two solutions. It could kill me or it could kill Rey. That would rid the world of the BOTH part of the phrasing, thus following the order exactly. It liked me and it definitely DIDN'T like Rey.

It was thinking in the extremely literal way these things are supposedly handled. It didn't consider for one moment that Rey hadn't already arranged for its return trip as soon as the order was taken care of.

Now I have to take care of Taroff, keep it out of sight of anybody and learn how to open the damned portal. Rey's body was so mutilated they had trouble identifying it. According to the papers, all the blood was boiled away!

At least Taroff has a great sense of humor and knows an endless string of jokes. It can keep me in stitches for hours at the time.

I can't help but remember Rey's remark to Taroff that I made his blood boil.

How did it DO that?

Fading Paradise

Contemplating What Could Have Been

and a warning to anyone who would invest in Panamá

DON'T!

Smashwords edition © 2012 & 2013 by C. D. Moulton

This work may be copied and distributed by anyone so long as it remains under the name and license of C. D. Moulton and so long as there is no charge for the work.

Contents

Background

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010-2012

The Scams #1

Trick #2

Number 3

Age Discrimination in Banking

The June Step

July

August 31

Sept. 5

Sept. 12

November 1

Non-reply Nov. 3

October 6, 2013

Background

Charles David Moulton was born in May of 1938 in Lakeland, Florida.

I have been involved with many projects of many types, in many places. First job: running a concession stand at Lake Thonotosassa, Florida. We had a citrus grove there and owned the property on the south shore of the lake in the only place the road was close to the lake.

Before moving to Lake Thonotosassa, in 1949, we were living at 3110 Bay Villa in Tampa, Florida. My father was a bookkeeper for Swift & Company and found the place at Thonotosassa through friends. In 1949 nobody wanted lakefront property. Who needed all that sand and stuff? It was very cheap, even for the time. Lake Thonotosassa was only a few miles from Tampa and it was easy to commute. The grammar school at the lake was quite good and the bus to Franklin Jr. High and, later, Hillsborough High School, was only a mile from the house.

No, I didn't walk five miles through the snow to school and back every day. I rode a bicycle the one mile and we didn't have snow in Central Florida – except once, and it didn't stick.

We built the concession stand and a boat launching ramp to the lake. It was already known as a great place to fish for speckled perch (Crappie) and largemouth bass. The water skiing craze hit in 1950. The lake was the only one big enough (2 miles across) for the sport. Even the people from Cypress Gardens would come there to practice. My brother was very skilled on water skis, though I could never quite master the art, hanging straight back from the boat. That's all. (Later, when in San Francisco, my girlfriend, Inga, from Denmark talked me into going to BC for skiing, I was a natural. I could never roller skate, but was a natural on ice. The odd thing is that I do not like snow and ice. I am very warm-blooded. That is one major reason for my now living in Panamá.)

The concession stand flourished. We were making $600 per week at a time when a good salary was $60 per week. We also had 10 acres of bearing citrus – yet there was never any money. We later found that my father was giving everything to the church. It is one reason I have such disdain for religious matters and feel the churches today are no more than commercial ventures. Not long after Dad died from bone cancer, the church branch he established folded. The only help the family got when he died was from the Masons, with whom I don't agree on many points, but they are very strong on many other points.

While attending Hillsborough High School, a friend, Robert Whitman, would come to the lake for duck hunting and with others for swimming parties and such. His brother, who was soon to leave the states, taught me the first lessons in playing the guitar that led me to other things, later. His brother was Slim Whitman. He played left-handed, I'm right-handed, but did pick up a few things.

My mother always wanted an orchid plant. There were the native Enc. tampensis all over the place. We went to Jack Holmes Nurseries in Tampa and bought a C. Gaskelliana – which I wish I still had! Enc. tampensis was then called Epi. tampense. That started me into collecting orchids and buying a few, when the money was available. I built quite a collection and soon started crossing them. That later led me to Chadam and to developing the cornstarch method that would allow people to grow their own seed at home with nothing more than what is found in the average kitchen. More about that, later. It also made me develop a deep interest in genetics, which led me to my higher education.

While attending Hillsborough High School, I wrote down a few things about what the universe is and how it works. It always seemed so simple to me. The science in the Flight of the Maita series is based on the zero theory (Launching the Maita) of the omniverse, that has also garnered some interest. I also thought the premise that Pythagoras had "proven" that you could not trisect the angle with a compass and straight edge was silly. It wasn't logical. It is a ratio, and most of them can be expressed that way. It took fifteen or twenty minutes to work out a way. It basically amounts to: arc section "A" plus arc section "C" divided by two equals arc section "B". That means arc section "B" is the trisector. I didn't think much about it, except once while attending UT, when I took the method to Prof. Reed. He wasn't impressed (mainly because what was shown to him was a complicated process that was used for another thing). It wasn't until 1996 when it was put on a website (as a joke) that it got any attention at all. At that time, several mathematicians argued about it through an e-mail I was using. Their problem was that it seemed to work every time they tried it, but it wasn't possible, according to their education. (NObody is more dogmatic than a "scientist"!) The final conclusion was that I had, in fact, trisected the arc of the angle, not the angle.

Pray tell me: How do you trisect the arc and not the angle?

Be that as it may (I tend to go off on tangents)(Oh? You noticed?), I lived at Thonotosassa and didn't do much else until getting a job with Jack Holmes Nurseries, in Tampa, near the line between Tampa and Lutz.

Another tangent: I was in a restaurant in Lutz for breakfast one day when two men were discussing "Lootz." An older man at a table said, "It's Luhtz, not Lootz." The two started arguing about it and one demanded, "What makes you the expert? We've always called it Lootz!"

"Because the place was named after my father. I'm Charlie LUHTZ." That sort of settled that!

I worked for Holmes for about two years. He was the first to import and sell orchids and bromelliads in Central Florida. Something was learned of landscape design there. Jack was a famous landscape architect.

I attended UT for three years, working for Holmes, at first. We had a difference of opinion that got a bit heated and I quit, going to work as a longshoreman for a man who ran the dock crew for Aiple (sp?) Towing, for awhile, then a short stint as a high steel worker for Hammond Iron Works, then for D. W. Davis, a famous camellia grower, then moved to San Francisco in late '66.

Next move was to Eureka Springs, where we had a tropical fish farm. The state bought it to make the water retention area for Tampa. There were several artesian springs on the property. My sister and mother bought a house in Brandon, Florida, where I lived until buying a plot in Parkwood Acres, Hudson, Florida, becoming involved with the bar business there and managing an auto salvage yard for four years, then moved to Bonita Springs, Florida, remaining there for fifteen years, until Mom died at 102 years of age, and then moved to Panamá. I hope to never move again, but other hopes in life didn't happen. My life was charmed and I wasn't prepared for what this dissertation is about. I have been in 56 countries now. Panamá is best suited to me.

San Francisco was just getting strongly into the Flower Child Hippie era. I fit into that too well and became a musician when some friends told me about a place in North Beach where musicians hung out. Janis Joplin and several others were there, did some work with her, with a band called Quicksilver Messenger Service, and ended up with a really big name (by accident) in '73. Music had become so commercial by that time I became disgusted and quit, not playing the guitar again for eight years.

I had been working for a large orchid grower, Rod McLellan Company, in South City (South San Francisco) and living in Colma, when friends told me about the North Beach place near 1090 Page (the people there at that time know about the place). During that time we were international and played in many countries. I remember little about most of them because we would only be there for two or three days, at most, and were too exhausted to sight-see or to engage much in the things rockers are famous for. That happened more in the beginning stages. There simply isn't time for the "Sex, drugs and rock and roll" bit. Most (but very certainly not all) of that is hype and never happened. I've met more groupies since leaving the business who claim to have partied with this or that rocker at times we were working together and know that it never happened.

I was part of writing some songs that are popular, even today, but always under a fictitious name, such as Rip Sheets, Owen Detts, Ben Dair, etc. I wrote a book in '74 under a fictitious name (thank whatever gods may be!) that never made back the advance. When the serious writing began, I reread that piece of garbage and was embarrassed that such a thing ever appeared, even under an alias.

I was never into drugs, at all, but did enjoy a glass of red wine and a couple tokes of weed when we were relaxing and writing music. I smoked tobacco like a chimney for twenty two years and quit when working in the Bahamas doing a landscape job with my landscape company, Spectrascape. You can tell how long ago that was because I quit when cigarettes were $1.50 a pack, saying, "Hell will freeze over!" and carrying a pack of Benson and Hedges and matches in my shirt pocket for three weeks, then throwing them away.

I am non-addictive. When a bar was sold that I was part owner of, I had been drinking José Cuervo Gold, a fifth a day, for four years. The bar was sold and I didn't have so much as a glass of wine with dinner for eighteen months. It didn't bother me. Today, maybe two to four beers at night, but not to get drunk. I don't like the effects.

Upon getting back from the hippie scene, I went to work again at Jack Holmes Nurseries, this time as manager of the orchid range, but that didn't mean a lot. He was landscaping the 40th St. entrance to Busch Gardens and I did some minor design there as well as worked more there than in the nursery. I left there and started Spectrascape with a friend.

Many interesting things happened during my life that were included in various of the books. Many personal experiences are none of anyone else's business. People and places in the detective series (CD Grimes, PI mysteries, Det. Nick Storie mysteries, Clint Faraday mysteries) are taken from real life. Combining characters met in odd places results in characters in the books. There isn't room nor pertinence for including most of it here.

There is pertinence in including some of them in the following.

Panamá is paradise, but one must take the greatest care in any dealings that involve investment or simply owning anything here. The object of this writing is to warn would-be investors. The laws here are designed to aid the crooks, not their victims. It is one of the reasons that Visa and Mastercard etc. are not available in the banks here. That is true of Panamá and Nigeria. (That has changed. Visa is available now – unless you're over seventy years of age.)

Not an enviable position in the world today. An effect of that is that I may not receive royalties or buy and sell things through PayPal. I must deal with written checks that must wait twenty to thirty days to become available in the bank account.

This is an easy thing to change, but, so long as the corruption and political chicanery remain, it is not going to happen. So long as the lip service of the politicians is all the people get, this country will never be among the respected in the world.

That is a great pity. This is, other than that, a great country. There are no better people in the world than the native Panamanians. This is a strong, economically speaking, country when most are failing. Most have sold out to the international bankers, which was resisted to keep them out of control in Panamá. Until now.

There are no worse politicians and corrupt court officers and crooked con men in the world, either. My experience with this are the only major sour notes in my life. 70 years of a charmed life, in many ways, came to an abrupt end four years ago. Don't let it happen to you. Beware! Don't invest in Panamá unless and until changes are made!

This corruption and victimization, supported by the laws and corrupt politicians and court system, must stop or Panamá will never advance in the eyes of the rest of the world. The opportunity is here and now. This is an appeal to Pres. Martinelli to not be a greedy money-hungry "thing" and to become a great statesman. The legacy that "He made a lot of money" doesn't serve your progeny well. You can't, as trite and cliched, yet true as it is, take it with you.

2005

Arriving in Panamá became an eye-opening experience, after the US.

My first experience was upon landing at Tucumen, the international airport for Panamá City.

I had booked the flight from Miami to Panamá City, with a flight from there to Bocas del Toro, Isla Colón. The flight to Bocas was on Aeroperlas, two hours after landing. Not knowing any better, I walked around Tucumen for an hour and a half, then went to find Aeroperlas and was told it was at Albrook, completely across town.

There were riots protesting George Bush coming here that meant it was very difficult to get to Albrook in a half hour, but there was no recourse. I grabbed a taxi and went. We arrived about five minutes after departure time, there were very few people at Albrook Airport and none seemed to talk any English. I didn't speak more than "Adios!" and "Buenas Dias!" in Spanish. (Incidentally, it's properly Buenos Dias. Days of the week are masculine.)

I didn't know what to do. A woman from Boquete, a place settled by gringos, asked what was the matter. I said I had missed the plane and no one spoke English.

She said, "They all speak English. It's time to go home. There aren't anymore flights today and they don't want to be bothered. Where were you to go?"

"Bocas."

"Take a bus."

"A bus?"

"Yes." She walked me to the door and to a taxi. She said, "Terminal!

"Have a good stay here. You'll like Bocas," and walked away.

I got in the taxi and said to myself, "Oh, great! Thirty five dollars for a taxi here, then another thirty five to a bus station!"

It wasn't $35. You go out the gate to Aeroperlas and into the terminal gate. I could have walked it in five minutes, if I'd known. He did overcharge me for the ride. It cost me a dollar, when the legal rate was seventy five cents.

Here I was at the terminal, watching the old converted school buses going to hundreds of places. People were carrying pigs and chickens and dogs. The ticket was bought, $21 for a nine hour trip, including the jubilado discount because I'm obviously more than 55 years old and my passport told them my age, anyhow.

I thought, "Oh, hell! Nine hours!"

I was hungry, so went around a corner and found myself in front of Wendy's. There was a Kentucky Fried Chicken and a McDonald's, all in a row. All the way across the Caribbean to eat at a place that was three blocks from my house in Florida!

I was dreading the trip before the bus came in. It was a modern Mercedes bus that would bring a Greyhound to shame!

I got on, wearing shorts and a tank top (Old men in tank tops, cruising the gift shops – thanks, Jimmy Buffet). It was in the tropics and it was supposed to be warm to hot all the time – but the air conditioning in the bus was set at something like minus 12 degrees, it seemed. I was freezing!

I was seated next to a very pleasant older India (Indigenous woman) who spoke a few words as we got on, but I didn't speak Spanish. She noted I was cold and asked "Fria?" I didn't know the word, but did know the meaning. I answered, "If you asked if I'm cold, I'm freezing!"

Every Panamanian on the bus had a jacket or blanket. She took her blanket and wrapped it around the both of us and smiled.

I was 68 years old and had never felt at home anywhere in the world until that moment. It was at that moment I fell in love with Panamá and the Indios. I was, at last, home!

There are TV sets above every third row of seats. When we got on the highway (the roads in Panamá are the best in all of Central America) the TV came on. A Jamaican movie that consisted of, excuse the fact, two and a half hours of automatic weapons fire and "Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker." There seemed to be no point to the movie and no plot and no coherent dialogue. It ended when the good guy got shot. He seemed to be the only one hit in two and a half hours of this stupid noise, though cars and planes and boats and houses and shops and thousands of windows were blown away. It seems the Jamaicans love their drug lords.

Be that as it may, we arrived in Almirante at about eight in the morning. I had slept very well on the bus (The India woman was going to leave me her blanket when she got off the bus near Santiago, but I bought a jacket at the terminal there. They are wonderful people) and saved a night's stay at a hotel. I had to take the water taxi to the island. It was only three dollars, then. While crossing the reef in the bay, with Isla Colón a dark line 6 miles away, I stood up and yelled, "Fuck Florida! This is IT!" to applause from the Panamanians aboard and disdain from the tourists.

I arrived at Bocas Town and went to the RE agent who I was to meet. She showed me a lot of places for sale. I was selling my place in Florida at the top of the market and had a bit of cash. A friend in music had told me that I would never go back to the states after going to Bocas del Toro. He was right, though there are now other parts of the country I like more.

I didn't buy anything she showed me, which another person at the agency seemed to resent greatly. I had to pay for all the travel to the places they were showing me in hopes I would buy and she seemed to think I was obligated to buy something because she took the time I was paying for to show me the places. I later learned how the RE agents take the price the land owners ask and at least double it, on top of getting a ten percent commission from the part paid to the owner. This is one of the practices that have to stop if people are to come here to invest.

I later learned that only native Panamanians are allowed to be RE agents, unless they work for a Panamanian. I bought a lot from a man who was married to a Panamanian and who was the only legal agent on the island at the time.

I soon bought a place in Almirante that seemed cheap and a solid investment. I found that the Panamanian man handling the sale also added quite a bit for himself. I didn't mind that, because it was something at a good price with all that. I moved my possessions from the states into the house there.

I had met a man and his wife and daughters in Bocas. He had a business with a Panamanian that did construction, so we became friends. He built a fence around the Almirante property and did some minor construction work. I was impressed with the quality of his work, which was above most of what I'd seen.

He soon moved into the house there with his daughters. His wife was an alcoholic who was out of control and he wanted to get the girls away from that influence. He arranged for the land to be filled on the large lot and we talked about making something there to bring an income. I had a couple hundred thousand dollars in the bank and we decided to become partners in building a hotel. I'd supply funds and he would manage the construction and running of the place with his daughters. The Ojo de Aguas hydroelectric project was being started that would bring three thousand workers into the area for ten years or more. Almirante was the closest place where there were stores and such.

We figured what everything would cost and decided to go ahead with the project.

During this time, I had met several Panamanian youths who seemed more than ordinarily intelligent. Most were Indio, but there was one black, one part Chinese and two Latinas. I had money, so sponsored their university. The deal was that they had to remain in the top five percent of their classes. Every one of them did, one being the top student in Oteima University in his chosen field.

Things were ideal. I had a purpose here and was helping people in the ways my philosophy dictated since the hippie days. I could watch TV from everything to Al Gezira (sp?) to the BBC to CNN to Fox. I was learning that every one of them slanted the news. You have to watch three or more and seek the true nugget. I had made friends with the Indios and was even learning their language, if not much Spanish. Too many in Bocas speak English. I have always been of the philosophy that one should learn the language, if he is to live in a place. At the end of the year, things were, if not perfect, very good.

There are a good number of musicians and vocalists from the states and Europe who go to Bocas. It wasn't long before we were doing shows together, regularly. I met Ron Moony and several others who would figure in the future dealings and experiences on Isla Colón and in David, Panamá.

2006

Next came the start of another very good year. We began construction of the hotel, the students were doing well, I was making many more friends. The Panamanians saw I wasn't "A Boquete gringo" who tend, in a few of them, to be bigoted arrogant pains in the derriere. Everything was good for most of the year, but, around September, things started to go a little sour. I was running out of funds. Everything at the hotel construction was costing three times what we had projected.

We figured the costs and knew things never came in at projected costs here. We figured on double, but we did not figure on triple. I had bought two houses in Quiteño, a suburb of David. They were excellent investments and I wanted to make a home in one of them. I had a student who was attending university in David living there and the bus from there to downtown was every half hour and cost forty cents. José Vega, the student, was taking care of the property and living there. He was popular and, as it turned out, one of the best friends I ever had. He, like a couple of the other students, called me "Papa" and "Dad."

I played in a bar called Big Bamboo in Bocas Town with musician friends, where I met one of the owners, Ron Moony, from England. We got along very well and I knew he would like Quiteño. He stayed at my place there and did, indeed, like the place more than any other place he'd been. I found a place for sale at a very good price for him. He wouldn't have the funds for a couple of months, so I lent him the money, interest free, to buy it. He renovated the house and made it a very nice place. He was one of the few who I lent money to who repaid it. I found some other places he bought for investment and made money on. We stayed in touch for awhile in both Bocas Town and David, until he needed surgery, a hip replacement, so went to England for the procedure. I saw him a couple of times after he returned, but he seemed cold and distant. I don't have a clue as to why, though I have learned since that you don't lend people money. Panamanians are not going to pay it back and others seem to resent you for lending it to them, after they do repay. I have borrowed money now that I have, as yet, been unable to repay because of what this is about. I have never failed to repay a debt promptly, until this, though I almost never have had to borrow anything. I can't picture me resenting having to pay back a loan. I was helped when I needed help, which I appreciate. I will repay what I still owe as soon as possible. The only one who I will not again befriend is because of a change in attitude in him. That, coupled with a few things he asked my advice on, ignored the advice, got ripped off and seemed to blame me for not stopping him or something, makes me leery of ever trusting him again.

During this time, an Indio friend on Isla San Cristóbal had an offer for his property there of two million dollars. He had to present a plano and fence the property before the sale, so I financed that. I have more than forty thousand dollars invested and it turned out they were what is called "mafia" here. They got the papers and had copies made that indicated they had paid him for the land. They then tried to kill him, an old method of stealing land from the Indigenos here. He had no heirs, he would die in some freak accident or something, they would have papers that indicated they'd bought the land, no one was alive to contest it, they had two million dollars worth of prime land for very little. He was in Panamá City to finalize the contract and was attacked and almost killed by a so-called robber. He was the only Indio there and was with Latino friends. Everyone knows the Indios have no money or anything else worth stealing in such a fashion. Miguel was attacked, his skull fractured in two places, his jaw broken and he was cut across the stomach. His lawyer had supposedly gone to the states on his two hundred thousand dollar commission – before the commission was paid? He had the funds to go to the states?

What they hadn't considered was the strength of the Indios. Miguel was in the hospital for a few days and was back home. The doctor I talked to said that someone had very seriously tried to kill him.

The "buyers" suddenly lost interest and withdrew from the deal. DUH!

That has to change. It is still, if more rarely, being done. It is a thing the corrupt courts and government here not only allow, they have laws that encourage it.

That was also the year I met some people who were looking for a finca. I knew of a place, a beautiful place, on the Rio Oeste. I helped them with buying the place.

They were here for their church, which alone should have warned me off! Every single person I dealt with here who brought up the Bible and whatever managed to screw me. I thought that was just the Panamanians, but it proved different.

Anyhow, several persons, me included, warned her that she shouldn't make any move without advice from a good lawyer, which didn't include local lawyers. She had a woman from the church who used to be a judge (Under Noriega?) who would handle everything. She would not come to Bocas del Toro for any reason. Everyone tried to tell her a lawyer who wouldn't go to the place under discussion was a lawyer to get as far from as possible. She insisted and used that woman.

Naturally, the lawyer didn't check on other claims to the land. All of a sudden, there were ownership questions. The man who was handling the deal in Bocas said he had told her that kind of thing happened and that was what she had the lawyer for. Seeing I had let them use my name to obtain the property, I found myself being sued. They were back in the states. I had recommended Miguel Gabriel, in Panama' City, as a lawyer they could trust. They got him to handle it. He did an excellent job and I will recommend him to anyone who wants a lawyer here.

The result is that my name was smeared to the locals as someone who was trying to screw people out of their land. I spent days handling the legal things, they got most of the land and everything was hunky-dory.

The commission, of which the man handling it was to give me five lousy hundred dollars for my help, was not paid. They refused, blaming him (instead of the incompetent lawyer we had all warned her about) for the problems with the land sale. That meant I didn't get anything at all for spending days trying to straighten out the mess she caused and getting sued in the interim.

I did borrow $200 from them, later. I feel that they owe me $300 more. It is the one "loan" I will not repay.

If anyone says, "Jesus!" or "The Bible!" to you around any kind of business deal here, run, don't walk, as fast as you can!

At the end of the year the market in the US had collapsed. The woman who bought my place in Bonita Springs owed the balloon payment and could not make it. If I repossessed, the taxes, because of the price I got, would be ridiculous, at best. I could not pay them.

I forgave the debt. She was able to pay a part of it and I let her have the place.

The problem was that I was depending on that payment for the funds to finish the hotel. The part I received paid the outstanding bills, but we were now buying things on credit. There was no way the unfinished hotel would bring in nearly enough to pay everything off.

I won't go into the Draconian labor laws here that are a major objection to the investor, or relate how we had to pay a month's salary to a person who we caught stealing from us. We fired him. It wasn't in writing that he would be fired if he stole from his employer. Legally, we fired him without cause and were ordered to pay him.

That resulted in our contracting all additional work and resulted in the loss of employment for six people. Way to go, Panamá! That really helps your labor force!

There was a man living on a nearby island who Kevin, my partner, knew. He had earlier been introduced to me when he stayed as a guest of Kevin at the hotel. The first time I met him, I said to Kevin, "He's on drugs!"

Kevin replied that he was a very good person, with which I agreed and agree. He said the habit was under control.

I found a fantastic buy on a piece of property for him. He didn't go through the process for determining ownership before he bought the place. He now actually owns it, but he will never be able to do anything with it because the ownership is under question. This is because some people at the bank are slimewads who were trying to get a bribe. He wouldn't go along with that and they made a deal with the seller to keep ownership under suspicion. This is another thing that is common here. Way to go, Panamá! That'll bring investors!

This kind of thing can continue only so long as the government will tolerate it. They will tolerate it and even promote it because the legislators are lawyers who are often more corrupt than the ones they defend.

Enough publicity, the object of this rambling, and the government will have to act. There is a growing disgust with the government that will eventually result in a revolution, if changes aren't made. President Martinelli is in a position to force those changes – but will he? He has acted in Panama' City, but nothing is changed here in Chiriqui or in Bocas del Toro.

Anyhow, this person agreed to pay off the debt and finish construction of the hotel. We had already (big mistake!) constructed the restaurant/bar before finishing the hotel. This would bring us up to date and we could go from there. It would finance everything else, itself.

That person went to his island and I haven't heard a word about him since, except once to say hello. He has a contract saying he owns a large percentage of the hotel (which is worthless because of what happened now, anyway). He didn't pay all the agreed bills, so the contract is null and void, even if anyone tries to act on it. He did pay part and, if I can contact him if this is resolved, he will receive that part due him.

The year ended a lot worse than it began. I had to try to sell something to finish the project. I had to stop funding students before they finished their courses. I think I resent that much more than the loss of property. That is what I hold against the crooks involved and the government for making this, not only possible, but more and more commonplace.

2007

Things rocked along about the same. Kevin and daughters were living in the house on the property and managing what there was of the hotel. They were taking in enough to eat, but no more. I was living on my (minimum) social security. I moved to David. We opened the pizza part of the restaurant and named it Pizzeria Dos Gringos Locos.

There was little over what it cost to send the daughters to school and eat. When anyone wanted a room for the night Kevin would let them have it for very little. The electricity was cut off before the end of the year for non-payment. I was trying to sell anything, but the depressed market in the states meant that no one wanted to invest in anything.

The hotel was a good investment. We wanted to keep it and finish it so Kevin would have something to leave to his daughters. We did get some feelers when I said I'd sell for $250,000. It was a little high, but I didn't really want to sell it. We owed money to two places in the thousands. I couldn't longer afford to live in Bocas, so moved to David. I had some people interested in the Bocas Town lot. I had gone to a lot of expense to fill it to where it was higher than the surrounding lots, to the point that, during the innundation, it was the only lot in the area that was a couple of inches above the tide surge. I was offering it for $32,000. That was what I had in it, considering the fill and such.

Very little else changed. We were all scraping along and things were starting to improve.

Miguel, from the land deal, got married and had a baby who was in the hospital with respiratory problems. That is common among the Indigenos in the area. Many babies die from it. I borrowed money to save the life of the mother and the baby when it was born, then was borrowing money to help him with this medical crisis. He had another person who was interested in buying a part of his land and had put a deposit in the bank, then would pay the rest in one month.

The check bounced. It was another scheme to steal the Indio land.

Things were on a downward slide again from two days before Christmas.

2008

Things weren't getting any better. We did have one man who wanted to buy the hotel for $175,000, but I wouldn't consider it. We were holding on and I had more than that in it, all things considered.

I had started writing the Clint Faraday mysteries in 2007 in Bocas Town. I had three published by the middle of the year and found they were semi-popular. People who had been in Bocas Town and met me bought one because I mention real places and real people. Many of the more interesting people I meet end up as cameo characters. "Clint went to Bohmfalk's and talked a bit with Bill, then gravitated to the porch when the band started playing. British Bill was doing a Hendrix song. An attractive tourist from West Virginia, Irene Watson, came to chat about her art exhibition and say she thought she'd seen Marko near El Ultimo Refugio last night, but wasn't sure. That was interesting, because..."

Irene Watson was a real character who had an art exhibit in Panamá City at the time. Her real name wasn't Irene Watson. Bohmfalk's and El Ultimo Refugio are real places in Bocas Town. British Bill was a musician from England who was very good on lead guitar. He had played with some bigger name punk bands in England. He has since died.

The point is, they got a book they were in and liked the characters and style and bought the rest of them. I was getting royalties, which helped tremendously, at the time. They were higher then than now, but it's not easy to promote your work from here. We were making it a little better. Manuel Miranda, next door, had a little shop. He was breaking up with his wife and wanted to stay in the hotel. He would hook up to his electricity for the whole hotel in lieu of rent.

Seeing that meant the house, too, we agreed.

A man wanted to buy a partnership on the Bocas Town lot. We would construct four units on the lot, live in two and rent two. It was a no-miss deal! I sold him a half interest for $12,500 and he would pay for half the construction. I would be able to do some work on the hotel, and did manage to pay off two major bills. I was drawing up the plans for the units on the lot when this person said we should make them two stories so we would have more to rent. I explained that I wasn't interested in a commercial venture, to that degree. We had agreed to the original plan.

He then came to me with a great idea! Yurts!

I didn't even know what they were, but he was insistent, so I reluctantly agreed to give it a try. It would mean dropping the four unit plan, but we could live in the Yurts.

He bought one and had it sent down. He hadn't checked on the import taxes and found we couldn't hope to make that project work under those conditions. He said we'd buy them as parts and produce the wooden parts here, thus no taxes. We could make it work!

I spent far too much to get plans and permits to set the thing up. We never got the permits. It was suddenly up to me to pay for everything. He bought the original unit.

Without the permits, there wouldn't be any set-up. It turned into money down a rat-hole for both of us. He was suddenly blaming me because it wouldn't work. He claimed a nervous breakdown that was all my fault. He tried to make it my idea to go for the Yurts, but I had the original plans for the four units he had agreed on when we made the partnership and his e-mails, so he dropped that.

Things didn't get worse from that point to the end of the year, if they didn't get better, either.

2009

The year I was introduced to hell came next. I was approached in David by a character, Aurelio Pomares "Fat" Wright. He had heard I had the lot for sale in Bocas Town and had a buyer. He would sell it for me for a 10% commission. He was offered $50,000.

That would end my financial problems for long enough to pay the outstanding bills and finish the hotel! I agreed!

A week later, he came with the bad news that those people (who turned out to be known crooks from Isla Colón who had never even heard about any lot for sale) had backed out of the deal.

Not to worry! He had a man right here in David who wanted to buy it! He would pay $42,000, which was the market value, at the time.

Pomares introduced me to Fernando Marcuci. All I would have to do was pay for the processing of the plano and transfer.

This is not the way it's done, but I didn't know. I trusted Pomares, who has a great charm and speaks perfect English. He is the type you automatically want to trust (And are a fool if you do – experience speaks!)

I stayed at the Hotel Palacio Imperial during this time. He was in another room. He was the only person to enter my room at anytime, other than the cleaning lady and myself. A couple of times he said he had trouble with a Colombian who he owed money or something. This person was a drug dealer and he was afraid. He talked me into exchanging rooms with him. If the guy came there to the room he was supposed to be in, he would see it wasn't him, immediately.

I know how those things work, to an extent, so agreed.

All my original papers ended up missing. My camera ended up missing. I didn't know it for a week or more.

Just before this, I was supposed to pay the catastro or something such a couple of hundred dollars for the papers that would allow me to sell the property. I didn't have any money, so Pomares said he'd talked Marcuci into loaning me the money that he would take out as a down payment on the lot. He would also hold my computer and pistol and permit. I signed what I believed to be a promissory note that I would take the money as down payment. I signed the back of a check for, if I remember right, about five thousand dollars.

Pomares then said it would take three thousand dollars, which I would get back, to guarantee the money to my partner in the land. I figured that, seeing he had twelve five in it and we were getting forty two, he would make a good profit. I later learned that Pomares took out an order to sequester the lot for $3,000, that he got back. It took the name of the partner off the title.

I never received that money. I went with Pomares to the notary, Vallegos, to sign what was purported to be an agreement for paying his commission. He had the paper drawn up and I signed it. He had it on a stack of papers and said I had to sign two copies, one for the notary and one for Pomares. I didn't know, at the time, that one never signs two of anything. That's what they have copy machines for. He turned up the bottom of the commission contract and the part under it looked just like what I had signed, so I signed it.

Pomares and Vallegos had both told me a contract must be in Spanish to be legal here. (Not true!) They neglected to tell me that if I didn't speak and read Spanish, a copy in English had to be provided. I later learned that when we had to go to another notary for another item. She asked me a question and I didn't know enough Spanish to answer. She refused to notarize the paper until Pomares signed a paper that stated he was the translator. I still knew only what he told me the papers said.

(Note: Tendering a contract in Spanish to a person who does not read or understand Spanish and who is not given a copy in the language of that person is fraud, automatically, in Panamanian law, unless the person had a translator who signs the contract stating he was the translator. The PTJ acted immediately and forcefully. The fraud was proven – this reported to me by a relative of Casasola and a person in the police – and the notary chief lost his license. According to several sources knowledgeable in law here, my case was won at that moment. Not one lawyer I have gone to has used that. I am refused access to the information, though it was my case. I am always told the information can only be given to my lawyer. I have learned this is not true. Such cases are public information. I am still trying to get information about the case against Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo that resulted in Vallejos losing his license and legally proving my case.)

I later checked the original contract and found it said that I had appeared before Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo and spoke, read, and understood "la idioma espaniol perfectamente." That means I had appeared in person before her and read, write and understand Spanish perfectly.

I had never met her and I didn't speak fifty words in Spanish. I became suspicious, but it was after the fact.

About a week later, Pomares said Marcuci was including the pistol and computer in that down payment and would return them to me. I did get the computer, but Pomares kept the pistol and permit. He took my passport to have copies made and never returned it.

Then Pomares said Marcuci wasn't going to buy the lot. He was going to buy the hotel! For $250,000!

I was out of money to live on. I had even spent my social security. Marcuci would lend me two hundred dollars to tide me over until the deal was final.

Everything was in order and ready to go as soon as the title search, seeing I no longer had the papers, was completed. We owed Cesar Alcón, the owner of the Palacio Imperial, a hundred plus, which I paid. I also paid the restaurant where Pomares and his girlfriend were eating on a tab.

Suddenly Marcuci wanted to buy the Quiteño properties for investment. We made a contract and he was to pay $50,000 for the two properties. I again signed a contract to pay Pomares a 10% commission. I also wrote him a note that said I would pay him a total of $85,000 if he sold all the properties. That was in English and wasn't notarized, that I know about. His deal with Vallegos may mean it was, as were all the contracts and such I never knew about.

I understand that Vallegos has lost his license and is facing charges because of this. Fanny Carla Casasola Doming is supposed to have gone to Panamá City and testified about the scheme – but the police and court here don't take that as evidence. No one will confirm nor deny that is what happened.

My case? She testified about what they were doing? He lost his license over it? It doesn't apply to my case?

(Again: I have since found, if my understanding is correct, that presenting a contract in Spanish when the contract is signed by a person who doesn't speak or read Spanish is automatically fraud when there is no English translation with it. My case, except for corrupt people, was supposedly already won when Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo testified.)

I got an offer for the Bocas Town property from the states. The people and I agreed on a price. They paid an attorney to check things out and they came to Bocas Town.

The attorney said I didn't own any property on Isla Colón. I immediately checked and found that Marcuci had the property transferred the day after the supposed loan. I have the e-mail correspondence from that.

During the end of the year, Pomares tried to sell me back my passport. Twice. He pawned the pistol he stole and the police found it. He was not arrested. I can get the pistol stolen from me back if I pay $200? They refuse to arrest someone who stole an armament and a passport, among other items?

2010-2012

I was getting nowhere. It was April, a year since I learned what was going on. I was advised to get a lawyer, and one was recommended. Oliver Montenegro. I paid him small amounts several times for transportation and such.

Montenegro kept telling me he was working on the case. "At this moment I am in the judicial with your papers, looking for points to present and trying to find what evidence will be required. These things take a lot of time in Panamá," was something I heard several times. As soon as one year had passed, with him supposedly working on the case, he refused to answer the phone or e-mails and was never there when I went to the office, though several times his car was.

Then an order from the corregidor in Almirante demanding that I go to his offices concerning the eviction of Kevin Wright from the hotel. I went with Kevin and a translator, Beto Lange, to find Eicnar Del Cid there. He had claimed that he bought the hotel from me and that Kevin wouldn't leave. That was the first time I ever saw the crook. He claimed, first, that he had paid me ten thousand dollars for the hotel in front of the registro publico in David. Beto said, translating, that I had sold him a hotel I had invested $152,000 in for ten thousand? Get real!

Next, it was fourteen thousand and he had paid me at some restaurant or other. When that didn't work it was twenty thousand and he had given it to "my representative," Aurelio Pomares..

The corregidor, Federico Serrano, as much as threw him out of his office. He then came to David to make a declaration against Del Cid in my favor.

I found another lawyer, Yony Ramirez, who has been working on the case. He has presented me with summons for witnesses and has done a lot of investigation on his own. The police still refuse to investigate. There are 159 pages of evidence found and presented by Yony, not one page of investigation by the agency required by law to investigate, the fiscalia.

Yony has to sign every time he looks at the official papers at the judicial. Montenegro had never once been there. It becomes obvious that he was bribed not to carry the case forward until the year was past, then I had to refile the whole thing. It also looks suspiciously like certain police and court officers were also bribed. The police have done zero investigation. The judge closed the case because of lack of the evidence the police refused to investigate.

The person, Manuel Miranda, who had a signed contract to collect rent, no more, at the hotel, apparently went with Del Cid to the new corregidor, presented the contract, and the corregidor allowed Del Cid to enter the hotel, change the locks, break into the house (never a part of the hotel sale plans) where he has stolen or destroyed some thousands of dollars worth of antiques and tools, and open a bar and restaurant in the hotel. Miranda had no authority to allow this or to in any way act for or in representation of the hotel except to collect rent, which he had apparently raised and was taking a lot off the top. He has not given me anything since March of 2009.

If he presented those papers, which he hadn't honored after the third month, he considers them in force and owes me more than $7,500 + $450 per month since this writing for rent collected, as it is reported he has kept the hotel filled.

The corregidor took this action without contacting myself, Kevin Wright (my partner), or Rosendo Watson, the person with the contract to manage the hotel and act in its interest. That is illegal and I want an explanation. I want Pomares, Del Cid, Marcuci, Miranda and that corregidor prosecuted. I want an explanation as to why information from the fiscalia was given to Pomares and I want the responsible person(s) prosecuted. I want to know why the police refuse to investigate. I want to know why Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo is not prosecuted, or if she actually made a declaration against Vallegos. If she did, I want to know why that is not proof, in itself, of my charges.

( I have since learned through my lawyer that nothing was presented to the present corregidor. Manuel Miranda had, apparently, allowed Del Cid to enter the hotel and house and change the locks, open a bar and restaurant, and steal or destroy the items in the house on his own advice. I will demand prosecution for this.)

We filed papers at the fiscalia, using a friend as a translator. The next night, that friend was robbed in his home. The third night, Pomares met him in the Parque Cervantes as he was walking to his taxi stand and threatened him, saying he was the one who sent those people who were in his home and robbed him and that he would be killed if he didn't stop working with my lawyer and myself. Only two people knew where that friend's home was. Even I didn't know. One was the supposed official who took his statement as translator and a girl who was back and forth in the office during that time. That doesn't leave much doubt that Pomares has someone who reports in that office, and there are only two possible suspects. Their reporting to Pomares has resulted in violence and threatened violence against a citizen. That is on report.

Pomares has threatened me in the past and did so again. I have filed on that.

Still, the police are not investigating any of the evidence Yony has presented. They have not questioned Del Cid or Marcuci. They have made no arrests in the theft of the pistol and permit and passport. They refuse to act in any way.

Why? Why is this blatant corruption tolerated?

The exact same method was used this past month on an Indio friend. It is too like what happened to me to be other than the same people. Why are they allowed to continue?

President Martinelli, I am going to get action immediately, or this goes on the internet on all the investor sites, worldwide. If you can allow this to happen to me under your law with no recourse against the corruption for a hundred thousand it can and will happen to them for a hundred million. You have the time and motive to be the best president this country ever had, or just another one of those everyday cheap politicians. Your progeny will have to live with what you are. You can't take all that money with you. What you leave will define you. Will it be, "He was the one who brought respect back to Panamá! He was the one who made a difference!" or will it be, "He made a lot of money." Which one will your children and their children have to live with?

No more lip service. What you say is not what you do, as recent events have shown. It's time to back up your word with some positive action. It's time someone brought the Panamanian people up to the position they deserve in the world. The timing is perfect. I understand you have taken very positive steps in Panama' City against this kind of corruption. Why are you ignoring Chiriqui and Bocas del Toro? You are the president of Panama', not just Panama' City.

Another little piece of a puzzle to me: You are aware of what has happened to everyone the USA backs, from Batista to Khadafi, from the Shah of Iran to Hussein, from the Samosas to Noriega, yet you advertise on TV how the US legislators say you're the best president this country ever had. I don't think that's much of a recommendation. When they have used you to whatever point they choose, you'll be gotten rid of in the same manner. I had hoped you were more intelligent than to fall into that trap.

The ball's in your court.

The scams #1

The first scam I came into contact with here was worked on an Indigeno friend. I didn't much consider it as something that would apply to gringos, but the Wild Bill affair (A man who killed a number of people and stole their property) makes me wonder exactly how many times it has been worked on others. It would seem that it is still around, if slightly less.

This is a scam that couldn't happen if there was any enforcement of present laws, but that's true of all of them. The laws are made to protect the crook, in these areas. I can only assume the laws would change if the leaders of the country weren't the worst of the crooks. I will be most happy to be convinced this is not the case, but no evidence has been provided to make one form any other conclusion. The makers of the laws can study the questions asked of President Martinelli and answer them as things that apply to themselves. Are you going to leave your children and grandchildren wealthy outcasts from society or people who can talk proudly about their ancestors?

Another lacking in the evidence: There is no evidence I've seen that any of the leaders here give a happy damn what legacy they are leaving for their progeny.

The way the scam works: A person will come with a very good deal to buy the land for more than it's worth. They will first need a modern plano, and they will help fence the property themselves! You buy the materials and they will supply the labor!

The plano is surveyed and drawn, there is an established property line, there is a contract agreeing to buy at a stated price.

The owner then has a fatal accident. He has been chosen because he has no one in a position to challenge the papers they will present indicating they paid for the property. After all, didn't they send their own crew there to work on the place?

This is where the crooked laws make it almost certain the property will be lost to these thieves.

To challenge the ownership, you sequester the property. That's immediate and will generally make the thieves back off because they have no receipts. Before this, there can't be any demand of proof.

BUT – you have to make a 20% deposit of the value of the land to have the sequester, and the value is according to what those papers say.

The court will then say, "It doesn't really cost you anything to sequester because it's a deposit that you get back."

Now you have a way to get the land back, but you're a dirt poor worker who can't raise two percent of that inflated value, much less twenty percent. The land is gone, though anytime those crooks try to sell it you can bring a demanda before the court, which would require the sequestering, but prospective buyers will know it is going to be challenged at every step and will be tied up in courts for years. This means some crooked lawyers get paid by both ends to do nothing.

Legislators are, almost to the last one, lawyers. You figure out why the law is what it is.

Check for past claims on the land before you decide not to invest here. Don't ever use a local lawyer, get one from Panama' City, which means you have almost a fifty-fifty chance of finding an honest one.

Trick #2

You want a piece of land. It is not for sale, but the owner will take a loan from you with the land as a guarantee. The loan will be about a quarter of what you feel the land is worth. He will pay interest. If he can't pay, you have the land.

You lend the money.

(Caveat: Never lend money to a Panamanian. Either give it to them or say, "No!" This applies to a great majority of them, so beware.)

A year goes by and you have been repaid a small bit on the interest.

Two years go by and you have gotten nothing more, so you file a demanda for your money. You have the notarized contract about being paid or getting the land. You have to pay the deposit to sequester.

The land was sold. You can't get it back from the new owner (probably a relative of the original owner) unless you bring criminal charges against the original owner. It gets to court eight or ten months later. The owner has a receipt that he paid you that little bit of interest. He doesn't owe the amount in the contract. The court will have to draw up a new contract (at your expense) and you can then collect from him. He can't pay all that, so he pays you ten dollars a month until it's paid off. Beside the fact that ten bucks doesn't pay the interest, he won't pay you even that. You'd have to take it to court again every month, and all they'd do is make him pay the ten dollars for each month – that you've spent a hundred dollars per month taking to court.

You write it off.

This would be very easy to change. It is very obvious how it can be stopped. The present lawmakers will not change things. They are the problem, not the solution.

Number 3

You have invested. Costs are (always here!) three or four times what was projected. You are out of funds. Your only solution is to sell some property. You let it be known that something is for sale. Someone comes with an offer.

The one who comes with the offer is someone you feel you can trust. He speaks perfect English and is charming. He has a buyer and will sell the land for you for, say, ten percent.

This will solve your problems! You agree and sign a promissory in front of a notary that you will pay a 10% commission on all lands sold through this person. You produce a copy of your title so the agreement can be completed for that parcel.

I doubt it matters much, but my experience was that the "friend" stole the originals.

Here, you must know something about Panamanian law. They will work this scheme on people who don't speak or read Spanish. They will tell you a contract must be in Spanish to be legal here. Even the notary will agree (though it is not true) and will have the contract drawn up in Spanish. What they won't tell you is that you are entitled to a copy in English (or German or whatever) or that you must have an interpreter to explain each detail.

Your "friend" is your interpreter!

They draw up the commission contract and you sign it. There is another sheet under it. You are told you must sign two copies (NOT true! NEVER sign two copies for a notary. That is what a copy machine is for!). The notary turns up the bottom of the page where you've signed the commission contract for you to sign the second copy.

That second copy was assigning the property to your "friend" or an accomplice.

You wait for the sale to go through. It doesn't. You are broke and with only a pension or small income to live on. You can't finish the project.

Then the corregidor comes up with an eviction order. You are illegally occupying someone else's property. Your land is in someone else's name.

In my case, the corregidor listened to the crooked slimewad tell three obvious lies about the ownership and threw him out of his office. He even came to David to testify that the deal was suspicious and that the crook lied in his courtroom.

You file criminal charges, because it will cost far more than you can raise to sequester.

The notarized contract for the property was by another notary who worked for the one I saw. That is how his name didn't appear on the contract. I had never seen the one who notarized it, that I'm aware of. The contract said I had appeared before her and that I "Speak, read and understand Spanish perfectly."

Not only didn't I appear before her, at the time, I didn't speak fifty words in Spanish and still can't read a legal paper in Spanish.

Then you go to the fiscalia to file criminal charges. You have to provide totally ridiculous amounts of "proof". There are delays. Your lawyer is working on it.

A year passes. Suddenly your lawyer won't take a phone call from you. He won't answer an e-mail. He is never in his office when you go by (but his car's out front).

He has been paid to delay the process for a year. My present lawyer must sign when he gets those papers. No one signed for that year.

Now you have to refile everything. You learned the judge had stopped the investigation (that was never started in the first place). You have to get all those witnesses together again (that the original lawyer never contacted). The police didn't start the investigation that the judge ordered stopped in the first place.

Now you have a lot of witnesses who have signed the declarations and have given long and complete statements. A friend who was only there to translate is robbed and threatened by one of the people you are bringing charges against. He told the friend that he sent the people to his house to rob him and that he'd be dead if he tried to help me anymore. This is testified to.

There were exactly two people who knew where the friend lived. They were working for the fiscalia. The crook had the address of the friend within a couple of hours. You figure it.

Now the police aren't investigating. It's up to my lawyer to investigate.

The corruption here is probably not much worse than the states, but it's blatant. There is a commission in Panama' City that is supposed to be cracking down on this kind of corruption – who I am finding impossible to contact.

That is the purpose of this treatise. I want to know exactly how and why these people are getting away with this kind of sordid practice. I want it slowed down, if it can't be stopped. The time for promises and lip service is rapidly drawing to an end. Perhaps a little international notice will start something.

Then again, I'm talking about people who have no pride nor self-respect, so publicity won't bother them, except for when it interferes with their scams. One of the main players in my case garners the same reaction whenever he's mentioned: "Oh, everyone knows he's a thief and con man!" Even the original cop I reported to said the same thing. They know it, this particular cop brought charges several times before that the police won't act on.

Panama' is too fine a place and most of the Panamanian people are good, decent, upstanding honest people for this to continue. Today's world is shrinking faster than ever before. The computer makes it next to impossible for these scum to hide much longer.

From the president to the notary, Panama's reputation worldwide is because of you! Enough! Basta!

Another Consideration for Retirees

Age Discrimination in Banking

I mentioned earlier that the banks in Panama' do not issue Visa and Mastercard etc. because of the reputation of the country. That recently changed when Pres. Martinelli signed an agreement with international bankers. My bank at this time is HSBC. They advertise that Visa is now available.

I publish my books through two companies in the USA. They pay by check to a US address or through PayPal. PayPal works through Visa. It was not available when I wanted it here. I have my checks sent to a relative, who sends them on to me. The mail system here is terrible. It takes ten days or more for a letter to get here from the USA. After it is received (sometimes it never gets here) HSBC holds it for twenty days or more before making the funds available.

I could, at last, get the royalties through PayPal! I went to HSBC to apply yesterday – and was told I wasn't eligible because I'm too old.

I made out the following and took it to them:

21 Junio, 2012

Charles David Moulton

(carnet number)

(account number)

HSBC Bank:

I recently applied for a Visa Card that your bank advertises is available to account holders.

I was told that I cannot get a Visa Card because of my age (74).

I need to know if this is the policy of HSBC or if it is the policy of Visa.

I write books, having more than 150 published to date. www.smashwords.com/profile/view/maitaman and www.lulu.com/maitaman

I am going to write about this age discrimination. I do not wish to accuse the wrong agency. It may result in accounts with your bank by the retirees being changed to other banks, if it is your policy. It may well result in a loss of business by Visa, if it is their policy.

Whichever; it is discrimination. People who are nearing the age at which this discriminatory policy comes into effect should know, before they deal with the particular agency, that the policies of that agency will discriminate against them at a future time. I will inform AARP of this.

The projections by insurance companies of my life expectancy have all been between 96.8 years and 98.2 years. I cannot get a Visa Card because I am 74, yet a 35 year old man with diabetes, terminal cancer and a heart condition can get one when his life expectancy is 36. This is unreasonable.

This is the policy of HSBC Bank, Panama' __ by___________________________________

This is the policy of Visa __ by _____________________________

Should you refuse this information, exactly what has happened, including that you refuse the information, will be published. The reader can come to his own conclusions.

They refused to say anything except what I understood to be that the laws in Panama' make it legal to discriminate, so they do. She said I could get the Visa card if I bought an insurance policy of some sort. If the same policy of having insurance for a Visa card applies to all, no objection. It will simply make it a bad idea, considering that it puts it out of reach, financially. For that 35 year old terminal cancer case not to be required to have the insurance makes it remain blatant age discrimination.

Retirees who are planning to find a place where life is affordable and pleasant should know this is the policy of some banks, allowed by this government. They should consider the fact they are getting older and may want such services as Visa. They should investigate the bank before they place an account into it.

If this is truly, as it seems to me, a policy of HSBC, that fact should be considered carefully and seriously in the selection of a bank. Panama' has a very strong economy and most major (and a lot of minor) banks are here. It isn't necessary to place your account into a bank that clearly will discriminate against client groups of the type your age puts you into.

The June Step

It is June 23, 2012. This land theft thing has been going on for three years plus. My lawyer, Yony Ramirez, has had to do most of the investigation, himself. We have everything from the fact the contracts were in Spanish and I was denied translation because Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo had notarized them stating I read, spoke and understood Spanish perfectly. It is proven, positively, that I did not speak Spanish beyond "Buenos dias!" and "Adios!" at the time.

According to Panamanian law, as I understand it, that is automatically fraud. My case should have been handled then and quickly.

It was not. It was turned over to the fiscalia for investigation by a Capt. Ramos. I was told by a relative of Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo that she was taken to Panama' City, where she filed a declaration that she had, indeed, never met me and that it was on orders from the head of the notary at the time, Vallegos, that she stamped and signed those contracts. That notary closed a short time later. I understand Vallegos lost his license because of my denunciado. The PTJ acted quickly and efficiently. I have nothing but praise for their reaction here in David. (A thing or two that happened in Bocas del Toro, Isla Colon, were definitely not praiseworthy. I believe I mentioned one of them earlier.)

I cannot confirm this. I am refused any information about that time and what happened.

I met and was told that Oliver Montenegro was a good attorney and would help me. I made an agreement with him. We went to the fiscalia and I signed that he represented me. During the next year he repeatedly assured me that things were progressing, several times saying that "I am at this moment in the fiscalia with papers from your case that I am investigating."

Nothing happened. A year passed. Suddenly Montenegro would not answer my calls or e-mails. He was never at the office (his car was. Hmm.)

I got another lawyer, who suggested a civil case. I thought that would be a good idea. I agreed – then he hit me with the fact I would have t come up with a $5,000 or more "deposit" that I would get back when the case was heard. I, of course, did not have five hundred dollars, much less five thousand.

I got another lawyer. Yony Ramirez, who went with me to the fiscalia so I could declare him my lawyer. He got the papers about the case. Montenegro had not, once, taken those papers for study. They have to sign for them when they do and he had never signed anything. He had purposely delayed until a year had passed and I would have to refile everything.

I am told this is a standard practice among the sleazy percent of lawyers. It is likely he was paid not to do anything.

Yony Ramirez immediately gathered witness statements and evidence. We had a number of witnesses, including the corregidor of Almirante, Federico Serrano, to come to David to make declarations in my favor. Del Cid had sat in his office and lied three times in a few minutes.

Yony went to the fiscalia to push the investigation. The officer in charge had not interviewed one witness nor checked on one feature of the denunciados. He had, in short, refused to investigate.

I am told this is a standard practice here in David. He was possibly paid not to investigate.

The judge told Yony he "wasn't interested" in pursuing the case. This also, so I am told, is his way of getting a bribe to enliven his "interest" in my case.

Yony found there are other cases against these people for like practices. The courts refuse to act against them.

This is intolerable. I will find the name of that (or those) judge(s) and that supposed investigating officer and will add them to this.

I got an e-mail today from a man from the states who wants to invest in several properties in Panama', some in Bocas del Toro and some in Chiriqui. He wants my advice.

My advice to him and to any other who is considering investment here is to read this. Check it out. See if I am making one word of it up. Act accordingly. I feel my only recourse now is to pursue publicity for these people. If the rampant corruption isn't at least slowed considerably, only an idiot would invest here. You have no security whatever and the courts will refuse to act against what are clearly criminals. Every president runs with promises of cracking down on corruption. They try for the first couple of weeks, then it seems to go right back to business as usual.

I express no preference in parties or candidates here, except in personal comment with individuals. I find this situation is across all party lines. It is simply the way politics are, here. The only solution I can see is if there is a statesman somewhere out there who can be elected, maybe this wonderful country can shed its horrible international reputation. The people are among the best in the world. They are simply caught in a trap and can't find a way out.

July

Not much is new. I have two lawyers who are tied with periodistas who are interested in helping with my case. Yony has contacted me and I am to meet with him today. From what I understand (my Spanish is still a very long way from fluent) there is a very important step being taken. I will put what happens here.

One other thing: I contacted AARP with the bank thing and gave my publisher for this with the notation that it is a free download. Anyone thinking of moving to Panama should consider very carefully which bank they use. The next day free download hits soared. I hope I am finally reaching the people who can make a difference. Pressure from the people who will need a bank for direct deposits of pensions etc. can make changes an absolute necessity unless HSBC et al change their discriminatory policies. I imagine HSBC deals with several millions of dollars per month in retiree deposits here in Panama'. If it is made plain to them that they could lose those future deposits I am sure it will be seriously discussed among the bank's directors. HSBC is an international bank. If they conduct business here in such a manner because it is not illegal (moral or ethical doesn't mean anything to those people) they will do so in any other country that will allow it. Act accordingly.

I would like to note here, also, that I asked for that paper to be signed at HSBC on June 21. On June 22 or 23 (it's on the e-mail) I received an e-mail about the "new charges" on my account. Two friends who have internet accounts with HSBC did not receive any such notice. Make of that what you will.

August 31

Yesterday I met with Carlos, an attorney who, I am assured by several people, has not lost a case in nine years. He read over what I had and said he wouldn't take the case. It was unwinnable.

Yes, it was definitely fraud.

Yes, these were definitely criminal acts.

Yes, it was outright robbery.

Yes, it was perjury.

No, it doesn't matter how they got my signature. They got it. Tough! That's all that matters.

I got a lot of talk about how a contract is personal, not public, or something such. For some reason I can't hope to understand, that means they were able to steal my entire life's savings and retirement with little or no fear of my having recourse. I may be wrong, but the way it was explained to me was that they could actually pull the Old West drama of "If you don't give me the deed to your ranch I'm gonna blow you all to bits!" If they put a gun to your head and say, "Sign or die!" it will hold up in court (where it will be refused anyhow) because it is your signature and there is no consideration of how they got it.

DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, INVEST A DIME IN PANAMA'.

You will have no protection, whatever, of your investment. The law was made and is enforced to aid these kinds of criminals. Rather obviously, those who composed and passed those laws were and are the same kind of criminals.

This is a wonderful country and the people are among the best in the world. The few who are slimepits are among the worst in the world.

It is also the worst place in the world to risk your life's savings in investment. Mine is not an isolated case, as I'm learning more clearly every day.

I just put a Clint Faraday mystery on the net, A Bloody Shame, that is a sort of wishful thinking. I stated in the book that this kind of thing has an almost inevitable end.

My philosophy is, "You make the rules, but we all play by the same set."

Panama' lawyers and legislators have made the rules. We'll all, eventually, play by them. That includes them. What they have made, they will have to abide by, sooner or later. I hope it's sooner.

Sept. 5

I have learned that what "Carlos" told me is true, but only so long as the fact the case was started about proven fraud is ignored. Nothing has changed, except another lawyer gave me untrue advice in what seems to me to be directed at making me drop the case.

That is not going to happen.

Sept. 12

A friend, Alan, had his lawyer, Dayana Miranda, contact me a couple weeks ago. She got all the papers from the fiscalia and read them over, said very quickly that this wasn't a case for an immigration, title, etc. lawyer. It was criminal law that applied. She immediately turned it over to MSc. Jorge Barraza Osirio, who met with me in his office this afternoon. It is, indeed, a criminal case and none of the lawyers before handled criminal law. The one problem is the time wasted so far, 3 years, with delays and refusals to investigate and such. He is going to have the case opened in criminal court where I should have ample proof of criminal acts beside the obvious fraud-by-law of those contracts in Spanish.

The original lawyer, Oliver Montenegro, should have told me that the first day and I would have gotten a criminal lawyer. This would be finished for two years had I been informed of that one simple thing. The proofs, declarations and receipts Yony Ramirez gathered should prove very valuable.

There are two things, other than the direct thefts I've already mentioned. It is fraud by law and they have no receipts or copies of checks or anything else because they never gave me anything but promises. You have to give a receipt for anything here. Their bank accounts won't show where they paid me anything and there certainly hasn't been any deposit of thousands of dollars. I haven't had a thousand dollars in my account for more than four years! I have asked from the first day that the case against Fanny Carla Casasola Domingo be considered. Until now, it never was mentioned again.

I am hopeful that something will be done. I refuse to get excited about it. That has led only to disappointment in the past three years.

November 1

I have heard nothing. The "super good" lawyer hasn't answered the phone or e-mails. He's apparently just another Panamanian lawyer of the type most of them seem to be. He knows the judges and the people at the fiscalia.

I was told by a friend that the Periodical, El Informe de David, was interested in going after corruption and, as its name implies, informing the public of such things. I therefore wrote a basic list of what has been happening and presented it to the office. I included my phone number, etc. Exactly the same. It has been two weeks and no reply. I call at the office and "He isn't here. I gave it to him."

I e-mailed and asked that it be considered and if he needed more information. No reply.

Is it that these few wannabe thugs have intimidated the entire province to where anything they do is off-limits? Why does the government tolerate this? Why has the government abdicated its responsibility, where they are concerned? These few are destroying the reputation of this country, where investors are concerned. Will it continue, or will someone grow a spine?

Non-reply Nov. 3

El Enforme: Nov. 2, 2012

A friend who does business with you told me you would be interested in trying to do something about the blatant corruption in the fiscalia here in Chiriqui.

I have been fighting it for three years and am making zero progress because the ones who could do something are part of the corruption or are afraid of them.

I left some preliminary papers with you. I got no response.

I e-mailed you and got no response.

Even a "Not interested" would have been appreciated.

I write books. I write the Clint Faraday Mysteries, based here in Panama'.

I also wrote a book that I often update, an e-book that is a free download. It is offered on many investors' sites. It is recommended reading for anyone wishing to invest here. It is a short synopsis of my life, followed by what has happened to me here, including the lack of response from those agencies that are supposedly established to fight this blatant fraud and those who give lip service to fighting it. That I have contacted you will be added next update. The result of that attempt to contact anyone who truly wants to stop this thing that is giving this country a horrible reputation worldwide will be included.

You can find the book, Fading Paradise, as a free download at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/maitaman along with the other hundred sixty some-odd books I've had published.

Charles David Moulton

e-mail

ph number

I went to your office today and spoke with you for a short minute or two. You informed me that fraud and corruption in the court system are "personal things." I will put that as the answer to the above into the next update of Fading Paradise. It should be available about next Wednesday.

October 6, 2013

It has been just under a year since the last update. I have waited that time to hope someone would get the intestinal fortitude to fight this travesty. Apparently, only Yony Ramirez has, but he is butting his head against a stone wall here. El Informe has not uttered one word. I have been unable to contact anyone involved in Panama City. I have seen cases on national TV that told of charges against these same people. I have been unable to contact them. Two people who read the earlier edition of this have contacted me because they found themselves being approached by Pomares or Marcuci with the same line. The fiscalia is fully aware of this and still refuse to act in any way against them.

I also found another scheme people (not these, so far as I know) are using. The man who was almost killed and who got the bad checks has another scam being tried on him.

The land he wants to sell is prime. Quite a number of people are interested, but the situation in the US is making them very nervous about spending any large sums. He has had any extra income, the rental of a house in David, stopped. The renters hadn't paid and his family doesn't have enough to pay all the bills. He was willing to sell a part of his Isla San Cristobal land to get enough to pay off part of what he owes and to give his family some security. He is working in Panama City

His lawyer contacted him with the news that some people wanted to buy 3 hectares of the best part – for $5,000!

The land on top of that mountain with a view of the Caribbean is worth $24,000 per hectare. He refused. $5,000 wouldn't get him out of the situation he was in.

The lawyer then contacted him and said he had it up to $8,000. That was the minimum figure he could work with. I advised that they could get one hectare there or three off the top of the mountain for 8K.

Then the lawyer said he has some people who want ten hectares and will pay a good price. His problems are solved! Come to Bocas! He has checked and they have the money in a Panamanian bank!

He went to Bocas. He had to borrow for the passage and would miss work, but it was worth it!

They got him in Bocas and said there had to be some changes. He could work with them and they were sure it would be a good deal for everyone.

He, with my advice, went back to his job. The lawyer was supposed to not contact him to go to Bocas again unless they would pay the passage and the time he missed work.

The lawyer called. Okay! Everything is worked out! The money is as much as in the bank! Come to Bocas to sign the papers!

To Bocas. Nine days of missed work. Same shit. They had to change this or that and blah, blah, blah. He went back to Panama City. Now he was in really bad shape and getting desperate, which is what they were trying to do. Get him into a position where he has to take whatever they offer.

I don't know if the lawyer is in on it or just stupid, but I told Miguel I was washing my hands of it if he went to Bocas again. I told him exactly what they're doing. They would send him $100 dollars a day, in advance, to go to Bocas again and the deal was what they first offered or forget it.

The scam is to get the price to next to nothing, then buy it all for that price, less than a fifth of what the land is worth.

This is advice for the seller, but would-be investors should be aware of what they're doing. The result would be the Indio's land is as much as stolen, they resell it or parcels for the actual value – then it goes to court at least once a year for fifteen years while the Indio's family tries to get some kind of justice.

If you think of investing in land here, go to the previous owner to see if there was some kind of scheme. That is what you pay a lawyer to do, but most of them are in on the scams. You can go to the registro publica and check on the entire history of the land. Try to reach the pervious owner. If that person is dead, beware! If that person says you are dealing with a bunch of crooks, you probably are. Beware!

It is also a good idea to speak with the land-owners all around the area. You may find those crooks are trying to sell you land that has four or five liens against it that, Oh! Gee whiz and golly-gosh! They didn't even suspect!

Then you get sued and lose most of everything or get stuck with having to pay off a bunch of loans or liens that make the purchase a loser all the way.

Miguel's land is triple certified because of the things he's gone through. Most of the land in the area has a plano and original papers that don't show anything about the reality. Beware! The law is set up here, I think very deliberately, to allow these scams.

It would be an easy thing to fix in the areas like where I'm living now, Gualaca, Chiriqui. The land is titled. We need a title insurance company to come in. I suspect the reason they don't is these scams that are almost government sponsored. Title insurance companies would check things so completely that these crooks would be out of business in little time. It would be expensive, at first, but it would be a bargain at the same time.

Or Panama can go on with the reputation of not acting against these crooks, making investment in the strongest overall economy in the Americas a bad risk.

Note: 10-31-13. I have been told that there was a purge at the fiscalia and that nine or ten have been replaced, that those are facing corruption charges. I will investigate this. If the ones responsible for my case are replaced, I will refile and put what happens here. If not, it is simply the old way. A few goats get minimal sentences and the corruption and fraud continue. Business as usual. That, I will also put here.

If I sound cynical about this, it's because I am.

Redder Pastures

© 2013 by C. D. Moulton

Foreword

I have written more than 200 books, to date. A number of shorts were printed in the Murder Mystery and SciFi mags over the years, as well as the articles in the orchid society periodicals.

I believe in doing it all, myself. I don't want a cover someone else designed to try to express what I'm trying to say

This and a few stories being published came about because of those covers. This one when a manipulated photograph had a few things added to it. It was a matter of light. The difference in natural features because of a different radiation spectrum of a star ... lightning on a world orbiting a star that radiated far toward the red ... the kind of culture that may evolve under those conditions.

The photo is across a local road in the mountains a couple of kilometers from where I'm living. I snap a great number of them when I'm doing the research bit. I do botanical studies of orchids and medicinal plants in the area. (Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá)

The natural features of this beautiful place are featured on many of the book covers, particularly the Clint Faraday Mysteries and the miscellaneous things since I moved here, eight years ago.

After more than 200 books I'm still experimenting and finding new things. This is simply taking an ordinary photo and manipulating the spectrum toward the red. Having a weird imagination helps with this mess.

I don't write much pure fantasy, except for things such as The Colony and Changes – and Changes is more SciFi in a number of ways.

Anyhow, hope you enjoy – CD

A Search

Confrontation

Redder Pastures

Fuhr Dram placed the ancient tome back on its shelf and sat back to think about the changes since the old times, when that was written.

Society and beliefs had changed. Many of the old ideas were looked on with great suspicion. It was called progress.

It was true that many of the old wizards had used trickery and illusion more than the power. They were discredited, but the more modern science still had a lot of instances where they simply couldn't explain things that the very few who still held power could demonstrate.

Why was it so impossible for them to say there were, as was so often pointed out to them, a few individuals who exhibited a strange psy power they could learn to direct? The fact that most who had the power at the age when they were changing from children to adults lost it within a short period of time. Many couldn't control it, which could lead to self-destruction. It was like a condenser that had too high a charge applied. It would burn out, which was sometimes the case. Other times, it would weaken the insulator and would "leak" out the power, which was the "most often" situation. Occasionally, a level was reached where the power could be used in some kind of exchange and things would balance, but with the condenser carrying a much higher energy content than "normal."

True, he had gone through a few weeks when he could have gone too far or could have lost the power. With the help of his uncle, who had the power, but hid the fact from the world, he was taught that the feeling you were invincible was the hormones of that age conflicting with the fact you could do things with concentration that most others couldn't do with any method known.

You either had the power or you didn't. If you did, you either had the will to control it or didn't. If you didn't, you would lose it or self-destruct.

His uncle was a very wise man, as well as a very powerful man. The proof of that was that he hid his power so well, thus was able to live a "normal" life. Dram had suddenly found himself in a position where he must use the power in a more or less obvious way to save a number of people from a horrible death. A very evil force had to be stopped.

He learned the extent of his power then. He very nearly died from what he had to do.

They wouldn't leave him alone from that time forward. The scientists wanted to try all kinds of tests to see how he managed to stop a force all of their science couldn't affect.

They decided it was what they called a gestalt effect. It was an ability to direct the will of many people against a direct threat. They "reasoned" that the fact so many had exhibited a power at puberty, then lost it, was somehow able to be brought out in a time of extreme stress and blah, blah, blither.

He stood, stretched, and pointed at the light above the desk. It went out. He pointed to the one in the hallway to his bedroom and it came on.

He grinned to himself. The scientists said he had some kind of motion detector switch, then couldn't explain why they couldn't go to the same spot and make the same motions and affact the light in any way. Only one of those nine scientists noticed there wasn't a switch to turn on the light anywhere in the room! None of them ever noticed that the bulb was in a standard socket, but there were no wires to that socket.

He didn't know how he did it. It was something that was just there. He hung the socket in a little nail in the wall because it was convenient. The light in the hall was a standard type of thing with switches that he affected. They had wires and the whole system.

Whatever that power was, it had a lot of little things "on the side" that could tell him a lot about a lot of people, such as his brother, who had the "Pasture is always redder on the other side of the road" personality. He was never satisfied with anything. He kept trying to get rich or to grab some kind of political power.

Dram wanted no part of that and said so. The response was that he could get anything he wanted without having to work for it, like everyone else.

"True, but I don't want those things. I can have them, but they have no worth to me. Think about it. Perhaps that's behind your always wanting something, then finding it's not enough when you finally have it!"

Might as well try to convince a fence post.

Why did he get that very strong sense of warning when that President Frecht of the Gnard Republic came on the television? He looked, acted and sounded like a compassionate, caring person – but radiated something radically different. No one else seemed to notice.

Dram stopped. He looked intensely thoughtful for a moment, then went back into his study, where he pointed to the television. His mind directed the TV to show that last speech as President Frecht addressed the world council. He was working with some difficult chemicals when it originally came on and had missed all but the last couple of minutes, when he noticed the feeling again.

"... will act to stop the spread of whatever it is. It does not, at this time, affect Gnard, but that kind of thing spreads and could easily be devastating to us, as well as to Hignard and Falnard. It could spread to this continent!"

He ordered the TV to go back to the introductions and reason for the meeting.

"... all know President Frecht and of his many actions in times of danger to aid all people. It is why we have requested his presence here. The horrors of the plague are known to all, though we did not know of its existence a tenthyear ago!

"We take you to the council chamber at this time..."

"To Frecht!" Dram ordered.

"People of the world, I have been asked to appear here to help discover a way to stop, or contain, the plague now decimating Hignard and starting to spread to Falnard.

"I claim no expertise in such matters. The simple fact is that I am as unable to see a way as any of you.

"We, of course, will act to...."

Deceit! Deceit! Deceit! was almost like a screaming fiery script running across the screen.

Why?

"Study the eyes! The eyes tell the story!" the voice of Astreth, a demon he knew who had befriended him when he found a way to allow it to return to its home, seemed to say. It had been abducted and held here by Fuhr Wharct. Wharct had died when he and another Fuhr had a battle of powers. Fuhr Binct. Binct had also died in that fiasco!

Just as well. Both were, in Dram's mind, evil.

He reran the speech and paid very careful attention to Frect's eyes.

Why wouldn't he look directly to the camera?

Why that glance above the audience's heads?

Why that rapid glance from side to side?

Because he's lying. Thanks, Astreth. I wish I could visit your home, but it isn't possible.

The points at which he was lying:

"I know nothing...."

"... act to stop...."

"... know not where this horror came from...."

"I have done and will do anything in my power to stop...."

So. It is time to learn everything possible about this plague! Hignard and Falnard ... and Gnard. It was time to learn what he could about Frecht, too, it would seem.

Dram had "projected" himself short distances. It left him a bit tired. What would such distances do?

One way to find out.

Dram was standing in the square in front of the Hignard Council Building. He was glad it was past midnight there. It would be hard to explain how he suddenly appeared! He was close to exhaustion, but would find it easier in the future. He had wasted a lot of his energy by projecting himself from point to point along the way. He would be able to project directly, now that he had a destination point determined.

It was far too quiet. There was no one in the square. This was the center of the capital of Hignard. The saying was that the capital never sleeps. There was a ... multiple presence? It was not evil, but ... was there because it was brought by a great evil? It was a natural thing, but ... not of here?

It was a natural thing in another place. It was brought for evil purposes. It did not want to be here. It was not ... compatible? It was ... in discomfort. It was alive, but not ... intelligent?

Would it be the same in Falnard?

He must pay more attention to what was happening other places. Period. How had this thing escaped him for so ... a tenthyear. In only a tenthyear, it was devastating two nations.

There was a sudden twisting feeling all over his body. He felt he was being watched. He was about to be attacked!

He suddenly wasn't there anymore. He felt surprise and a bit of ... fear? It came from where he had been. He had felt that kind of thing before. It was a directed psy power ... and it was evil beyond his experience!

Dram was suddenly back in his study. He was so tired his eyes blurred and his head was throbbing. He was dizzy. This could destroy him. It wouldn't be bad if he hadn't gone "the long way" to get there.

He must rest. He ordered his body to sleep and waken in exactly four hours. That was barely enough, but he didn't have the luxury of time. Whatever that power was, it didn't know him – but it would very soon. It could trace him.

That fear! It would take more time than he first thought! That power could not project itself, physically. It could do a search with mental projection, but not physical. To harm him, someone who had some power to resist, required physical presence.

He gave himself five hours to recover his strength.

A Search

Dram awakened refreshed enough to immediately start the processes that would give him full knowledge of what was happening. He knew he must stay rested enough to fight a very strong power. He must not allow himself to become over-confident! That was the fastest way to defeat!

He went to the Crystal of Knowledge, where he sat to stare hard into the fires burning deep inside the huge ruby. He could sense Astreth telling him he could help.

He would open the portal. Perhaps the connection with the terrible demon was strong enough to reach across the planes. There must be ultimate need for that to happen, and care and concern on both sides, each for the other.

He laid the diagram and opened the portal. A large, black, muscular, furry, being with glowing red eyes and long, sharp carnivoran teeth and claws stepped quickly through to wave to close the portal. Astreth came to embrace Dram.

"Friend Dram, you know that I have an ability to sense many things here. I cannot in my natural place, but there is a channel open to me here. I do not understand it, but will use it. Even from my place I could feel great danger! Danger you don't guess! I sense great danger to all of this world. It is not a natural danger. It is a produced danger. A Fuhr has tremendous power, but manages to hide the fact, as did the uncle you spoke of to me. You have identified our culprit, now we must do something to stop a great evil.

"Do I sound pretentious, or what?"

"My dearest friend, you can't begin to guess at how glad I am that you're here!"

Dram explained, as best he could, what he knew and suspected.

"It would appear we will have to face what even I, who have no power, can feel," Astreth said, looking into space above Dram's head. "There is a great evil. An evil disguised as care. There are many demons here. None of them wish to be here. Perhaps that is your greatest strength in what must become a terrible confrontation between good and evil. You can allow them their natural place, as only you and the evil that brought them can.

"Dram, you can move to that place, Hignard, at will. I cannot, but you can move to that place and call me from here very easily. You did that once before. You needed my help. You did not know how you managed to call me, but you did in a time of great stress.

"This is a time of greater evil. This is far more dangerous than anything you have ever faced.

"You must discover how you were able to call me. That evil does not know of me. I don't know how, but I can help you against it. There's something you know and that evil force knows that can make me the tool of victory.

"Can you go to Hignard in a way that evil will not know?"

"No. Not if it awaits me."

"We must find a way. I must be there to know from where the demons came. You cannot send them back if you do not know where to send them."

"I think I have a plan! To be easily discovered, I would have to be where the force expects me. I need not confront that force to learn what you feel we must know.

"I am searching my memory to find how to call you. It is ... something I know not ... on a conscious level. It is ... there!"

Dram disappeared. Astreth looked surprised, then more-so when he found himself standing beside Dram in the king's courtroom. Dram grinned and disappeared, then Astreth was back with him in the study.

"It is not difficult. I will call you in a short time where we can try to contact the other demons."

Dram disappeared. After about two minutes Astreth found himself standing beside him in a strange place.

"This is Falnard. The evil is supposed to be here."

"It is not evil. Quite the opposite. I can see them. Perhaps three hundred of them. They can't harm me. They wish to not harm anyone. It is the nature of the place from which they were called."

Astreth made a number of signs. Dram didn't know what he was doing, but he soon turned to Dram to say, "They are moved about by a force they cannot comprehend. They don't understand why people die in agony when they go anywhere. They are afraid you will now die because you are here. They will be moved again in less than half an hour."

"I sense the danger and can counter it. It is something that makes iron ... do something. Like a magnet, but not that kind of thing. It makes it ... spin backward? Does that make any sense?"

"No, but it will be what happens."

"Can you sense where they are from? Can you return them?"

"I would have to see the diagram, or know how it is constructed. "

Astreth turned and made a few signs, then said, "They will form the pattern and I will walk along the lines they form. Will that help?"

Dram nodded. Astreth said, "I start here. There are two patterns, one atop the other. This is the lower pattern." He walked along for two meters, then turned and pointed at a sharp angle. He walked to the next point and repeated. It was about three minutes before Dram had the entire pattern, then it was repeated for the diagram atop that.

"I can see ... that they are from a very strange place. Iron here is copper there. Copper here is silver there. When they are very close to a living being here, the iron in its body turns to copper, which is poisonous. There is your plague.

"I can ... Astreth come here!"

Astreth didn't pause. He jumped to be beside Dram.

"They're gone, but are close," Astreth said. He pointed. "That way."

"Yes. I am detected. I will call you very soon." He disappeared. Astreth waited for less than a minute, then was beside him in his study.

"There will be a hard confrontation. Very soon," Dram warned. "I don't know if he would come here. My home ground, so to speak, could prove very dangerous to him. I don't think he can project. He will have to meet me physically. He doesn't suspect I know who he is."

"I feel the fact he doesn't know about me is very important. Critical! I don't know why I feel thus," Astreth said.

"Perhaps I do. Perhaps the fact he doesn't believe he could be suspected of such a thing is much to our advantage. He will try to meet me in a place and at a time no one else is about. I have a bit of a plan!

"Astreth, I have never killed anyone. I don't know if I can. I will have to think of him as a source of evil, not a person."

"That's exactly what he is!"

The personal com unit bleeped. Astreth said, "It would seem an evil force is calling you."

"It would seem." Dram answered the call.

Confrontation

"Dram here. Can I help you?"

"I sincerely hope you can. I hope you can help the entire world, as I am told you did in the past.

"I am called Frecht. There is a plague we can't stop. It could devastate the whole world! I am told you have powers. As a scientist, I don't really believe that, but it is, in fact, demonstrated. There seems nowhere else to seek.

"I will put aside my disbelief and will beg your aid. In the name of the world!"

"Yes. I think perhaps I have sensed what is behind this plague. It is a thing controlled by another, a deliberate evil. I cannot fathom the purpose. I can't positively guarantee I would be able to stop it, but there has to be a way. I will do anything, to the death, to aid my world and my people."

"It is a very evil thing! You say it is controlled? I don't see why! Perhaps for power?"

"That is what must be shown, in its own time. The first order is to stop it. It is not evil. The one or ones controlling it are an ultimate evil."

"I am in Capital City. I am told you can step to anywhere, as I cannot. It is a power I deeply envy! Could you come? Quickly?"

"Where in Capital City?"

"The top floor of the Imperial Hotel. The king was kind enough to offer me these lodgings, which are far more luxurious than those ... which is not of import."

"I must make a diagram, then will be there. Ten minutes or a bit more?"

"A diagra ..!? I thank you in the name of the people."

Dram quickly explained to Astreth what had happened. It was late at night. He was to go directly to the lair of the evil, where he would not expect confrontation or danger and would not be protecting himself.

The diagram was almost done. It was a matter of the baseline points being reversed to allow the abducted demons to return to their place. A few strokes with the silver solution, then the copper and iron reversed in position.

"I will take the diagram. You bring that static electricity jar. I will call you from Falnard in one half minute. I will open the diagram and allow the demons to leave when I'm gone. They must cross within four minutes four seconds. I hope they can go through in so little time."

"I think so. Let's get this boat in the water!"

Dram grabbed the diagram and went to Falnard, sensed where the demons were and went to them. He called Astreth, placed the jar, told Astreth he had four minutes to get them through, then disappeared. Astreth was able to get all the demons through with sixteen seconds left. He grabbed the diagram and was suddenly not there anymore.

Dram stepped off the elevator to the top floor. He appeared in it just two floors below and rode up. The warning spell was strong enough that he could sense it, but Frecht would expect him to appear in the room. He was about to be surprised!

Dram stood outside the door for three minutes before he rang the attention buzzer. He heard Frecht swear and call out, "Who is there? What do you want?"

"Dram. You expected me?"

"Oh! I thought you would come directly ... one moment."

Dram moved to the side and used a displacement spell to make him appear to be where he wasn't. The door opened. Frecht stood there with a silver dagger in his hand. Dram grinned. "You expect attack from me? Why?"

"Er, no. I don't know your voice and have been threatened. Come in."

Dram could feel the power in the mind of this evil ... thing. He wasn't sure he could handle it, but had a plan. The one thing any of the power demanded was attention. The stronger the use, the more concentrated that attention must be. That dagger was a director. Dram knew what Frecht would do. It would take him about five seconds to regain the necessary concentration on the spell.

Frecht turned and waved to a chair. Dram called Astreth. Frecht suddenly spun to point the dagger at Dram ... but Astreth was by his side. Frecht's mouth flew open. He held the dagger focused between them, but didn't have the concentration with the distraction, though he was suddenly holding Dram in a non-movement spell. He would be able to focus in another few seconds.

Astreth stepped up to Frecht and snapped his neck. He dropped the lifeless body.

"You shouldn't play sorcerer's games at a time like this. Direct action is needed."

Dram gave him a universal sign among mammals, with the center finger extended above a fist. He grabbed the terrible demon and was hugging him tightly.

"My friend, he would have been able to kill me in about five more seconds. You don't know how much stronger he was than anyone ever knew, me included!"

"Yeah, yeah. What do we do about that gory mess laying there?"

"We go back to my modest apartments and fix a delicious and nutritious dawnmeal we can enjoy as we watch the news programs on the television, if that meets with your approval?"

"Sounds like a good suggestion to me!"

"... was found with his neck broken in his apartment. There is no explanation. A strange diagram was found on the floor next to him. It is theorized by our station expert that the diagram was of a type used to call demons by the old wizards. A reporter has been sent to contact our own famous wizard to see if that is, indeed, the case.

"Professor Horvnth, what is your take on this? You have reported on the activities of the occult many times."

"Um, yes, you see. It is my doctorate, that is. The study of the phenomena.

"The diagram is like some I have seen, but is also unlike them. I was at a session where a demon was called, only for a moment. It ... well, I tried to explain it away as fiction. Theater, you understand, but wasn't able to refute, er, well! It is a fascinating and somewhat scary thing when, in a manner of speaking, a thing seems to...."

"Yes, yes. what about this case?"

"Well, we can never know for certain, you understand. It may be far from the actual truth. I make no claims as to accuracy. My own personal belief is that he was trying to call up a demon, and was successful. The problem eventuating was that he didn't call up the one he, in a manner of speaking, wished to ... you see. That would be a danger of the process. One may call up a demon, but not a specific one, I would tend to assume. We can never know how often that has happened, considering the result would be much like what President Frecht discovered in his last few seconds of...."

"In short, he called up a demon, got the wrong one, and died for his trouble?"

"Er, in a manner of speaking. My problem with that is that he would have to be ... I won't say ... but I must ... evil. For it to work. That would not seem to be the Frecht we knew. Or thought we knew. There were times when I...."

"So it will remain a puzzle from many perspectives. Back to the studio. Sylventh?"

"Well, I guess you could say that's what happened," Dram remarked.

"In a manner of speaking."

Murder Mysteries Styles of C. D. Moulton

© 2012 & 2013 C. D. Moulton

Shorts from the various murder mystery series by C. D. Moulton

The C. D. Grimes, PI Mysteries

The Clint Faraday Mysteries

The Det. Lt. Nick Storie series

This is a compilation to demonstrate the styles used in the various series. You will find that they are somewhat different. CD Grimes is a billionaire private detective and works within the strictures of that personality. Clint Faraday is a retired PI from Florida living in Panama'. Nick Storie is a police homicide detective in Naples, Florida, so uses police type methods. CD is somewhat pompous and determined with a philosophy that he must always consider that he will solve a case. The later works get him into a more adventure-type situation. Clint is popular with the Indigenos in Panama' and marries a beautiful girl in about book 34. He has all types of cases. Nick is a problem solver and approaches things in a slightly different manner.

I appear in the CD Grimes and Clint Faraday mysteries, usually as he detectives' nutty musician/botanist friend. I started that in the CD Grimes books as a counterpoint to Cal Jones.

The reason for this one is that people have told me they really like the Nick Storie books, but aren't wild about the CD Grimes books and vice versa. The Clint books are well-received by people who have visited Panama' and understand some of the huge differences in this paradise place and the states or Canada or Germany or whatever.

Anyhow, I hope you like them all! – C. D. Moulton

CD Grimes: From #7: A Question of Murder

No Fishing From Bridge

"CD, Hon! Can you come to the phone?" Alma called from the potting bench at the far end of the Cattleya house. I sighed and wiped my hands, then went to take it from her.

"It's Cal," she said, then went back to her repotting.

"Yo, Cal?" I greeted.

"Yo, CD. I've got something here that may be right down your alley," Cal said (Cal's Lt. Calvin Jones, FHP, a good family friend as well as a business acquaintance).

"What? And where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the south bridge from Bonita to Ft. Myers Beach," he said. "North end. Seems we have a body. Apparent drowning. Black male, twenty three years old."

"This going to be twenty questions?" I asked. "I'm not all that close to you. Why me?"

"It's Lark Hinson," he said simply.

"Cal, I don't have any idea who La ... Oh," I said. "Another one from Bayou Critter? Bass, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, CD," Cal replied, tiredly. "Listen, CD. I don't think this is drug related and I damned well know that three people from one little local rock band didn't all have accidents! There are two of them left.

"I've asked John, from the Marine Patrol – he's out in the chopper – to pick you up. He should be there any second. I'll take you home."

I could hear the chopper in the distance, so I sighed again and promised I'd come. John could have me there pretty fast, but I didn't see any reason for me to go. This wouldn't be the kind of thing that seeing the victims would solve.

I told Alma I was going, went to the house to pick up some things, and was on the chopper in less than five minutes. That little job is really fast for a chopper. I suppose Cal held things up, but not much had been moved when I arrived. John went on out again and I went to Cal, who pointed to the edge of the water just under the bridge.

I looked over the body after Cal introduced me to the locals and said he had called me because I was working on a case that could well be related. The coroner was examining the location, so I stood off and saw what little there was to see. It was about half tide, leaving ten or eleven feet from the water to the underside of the bridge. There was a steady stream of traffic across the bridge, but the solid concrete structure didn't budge from it and didn't "drum" like some. The coroner told the photographer to get a couple more shots, then came toward me.

"What's the verdict?" I asked.

"He's dead," was the reply.

I hoped this one wasn't going to be like Slats Lattimer, who I despised at first sight (And who returned the favor. There was no reason for it, it was just chemical).

"You from the FHP? Why are they on it?" he continued.

"I'm working on a related case, maybe," I answered. "They're automatically on it if anything happened on the bridge."

He nodded, then said, "Good chance. Heavy blow to the head. Lots of weight behind it. Could have hit something. A rock – if he came off headfirst. Can't be sure until we get some kind of deterioration and residuals tests done, but I'd say six or eight hours.

"'Course, something hard and heavy could have hit him and would do almost the same thing. Prelim says he was unconscious then and drowned, though the blow fractured the skull, and he would have had a hard time, regardless. Sixty forty he'd of died anyhow. No paint'r anything, so I seriously doubt he was hit on the head by a car. Lab reports this afternoon or tomorrow."

I looked at the body from a little closer.

"What ripped the skin on his hand like that?" I asked.

"Blunt, maybe a quarter of an inch thick," he replied. "Could'a been anything."

I moved back and looked up at the bridge. It would have happened between two and four in the morning, if the time was right. The tide would have been about an hour from low. I estimated where the edge of the water would have been and looked upward from there. There was a metal sign just over the spot with the bolts trailing brown rust along the bridge rail and under it, so I climbed up to the road and went out on the bridge.

It said "No Fishing From Bridge." It was one of those metal signs on a galvanized steel pole that was bolted to the bridge railing.

I started back, then turned around to inspect the sign, then the pole.

"Hey, Doc!" I called. "Come here, will you?"

He came grunting up the slope and out to me.

"Is that his blood on those bolts?" I asked, pointing to a galvanized bolt with a brownish-red stain. He called the lab boys over. They were able to get prints from the pole and a sample of the blood.

"It'll be maybe a foot deep down there at low tide," I said. "There are plenty of rocks. He was hanging on here for dear life when someone pried him loose.

"He had his foot on the stanchion there and pitched over. If he had dropped feet first, he may have broken legs, but he most probably wouldn't be dead."

"I reckon they'd of shot him or something, so he'd be just as dead," he said. "Prints on that pole look like his. Little loops and a scar across the thumb."

This one I respected. He noticed things.

That was about all that happened there, so Cal and I got in his cruiser as soon as the body was hauled off and headed for a little coffee house he stopped at sometimes for some lunch and talk.

"Now," I said, after we'd ordered. "Sonny Jim McElveen, keyboards, `Harpo' Drake, lead guitar, and now `Lark' Hinson, lead vocals and bass. We have `Sticks' Gordon, drums and lead vocals, and Ed Mayer, rhythm guitar and wind.

"McElveen's brakes fail and he goes off I seventy five into the side of a log truck. It happens. Drake falls off a fourth story roof onto a parking lot in Naples. It happens, but not so often two nights apart, and both after midnight, and both members of the same band, still, it happens.

"Now Hinson. This one leaves evidence up there that he had a grip on a signpost and was forced off of it. Same band. Two nights later. That doesn't happen. No way!

"No evidence of any drug use and not enough alcohol to have that kind of effect, even without Hinson's obvious murder. I need anything you've learned from Clewis, in Naples, or the sheriff who handled the wreck."

"We handled the wreck," Cal said. "I did that myself. That's what caught my attention when the second one bought it. That's why I said something was fishy."

"You checked the wreck?" I asked. "Why did those brakes fail?"

"I've got the lab boy's report in the car. I'll get it for you," he replied and went out. The lunch was served, then he handed it to me. It said the car had been traveling at the speed limit on the interstate, had taken the off ramp onto exit 21 and had slammed into the log truck that was sitting at the intersection, waiting for traffic to clear. I knew that.

There was a split under the negative post on the battery. It was a side post. The battery acid had run down the grounding wire and dripped on the steel brake line where it went from the left to the right of the car on the cross-member and had eaten almost through the line. The emergency brake cable wasn't attached at the "Y" brace. Now there was plenty of evidence something was very wrong! Why hadn't Cal seen it?

"Cal, don't those brakes have separate line systems front and rear?" I asked. "Why wouldn't the rear brakes hold without the cable?"

"No balance block," he replied. "There was just a four-way connector on it. The car came without power brakes and McElveen changed it over himself. It came with a six and he put the V-eight in it when the six blew. He put a low ratio rear in it, too. They pulled their gear in a trailer for awhile before they started getting good bookings and could afford to get roadies and their own truck. That's probably when he disconnected the emergency brake. Never got around to hooking it up."

"They still got the car?" I asked.

"Yeah. Storage place," he said. "I didn't have any reason to be suspicious then, CD."

"If you saw things like I do you would've screamed bloody murder," I said. "There's one thing that really stands out like a sore thumb – like several sore thumbs on the same hand!"

He was used to my spotting inconsistencies he didn't see, so just said, "Clue me?"

"It was three ten AM when the wreck happened," I said. "He came off the freeway at high speed. He hit a log truck waiting for traffic to clear. That alone would mean I needed a hell of a lot of questions answered! After that, so much wrong with the brakes all at once?

"If you want one more little detail, that was a seventy nine Camarro. They had equalizer blocks with or without power brakes. With front disk brakes, you have to have one."

"I was suspicious about the brake system," he agreed. "What do you mean about the rest of it?"

"Number one, he came off I seventy five at such a high speed. Did he often do that? At that particular intersection?" I asked.

"He lived about a mile down the road there. He did it every night after the show was over," Cal said.

"Okay. That tells me a hell of a lot," I replied. "The log truck – we'll leave the fact there aren't any log trucks on the roads at three in the morning – didn't come off the freeway just in front of him, or he would've already braked, found the brakes weren't holding, and stayed on the interstate to drift to a stop across the overpass."

"So? What are you getting at?" he asked.

"How many cars were there on the side road?" I asked.

"Maybe one every ten or fifteen minutes," he answered. "Oh, Jesus! I didn't see something that obvious?! What the hell was the truck waiting for there? WHAT traffic?"

"So you begin to see," I said. "It says here the emergency brake pedal was to the floorboard. That's why I want to see that car!"

"Now I see it all," Cal agreed. "If he hadn't hooked up the things he wouldn't have hit them! He came off the interstate as fast as he always did at the time he always did to find a log truck with no reason to be there stopped at an intersection just ahead of him. He hit the brakes hard and the line popped, there was no balance block, so no brakes. He hit the emergency pedal, expecting it to stop him, but it was disconnected. He was doing better than fifty when he slammed into that truck!

"I think I remember something else about that car, too – now. Let's eat and go look at it."

"What do you remember?" I asked, as he searched through the report. He folded it and handed it to me with a finger under a notation: "Transmission was in Lo."

"He knew enough about cars to know there was no way to jam it into park with it moving, so he put it in lo to slow with motor compression," he said. "Damn! I see so many of them that I got sloppy! I deserve a good swift HARD kick in the ass!"

We finished our lunch, then went to the police storage yard. I had to jack up one side of the car, which was accordianed to such an extent it was hard to tell what it was.

"The brake line is held to the `Y' chuck with steel beads," I explained, from underneath. "To replace them, you just slide them in. The master line is tied to the frame with a piece of copper wire and the side lines are tied around the bell housing with bits of monofilament. Took maybe two minutes."

We checked the line where the acid ate through.

"The old engine had blown oil for months, if not years. It's caked on the ends of the line, but was wiped away so the acid would reach the steel," Cal noted. "Good job. It's not at all obvious and could have been done when he changed the engines – but why would he just wipe off part of it?

"God, CD! I really blew this one! Look at the balance block lines! All nice and clean, and the four-way is nice and clean, too! The brake line's filthy up by the master cylinder, which he changed when he added power!

"God! I really blew this one!"

"You had no reason for suspicion, at the time," I said. "I wonder about that roof where number two supposedly fell off."

"I don't give myself excuses," Cal snapped. "There aren't any. I blew it all the way through! I WAS suspicious about Drake. I checked everything. He went up on that roof a lot at odd times when he was writing music or lyrics. His girlfriend and his brother said he went up there to be alone. No distractions. There wasn't anything overlooked there. There just wasn't any leftover clue. Nothing obvious."

"We'll get a report and see," I said. "Like you always say, I see things from a different angle than most people."

We checked around, but didn't find anything else there, not that we needed it, now. Something might be important, later.

The next stop was the sheriff's office to look at the reports on Harpo Drake. He got the name because he had a head full of curly blond hair. I read over the report, then asked if the officer who had investigated that roof was around. He was called on the radio and was asked one question.

"Was Drake's acoustic guitar and/or note-paper found on the roof?"

"No. Nothing."

"So that would tell me to look further," I mused.

"Why?" the cop at the desk asked. "I mean, we knew about the other band member, so we were damned careful. There was no reason to suspect anything."

"You know Hinson was murdered last night?" Cal asked. "That throws a lot different light on things. I think I see what CD means about that roof. His girlfriend and brother both told you he went up there to write music at odd times. They said that was the only reason he went up there."

"So?" the cop asked.

"How you gonna write me some music without your instrument, or at least paper for the words?" I asked. "Let's go, Cal. We have to get to the last two survivors before whoever is knocking them off can finish the job!" We walked out with the cop staring at us.

We went back into Bonita Springs, where Ed Mayer lived. He wasn't home, so we went on into Ft. Myers to look up "Sticks" Gordon.

Gordon was a tall skinny black "dude" who was scared as hell about something. If I hadn't been with Cal he would've slammed the door in my face. He didn't much trust Cal because he was a cop, black or not.

"You know about Lark?" Cal asked.

"Yeah, Man," he answered. "I've heard of music critics being hard-assed, but this is ridiculous!"

"No jokes," I said. "There are only two of you left. We get some information or there's nothing we can do to save you from whoever this is. There's got to be something you've seen or heard or read or something. You have to tell us."

"Man, I swear! I don't know nothing'!" he moaned. "I thought about it ever since Harpo. I was sort of worried about Sonny – the way he took care of that car. Ain't no way he let the brakes go bad, Man. He was always adjusting' and tinkerin'! What was a log truck down' there at three in the morning? Bullshit, Man! And Harpo was on the roof without his box, Man? Bullshit!

"I don't know what's going' on, Man! If I had fifty bucks, I'd be gutta here!"

"You make plenty in that band," Cal said. "Why don't you go?"

"I got expenses, Man! I ain't got no stash!" he cried.

"Crack?" I asked.

"Hey, Man! I ain't THAT stupid!" he said, angrily. "All the shit I see? No way, man!"

"His grandmother is in a convalescent home and gets most of what he makes," a voice said, behind us. I turned to see a rather nice-looking girl in the doorway.

"Hey! That ain't none of their goddamned business!" Sticks cried.

"Baby, you gonna be another meatloaf on a slab you don't get out of here!" she said. "I got a little set by. I'll sell some ass if I have to. I don't want you dead!"

"You don't have to prostitute yourself," I said. "I'll get him out of here until this is settled. We have to get some kind of lead, is all. Maybe you'd better get some stuff together and come with us now, Sticks. The wrong person sees cops coming in here and they could get itchy."

He was really scared and didn't see anything else to do, so he started throwing things into a cardboard box.

"I got a suggestion," the girl told Cal. "You thought about maybe seeing who was drivin' that truck?

"Is it true that Lark had the whole side of his head caved in?"

"I'm definitely going to see who was driving the truck," I agreed. "I'd say Lark hit a rock, headfirst, when he was shoved off of the bridge. I don't know how long he was able to hold onto the sign. He had one foot against a stanchion post and was able to hold...."

"I'd say you thought of something," Cal said. "What?"

"It can wait," I replied. "It's an outside possibility that's not going anywhere. Let's get Sticks safe and sound, somewhere, then we'll check on our truck driver. We can go back into Bonita Springs by the beach route and I'll stop to check when we cross the bridge."

We took Sticks and his girlfriend to a place Cal knew about where they'd be safe, then stopped at the FHP offices for the information on the truck driver. He lived down toward Naples, so we would stop at Ed Mayer's place again on our way.

We stopped on the bridge. I couldn't see what I wanted from on the bridge and was too far from the shore, but Cal has a good pair of binoculars, so I went below to study the sign and below it.

Bingo!

"Cal!" I yelled. "Radio for the crime lab boys to get out here right away with something they can get under that rail base with! They'll need cameras and such!"

I climbed back onto dry land, after making the best sketch I could of what I saw.

"What you got?" Cal asked.

"I've wondered at that tear on the back of Lark's hand all along," I said. "It was on the back, not where he might grip on the inside – yet his blood was on that bolt. How could that have happened?

"It couldn't – unless he deliberately tore the skin!

"When I first noticed the sign base from down here, I wondered how the rust marks got down UNDER the rail base.

"He held onto that sign, tore his hand, and wrote us a note that will, I think, identify our killer!"

"What does it say?" he asked.

"That's what I don't understand," I replied. "It says one plus one equals zero, then an R and what looks like a lower case e and a straight line with a bit of a hook outward at its base. It's all a bit rough.

"Mean anything to you?"

"They cut an album awhile back. One plus one equals zero was a cut on it. It was the one that got them started, I think," he said. "I don't know about the other things. REJ doesn't ring a bell, at all."

"The hook on the J turns out, so it isn't a J," I said. "It could be B and F or P with a smear. We have R – E something or P – F something or something else."

We waited there for the lab van, explained what we'd found, and headed for Mayer's again. He was just coming in. We asked him a lot of questions, but he had no answers. He was planning to move in with friends in Tampa, other musicians, until we learned something.

"One more thing," Cal said. "Does one plus one equals zero R E mean anything to you?"

"That's the lead cut on our album," he replied. "I don't know what R E may mean. Why?"

"It may be important," I replied. "Where can we get one of those albums?"

He went inside and returned with a couple of albums.

"We sell them, T-shirts and bumper stickers, where we play for extra dough," he explained. "We have the lead cut backed with Thundercrest on a single, but I don't have any copies of that here."

We thanked him and told him to be very careful. He agreed he wasn't going to be anywhere with less than five people for the rest of his life. We got back in Cal's car and headed for Naples and our truck driver, John Dowling. I flipped the album over to read the back and came up very short.

"Cal?" I said. "Harpo Drake wasn't with Bayou Critter when they made this album. He didn't write their big song."

"So? Bands are always changing members," he replied. "Does that mean anything?"

"Listen to this," I said. "There are pictures of the members of the band with just their first names, except for the listing of credits.

"There's a notation across the bottom. `All songs property of Bayou Critter. All rights reserved.' The band members were Drum Sticks, The Lark, Sunny with a `U', Ed Mayer may not – and 'Red in the Bed.'

"This is a very interesting little item here. Says that `Thundercrest' and `One plus One equals Zero' and `Too Late' were written by Red Dowling!"

That was the first time I ever saw Cal Jones take his eyes off the road while driving. He swerved a bit, then pulled onto the side. He took the PB radio and asked for a patch to the main office.

"Dowling, John B.," he said. "Any aliases listed?"

"No AKA's," came back.

Cal rang off and looked at me.

"I was at the accident. John B. Dowling was mostly bald, but his sideburns and moustache were red. Very!"

"Let's go back to see Sticks," I said. "I think Mayer'll clam up. He's putting on a good front, but he's more scared than any of them."

Cal nodded. We headed back to his friend's house, where we called Sticks and Alicia, his girlfriend, out onto the porch. "Tell us about Red Dowling," I said.

He looked shocked, looked at Cal, looked at me and groaned. "I never once thought of that turkey honkey son of a bitch!" he said. "I didn't even know he was still around!"

"His real name is John B. Dowling," Cal said. "He was driver of that log hauler. Lark wrote one plus one equals zero then started to write Red in his own blood under that bridge. Tell us what it's all about."

Sticks shook his head. Alicia said, "I'll tell you.

"Red was with the band when they started. He was supposed to be their manager, because he had some connections. He wrote some of the songs, but he was the one insisted all material was to be property of the band and not any individual. He was takin' his part of what they made, plus was chargin' for bein' manager. He didn't want to play the clubs. He wanted to just play parties and concerts and wouldn't listen when everbody said they had to play the circuits before they could play any concerts.

"Last year, when Tina Turner was playin' in Lakeland or St. Pete or somethin', he said he would get them in as lead-on or warmups. Sort of a front band gig. They went to some company, some promoter, and Red played big shit for everybody, sayin' he played for several big names in the early seventies. That's when they found out he was a roadie who drove the bus for Jefferson Airplane or one of those really good names. That's all. Tina's promoters laughed them out of the place and made some snide remarks about Red's only reputation was one for bongin' the young boys who hung around the stage. Red went into a rage and quit the band. He was just real embarrassed about us all knowin' he was nothing' was all it was about, but Harpo was movin' out from the band he had 'til then. It was breakin' up, so they made a deal.

"Bayou Critter had cut the album, already. The name and all the stuff was in everybody's name, except Red's – by his own doin'! He said he didn't want to be recognized.

"Red wrote three songs on the album and Ed insisted we make a contract to give him royalties if any of them ever went anywhere, and on profits if they sold a lot of records. I think there's about sixty bucks in the bank that belongs to him from what they already sold.

"He got mad when they signed Harpo and said he'd kill them all before they made it without him. He claimed they were only tryin' to get rid of him because he was over forty. I told him that was maybe one of the hundreds of reasons and he slapped me. Lark cold-cocked him and told him to stay the hell away from us. That was the last I ever heard of him."

"This was all two years ago?" Cal said.

"Just about," she replied.

"Then you can identify him?" I asked.

"Oh, brother, can I!" she said.

"Will you go with us?" Cal asked. "Both of you?"

We headed back to Naples, where the sheriff met us. All of us went to Dowling's address His landlady told Cal he wouldn't be home before six thirty, because the sawmill didn't close until six. Yes, he was a truck driver. Made deliveries.

We went to an Italian restaurant and had a decent meal. Cal wondered how he had gotten away with taking that log truck. Why hadn't his boss raised hell?

We were waiting for him when he got home, and that, along with other questions, was answered: His cousin was dispatcher and had let him con the place into letting him make deliveries of select cypress logs for cutting at the mill. He delivered at night (His own suggestion) to make extra money. We learned he had done the whole car thing at the club, just after the band started playing. The band parked it in a special place where no one could see him. He filed the brake line partly through, then dripped acid on it, took off the equalizer block and put on the four-way box and disconnected the emergency brake. Sonny was always within a few minutes of the same time heading home, so he stopped the truck at the intersection and had put out flares so other traffic wouldn't hit him, waited, and took the flares in after he was hit. If anyone had seen, he would have left the flares and claimed the truck had stalled. He had a large tire mallet he was going to use on Sonny if the crash didn't kill him. It would still look like an accident.

Harpo was no problem. He called him and said to meet him on the roof, that he was selling his classic Les Paul, which Harpo had always wanted, even before he went with Critter, but that he couldn't be seen because he was in trouble, which was why he was selling the guitar. Harpo had given him sixteen hundred dollars. Red had shown the guitar on the rail around the roof, Harpo was sitting on the rail, one push, put the money in the case with the guitar, go down the stairs and out the back. Easy. AND he made sixteen hundred!

Lark had agreed to meet a girl at the bridge. He was always chasing after some chick, so he met him and had walked out on the bridge with him. He drew a gun and forced him to climb onto the rail and jump, but Lark had grabbed the sign and swung back around. Red had to climb on the rail and reach down to hit him over the head with the gun, which had no bullets, anyhow. He threw it off the bridge after Lark fell.

Next was to be Ed. He would be more difficult, but maybe the stereo in the bathtub or something. Sticks was going to die when the building he lived in burned down with him and "That skinny loudmouthed bitch" still inside – the same night Red moved to Texas. He was actually bragging about it! He actually thought he had outsmarted everyone. Even when he was handcuffed and put in the car, he claimed they had no proof. It wasn't until we showed him the pictures of what Lark had written in his own blood under that bridge that he broke down and told us all about it.

Cal drove me home. It was almost nine o'clock, so I had been gone just at twelve hours. Alma asked if I had taken on another case, and would I be expected to be away most of the time for awhile, but I told her it was nothing. One of those things that only takes a few minutes.

I asked her how she spent her day. She said she had gone to the doctor's and then gone to the bridge to the island to fish for trigger fish, but the tide was going out and the walk was on the outer side, so she decided it wouldn't be worth it to fish the flats at half tide. She couldn't fish under the bridge where the fish would be at half tide. There are signs saying No Fishing From Bridge.

Clint Faraday from Shortcuts

Bah! Humbug!

"Feliz Navidades!" Silvio called from his boat as he passed Clint's home. Clint was on the deck having his coffee. He waved and returned the greeting to the family of Indios in the boat. They were headed out to the mainland side of Bocas del Drago where Silvio's father and uncle had a large finca on the peninsula. Judi Lum, his nextdoor neighbor, called them to her dock to hand out little mementos to the children and to present Maria, Silvio's wife, with a large pineapple upside-down cake. She baked them to present to her good Indio friends on Christmas every year.

Clint went inside to put on his formal Christmas clothes, khaki shorts and a white tee shirt (he always dressed that formally here) with flip-flops. He went to town to talk with Jim and friends a bit.

Jim was a regular at The Golden Grill who met with several friends most days at a table on the end. It was a great place to people-watch, across from the parque. Jim's been on Bocas 17 years.

"Another Christmas in Bocas!" Jim greeted. "I think it'll stop raining pretty soon."

Bob came from the inside. He lived there. He greeted everyone and looked lost. He was a good friend of Doug and Christie, who owned the place, and would bus the tables just for something to do. The Grill wasn't open on Christmas day. Almost no place was, but they gathered there anyhow. None of them had family here and they shared interests.

Dave came by with three Indios. He was carrying a guitar and said he was going to the big party at Silvio's father's place. The Indios invited Clint to go. He was undecided, then declined.

The trouble with the parties of that type was that there were always a few who drank too much, then they would wrestle and, it looked like, fight. It was only a contest among friends, though they would beat each other to bloody pulps. It was a sort of custom. Clint didn't understand it or like it.

Tim rode up on his bike. Dave said goodbye to the group and walked off, ignoring Tim. He found Tim to be a rude, vulgar blowhard. Tim had the habit of coming into a group when he knew one or two and dominating the conversation. He would as much as ignore the rest of them. Clint had once done as Dave suggested, Googled him, and found most of what Tim bragged about was stuff that never happened.

Tim ignored the greetings from Bob and Clint and spoke directly to Jim. "I had to come in to get some fresh bread, but the panaderia's closed. Where is there anything today?"

"The China has bread," Jim answered.

"I like to get the fresh stuff!"

"Well, I'd better go," Clint said. "See you, Bob, Jim." He walked off with Tim telling Jim how he always had fresh bread back in Vermont or wherever.

So go the hell back to Vermont!

Sally Benton, a tourist from England, greeted him. He talked a few minutes with her. A gaggle of Indio urchins came by trying to get him to buy some hand-made bracelets or trinkets. He didn't buy anything, but gave each of them a dime.

He walked on. Two young black kids came and demanded, "Darme un quarter!"

Clint noticed for the umpteenth time how the Indios had something to trade for money or would work for it. The blacks demanded money. He told them to get lost.

Cultural differences. The Indio work ethic. They worked from the time they were eight years old.

He would walk the circle (well, elongated oval) around to sixth street, then back across to the other side of town. The rain wasn't enough to bother him. He spoke with a number of people and returned to the main drag at Hawaii, a supermarket. He turned and headed back toward Saigon. He was passing through the colorful cemetery where a number of people were visiting to place fresh flowers on the graves when his phone buzzed. Sergio, the violent crimes police captain.

"Yo, Serg! Merry Christmas!"

"Bah! Humbug!" Sergio replied. "It's not the best time for a murder! I'm the only one here!"

"Murder?" Clint said. "Where this time?"

"Solarte. Care to come along?"

Clint sighed. He didn't have anything else to do so said he'd be at the station in five minutes.

"What do we have?" Clint asked.

"I don't know. Maybe just one of those family things, but this one is rich so we have to go through the forms," Sergio replied. "They could have waited a day!"

"Cause of death?" Clint asked.

"I'd say probably cyanide from the description of the body," Sergio answered.

Dr. Astrades, the ME, was along. "I'd like to give cyanide to the one who had to do this on Christmas!" he said. "One day a year without this kind of shit is too much to ask?"

"Yup! 'Fraid so!" Clint returned. Doc gave him the finger.

They went around to the back side of the island where there were some very fancy houses. Most of them were owned by gringos, but some, like this one, were wealthy Panamanians. The Indio kids came to the boat to hug Clint. Their parents all greeted with the "Feliz Navidades!" call.

Clint asked them what had happened. They didn't know. They weren't welcome at "That place."

So. The people weren't liked by the Indios. As amiable as the Indios were normally, that could say quite a lot.

"People are arrogant assholes?" Clint asked Basilio. "Type who are 'better-than-thou'?"

"Better than God," Basilio agreed.

"Just as dead as they'd be if they were trash like us," Moises said sourly.

Sergio and Doc said they were going on to the house. Clint could come up after he talked with his friends. They knew Clint could get information from the people much easier and faster than they could. The people didn't like or trust officials of any kind, far too often with damned good reason.

Clint chatted with several people. The kids hated "those super-rich, super-religious, super ass-holes" in the big fancy super-stupid house.

The house was certainly very much overdone. Verandahs, lower level party patio, brick bar-b-que, wrought-iron tables with glass tops, cupolas, etc. A very fancy steel and concrete fence with spiked tips and razor wire. There was a big fancy 38' boat on a dock that was certainly farther out and longer than the zoning would allow. They'd cut a lot of mangroves along the shore, which was totally illegal.

The kids said they were super-pious types. They went around thumping their Bibles and reciting their rosaries, then bribed officials the next day to go over the law. They treated the locals like serfs. They had more money than the president, but they were all sour and totally miserable in their personal lives. They had nothing but money and money doesn't love anyone. The locals pitied them because they were so empty inside. They had things, but didn't have anyone who cared about them, so they had nothing. The Indio philosophy.

Clint went through, noting the layout and overdone everything. Ostentation of this degree was rare. Four, count 'em, four chapels.

He looked back from the house steps down the hill toward the dock. Looking back, it was a peaceful, beautiful view. The house and crap were dischord.

There was a row of shoes beside the door and a notice that shoes were to be removed before entering the house. Slippers were provided on the shelf inside the door.

Sheesh!

Clint slipped off his flip-flops and went inside where he slipped on slippers from individual plastic bags with the size marked on them. They were laid out very neatly along a shelf to the left inside the door. Another notice stated that the slippers were disposable. Toss them into the canasta under the end of the bench when exiting.

Double sheesh!

"This is HORRIBLE!" Maribel Vasquez cried. "My husband MURDERED in his own home! Oh, WHY did he insist on living out here in the jungle with that bunch of SAVAGES all around who wanted to kill us all because they are so JEALOUS of the nice things we have? Oh, WHY couldn't we live in Panama' City? WHY did he have to come HERE where these awful pagan savages HATE us because we're so SUPERIOR to them? Oh, WHY wouldn't he LISTEN to me and stay in Panama' City where we know so many important people and can trust them? Oh, WHY?!

"We DO know almost everyone important in the government, you know. My uncle is a very well-known representative and my brother and sister are important lawyers. (This in a more normal snobby voice.)

"Oh, WHY?!" (Back to the dramatic crap.)

"Because you couldn't feel so superior to anyone when you were among your own type," Clint replied. "Is this group the only ones who were here last night? Was anyone else on the grounds?"

"Just those PAGANS from that dirty village who come no matter what we do!" she protested. "We can't keep them OUT! They have some way to get past the fence to STEAL everything we have!"

"No one from that village comes here to steal anything from you. They see what you have and what it's brought you and don't want any part of it," Clint said. "I take it you here are our only suspects?"

"SUSPECTS?!" she screeched. "SUSPECTS?! It was those ... those evil PAGANS down there! WE aren't SUSPECTS in anything!"

"They have no access to cyanide," Doc said with a very sour look at them. "You have. That makes you suspects.

"Clint, would you like to see the scene?"

Clint followed him to the stairs as Maribel was about to faint from the INSANE idea she could be a suspect in anything like this HORRIBLE HORROR!

"That's your suspect list right down there," Doc said. "The wife and two kids and her mother."

"There's one more," Clint said. "I think this one is going to turn into a case where we have to use some of the more modern CSI techniques than you have here.

"We'll make do with the older tried-and-true stuff. Can you seal the room to where no one can come in for about an hour and let me detect?

"I know I don't have any real authority here, but I think I've seen something that's you're too close to to see."

"You have authority. Sergio hired you as an aide and consultant. I countersigned the form," he replied. "Where in this room is there anything? It's damned near sterile!

"Clint, if you need to know, he died between eleven and twelve last night. You have authority. Go for it!"

"Which will work against them, I promise," Clint said. "My clues were in that lawn and in the village."

Doc shrugged and showed Clint what he'd found. Carlo was laid out on the bed in a peaceful manner and had taken a drink of juice that was laced with sodium cyanide. He was dead in less than a minute. Nothing in the room had been disturbed. The juice was on the lamp table by the bed. Vasquez was dressed in tan pajamas and a mahogany-red smoking jacket.

"Who found the body?" Clint asked.

"The wife. She came to see what was wrong when he didn't come to breakfast precisely at seven thirty," Doc answered. "Apparently his habits were as strict and formal as everything else here." He waved and went out.

Clint looked through the drawers, finding everything neat and orderly. The huge armoire had several expensive suits hung with plastic covers on all of them, shirts ditto, a rack of ties, belts, socks had every item precisely placed. The drawers had underwear, handkerchiefs, etc. in neat stacks. The tie-clips, lighters, penknives, pens, cigarette cases and lighters had places and were in them. The writing desk had pens, paper, pads, a computer, printer, ink cartridges, CD trays ... everything precisely in its place. Everything sterile.

That described the whole house. Sterile. Like a picture in a magazine. A house, NOT a home. People resided here, they didn't live here.

Clint turned on the computer and read the list of recently used programs, then to the MSWord program to see the list of recent documents. He tried to bring up some of them, but Vasquez apparently erased them from the documents file. The latest was simply "document 1" and no record kept. The earlier ones were named, such as "House 21" which was dated Dic. 21, 2008:14:52

"Document 1" was dated Dic. 24, 2008:23:14. It was written last night at 11:14.

Clint went to the printer cache and discovered that "document 1" was printed, then the cache cleared. There was no draft saved.

Vasquez printed something, went to bed and died. Where was it? It would have to still be in that room if he didn't give it to one of the others.

He soon went back downstairs where he was introduced to Emilio and Margarita Vasquez and an old woman named Bonita Sevilla. He asked them the usual questions, then if Carlo had given anyone anything last night after eleven o'clock or so.

"Anything like what?" Emilio asked.

"Anything. A glass of water, a book, a cookie, a piece of paper. Anything."

They looked around at each other and said, no, he hadn't come down from his bedroom after he went upstairs at ten thirty.

"What was his mood? Was he acting strangely, like he was afraid of anyone?"

"WHAT do you MEAN?! My husband wasn't afraid of ANYthing," Maribel said huffily. "The idea! What would he have to be afraid of?"

"He is dead. He had something or someone he would be insane not to be afraid of," Sergio pointed out. Emilio said that was damned well true! (And crossed himself quickly when he said "damned.") Margarita said he did act like there was something wrong, but he wasn't afraid of anything. They had wished each other a good Christmas, he looked like he was thinking about something, then had returned the wish and gone upstairs.

"When you said 'Merry Christmas!' he looked like – maybe it was not merry for him?" Clint asked.

"Well ... yes. I think that would describe it," she answered.

"We had exchanged gifts. We always do that on Christmas Eve just before midnight," Bonita said. "He left his gifts right here in the parlor. There." She pointed to some packages on a table in the corner. Clint went to look at them: An expensive silk tie with a silver clip. A billfold. A silk bathrobe. A hand-tooled leather date book. A pocket calculator with the date book. A gold pen. All impersonal.

"Well, I have to get some more information," Clint said. "I have to call a friend in Changuinola and then come back. I would appreciate if no one entered the room except with Doc when they remove the body until he has a chance to see some things."

"See what things?!" Maribel cried. "I WILL NOT allow anyone to poke around in his private papers and ... and things! I will NOT!"

"Oh, mother, there's nothing you can do about it," Margarita said. "It will just go on and on if you start that dramatic stuff,"

"I most certainly CAN and WILL do something about it! I know important people! I will go over your head! You will NOT...!"

"Mom, SHUT UP!" Emilio spat. "You're acting in just the way that makes us all suspects! Can't you see that?"

"No! We are NOT the kind of people who are suspects in this kind of sordid thing!" she spat back.

"Then stop acting like you are!" Sergio ordered. "You are acting like a guilty person. An innocent person would want everything possible to be done to catch the killer of one in their family."

"Well, of COURSE I want them caught and sent to jail for the rest of their life!" she cried.

"Then why are you trying so hard to obstruct investigation of the crime?" Sergio asked.

"Got you there, Mom!" Emilio said. "Officer, Mr. Faraday, do what you have to do. We won't go near that room. If someone's trying to kill off the family I think it would be best if we went back to, as Mom suggested, Panama' City. I don't feel safe here at all. There're too many people who resent us. I know it's our own fault. We come here to their place and act like royalty. I've read enough crime books to know we can't do that. I do want to go to a hotel on Bocas, though. The rest can do as they please."

"WhatEVER do you mean? Kill off the family? It's our fault?" Maribel demanded.

"Didn't you say, repeatedly, that it was someone ... some savage from the village ... who killed your husband?" Sergio asked. "I'd think all of you would feel very much threatened.

"Emilio, you can go to Bocas if you want to. It's the seat of jurisdiction."

Maribel was looking truly shocked now. She mumbled that it would be best if they did get away from the island. It was true that she thought they hated the family and would want to wipe them out. She had accused them of the crime and they would want to get her for that. She didn't mean it the way it sounded. She was in shock and not thinking.

Emilio said he hadn't noticed any difference. Maybe one in that family was worth his salt.

If they left Clint could possibly find what he knew had to be somewhere in that house – if it hadn't already been destroyed. Clint went quickly through the other downstairs rooms. The huge kitchen was spotless (as expected) with everything having a place and everything in its place. The refrigerator was sterile, the stove was sterile, the dish cabinets were sterile, the food pantry was sterile. The garbage had been taken outside somewhere.

The juice was in individual serving cartons in the refrigerator. There was no left-over from what would have to be a large meal, so either only exactly enough for the family was cooked or left-overs were thrown away or the cook took them home.

The shiny silverware, actual pure silver, was in a locked chest. The key was in the cabinet in the dining room where Sergio said it was kept.

Clint had never seen a place outside of CSI labs and such that was so sterile. Not even they would be THAT sterile.

He couldn't get the word out of his mind.

He went outside to the garbage bin. There was no organic matter inside. Even cans and cartons had been rinsed before being thrown away. The empty juice cartons were in the bin.

Why? Wouldn't the used carton be in the bedroom where he opened it to pour the juice?

He finished his search and headed back to Isla Colon. Things were exactly as he felt they would be when he looked over that scene and talked to those people.

"Doug? Clint Faraday here," Clint said into his phone in the morning. "I hope you and yours had a good Christmas?"

Doug is a computer expert Clint knew from when Dave's hard drive was fried.

"Very good, Clint. A belated Feliz Navidades!"

"Can you do me a favor?" Clint asked. "There's been a death. Something was printed on a Canon IP eighteen hundred printer minutes before the death, but the cache was erased and it wasn't saved in the documents file. Is there any way to retrieve it?"

"Are you there?" he asked. "Can you turn on the computer?"

"It's on Solarte. No."

"Can you go out there and call me when you boot up?"

"Okay. Half an hour?"

"Fine."

Clint called Sergio to say he'd need the keys to the house. Sergio said he'd meet him at the station and go with him to get away from the station for awhile. It seemed all the cops had hangovers and were sick and argumentative. Clint laughed and promised he'd be there in a few minutes. He called Judi to discuss Christmas. She had gone to a friend's place to have a big turkey dinner – at which he was conspicuously absent. He explained that he was investigating a murder. She said she had tried to call him, but the place was, as he knew, out past The Bluffs and there was no signal.

They chatted a bit, then Clint went to the station and across to Solarte with Sergio in the police boat. The Vasquez yacht was moored out from the marina. All of them except Emilio had stayed on it. Emilio said he'd had about all he could take of his mother's dramatics for one night and had stayed at the Swan's Cay.

They went to the house. Basilio and Moises were sitting on the steps. Emilio had paid them to stay there for the night to guard the place. He was the only one who was vaguely human in that family. They bought a big Coke and a bottle of rum and celebrated. They were still a little drunk.

Face it. They were drunk on their asses! Clint said they could go home. The police would guard the place now.

They said the police guard was in the barbeque place, sleeping. Sergio said he wondered what had happened to the officer he left there.

Well, it WAS Christmas. You had to make some allowances.

Clint laughed and they went inside. Clint went directly up to the bedroom where he booted up the computer, then called Doug.

"What program are you running?" Doug asked.

"MSWord."

"No. The comp master program."

"Windows XP."

"You have it on Word?"

"Yes."

"Go to recent documents. Click on the one you want to find."

"Done."

"Look at 'properties' and click on it."

"Umm-hmm."

"What's there?"

"The time and date."

"Nothing else?"

"No. Nothing."

"Turn on the printer and click on the icon."

"It says no documents in cache."

"Right-click the icon."

A pop-up window opened with a form and "No documents saved."

"On the toolbar there are two circular arrows on the upper left under the upper tool bar. Just under 'Format' and 'Table', one curling to the left and one to the right. Click on the one to the left."

A partial paragraph came on. Clint said that was all that came up.

"Yes. It retained a few lines of the last item printed," Doug explained. "Some programs will save the whole document. This one is set to save a certain number of lines. That's the best you can do without some very expensive equipment that will read whatever was on the hard drive."

Clint said there were six lines. It may be enough. He thanked Doug and printed the lines.

Clint went downstairs and told Sergio he had to search Maribel's rooms. If he couldn't see that she and Carlo having separate bedrooms said one hell of a lot about the marriage and family he was just plain stupid!

"I saw that the minute I came into this edifice," Sergio replied. "It's not a home, it's a place people stay. As soon as she said he was in 'his' bedroom, not 'our' bedroom, I knew they were staying together for religious reasons and for the children – which is the worst thing you could do to the children. I can't see anyone staying with her even for the children."

"Well, we can look around for the printed copy of this," Clint said, proffering the six lines. "I think we can find it unless it was burned or something."

Sergio looked a question and read the lines. He shrugged.

"It was written a few short minutes before he swallowed a large slug of cyanide," Clint said.

"It suggests, it doesn't state," Sergio pointed out. "I thought that would be it."

They searched Maribel's rooms. The paper wasn't there. Sergio said it was gone or in that boat with her.

"We can call a family meeting now," Clint suggested.

They locked up the house, woke the cop in the barbeque and went back to Isla Colon.

"I've called you here to discuss the death of Carlo Vasquez," Clint said. "This is a formal meeting.

"We have learned pretty much about it. We feel we can resolve the issues here and close this case as solved. We know all about his death."

"He was MURDERED by those stinking dirty evil SAVAGES in that stinking dirty village!" Maribel insisted.

"The indios are not dirty. In fact they're almost fanatically clean people," Clint replied, unfazed by her beginning tirade. "I will appreciate a lack of these silly overacted melodramatics. Your delivery isn't convincing (Emilio gave him a thumbs-up).

"We know for a fact that the people in this room and Carlo Vasquez were the only people in the house. No one else could have introduced the cyanide into that glass of juice."

"Hah! The kitchen girl! Lucinda! SHE could!" Maribel cried triumphantly. "She could put it there before she left! She didn't leave until ten o'clock!"

"No, she couldn't," Clint replied tiredly. "Please don't interrupt."

"But she COULD!" Maribel insisted. "It would be easy! Put it in his juice and take it to him!"

"She was gone before he went upstairs and never was allowed outside the kitchen and dining room in any case – according to your own statements," Clint said patiently. He wasn't about to let her get to him. "He went upstairs, composed a note on his computer, printed it out, went to his bed, poured and drank that juice laced with cyanide. The glass was placed on the lamp table before he died. He had only a few seconds after drinking the juice to live. He put it there so there wouldn't be a mess from spilled juice in the bed."

"My dear God!" Margarita cried, then crossed herself.

"I kind of thought so," Emilio said.

"Exactly WHAT are you implying?!" Maribel screeched.

"I as much as knew it," Bonita said. "I could see that or something worse coming for some time. More than two years. I've been waiting."

"Continue," Sergio suggested. "I noted much of what you've said and had reached the conclusion that it had to be. Tell us the rest of your process."

"NO!!" Maribel pleaded. "Oh, please do NOT say it! He can't be buried on consecrated ground if.... It will be a total disgrace to the family!"

"Quiet! You have tampered with evidence in a criminal case," Sergio warned sternly. "If you continue to act in this manner you will be charged with that. Think of the scandal that will surely ensue if you find yourself convicted of criminal acts and incarcerated for three years!"

She looked terrified and sat back to sob into her hands.

"Okay. Tell us the rest of it," Emilio requested. "I won't be disgraced because of anything anyone else did."

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Let's now go back to the moment I first came here. We landed in the Indio village where I was immediately told you were an extremely religious family by the natives.

"They do not hate you, by the way. They pity you because you have all these things and no love.

"I next walked through that gate and saw four chapels, which meant religion. Catholicism.

"I saw the extreme sterility of the house. It was only a house, not a home. People stayed there, they didn't live there. That is another point of the Indio philosophy I couldn't make most of you understand.

"Then I went into his sterile bedroom. As Sergio noted, it was 'his' bedroom and not 'our' bedroom. That told me the marriage has become as sterile as everything else there.

"He was dressed for dying. He was as much as laid out. The glass of a very fast poison was carefully placed on the lamp table. Cyanide will usually cause a spasm. He wasn't positioned in a way that would indicate one. He had been moved, if only very slightly. Perhaps he was only turned over and the covers straightened. It was far too neat for a death by cyanide. That it was suicide was obvious: There was no note? He had been moved?

"Someone took the note and moved him. What happened to the carton he poured the juice from? Why was it moved?

"That was a mistake. The carton was used, thus should not be there, thus was taken to the kitchen, rinsed and put into the garbage bin. Why?"

Something occurred to him then. There really was a "Why?" to that scenario! He thought he knew what it must be.

"'Why' is because the suicide note was thrown away with the carton."

Maribel screeched. Clint said he would be glad to read her a bit of the note. He took out the sheet with the six lines and read: "I cannot longer tolerate this situation in my life. Life has become empty and without meaning. I have decided to take a final step to end the travesty my existence represents. I know this solution will deeply affect my wife and children. For this I apologize. I always have held you as first concern, though often I understand it did not seem thus."

He paused then. Maribel was shaking her head and crossing herself.

"Must I go on?"

"No!" Bonita cried. "Enough! Emilio is correct! It is not a disgrace when it is someone else who does a thing. It is a disgrace if you do it or know of it and do not act to stop it! I know Carlo well. I know he would stop before he actually ... did it. He went too far. I know he has started to do this before and could not. God will forgive because I know he was a good man in his heart. It is my own daughter who has brought this on us in her greed and desire to be of a station she is NOT!

"I will speak with the priest. I can swear that Carlo did not do this intentionally, that he would have not done it. That he repented in the moment before he died. He will understand and will accept that Carlo was forgiven.

"Carlo will be buried in consecrated ground. This I promise. I knew him."

"Must it be known that he died of his own hand?" Margarita asked.

"No. Dr. Astrades will put on the certificate that he died of acute cyanide poisoning, possibly by accident," Sergio promised.

"Thank you," Maribel said quietly. For once she wasn't on a tirade. Clint wasn't fooled for one second by the extreme change. She was simply terrified she would be charged with obstruction and evidence-tampering.

Was she in that room when he took the stuff? Was that why she tried to get rid of the note? DID Carlo change his mind? Did SHE then dose his juice?

For that matter, did she write the note and set the whole thing up to murder him? After all, she hated this place and wanted to move back to Panama' City. Now she would inherit and could do that.

He was going to look into this a little more. He didn't really believe that, but it was far too much of a possibility.

He had Sergio call the officer/guard at the house and have him gather the juice cartons from the garbage bin. He called back five minutes later and said there was a page stuffed into one of them, not the one on top.

"Who signed it?" Clint asked.

"There isn't any signature, just 'Carlo Vasquez V.' typed on the bottom."

Oh? An unsigned suicide note? Now Clint WAS curious!

"I've arranged for us to be at the reading of the will," Sergio informed Clint. "The lawyer, Gabriel Gabriel, says there are a few things that will cause some trouble. Emilio asked that he contact me and arranged for the lawyer to come here to read the will. This afternoon."

"I'll be there," Clint promised.

"We must first fully understand that the rights of inheritance here in Panama' are not the same as in the United States – for the information of the people who may not know that. If they wish to contest, it will prove fruitless."

Clint raised an eyebrow toward Sergio, who whispered that the wife could claim everything if there was no will, but could be left nothing if there was. Clint knew that. It wasn't too much different in the states.

Gabriel continued. "The will is unusual. It leaves everything to one person. That person is not the wife. That is what is most unusual.

"I will read the will. It is simple."

When he said it was not the wife Maribel actually screamed. He gave her a withering look.

"I, Carlo Vasquez Vega, do hereby stipulate the following as my personal registered last will and testament.

"I will tender statement simple as to why this document is in the form and manner you find it.

"For twelve years I had an idyllic married life. I was a working attorney with a good practice and was able to provide my family with those things a father wishes most to tender to those he loves most in the world.

"Then I entered into the dirty world of politics, working for a representative who is related to my wife. We were able to make deals that shame me, in retrospect. We became extremely wealthy, but had no self-pride. This affected my wife in a very negative way. She became a grasping greedy person who placed material wealth above all things in life. She as much as turned her back on myself and our family.

"Her mother was living with us since her father died and tried to warn me that Maribel was fast becoming too much the same as her uncle, the representative.

"My son, Emilio, was never as badly affected as my daughter, Margarita. Margarita was, if slowly, becoming more and more the same as her mother.

"The love and caring left the marriage. We stayed married, a huge mistake, for the sake of the children, though I knew by then that it was only for her. She liked the money and being someone who knew everyone of station. She has never realized that she did not acquire station, she merely knew many who have station.

"Station is a very empty, hollow thing. It has taken the meaning of life from me.

"I leave everything I die possessed of to my son, Emilio Vasquez S. It is solely to his discretion to decide what to do with the monies and properties. I ask only that he see that Bonita Sevilla is cared for so long as she lives and that he try to teach Margarita that money and station are meaningless empty things that will make one's life as meaningless and empty.

"There is a recent listing of all properties and holdings attached to be declared the properties and holdings of Emilio.

"Are there any questions?"

Maribel snarled a curse. Margarita was staring in shock. Bonita looked relieved. Emilio was as much as disbelieving.

Maybe Maribel killed her husband. She would lose her "station" and wealth except for what Emilio decided to give her. Margarita might actually learn a lesson. Bonita had always tried to help Carlo. Emilio would be generous to the deserving people. If she killed her husband she could get six years in prison here. This was a life sentence.

All-in-all a pretty good ending!

Nick Storie Mysteries #4 Night Shift

"You're Perkin' With Harkin"

Prologue

Jack Harkin answered the repair call, listened a minute and sighed. Another nutcase. Noises coming from the air conditioner. Voices. He explained that it would cost her to have him come out tonight, but he could drop by the following day while he was working in the neighborhood, anyway. He wrote down the woman's name and address and hung up.

Voices in the AC? Yeah, right! Next it would be little green spacemen in the closet.

Jack parked the work van at the curb. 1919 Crescent Place. The houses here were almost on top of each other here. The AC unit was almost touching the one at the house next door. There was barely enough room to walk between the two units. The compressor was out of the neighbor's, and their insulated carrier tube was laying about ten inches from the one for 1919, so she'd actually heard voices. Anyone talking loudly or playing the TV at the other end of that tube would be much like talking into a tunnel to her unit.

Well, in this low-cost housing, they let up on the regular restrictions and codes. They could have stuff that close, probably right up to the property line.

He rang the bell and a middle-aged woman came to stare up at him through the crack of the chained door.

"Yes?"

"Hi. Harkin Air Control Systems? You called?" Jack answered.

She closed the door, then opened it again, with the chain off. "It was the strangest thing!" she said. "I was just out of the shower, sitting on the bed, and I heard voices! Two men were planning to rob a bank!

"I didn't hear everything and could hear one better than the other, but I did hear that they were planning to rob the Federal Loan and Trust.

"What do you think it meant? Did the air conditioner pick up something like those bridges in the magazines?"

"Bridges?" Jack asked.

"You know. The people who hear god or the devil talking to them through their false teeth," she replied.

"I think you just heard the TV next door," Jack explained. "Don't jump to any false conclusions. I'll show you what happened. I'm not saying you're nuts or anything. It actually happened."

He took her out to show her the tube, explaining how it could actually amplify what was going on next door, laying right against the pickup tube.

"You see, when your own unit cut off, there was nothing to stop the sound, so you heard it," Jack said.

A man came around the house next door, pushing a compressor on a dolly. He asked what was going on, and Jack explained that Mrs. Blanton, his client, heard voices coming from the AC, and he was showing her why – that tube.

"I'm sorry!" the man said. "I didn't think!"

"No harm, no foul!" Mrs. Blanton replied, happily. "It sort of scared me a little that I might be going crazy. It's such a relief to know I heard something that was really THERE. Those men planning a bank robbery were on TV, not in my head!"

"Well, now that the mystery's cleared up, I got two calls out here," Jack said. "Call me anytime you have a problem."

"I'll give you a check," Mrs. Blanton said.

"Oh, there's no charge," Jack replied. "You're a regular customer, so it's part of our service at Harkin to check every problem of any type. We only charge if we have to make a special trip for a reason that's not covered on the guarantee. Remember! You're Perkin' with Harkin!"

He felt foolish, repeating the silly slogan, but had to admit it had helped business since that ad man suggested it.

He got in his van and went to the next call.

Four thirty. Jack sighed, put his Freon feeder into the van, tied it down, and climbed in. He sat for a minute to make out the bill, and drove off.

He'd just gone onto 41, heading back to the office, when he flicked on the radio.

"... and the violent holdup occurred at a few minutes before noon. The single armed holdup man was wearing a ski mask and was described as average appearance. He escaped with an undisclosed amount of cash.

"The police are working on a lead. Anyone with any information is asked to call Naples Police Department, Burglary or nine one one. The injured teller remains in stable but guarded condition at Mercy Intensive Care.

"In other news, President Bush today declared he has a new innovative public education plan, but it has been described as almost word-for-word the plan Clinton proposed almost a year...."

Jack switched it off. If there was anything he didn't want to hear it was more campaign lies and dirt. He felt they should put the whole damned bunch against a wall and shoot them. So far as he could see, "politician" was a synonym for "crook."

He'd listen to the news on TV at six. There'd apparently been a bank holdup and, this time, someone got hurt.

"The injured teller in today's holdup of the Federal Loan and Trust died only moments ago. Story in two minutes on the WINK Six O'clock News."

Jack had turned on the TV while he sat at the table to set up the next day's work schedule. He perked up at the announcement of a death.

The Federal Loan and Trust? Where had ... that Blanton woman! Had she actually heard a bank robbery being planned?

The teller died. That made it armed robbery and first degree murder. Jack gave his full attention to the TV after the raft of commercials.

"This morning's violent holdup of the Federal Loan and Trust Bank at seventh and Lighthouse Drive in South Naples has just resulted in the death of Head Teller Hannah Levin. Miss Levin was pronounced dead of injuries sustained in the eleven o'clock holdup and shooting. Police are seeking the lone gunman, described only as being average-looking, and have an important clue, but refuse comment on their action.

"Bank manager Hamilton R. Vincenza informs WINK News that the incident will be pursued to the fullest. Federal Loan and Trust is offering a cash twenty five thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer."

Jack grabbed the phone. He didn't give a hot damn about any reward, but he did give a damn about some crud who went around shooting innocent people!

Case

"You pushed it sorta close, didn't you?" Capt. James "Paddy" James, head of Violent Crimes, said to Nathaniel "Nick" Storie as he punched the time clock. "Why didn't you take the night off? You just finished that restaurant thing last night and worked your shift afterward."

"I get a lot more rest here this time of year," Nick replied. "Janet's got big plans for Sunday. You and Joan are among the expected."

"We'll be there," Paddy said. "You've heard about the bank job?"

"Oh, yeah. We really have to catch that one, Paddy," Nick said, as Lt. Jim Hill, day shift homicide, came from the file room to punch out.

"Six on the button!" Jim announced. "Am I glad to get out of here tonight!

"The bank teller died about fifteen minutes ago on the bank job so it's now ours as much as burglary's. It's a bank job, so Treasury and the FBI are going to run around interfering.

"We have to find something!"

"I heard there's a clue," Nick said. "Like what?"

"The guy wears shiny black motorcycle boots with silver clip buckles," Paddy answered. "He stepped in some ink another teller was quick enough to spill behind him. She's a fast thinker. India ink, so he can't get rid of all of it, short of burning the boots.

"Name is Jayle Joyner. J - A, not G - A. She could figure the cameras weren't going to show much. Her object was to get the ink into his boots, because there's no way he'll get it out again. The boots are nine and a half D. That's not much, but it's what we have, so far. There's a copy of the surveillance tape made for you to study."

Sgt. Marsha Blevins, aide and private secretary to Paddy (and the real head of the department, only nobody knew that but Paddy)(and the station staff), picked up the emergency line that was flashing, as she headed toward the time clock. She suddenly yelled, "Nick! Get this! It's about the bank job!"

Nick grabbed his phone and demanded, "Yes? Storie here!"

"Listen, officer," a voice said. "My name's Jack Harkin. I own a little air conditioning company.

"I heard about the bank holdup on the TV a minute ago and have something that may not mean anything, but that could.

"What I mean, this woman called me last night and said she'd heard voices in her AC unit."

"Voices? In an AC unit?" Nick asked, shrugging at Paddy and Jim.

"I mean, it sounds like a nutcase," Harkin continued. "I told her I'd stop by this morning, so I did. What happened was simple. The unit next door was apart for a new compressor and the airflow tube was laying right by her unit, so what she heard was what was going on in the house next door. I told her what it was and showed her, and sort of forgot about it – until I heard the news.

"What she'd heard, she thought some guys, two of them, were talking about holding up the Federal Loan and Trust! Last night! Before it happened!

"Soon as I heard the news, I called."

"Wait! She heard two men planning to rob the Federal Loan and Trust last night?" Nick repeated.

Paddy spun and gawked at Nick. Jim almost jumped closer to the phone. Marsha was recording the call and had paper to write.

"Who? What was the address? What was the address of the house the men were in? What time?" Nick demanded.

"The lady's name is Blanton. Jeannie, I believe. Nineteen nineteen Crescent Place," he answered. "The house is the one immediately south of hers, so it'll be nineteen twenty one. She called me at eight last night, so she heard it right before then. She thought she was hearing voices, but she probably will really be scared, if she heard the TV news tonight!"

"Crescent Place?" Nick asked. "Where is that? I'm not familiar with the street or location. I can look it up, but I want to get over there. Fast!"

"It's off Airport Road. You go out to Fairwinds Drive, turn west, and go to the third street. That's Hopewell. Go south on Hopewell one block and turn back west. That's Crescent. It curves around and comes back to Hopewell a quarter mile farther south. Nineteen nineteen is about nine houses along on the right. Twenty one's the next one."

"Please give Sgt. Blevins any other information she requests," Nick requested, as he got up. "I'm going out there right now!"

He hung up and headed for the door, fast. Jim said, "I'm coming!" and joined him.

It was a nice quiet neighborhood of low-cost houses. Those people, unlike so many of those sections, kept the place up, so Nick could safely assume most of them were retired. The working people in such developments didn't have much time to spend on lawns and upkeep while trying to pay their bills and support a family.

"I know about this area," Jim said. "It's mostly widows and widowers living on social security. That one was eighteen eleven, so it's right about ... that white one with green trim."

Nick pulled to the side of the road, and got out. Jim said he'd stroll past the house next door to see if anyone was at home. "Says I. Clancy on the mailbox," he said. "I'll see if there's a car ... no. No garages out here. They park along the street, so he either doesn't have one or he's not home."

Nick nodded, and went on to ring the Blanton doorbell. He got no answer, so knocked. There wasn't a sign of anyone around, but there were lights on the side toward the back, so he went around.

There was the AC unit. It was right against the one from next door, as was described by Harkin. The back screen door was ripped open.

Nick yelled, "Jim! Front! Watch!" and drew his .40 automatic from the shoulder holster. He saw Jim run back to station himself in front, behind Nick's car.

"Mrs. Blanton! Police!" Nick yelled. "Are you all right in there?"

No answer. Nick went cautiously to the screen door and slowly moved around low to look in. A woman was laying on the floor of the kitchen in a pool of blood. There was no sign of anyone else.

"Jim! Backup! Forensics crew!" Nick yelled, and waited until Jim yelled they were on the way, then yelled, "Watch the front and south! I'll take the rear and north!"

"Yo!" Jim yelled back.

Nick moved back to where he could see the north side of the small square house, knowing Jim could watch both the front and south side. Nobody was getting out of that house without being seen.

It seemed like hours before the team screeched up front, but it was actually nine minutes. Two officers came around the house toward Nick. One tossed him a bulletproof vest, which he quickly slid into. He waved and ran to the back door and inside, rolling across the floor to come up squatting beside the hall door opening into the kitchenette. He very cautiously peered into the hall, noting a door to either side and the living room in the front.

The front door exploded inward and an officer rolled in across the floor. He soon peered along the hall to see Nick, who showed the "POLICE" stencil to him. It was a VERY eerie feeling to be looking down the barrel of that riot gun!

Nick pointed to the south door. The officer nodded and they both moved along the hallway to grasp the doorknobs. Nick yelled "NOW!" as loudly as he could and threw the door open as the officer threw the other open. Nick was looking into the bedroom. The other officer was looking into the bath. There was no one.

The officer went to call the crew in as Nick went back to the kitchen.

Jeannie Blanton had her throat cut. She'd been dead about ten hours.

"Nick, damnit all!" the swat team captain, John Dills, said. "It's our job to go in! Not yours! What in the hell are you doing?!"

Nick grinned, and said he was getting bored, then took the walky-talky from the forensics man, Tiny Menthorne, and told Jim to get protection to Harkin fast, and to locate him, so they could question him. They'd go, directly, as soon as they could leave the Blanton home.

"Mr. Harkin, Jeannie Blanton is dead from having her throat cut," Nick told Jack Harkin, sitting with him and Jim at Harkin's breakfast nook table. "She was killed only a few minutes after you left her this morning, so we can assume the killer learned somehow that she'd heard him through the air conditioner. He may have been right inside the house, where he overheard you talking by the AC unit out there. If the sound came from the house through that tube, it could go back into the house through that tube. Did you tell ANYONE other than us about that?"

"No! I mean, Christ!" Jack replied. "Blanton wouldn't say anything either, I don't think. She didn't care that much for her closer neighbors, and her friends were a couple of blocks down."

"Somebody knew. That somebody told the killer," Jim said.

"But she ... the other AC guy!" Harkin cried. "There was another repairman over there. We told him about it, so he must have said something to someone in the house before he left."

"Who? Who was the other repairman?" Nick demanded.

"I don't know," Jack replied. "I'm trying to remember the company truck. It was ... Climate Specialists!"

"Will they be open now?" Jim asked.

"I doubt it, but they'll have the twenty-four-hour answering service, same as I do," Harkin replied. "I think maybe I can get who he is for you."

He took the phone book out and looked up the number, and dialed it.

"John Harkin here. I'm calling for Naples Police Violent Crimes," he said. "I have to speak with repair dispatch. Immediately. It's life or death.... Don't hand me that! I'll have you warming a cell! This is an emergency! ... NOW! NOW damnit! There's been a murder and YOU could be charged for aiding and abetting the killer!"

He grinned at Jim, put his hand over the mouthpiece, and said, "No claim I was a cop. I only said I was calling for you guys."

Jim grinned back, and nodded, as Harkin said, "Dispatch? To whom am I speaking?" then handed the phone to Nick, and said, "Larry Hohner."

"Mr. Hohner? Det. Storie, homicide here," Nick said. "We have an emergency, and one of your people may be in danger. We must know which one of your repairman went to nineteen twenty one Crescent Place this morning ... Are you certain? ... He was seen there and was spoken to ... He was making repairs to the unit there ... It was your truck!"

Jack grabbed the phone and demanded, "What's going on? The turkey replaced the compressor ... a Carrier. Small unit ... Well you'd BETTER find out – and damned FAST!"

He handed the receiver back to Nick, and explained, "Unauthorized. He was just doing a little job on the side, probably company supplies are involved."

Hohner came back on in a few minutes to say no one had gone there on a company call. Period. Nick repeated it to Harkin, who took the phone.

"About six one. Average build. Sandy reddish longish hair. Green eyes. Fancy black boots with silver studs and buckles."

Nick and Jim both looked like they'd been slapped in the face with a wet fish. They waited a minute before Jack said, "Where can we reach him? There may be a killer after his ass!"

He wrote down a number, said thanks, and hung up.

"Name's Austin Block, five five five, nine four three seven.

"What the hell happened to you two? You look funny as all hell. You actually jumped!"

Nick shook his head, dialed the number, and let it ring about twenty times before he hung up. He then dialed another number, gave his name and police code, then the number. He waited and wrote down an address.

"Jack, I want you to get into your truck and drive to police headquarters," Nick said. "You just described the bank robber. The reason he knew Mrs. Blanton heard that conversation is because she told him. You can identify him and he knows it."

"I can handle myself," Jack said.

"Are you bulletproof?" Jim asked. "He shot that teller."

"Good point!" Jack returned. "I'll go."

Jim and Nick waited until Harkin had driven off, then got in the car to head for the rental address the phone company gave them.

"What do we do now? Wait for him to come home?" Jim asked.

"He might not," Nick replied. "How much did he get from the bank? Do you know?"

"About thirty two grand. Mostly twenties and hundreds," Jim read, from the report.

"Let's hope the front door was left open, huh?" Nick said.

They found the place, but no one was around, so Nick went to try the front door. It was locked, so he went around back. The door opened with a penknife.

"Oh, gee! Wide open!" Nick grinned, and they went in. The place had nothing of value left. Block had moved.

"Ideas?" Jim asked.

"Uh-huh! I'm glad Clancy wasn't home, now," Nick answered. "We're gonna let Mr. Clancy lead us right to Mr. Block." He got on the radio to ask if Clancy had been contacted yet. He hadn't. Nick instructed that they were not to speak to him at all, except maybe to ask if he'd seen or heard anything. He was then to be treated like any unsuspected neighbor of a murder victim.

"Well?" Jim asked.

"Stakeout," Nick said. "You can go home. It could take days."

"I'm in for the race," Jim replied.

It was nearly dawn when a car went up the road and back. Twice. It then pulled up across from Clancy's.

"Clancy's car," Jim noted. "It checks with registration. Seventy eight Ford Granada four door sedan."

"We wait awhile," Nick replied. "Let him get confident."

Clancy went across to the house. Jim noted he only stood about five six or seven, so couldn't have been the holdup man. He was in his late sixties.

Clancy's house was bugged. With the evidence they had, the FBI had moved in fast, because of the bank job. They were monitoring the place. They also had two men in the Blanton bedroom in the dark with a walky-talky to talk with each other.

"Ho! You guys awake?" Jim asked the radio. "He just went in."

"Ten four," came back. "We hear him breathe with this stuff! He went right for the head."

There was no more contact for a few minutes, then Clancy came back out and went to his car.

"He suspects a tap," came over the walky-talky.

"CB in his car!" Jim said.

"We'll scan and get it," came back. "Don't use the hand units. He could have a scanner. Twelve A!"

Nick tuned his police radio on side-channel 12-A, then they waited. A minute later the single word, "Fourteen!" came over the police set. Jim went to 14 on the CB.

"...tape all around her place! That crime scene stuff. There doesn't seem to be anyone around. There was a note on my door to call the police."

"Don't say or do anything suspicious. They got nothing," came back. "They can't tie you to anything. I don't think that AC jerkoff even remembered seeing me. If he had, your place would be swarming."

"What now?" Clancy asked.

"Sit tight! We have to do it again! This isn't half what we should've got!"

"AGAIN!?" he squeaked.

"Hey! You can't fry but once! We got no choice!"

"Count me OUT! This is crazy!"

"You want out? Okay! You get nothin' at all! Dig?"

"I don't care! You said no one would get hurt!"

"You want out?"

"Damn right! I don't ever want to see you again!"

"You got it, chump!"

That was it. Clancy called several times, but got no response. He went back to his house.

What now?" Jim asked.

"You heard?" Nick asked the walky-talky.

"Yeah. We can grab him and get it out of him now," came back.

"No!" Nick cried. "Block killed Mrs. Blanton because she might have heard them talking. There's no damned way he'd ever walk away from Clancy. We sit tight!"

Jim gave him the high sign. The agent said they'd give it a couple of hours. They all sat back to wait.

It was right at five o'clock when Jim pointed to a white van with a "Climate Specialists" sign on the side passing a block down.

"He's going down the street in back," Nick reported into the walky-talky. "I'm going around back and coming up behind nineteen twenty three. Jim will be coming around with you guys."

"Ten four."

About five minutes later, Nick was in position. He could see Jim behind the Blanton house, then Jim slipped back out of sight behind a thick bush. Nick did the same.

Another two minutes. A shape slid through the back hedge.

"He's there!" Nick hissed into the walky-talky, as a bright high intensity floodlight came on at Clancy's, catching a man in a ski mask, a topcoat, and black boots with silver buckles about six feet from the back door.

"Freeze, Block!" Nick yelled, just as Block fired at the back door. There was a booming shotgun retort followed almost immediately by another. Block spun from the first hit and dropped backward by the second.

"Mr. Clancy! Drop the gun! Come out with your hands above your head!" Nick yelled. "Don't make it worse!"

"I'm coming! It's only got two shots! I'm coming!" Clancy yelled, and came out, hands over his head. Nick and Jim and the two FBI men raced up.

"I knew you had to be there," Clancy said. "Austin was always rather stupid, so I knew he'd think you didn't know why Jeannie was killed. As soon as I found out she was dead, I decided I had to do something to get him. He swore no one would get hurt, then he shot that teller. I didn't know until after that he'd killed Jeannie. I swear.

"I knew he'd be coming after me. I knew how he thought. Sneak through from the Millers in back and kill me, too.

"There's been enough killing. Now."

"Call the crew, will you Jim?" Nick asked.

Epilogue

"Well! We thought that one would be a real puzzler, but it worked out as fast as most of your cases!" Paddy said the next morning, as Jim and Nick wrote up their notes for court. "The way you're working, you'll end up on TV!"

"Cripes, I hope not!" Jim replied. "The way those TV cops are portrayed must embarrass hell out of the real officers they're based on."

"Besides which they didn't SOLVE this one," Marsha smirked, as she handed Nick a jelly doughnut. "They sorta stumbled on the guy."

"Jack Harkin had the solution, all along," Nick agreed. "If the clue about the boots had been released immediately, he would have been able to call in and say, `Hey coppers! Austin Block held up that bank!'

"Tiny says the India ink is in the sole and seam of the right boot, but all the court gets is a file Clancy's gonna get a light sentence, I guess."

"I hope so! The people should give him a medal and maybe ten percent of the millions they saved when he wasted that bum for us!" Bill Jenks, of burglary, threw in. "Why in the hell did he have a double-barreled eight gauge elephant gun, anyhow? You could drive a truck through the holes in the punk!"

Bill talked like that, but it was an act. He was actually a rather compassionate sort in normal circumstances.

"He bought it back in fifty one, when he was planning to go on a safari," Jim answered. "He lost his money for the trip when the crooked travel agency skipped out with it. He was going to help with a simple little safe bank robbery where nobody got hurt and he got enough money to go some of the places he never went. He figured, the way we're getting ripped off by the crooked politicians, lawyers, big business, and the insurance companies – and the banks themselves – he was owed that much.

"When he learned Block had gone over there and cut Jeannie's throat as soon as you left, he knew the price was 'way too high. Block also shot the teller. Nobody was going to get hurt and the insurance would pay it off?

"He learned the hard way. It's far too easy for some simple crime to go wrong, particularly if someone like that Block character's involved."

"He knew Block wasn't smart," Nick agreed. "He thought that would probably help. Fancy plans have too many points where they can go wrong. This would be a simple little thing where Block would run into the bank, yell a lot to keep people off balance, grab a few thousand dollars, run out, and they'd drive away with the money.

"If Block had gone to him and said they were overheard, they would've made it a bank in Ft. Myers or somewhere and everything would have worked.

"Block had already killed Blanton. He knew any trace would lead right back to him, because Jack knew what she heard. He was scared and nervous and had a gun in his hand.

"He said it over the CB when Clancy baited him. You can only fry once. He was trigger happy, already. It was a deal gone bad before it started. If he'd had any brains at all, none of it would've happened."

"You caught that genius professor, so brilliance doesn't get away with it," Paddy said. "Now this, so stupid doesn't work, either.

"Looks like crime really doesn't pay, after all! There isn't any mental test to know how to figure success!"

"Hah-ah!" Marsha replied. "What? You don't read the papers? Look at that kid who killed the other kid! Only sixteen years old, and had fifty eight convictions, already! They've always let him go. Until the courts start treating criminals like criminals instead of like poor misguided CHEE-il-drun, it's just gonna get worse. It doesn't take any genius to see that."

"Block didn't have any of that kind of record, and neither did Clancy!" Jenks retorted. "You're just getting simplistic again."

"No. Clancy didn't," Paddy agreed. "Block's real name was Alton Edward Binder. He was from Houston, Texas. He was eleven when he committed his first felony, and was, same as here, let go. The trace on his fingerprints came in about half an hour ago. It's on my desk. Until he was seventeen he'd racked up forty one felony convictions. From eighteen to twenty two, he served for armed robbery. Then he changed his name and moved to Atlanta, where he soon proceeded to get two years for burglary of a residence. He took the course on AC in the Georgia pen and changed his name when he came here. This was his first murder spree. It had to happen."

"What's your solution to the problem? Got a plan?" Nick asked.

"Yup! We all get back to work," Paddy replied. "I don't see how we'll ever have any less to do, all things considered."

"!"

© 2013 by C. D. Moulton

Author's note:

This appeared in SSFSS2. It is based on a friend who is gay, who, unlike other gay friends, is ... much like Louie. He has read this little comic piece and thinks it's hilarious. He agrees that this could almost describe what would happen if....

"!"

Louie Turnbull stopped to peer cautiously into the thick brush lining the path to his right.

There was something there! He was positive!

So he wasn't much for the woodsy bit. He hadn't wanted to be included in this little outing in the first place. He liked city streets and discos with their punks and trade and prostitutes. He liked Margaritas in wide, flat, clean glasses on a slick plastic bar, not bitter coffee in dirty styrofoam cups on a rough log!

Trouble was, he liked Frank Ford even more.

Frank was tall, dark and slender, with almost-black eyes that made Louie weak in the knees.

Frank liked that Irene bitch who hung around Marty's Bar.

Irene liked anyone with fifty bucks.

There! That slithery sound that came from behind that wad of branches! There was a snake back there that was at least twice his size! He just KNEW it!

One thing Louie had learned on the streets of Chicago was to face his fears and stare them down. Otherwise, they would become bigger and stronger than he was.

Of course, if there was some huge boa constrictor in there he could be crushed to death before he had a chance to move! Louie liked the erotic symbolism. Crushed to death by some monster phallic symbol.

He wouldn't get such a big thrill from the reality, no doubt.

Very carefully and timidly, Louie crept stealthily and watchfully around the thickly-woven branches of the juvenile cedar. There was nothing there. Just more bushes and rocks and a sort of little cleft in the side of a low hill with a pebbly stream beside it..

He sighed, rolled his eyes and started to move on, then he heard what he was sure was someone swearing in a foreign language. (You know how easy it is to tell when someone's swearing, no matter that the words don't make sense?) It was coming from the little cave in the hill.

Louie was suddenly curious. It might be some hermit or whacko, but there couldn't be anybody more nutty than the people he ran around with every day. He could handle that!

He went to stare into the darkness. He couldn't see a thing, but could smell a bit of sulfur. There was a little thumping sound and a single explosive exclamation.

"Hoo-hooo! Anybody home?" Louie called. "Come out, come out, whoever you are!"

There was a sudden ominous silence. Even the infernal buzzing and chirping of bugs and birds stopped.

Maybe that was natural out here. How would HE know?

"Yooo-hooo!" he called, starting to move into the cleft as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black darkness inside. He had to bend over at the entrance, but the cave quickly expanded to become a large open bubble. There was a small fire across the space, maybe sixty feet away. Louie could soon begin to make out details. He couldn't see anyone, but he could feel eyes watching him. It was eerie and sort of exciting.

He excited very easily.

A sort of blacker blackness moved between him and the fire. It was about seven feet tall and seemed to move in a smooth flowing fashion – like a dancer or athlete, Louie decided.

"You really should get more light in here," Louie chided. "You'll get eyestrain.

"I'm Louie, but my friends call me Louise.

"What's your name? What're you doing out here in this godforsaken HOLE?"

The shape moved to add a lot of smaller branches to the fire, causing it to quickly grow. He could soon see.

Well! THAT was a shocker!

Louie, frozen to the spot, looked over his ... host. He was afraid he'd faint, at first, but managed not to.

The ... guy ... was about seven feet tall, was covered in shiny black fur, had big pointed ears and little horns, slanted, slit-pupilled eyes and long fangs. And a tail. And hooves instead of toes. And claws instead of fingernails.

He was certainly muscular, with a massive chest, and such BIG biceps, and a little waist, and powerful thighs – and he was most very DEFINITELY male!

Louie was still scared, but he was also excited and more than a little interested!

"I am Astoreth, elemental lord of dark regions!"

"Ooooohh! You have a magNIFicent speaking voice!" Louie gushed.

"Huh?" Astoreth replied. "You may find your final fate here, mortal!"

"I can think of a few ways that could most CERTAINLY be made VERY pleasant!" Louie rejoined, staring at Astoreth's crotch. "You certainly are a BIG one, aren't you? I'll bet a girl would never forget a tumble with YOU!"

"Huh?" Astoreth replied, brightly.

"Don't you have a more comfortable place than all these hard rocks?" Louie asked, coyly. "Not that I object to HARD at all!

"Oooh! I'm just AWful, but I find you MOST attractive! Sex on the hoof! Literally! I just LOVE it!"

"Yeeesh!" Astoreth replied, backing away.

"Don't be so shy! We're all alone with nature here and I'd sure like to get to know more about YOUR nature, Nature Boy! Oh, yes indeedy!" Louie said as he started moving toward Astoreth. "Damned laced pants! Always a knot at the WORST possible time!"

Astoreth backed toward the wall – and kept on backing until he was completely gone. Louie stared uncomprehending at the spot for a minute, sighed, and said, "I guess I came on a little strong for the country scene, hunh?"

He sighed again, relaced his pants and went back to camp, where Frank greeted him with, "I met this really hot chick over at the west campsite! I even got lucky! How about you?"

"I don't like the woodsy scene," Louie pouted. "I'm for city people and city places. I can't UNDERSTAND anybody out here!

"I met a really nice guy, but he was too shy to make it. There are some interesting characters, but I just do not stand a prayer of UNDERSTANDING them!

"I'm getting awfully frustrated, Frank. How about...?"

"Louie, I've told you a million times before, I like you and all, but it isn't my thing," Frank said, patiently. "Just friends is as far as it will ever go. Sex is OUT!"

Louie sighed. The guy back there wouldn't even go THAT far!

He couldn't wait to get back to Chi. They didn't do one single THING out here like back in the city. He would simply never be able to UNDERSTAND these weird country people!

Characters From the Flight of the Maita Series

A collection of shorts featuring each of the continuing characters in the series.

Featuring Z:

Featuring Thing:

Featuring the Golems:

Featuring Tab/TR:

Featuring Kit/T6:

Featuring Kurk:

As this is a series based on an intelligent spaceship, Maita, who has become emperor of a vast empire by the end of the series, I will not feature Maita alone.

Each of the characters has a personality of his (hers or its) own. I think a series this long must have distinct and different personalities, else it becomes boring. The main reason for not continuing the series after 45 books was because there simply wasn't enough to base interesting stories on and the addition of Gloria and Iggy would not be enough.

Featuring Z.

Z is the first character, along with Thing, who is a continuing character throughout the series. Tom, Tranz, Joe, etc. were only in the first few books. This is part of one story in Like Old Times. The crew, as everyone called Maita and friends, were exploring in the galactic dome when they found a very beautiful world. Z collects orchid-like plants and is exploring in a section where many were found.

Z made one more full trip back to Maita four hours later, then decided to make a short trip before returning at the six hour mark.

He had returned to a rain river in a small valley where he was collecting an orchid that much resembled the familiar Epidendrum fragrans of Earth. This one looked – and even smelled – like the Earth species, thrived in almost full sun much like its Terran counterpart and grew on rock faces like the ones on Earth. The quick gene scan the floater made for the records showed it had almost no genetic patterns that were exactly like the Terran species, but that was expected. Much the same thing had happened many times before.

Z went around a rock face, wading in the edge of the shallow stream. There was a narrow cleft with a number of what looked much like Earth's Maxillaria orchids growing in the moist shade. He took several smaller parts of the various varieties, then turned to take them back to place them on the floater waiting around the bend.

There were eight beings with long spears in a semicircle, standing there watching him. The reptilian people looked much like the Klifts, a race Z had met many years ago who were now respected members of the empire. Z could see the curiosity and intelligence in them, but knew he was an unknown quantity to them. He was a mammal, he was somewhat larger than they and he was alien. They had never seen anything vaguely like him before in all probability.

Z never had any serious trouble communicating with people, witness the fact he had pulled the original group together so well they were able to overthrow a vastly superior force and to take Maita over from the Pweetoos – even though there were five distinct races among them.

Okay, so that was ninety percent luck. Everyone there was in an impossible situation and really had nothing left to lose, but there was one very important lesson impressed on him at that far moment that served him well many times since: Take charge of the situation as though it was your natural right.

Other lessons learned had to do with cultural customs. It was his natural inclination to smile, but that was the showing of the teeth. Showing of the teeth is an open invitation to a fight in many cultures. Z's father had impressed on him back on Earth more than three hundred fifty years ago that the stupidest possible thing anyone could do who was confronted by a vicious dog was to smile, thus showing the teeth, thus inviting a charge from the dog. Dogs, other mammals, showed enmity and defiance by showing the teeth. The best thing to do was to give the other something to do. Ask – never demand – help in something.

Think fast!

Z held up the small samples of the plants, turned to point to some that were a bit out of his reach up in the cleft and indicated the spear of the nearest person. That person handed Z the spear before he thought. The others tensed so Z quickly used the spear point to prod a couple of the plants from the rock, then handed the spear back to the one he took it from, holding the plant he had pulled off of the rock proudly. The little party looked around at one another, then started to discuss Z.

Z spread his collection out on the rocks, looked over the various types and went back to the rocks. He took a small piece of a plant that was a bit different from the ones he had laid out on the flat rock (That was of a species he'd collected earlier), compared it, nodded to himself and wrapped the plants in a rag he carried for that purpose. He looked up to find the apparent leader of the hunters and the one who had handed him the spear staring at the plants and at him from a little closer than the others.

Now what? Should he trigger the automatic emergency caller implanted in his chest?

The leader pointed to the plants and said something.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your language, pal," Z said. "I wish Maita had gotten it on general principles."

The leader then pointed to the plants again, placed a palm upward and shrugged. THAT was almost universal!

Z nodded, then placed the plants into a star-shaped pattern, the deep brown, the lighter brown, the brownish yellow, the deep yellow and so on around to the red. There was one with green sepals, brown petals and a bright red lip that he placed in the center.

Art is also almost universal. The fellow understood.

Z placed a hand on his own forehead and said, "Z." He then pointed toward the leader and made the palms upward shrug. The leader shrugged in return.

Z repeated the palm to the head and the "Z," then took a BIG chance. He placed his hand on the leader's head and looked as questioning as he could.

The fellow suddenly nodded, placed a palm on his own head, said, "Imu," placed his palm on Z's head, said "Z," then placed his hand on the spear carrier's head and said, "Lix."

Lix repeated the process, then Z did it with all eight.

Okay. Introductions over. Now what?

Imu pointed to Z, then pointed downstream. Z put a palm up and shrugged. Imu pointed downstream, said, "Imu, Lix, Z."

Z shook his head and pointed upstream.

There were suddenly eight spears pointed at him. Imu pointed downstream and turned to walk that way.

So much for who's in charge!

They started downstream with Imu leading. Lix walked along beside Z and looked to Z a little apologetic. The six others were behind them.

Was this interference? The rules were suspended, but Z felt a little guilty. He had grown a bit lax, a bit careless and the floater was left back a bit where Maita couldn't keep watch on what he was doing. Now by the time he was missed and the floater came looking for him he could be kilometers away!

There wasn't any way he could mark anything. How would Maita know where to find him?

There was, about fifteen minutes later, a slight tingling in his chest.

The location beacon! He had worn the thing for hundreds of years, had even mentioned it a few hours ago and had as much as forgotten about it! He could easily activate it without making an emergency call so he did. Maita would know something was wrong and would send the floater to see what it was. Maita was certain to proceed very carefully as Z hadn't indicated any danger or emergency. It was Maita or Thing who had sent the tingle as a way to ask if things were all right. To simply turn it on, locating him far from the floater, would tell Maita something was amiss.

He didn't really feel threatened by these people. He felt almost embarrassed to find he was hoping Maita would have the floater take the plants back before coming for him.

He found himself sort of liking Lix. He sort of liked Imu, for that matter. It wouldn't hurt anything for him to go along to see what would happen. He was noticing hundreds of new plants as they went at a steady pace until they suddenly turned into the forest on an almost invisible path. He didn't dare to look upward to see if the floater was there, but was sure it was.

They came to the village in a clearing. There were a number of people about, none of whom showed any fear of him. They came to stare and to ask questions of his captors.

Lix pointed to a large tree in the center of the village, then led Z over to show him the people had planted various of the more showy orchids in it. This was going to work out fine! They had a love of beauty and collected plants to beautify their village so they would understand him! Another stroke of good luck was that there were children. Z always got along very well with kids of all types. That was another lesson learned from his father, who had impressed him with the fact that children will react as the adult expects them to. If you treat them like some kind of stupid pet they'll act like that. If you treat them like persons they'll act like people.

Several of the children came closer and closer, then reached to touch him. Lix started to shoo them away, but Z waved them to touch him if they liked. Before long he was seated on a long wooden bench under the tree answering their questions. He didn't understand a single word of the children's language and they didn't understand a single word of Maitan, but that wasn't important. Z knew about what they were asking and they knew fairly well how he was answering.

There was a very quick development of signs. Lix and several females watched him closely. After a short while Lix and Imu came to ask him to come to a hut. He went inside ahead of them, then turned to find they had placed a thick bar across the outside of the door. He was now imprisoned.

There was a square hole in the log wall he could look out of to see Imu and Lix arguing. Lix saw him watching and shrugged. He was looking apologetic again.

Okay. No problem. Just wait.

It was getting late when Lix came to offer him a bowl of a sort of meaty stew through the hole. He took it and nodded his thanks. Lix looked uncertain for a moment, then shrugged and left.

Could he eat the food here? Would it nourish him – or kill him?

There was a rustling sound above and behind him. He turned to find a very small com floater had come in by boring through the thatched roof.

*Don't eat anything until I check it. Put a bit on the com floater and I'll run analysis on the floater on the roof. I'll get their language tonight. How do you get yourself into these messes with such stunning regularity?*

"Practice, practice, practice," Z replied. "I don't think I'm in any danger, do you?"

*We'll learn that part when we learn the language I suppose. I brought your plants back and have them stored for you.*

The little com floater took the food out and returned a few minutes later.

*You can eat this, but be careful about some of the other stuff. Don't drink their booze. It's got some nasty alcohols in it your system wouldn't appreciate anymore than it appreciates cyanide.*

He made a bed of straw that was apparently there for that purpose and slept. The com floater woke him before dawn to give him the crystal of the language. He placed it, then went back to sleep. He wouldn't let the natives, who called themselves the Shrsted, know he could understand them too soon.

In the morning he was brought some soup Maita said he could eat and some boiled eggs he couldn't. He spent several hours alone before Imu and Lix came to take him out into the square. Under the central tree were a number of people, some wearing red sashes around their necks, some green, some brown. Lix and Imu, along with other members of this tribe, were wearing a tan color.

He was a celebrity, of course. Other tribes had been called in to see what Imu's group found in the forest. It was going to be fun listening to them brag, not knowing he could understand them now. Maybe they would think he was some kind of god. He had to plan a way to let them down easy if they did that. He mustn't allow it. Suspended rules or not there were limits. That kind of thing could damage the culture.

They were all seated on the benches with Z on a sort of low chair in front of them with only Lix to guard him. Imu welcomed the others, then turned to Z.

"It calls itself Z," he said. "It was gathering some plants upriver. I think it's a farmer of art(?) of some type. It didn't threaten us or seem to be afraid of our hunters. It seems to be of some clan that has never been hunted. We don't know what to make of it. Lix wants to keep it for a pet. He says it is a thinking thing, but you can see it is a kind of gorlmph(?) or something like that.

"I think we should barter(?) for something we need. It would have to be fed and we sometimes have trouble enough to feed our own people. I sent the runners for you to learn if you've ever seen one of them?"

"Not so large," Green Sash answered. "It looks almost like some kind of heempfh(?). Do you think it would be good to eat? It has a lot of meat."

Z barely restrained himself from making a reply.

"It could be a large kabrfnch(?)," Brown Sash replied. "They have too strong a taste to make good meat. This one looks like it would be coarse and very tough. Too old. Gorlmphs have to be caught and bled well when they're young or they're not good for food. I don't see why you don't just cook it up for your jrndths (?). They don't care what meat tastes like – and they're VERY good food!"

"I don't believe this!" Z exclaimed in Maitan to Lix, who shrugged and looked apologetic.

"It has language?" Red Sash asked. "That would mean it's a person. You can't very well cook a person for yourself OR for your livestock! I see what Lix meant when he said this could be a problem that's much wider than you think!"

"I think it tries to mimic us," Imu said. "It made noises with the children for a time yesterday. They think it told them things and understood them. I think it was only noises."

"But it has a name!" Lix cried. "It's called Z! Imu said as much. It also used my spear as a tool to remove its plants when they were too high to reach. It uses signs to speak when there aren't words."

"Perhaps you merely wish that was the case," Imu said. "I would like for someone to make a test to show if it really has a language. I would not want laid on my spirit that I had cooked a person!"

"If Lix wants to prove it is a person he should be given the chance," Red Sash agreed. "I suggest we give Lix six days to teach it to speak enough to prove one way or another if it can think."

"One can easily teach a Wakbird to speak," Green Sash warned. "Lix must teach it to speak in a way that would show it knows what it's saying. If it's a person we must allow it to go. Many of the gorlmph are extremely violent and vicious so there could be a problem if it has a large clan and is a person. We need no wars. We have stopped wars among ourselves. Such things are stupid at anytime."

"It's not vicious!" Lix insisted. "It's an artist! I'll try to teach it to speak, but I don't know how. I will find a way. I want it to be a person because it likes pretty things. All the children like it so I have no fear of it. Children and jgglusth(?) know when an animal OR a person are to be shunned!"

"The expression back on Earth was that camels and dogs know a crook when they see one," Z said in English. Everyone stared at him for a moment.

"See? It's only making sounds," Imu said. "Lix says something so it replies with random sounds is all."

"The way it looks at us seems to.... It would almost seem to understand our words," Green Sash said, watching Z closely. "Do you understand us?"

"Yup!" Z replied.

"It does!" Lix cried.

"It was merely a coincidence of sounds," Imu protested. "Don't get excited about something like that! I want to know if it really IS a person! We can't resolve anything if you're going to make it do things to prove something that is not real!"

"Z! Please! Do you understand what we're saying?" Lix asked. "Just one word that shows real ability to learn our language!"

Z thought of his conversations with the children yesterday. He understood what they were saying then, now that he had the language. He would have to be careful not to move too quickly, though. If he could use some of the words the children had used and could come up with an explanation for learning so rapidly he might get away with it. He searched the crystal information for something – and found it! "Look! Hair!" Z said, fingering his own. "It's a gorlmph! Talk, gorlmph! Gorlmph name Z! Big gorlmph – not bad gorlmph! Gorlmph Z!"

Okay. That was a small enough starting point. His hair was certainly different among reptiles. He just wished he knew what a gorlmph was supposed to look like.

He placed his palm against his forehead and said, "Z. Gorlmph. Z understand word."

He then placed his hand on Lix's head and said, "Lix gorlmph no. Lix understand word. Lix understand Z – Z understand Lix!"

"You DO understand the words!" Lix cried. "Z gorlmph, Z people. Lix Shrsted, Lix people. Z and Lix people. Gorlmph and Shrsted people. All people. Do you understand?"

"Gorlmph people. Gorlmph no people. All people?" Z asked.

"I don't understand," Lix said. "Yes! I do! It said Z's a gorlmph and that Lix is no gorlmph. Gorlmph are people and gorlmph no – Lix gorlmph no – are people!

"Yes, Z. We're ALL people!"

"I agree that you now seem to have proven that it's people," Green Sash said. "This is a thing I must think on. These gorlmph confuse me no.... Can they become intelligent? Are they already intelligent? Is this one so different from the ones we know? Are we hunting intelligent people for food? Are the ones in the forest not intelligent? Where did this one come from? Does it have a tribe?"

"Then extrapolate. Can serpents and eightleg webbers become intelligent?" Brown Sash asked. "If so where does it end? ARE we using other intelligent animals for food? Is that something to put weight on our spirits?"

"No," Z said. He was in a dilemma. This could cause unknowable damage to a primitive culture. A simple little thing like this could become irreversible if allowed to grow. These were very philosophical people who might not be all that practical. The one who had supplied the language to the crystal wasn't knowledgeable to any great degree. It was a woman farmer who raised a root crop for a staple. He needed Thing and Maita to get him out of this mess – but they would cause even more damage if they came in now.

"Wait," Z said. "Time. Learn. Wait. Words."

"Are you trying to warn us of something?" Lix asked. "Is it something important? We have to learn the words? We really don't understand any of this do we?"

"Wait. Learn. Words," Z repeated. "Learn words. Wait."

"Maybe you'd better teach it more words," Imu replied. "It seems to be saying for us to wait before we make decisions. Wait until it learns the necessary words.

"I think it might know some answers that we would waste far too much time worrying over."

"Yes!" Z cried. "Wait until learn words!"

"It learns very fast," Lix pointed out. "It learned from the children. It learned some words right here. From us! I'll teach it enough words for it to tell us what it thinks we must know. I believe it knows much of what we're saying here without knowing the words. Like the witches' talent.

"That's it! The gorlmph Z has the witches' talent! It knows what we're saying and is telling us we're wrong! I'll tell you what we've taught to each other when we meet again."

"Empathy," Z said.

"What? What is emp ... that word?" Imu asked.

"Empathy. Empathy," Z repeated, deciding how he would handle the problem, now that they had reached the conclusion about the witches' talent he'd hoped to steer them to. The crystal told him there was some small psy talent among certain of the women. It was called the witches' talent, though it was more of an actual empathy. The witches' talent was that one couldn't lie to a witch because she would know. She always would know if there was deep trouble in a family or great joy or excitement.

"Witch words. Witch talent."

"Then I can teach it to speak easily!" Lix said. "It will FEEL the meaning of a word!"

"Yes," Z said.

Lix soon led him away from the others. They went to a small stream at the edge of the village to dangle their feet in the water.

"I wonder if it would be best to simply talk?" Lix asked. "Will the witches' talent or this empathy give you the words if I just talk?"

"Talk. Feel," Z explained. "Talk and feel. Talk, no feel, no words."

"I must speak only words I can feel? That make me feel?" Lix asked. "Talk about the things I care about? That make me angry? About friends and enemies?"

"Friends," Z replied. "Lix and Z friends. Talk and feel."

"Yes, we're friends, I think," Lix answered. "Klat spoke of eightlegs and serpents and food animals being – or becoming – people. He felt strongly about that."

"Eightlegs and serpents no people. No think," Z said. "Food no think. No people. Z he. Lix he. Z no it."

"I'm sorry," Lix said. "You're male, I think? That makes you he. You wear a cloth ... but female gorlmphs have those teats. Yours aren't developed. You're male?"

"Z sorry. Z male. He," Z answered. "No know cloth. Too much wear. Z male. Mammal male.

"Mammal, gorlmph. Reptile, Shrsted. Lix, reptile. Reptile no teats. Z.... No word."

"You forgot you were wearing a cloth?" Lix asked. "You also forgot the Shrsted and the gor ... mammals are different?"

"Z forgot Shrsted and mammals different," Z said. "Z forgot he wears cloth."

It was a tricky thing to lead Lix along in such a way that he thought he was teaching Z the words, but the idea he would learn a word quickly if Lix felt that word or phrase very strongly helped tremendously. By the end of the second day he could carry on a fair conversation, but the others had already gone back to their own villages and Imu left it to the group to decide how to handle the gorlmph. He was convinced Z was a person, but it was out of his hands now.

That wasn't any problem. Z would certainly soon be able to convince all of them he could think and he was enjoying his stay in the village. He and Lix became fairly close friends during the six days before the other elders returned – they said six days and that meant six days!

He was seated with Imu and Lix with the others in the same places they had occupied the time before. It was for him to show his intelligence and to make them understand that speculation about the intelligence of food animals wasn't in question. Lix was a great help there when he explained that Z learned words quickly that were used when the user felt strongly about the subject. He mentioned the part about the eightleg webbers and the serpents being the key to the learning process because Klat felt so strongly a deep moral indignation to using intelligent animals for food.

Z was next subjected to a long question and answer period so had to make up a complete long history for his race, which he ended by indicating his race was almost extinct already due to some strange wasting disease that seemed to affect only a few kinds of mammals, rendering them sterile.

"The Shrsted maybe never will many my people know," Z said. "Z knows only one other in my people in many cycles wandering. Z's people soon no more. Sad it is Shrsted and Z's people no be good friends, share history good to all.

"Happy is Z. Z knows Shrsted. Good people. Good friends."

"You may stay with the Shrsted," Imu said. "You will be with friends."

"Must it is that Z wander," Z replied. "Duty has Z to take plants – loved things by Z's people – to different places for beauty always a living monument to be to Z's people. Maybe Z find mate. Maybe Z no find mate. Z happy now with new friends. Lix, Imu, Klat – all! Many more friends be for all time. Spirits one with all people all times. Z's people never really gone be. Spirits will friends be with spirits of Shrsted. Ever and always be this true."

"Yes," Klat replied. "We believe that all intelligent beings everywhere share a common spirit that can never cease to be. The fact you have the same belief when you are not of the same race or even of the same kind of beings proves it. It is a thing we all know. The spirit knows. When my spirit crosses I will know your people and your people will know me. I am secure in that knowledge.

"It is good we haven't been using animals with spirits for food. That would make for a terrible spirit life!"

"Not so be," Z said. "Purpose born to every each beings. If purpose food to be, then is good. Purpose is each to have. No purpose is no reason is not happy-making."

"Now THAT is something that will take much hard study!" Klat said, surprised. "You mean we are all born to be what we are? That we aren't able to change that?"

"No! Not that mean!" Z cried. "Purpose you have. Purpose Z have. Is no wrong if purpose found. Done. Is no wrong if change. Maybe purpose was change? Maybe NOT change is NOT serve purpose?

"Little wrongs spirits allow to teach the lesson. Big-big wrongs spirits say no-no! Inside is know. No have hunt for wrongs. Always find. Not there, but find big bad. Guilty be. Bad for spirit. Soon not know yes or no. Not happy."

"We have a saying," Imu said. "If you look for trouble it will find you. You are saying that if you seek trouble you create it."

"Only trouble then in here, not real," Z said, tapping his head. "Real, but for only hunter. Others not real. Soon nothing real."

"You make it real for yourself if you believe it's real," Lix said. "You're a true philosopher.

"What do you say about...."

They talked for most of the remainder of the day. Z learned to like the Shrsted more and more. He laid a strong foundation that would allow him to return from time to time, as he knew he would, to vacation on the world. He would be known as a legend of sorts, but not one that would affect the race in a negative way. He laid a foundation that would allow him to bring Thing along to meet these people, saying he had met other races or members of other intelligent races, but those people also seemed to be dying out. He was philosophical about it, saying nature would seek the best race for a place and would then end the others. Their spirits would always be there to give advice and help when needed. The Shrsted seemed to be the race who would inherit this world and that was a good thing. They were the best suited for peopling the world so that was their purpose.

Klat brought a gorlmph on a vine leash for comparison with Z. It was something like a spider monkey from Earth, but not as intelligent. Z couldn't see much resemblance, but then, most mammals would tend to look alike to a reptilian race.

The following morning he went back upstream, Lix and Imu going a distance with him, then planting a large plant of an orchid that looked much like Earth's Odontoglossum crispum on the cleft where Z was first found to mark the meeting of their races. Z hugged both of the Shrsted and bid them good fortune, then went on upstream while they returned to their village. The rest of the trip to that world the crew made it a point to not meet anymore of the Shrsted. There was too much danger of making a terrible mistake, but their luck was as good as it had always been. What happened there wouldn't do any damage and might do some good. They were definitely going to return to that world in the future!

It was twenty days later when they left the world Maita had designated as Shrsted. There was a large area in room six filled with new and different plants for Z to plant in his gardens and in room five for Thing to plant below the waves of EC in its own gardens. The crew discussed Shrsted and its good people. Maita recorded a large library about them. Their language was in the permanent library there on Maita.

They were in high orbit, preparing to place the satellites that would guarantee no one would ever interfere with that culture.

*This is one we can all feel good about! They'll be a good race that may have it a bit too easy, but a few of them will still manage to amount to something. Look at Islipona, for example!*

[ I liked it when they were discussing whether they should cook Z up right then and there or whether they should sell him to another tribe for food! ]

"Hah!" Z exclaimed. "Maita was saying on the way over here I tend to be smug, but you'd really see how I got my come-uppance there if you knew what I was thinking when I went to that first meeting!"

*If you weren't going to tell us you wouldn't have brought it up.*

"I was sitting there wondering how I was going to handle it when they decided to make me some kind of god!" Z said. "Can you believe that? Talk about smug!"

[ I certainly can believe it! You always did tend to think rather highly of yourself! I only wish I could have seen the expression on your face when they said they wondered if you had any intelligence at all. ]

*You DID see it! We were watching through the com floater. You said, 'Oh, wow! It's a good thing they can't read Z's facial expression! He looks like he just swallowed some particularly nasty bug!' and I said ... here! I'll play it back for you!*

They started the teasing again. It went on for hours.

Featuring Thing

Thing is almost always included with the other characters. It sometimes went along for different reasons. It is an empath who can "read" beings. It has a fixation on what it calls Sociomath (Everything is expressed in mathematical terms with Thing! It also has a compulsion to change things in a society.

We left EC, taking Z and myself in Maita and Tab on TRD-60. We were to rendezvous at the W beacon, then begin a search pattern for worlds with a highly enough evolved technology to know there are other intelligences.

We do not contact civilizations directly who are not ready. It can be devastating to the culture. We do sometimes interfere (A violation of an inviolable rule) surreptitiously, but never in an overt manner.

Well, hardly ever.

The machines can modify Tab or Z enough to let one or both "do things" on a planet. There are those where I can go along, and those where I can't.

I was resting on Z's lap in the master chair in the pilot's dome while he studied some stuff from the computers. I do a thing to distract him when I'm resting. I roll my tentacles around my body to form a ball when I rest and, to distract Z, I poke one eye through the space between the tentacles to look at him. He seems to find it amusing.

"I see you're awake," he said.

[ I see you're studying more useless information. ]

*All he has to do is put a crystal in the socket and save what few brain cells he has left for something worthwhile.*

"It doesn't always turn out to be useless," he replied. "What if I hadn't known how to pilot you when you were stuck in TTH fourteen?"

[ That's a gotcha! ]

*That was worthwhile. All that information about dimensional interfaces isn't – for the simple reason you can't understand a word of it.*

"How would you know?" he asked.

[ Because Maita doesn't understand it, either. I'm the only one who understands it. ]

"And you think it's some kind of joke!" he accused.

[ That's because it's really very simple. ]

*Humph!*

We do that a lot. I have the ability to understand various of these abstractions, where Maita can use them but can't understand them. The math works, but it can't discover why.

Z may surprise me and be able to understand it someday, so I won't leave myself open to that kind of retaliation. He would never let me forget if I said he couldn't do it.

I called my floater and climbed onto it, just to irritate Z. He thinks it's silly for me to use the thing in the ship, but it's easier.

So I'm a lazy slob. We can't all be perfect!

Hey! I found a platitude that's true!

We felt the shift as we entered N space (There is interruption in electrical flow in the neural paths when the planal interfaces are traversed), and Maita fastcommed to TRD-60. We jumped in TTH4 to within a few kilometers of him (Tab is designed to look male, so I call them him.)(Z started using the term "jumped" for planal distortion relmotion, so I will do so, though that is not in any way an accurate description of the process. It is one of those things that resulted from terms he'd read in science fiction in the time before his abduction.)

The holovid came on, showing Tab sitting in his pilot's chair (Though all he does is "tell" TR where he wants to go. They are always linked through a special band. The act is because almost no one outside of the crew knows he's a machine – except for the Zulians, and they never make distinctions and would never tell anyone.)(I seem to use a lot of asides, don't I?)

"How are we going to do this?" he asked.

"You pick your direction and we'll pick another," Z suggested. "We'll work outward a certain distance, then move in a zigzag until we cover the area, then come back to compare notes." (Z tends to use contractions much more than the rest of us, with the possible exception of TRD-60.)

[ Why not simply locate radio or holovid sources and go there? We are, I think, looking for ready planets. ]

*My suggestion exactly. I'll head for that source west and south, so you can find another one. Fastcom the coordinates of each world you approach and we will first locate, then compare notes and contact planets together. Meet back here in fifty hours.*

"Yo!" TR replied, and they flashed and were gone.

Maita read the directions from the beacons, then went a few plazsis to the side of the indications it was receiving from the source for triangulation. We located eighty six planets with civilizations in differing stages in fifty hours and came back to meet Tab at the beacon. We would consider all we found and make a plan where each of us would have certain areas and duties. Our system is fairly efficient now, after three hundred years. As Z says, we have worked most of the bugs out.

We all enjoy these adventures. I hope we find some of them here.

~

We compared notes and found there was only one planet we would bother to contact and two we would observe for a few years before attempting contact. The planet we would contact was found by Tab, and was peopled by a race on the borderline between reptilian and ornithoid. Such civilizations are generally very artistic, and these were no exception. They agreed to join the empire on a trial basis (They would use the machines for awhile and make a decision later).

The planet was M4, which was a bit hot and light for me, but I wasn't evolved on such a planet, so I'm no judge.

I'd like to explain right now that it isn't as easy to find civilizations by radio transmissions, as some seem to think. The period of use of radio is usually very short.

We found the radio from these people a few plazsis out, and they were gone in less than a hundred plazsis. It isn't too long before a civilization finds light transmission, either through fiberoptics or direct and, of course, gravitics will make radio obsolete to a great degree. That's why Tab can use the radio so safely in his detective work. Very few places use radio.

This planet had developed the unsafe drive we called Umfrapt drive, but it is called many things. The moders in the drive are dangerous and unreliable, and one must make many short jumps, but a race knows it can travel to the stars when it has the drive, therefore knows there are others, and that contact is as much as assured.

The planet was called Klieve by the inhabitants, and was soon registered, then we headed for a planet we passed over with high scans earlier. Z immediately decided he wanted to see more of it.

We have nothing but time, so we could call for exploration of any systems we wanted, and everyone went along.

We were soon over an —2 planet, which is perfect for Z and would be for Tab if he were really a Swaz. It was in the favorite period for Z – the medieval period he so much loved. The people were mammals and of three or four subraces. They were a small increment larger than Z, but he fit into the size range well enough not to cause comment. He would be a bit short.

Tab could be modified easily, as it was a matter of the shape of the nose and ears. The mouth was a bit different, and a few other things.

Z saw great differences, but I saw very little. I realize Z could probably see no difference between myself and any other Mentan of my age except coloring, but I see few similarities. That is a normal thing. One sees certain characteristics of one's own race.

There was a continent with no people who were advanced above a basic tribal society and one with a quite advanced society for the period. The other two featured rather brutal, militaristic societies. There were magicians and kings and pirates – all the things Z could ask for. I could even go there, because there were many strange lifeforms being brought in regularly.

Tab had been on a planet much like this one once where he used a floater like a shield. It was a bronze and iron age and shields were common.

It's easy to put a handle on a floater, and the devices have what Z calls an "irising setup" to expand or contract the outer perimeter. They have very little natural weight and are immensely strong, even without the force shields.

Maita sent a remote servo to locate a lone traveler to get the language and customs from him. That means we use the mind probe, which is strictly a thing we may not do. Another violation of inviolable rules. We do it all the time. We must be able to use the language of a people to be able to help them, in many cases.

Maita sends me and Tab the language and information directly, but Z has a crystal he wears in a socket in his ears that gives him the use of the language. The mind is directly wired, so it's a situation where one may actually think in the language of the crystal. The crystal usually contains the customs and general knowledge of the person the information is taken from.

We got three languages on the crystal.

Maita would stay on one of the moons while TR took us down. We would come from the sea, and be from a far land.

While I have mentioned the moons – the planet had two moons, both fairly large – allow me to explain that large moons with relatively strong gravitational effects on a planet in a life producing zone will generally mean a diverse biosystem. Moons of size stir the oceans much more than no moons or small moons, and there is a more diverse mixture of original material. I have seen otherwise perfect planets that lack moons that have very limited life as a result.

Z went to the medical machines for his transformation, while TR worked on Tab. I would ride on one or the other's shoulder most of the time and be an entertainment.

I liked the mostly-water planets, and would be content to just stay in the ocean where I could explore, but this might be fun.

I have developed a sense of fun along with my sense of humor. It's a great aid in our games.

Maita modified the floaters into shields, so would stay in constant contact through them, and would be in contact with me through TRD-60.

We boarded TR, and were soon down under the ocean about two kilometers offshore in half a kilometer of water. Our floaters shield for long enough for Z to reach the surface. Tab and I couldn't care less about air.

We would go ashore as soon as it was sufficiently dark.

I found the odors and tastes of this planet to be a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant things many primitive places seem to have near populations. A planet farther back in evolution usually has a cleaner taste and smell, and early industrial planets stink horribly.

The air was a pleasant temperature, but I am adapted to a wide range of heat control, so it didn't mean much. Z would have said it was refreshingly cool at night and probably rather warm in the daytime. I believe the planet's temperature range would be quite varied over the period of its year, as its orbit was eccentric. This was the warmest part of the year for this area, so we would have all the time we wanted to enjoy it.

There were some castles, each of which seemed to have what Z called a private army to keep the population down. (I suppose that's one of his jokes. The excess birth and death rates would keep the population fairly stable, excluding plague and famine.) The castles and the small towns enclosed in their walls were excellent breeding places for plagues and sicknesses. It's my personal theory these mammalian societies become genetically strong through the immune mechanisms brought forth by this sort of filth and closeness.

The castles were nothing if not filthy – at least what I was able to observe of them.

We approached the massive stone walls to find iron gates had been dropped and large wooden doors were closed. There was what Z called a moat around the place, which was a scummy open cesspool, and bridges from the two entrances were raised, making it most unlikely we could hope to enter by normal means this night.

Tab suggested staying the night in the forests. He said he was on a planet in exactly this stage of development, and we could expect bandits and highwaymen to be in the forests. As we were supposed to be more or less barbarians (Then what were the people in those ugly, filthy castles?) we would fit in well with the bandits.

We didn't find any bandits that night, and slept in little huts we made of branches. We had food for the morning and went to the castle as soon as the gates were opened and the drawbridges lowered at first light. There were guards at the gates. Tab and Z garnered their respect when they were challenged by the guards by the act of overpowering them physically and taking their weapons away from them.

Z seems to sometimes enjoy this kind of physical violence and rationalizes that no one is actually hurt, though I am sure the guards would have killed him and Tab (If Tab had been an organic) gleefully. They meant to impart damage with their weapons, but Tab was designed with full abilities to protect himself, and Z had the crystal in one ear from the oriental girl of Earth that gave him the full use of what he calls karate.

Several of the beings of the castle watched as the guards were dealt with, but none interfered. I stayed on the lower part of the gate where I managed to locate and pick up several coins lost in the scuffle. I placed them on the floater later and had them duplicated, though we brought some of the heavy metal, gold, for exchange. It wasn't very common on this world, and was used in exchange.

We proceeded into the castle, where I was somewhat a center for attention, as these people had never seen anything like me before. We stopped at a small restaurant Tab called a "pub" to have some hot beverage made from grain and fruit. It was rather bland to me and Z didn't like it at all, so he had some sweetcake and syrup which is not balanced, being almost all sugars.

The castle was called High Keep, and there was a Lord Hooven and Lady Luce who were in charge.

I pictured a time when we had gone to a magic planet where we met a Countess Toot, but the people here seemed to like the Lady Luce. The wizard at the castle was called Meecham, and was not liked at all, and the guards were despised.

It occurred to me that if the Lady and Lord are as good as the people believed, why would they tolerate a guard that was oppressive and corrupt?

These are the things Z is so very fast to note. I could see he hadn't missed the point, and he asked the pubmaster, who said the wizard and the head of the guard became dangerous to the Lord and Lady through the seizure of power. Z and Tab grinned widely at one another and I knew we were in for some fun. They would try to rectify the situation in their own way.

I was, of course, not in communication with Z, as I couldn't speak directly here, but I was in contact with Tab, and received the message we would find a way to challenge the wizard.

Z can use some small part of the magic we learned on Tlorg, as can I. Tab and TR learned something from before the trip to Earth from the Inktan ship, T6 (Also just Ship), who learned it from a wizard on another world. Some magic is real, in that a thing that can be done in apparent opposition to natural law is magic. Once explained, magic is science.

Tab gave the pubmaster a small piece of gold, and the man was amazed.

"We can make all we want," Tab told him, and winked at Z. He told me on the internal radio that he had TR extract tons of the stuff and place it in some large kettles on his medieval planet to defeat a wizard. It could be done here.

We went on toward the castle to be approached by a band of thirteen soldiers who challenged us as being illegally inside the castle walls. Tab told them we could "kick a little hell out of" them, too. They bristled at the challenge, and I feared we would expose ourselves as aliens or we would be damaged by this number of foes, but Tab said there was no danger, as these people feared barbarians.

It must be so, because they blustered and threatened while Z and Tab laughed at them. One came quietly up behind Tab, whose shoulder I was riding, so I sprang onto his head and wrapped a lower tentacle around his neck, squeezing until he lost consciousness.

I have found that most mammals will pass into an unconscious state rather quickly if their air supply is disrupted. I also must be careful I don't use a pressure that will cause tissue damage or they won't recover, and I certainly don't wish to kill any of them unnecessarily. It isn't in my nature to harm anyone, but I have learned through hard experience there are times when one must act against the dictates of his nature or he will himself be harmed.

We were watched warily as we strolled away from the encounter (Tab and Z strolled away with me as a rider. One does not stroll on tentacles.)

As we approached the castle proper, several young saw us and exhibited curiosity about me.

I have found two things about the young of almost any race we have encountered. They have some affinity for Z and will go to him naturally, and they like to play with me. I empathically note they think that I'm "cute" and "different," and children don't have natural fear of strangeness. That's a thing they are taught – fear.

Z carried a child on his shoulder and Tab picked one up, so I climbed onto his head, and the child, a female, petted me.

We seated ourselves under a tree and played with the children a short while, then proceeded to the castle, where we asked to see the Lord and Lady. The guards laughed at us, so Z held his hands up and a blue flame appeared in his palms. He looked across the flame and said we would, in that case, speak with the wizard.

The guard became nervous, but said it wasn't possible.

"Then we'll turn you to stone and find him ourselves," Z said. "You don't seem to realize, this is a demand, not a request."

Tab used the floater surreptitiously to produce a thin "card" of silver with pure gold letters saying we were Ops and Neet and their familiar (me) Tooques.

The guard called a boy over and told him to take the message to the wizard.

"This is almost what happened on Tlorg!" Z said.

"Not really," Tab responded. "You went in there rather more openly as wizards."

The boy returned in a few moments and ushered us into the castle, where we went down some stairs and to a large room below ground level where a fat man who radiated deceit to my empathic powers invited us in and offered a beverage much like a wine. I could feel his strong desire that we all drink and warned Tab, who took a goblet of the stuff and drank it right down.

Tab has what Maita calls an elemetizer grid that disassociates molecules and analyzes them, then they can be either stored or vented off, in the cases of gases.

"I have to tell you we are both immune to Calmath and other scopalamides you use in these silly concoctions," he told the wizard. The wizard laughed and said he really didn't think it would work. The empathy told me he was distressed because it was ineffective against us.

"You have quite a little setup here," Z noted. "Meecham the Wizard and head of state. Along with your captain of the guards and the impotence of the real rulers, you can run things the way you want.

"How did you manage to pull that one off?" (That is one of Z's idioms that I use. He uses them much of the time, but we can all understand them now.)

Tab sent a request to me to start nosing around the laboratory to see what we could discover about the state of Meecham's actual abilities. I went to a table, where I was perusing the bottles and equipment when Meecham suddenly broadcast alarm and dislike, and moved to try to push me off the table violently.

I used a little of the magic I learned on Tlorg and gave him an electrical shock, then pushed some of the bottles onto the stone floor where they broke and their contents made a cloud of foul-smelling gases.

Meecham picked up a sword and advanced toward me with rage and hatred in his mind, so I utilized the microwave generator on the floater Tab had placed on a chair to heat the metal of the sword. I pointed a tentacle at him and stood on the tips of my other three tentacles and hissed. That seems to effectively show that I am displeased to these types.

The microwaves heated his belt buckle and some pendants and medals on chains around his neck while it did the same to the sword he was brandishing. A knife in a sheath in the front of his belt seemed to cause him the most discomfort.

Tab and Z looked amused as he danced around the room peeling off his clothing. When he stopped disrobing Tab said that, as I have more power than Meecham, it might be well-advised for him to refrain from attempting to attack me. This was simply my way of warning him. Had he angered me, I would have cooked him alive.

I would never do something like that, but I have learned these deceptions are sometimes useful.

We stayed only a short time more, and Meecham was broadcasting a sick fear, which I informed Tab would soon interfere with his actions, as his circulatory system was dangerously stressed and was clogged with hardened fats.

We said we would return later and left.

"Was he really on the verge of heart failure?" Tab asked when we were safe from anyone's hearing and the floater could carry vocalizations for me for Z's edification.

[ His heartbeat was arrhythmic and stressed, and his fear was almost palpable. ]

"Let's locate this Clorkith, Captain of the Guards character," Z suggested.

"Where did you find his name?" Tab asked.

[ Troon, the pubmaster, mentioned it. ]

We went up the stairs and into the large hall where the same troop of soldiers who had accosted us in the street was waiting. Before they could say anything, Tab said, "Take us to Clorkith. Now!"

The leader of the guards broadcast surprise and led us on in his confusion. He was also wary, and seemed to expect trouble, while we acted friendly toward him and his soldiers.

Clorkith had six guards standing around the room, while he was seated at a large table. He fairly radiated suspicion and fear. He seemed afraid of everything according to his mental state, but his actions seemed deliberately to wish to provoke greatly us. I appraised Tab of the inconsistency. Tab replied that he was only a coward who survived on bluff.

Nothing was suggested to me as to how to conduct myself, so I decided to have a little fun. A cowardly bully is not a type of person I would care to waste my compassion on, so I waited until Clorkith was sitting back in his chair trying to act as though he had complete charge of events and knew no fear, then sprang to his desk, and went right to where his feet were on the table. He threw his arms out at me and fell over backward onto the floor, fear of me a stink in the whole room. He could only exist because these people were not very sensitive to odors.

He was fighting to control his terror, and to get to his feet. He was terribly embarrassed at the same time, and deceit was an imperative in his emotions. He was more concerned about others knowing of his fear than with the fear itself.

As soon as he stood I sprang to his shoulder, and he screamed and ran around the room, so I wrapped a tentacle around his head. He ran into the stone wall, becoming unconscious with the sudden contact. I went to Z's shoulder and shrugged my upper tentacles at him, whereupon he laughed, and Tab joined him.

The six guards seemed somewhat uncertain and were broadcasting confusion, of which I informed Tab.

"Why not dump him on the table until he comes around?" Tab suggested to the guards, and it seemed to relieve them somewhat that someone was giving orders.

Strange.

Tab suggested I stress Clorkith's mind to an extreme and, as I have stated, I felt no compassion for him, I waited until he was fully conscious and starting to sit up and again jumped onto his shoulder. He was fighting desperately to control himself, so I wrapped a tentacle around his head and bent to peer into his eyes with one of mine, while I watched the guards with the other. This so disconcerted him that he began to hyperventilate (Z had told me about that) and fell off the table onto the floor. I stayed on the table and hung over the edge to peer at him.

I felt his mind leave him, and he became a gibbering mass of fear and hatred. He ran from the room as soon as he could gain his feet.

I sat up and shrugged the tentacles at Tab and Z again, then went to a guard who was standing beside the table and climbed to his shoulder. He was very still and was confused and wary, but not afraid very much.

Tab told him I was curious and wouldn't hurt anyone unless I was threatened. He said I drove a coward insane, and the guard let a small grin escape before he controlled his face again. My empathy told me he disliked Clorkith intensely and had felt he was a coward.

"Clorkith is no longer sane, so you must have a new captain for the guards," Z instructed. "Get someone who isn't afraid of that phony wizard."

"You say Meecham is a fake wizard?" the guard asked. (I felt incredulity.) "I've seen his power! He can do things – I know! He once turned me into a blorthog!"

Tab turned to another guard, stared him in the eyes, and used a trick his Acnian friend, Rollo, taught him. He had him fully hypnotized in a short time, and told him he was a blorthog. The soldier went to all fours, rolled around in the filth on the floor, and made grunting noises until Tab said, "Wake up! Tell us what happened to you."

The man was crying and feeling humiliated, so I went to him and used my empathy to take the embarrassment from him.

"I was a blorthog," he wailed. "It was a terrible thing. I am no longer a man!"

"You were not," Tab scolded. "It's a trick that only you felt. Don't be ashamed. This can be done by anyone to anyone. It's only a trick. Meecham is a trickster, not a magician."

The guard looked to me and I reassured him.

"I can teach you to do that," Tab informed them, "but you'd probably do it to the wrong person and end up dead – or worse.

"Meecham has only the power YOU give him. Don't give him any and he has none. The same was true of that coward, Clorkith."

"I suggest you meet with Lord Hooven and the Lady Luce to have them select the next captain – someone who'll be loyal to them and fair to the people," Z added. He likes to think he's being noble and, in a way, I guess he is. It's an honest effort with only a little selfishness in it.

Tab sent that we had to do something to get rid of Meecham as we went back to the pub where we had taken the breakfast. It was hard to believe it was only slightly past midday. We had already resolved much of the problems for this little province. We have learned the most efficient things to do over the years, and can make changes for the better very quickly, at times.

Now I'm feeling noble, but that's all right. It's a good feeling.

Tab and Z discussed options at lunch, while I ate what the floater said was safe, as did Z. The floater has a mechanism to analyze foods to match them to our individual systems, much as Tabs elementizers do.

I suggested these people were ready for the attentions of one of the M-82nds, but Tab said they had been here, and showed me the legends.

The M-82nds are a race who came here from that galaxy – one that is exploding – but who were trapped in two planals at once. They can't die nor breed nor any of that, and have devised a system whereunder they contact primitive races to steer them to a sense of wonderment that, hopefully, they will never lose. Z says they were on Earth in the guises of Apollonius of Tyana and of the wizard, Merlin. They were on Zeena as the wizard, Fezzwin, and one of them is working with a race on EC called Joe's People under the name of Zeewin. His real name is Zianteus, and he has already brought about a genetic change in Joe's People that will allow all future generations to speak.

We were feeling pretty good, so spent the remainder of the day exploring the town and spent the night in the inn behind the pub.

In the morning we explored the area around the castle and Z suggested a way to grow the food that would be more productive, then Tab showed them how to use water from the hill behind the town to flush the garbage and refuse to a sort of swamp on the end of the moat. I didn't see it would be such an improvement, but it was a start. Tab has explained before that one small idea will sometimes grow.

I can see what he wanted to accomplish, in that to get the garbage out of the town would stop the worst of the odors there (And a lot of disease), and the contrast when the people came to the filthy moat would encourage them to clean up the moat, then more and more the idea of getting away from the garbage would spread.

The next day about midday a wizard from the neighboring castle (approximately twenty five kilometers distant) arrived in a fancy carriage. A soldier from "our" castle was leading it, so I would assume Meecham had sent for him.

It was soon obvious we were to be challenged. This magician was older, and everyone said he was the teacher of Meecham and was known throughout the land as being the most powerful of the wizards.

I could feel he did have some small power, but these people weren't evolved to T-powers, so their real magic was as much as nonexistent. I informed Tab that this magician was slightly T-kinetic.

"All he has to be able to do is stop a tiny electrical discharge – or cause one – for a short time, and he can destroy the mind," Z warned us. "Remember that gestalt amplifier?

"It's easy to stop the heartbeat."

"Not in me, and not in Thing," Tab replied. "You're to stay out of this, Z."

As Z had been nearly killed because of the ability to affect a few molecules, he had to agree. He would stay away from this new wizard.

We had a soldier come to tell us our presence was requested at the castle, so Tab and I went while Z stayed. We were met by Meecham and the two he introduced as Lord Hooven and Lady Luce.

I saw concern, fear, and kindness in the two rulers and wished there was some way to reassure them.

"I wished to have you meet Master Wizard Hume," Meecham said, confidence projecting strongly. "We will have a demonstration of a wizard's power to show our Lord and Lady the wisdom of ... a number of things we have discussed in the past."

He turned to Hume and demanded, "Kill them!"

Tab grinned at Hume, and I felt the small tugging at my heart that said he was trying to reverse the blood flow. I informed Tab of what was happening and he assured me that, having no blood, it was a somewhat pointless exercise on him. I could use my empathy to reduce any effect on me. I also have two hearts, so wouldn't be negatively affected to any degree.

We waited until we saw Hume begin to perspire, then Tab said, "Anytime you're ready, you may start. I don't have all day to let you use me in your side show.

"If you're not successful, we'll see if maybe I've got a few powers myself, hmm? If your silly trickeries don't work I'll let Tooques stop Meecham's heart.

"Fair enough?"

Hume was shaking with his concentration, and I felt the sudden withdrawal of his attempt. He looked at Meecham, who was again beginning to radiate the fear. His heart was already stressing and arrhythmic. He was working his mouth, but no sound was coming forth.

"Are you through?" Tab asked of Hume.

"I determine you are well-shielded from my power," Hume answered. "I admit to defeat in this challenge, but only in this one."

Meecham was making whistling sounds, and was red in the face. Tab turned to him, and said, "Okay! Our turn!

"Tooques, kill him!"

I pointed a tentacle at him and released a small spark of electrical energy at him. It was to make him lose consciousness, and we could later say we took pity on him and send him from the castle, but he hemorrhaged in his brain. I felt the cold blankness spreading and could do nothing as he slumped forward and died at our feet. I sent what happened to Tab, and he took advantage of the situation. I felt no remorse that Meecham was dead.

"Hume, you will get the hell out of this town and never come back here again," Tab ordered. "We're going to another place soon, but will keep in touch with this place through our powers. If ever again you send your flunky to this town I'll have to challenge you to a duel of powers. I think you know full well the result will be that you'll end up like Meecham. Little Tooques had more power than you and Meecham combined.

"While I'm here, Lord and Lady, I say to the guard that they'd better be very careful in their treatment of the people and in their loyalty to you, the legitimate rulers here. A thousand of these soldiers would be no more problem to me than Meecham was."

The Lady Luce held a hand out to us, and I touched a tentacle to her, which startled her somewhat, though she made no outward sign, then Tab held her hand a moment. We repeated the ritual with Lord Hooven, and were invited to remain for as long as we liked at the castle, but Tab said we must continue in our quest. I assume he said that for theatricality, as we have no particular quest.

We returned to Z to go into the forest, thence to TR and to Maita. Z and Tab both agreed this wasn't what they expected, and they spoke about various aspects of the adventure that escape me.

I have little doubt Z would have made it sound very much more exciting and Tab would have spent many pages explaining how carefully he designed the water-wash program, but I find more interest in the personalities we meet. Z would say we have turned the society away from a brutal cult and into a productive benevolent form, and Tab would insist we have planted the seeds of a better and healthier world.

I say we pointed out to the people that you can't defeat a bully or a fake if you don't stand up to him. Hume may be able to kill three people before the rest of them tear him limb from limb in their fury. We have shown them they can do it.

We used the facilities on Maita to clean ourselves, then ate a truly delicious meal, then we insulted one another for awhile until Z came to the pilot's chair to sleep. I came with him, and curled in his lap to sleep, myself.

"That was an interesting little place," he reported to me. "I think the people will be a lot like the Cheeth in the future. They already show signs of not accepting politics and bureaucracy to any extent. We've started them on the road to a pretty good society."

[ Quite the opposite, Z. They were like that when we arrived, but we have instilled an idea that bureaucracy is the only way. ]

"What?! How do you figure?" he asked.

[ I could feel the strong shift of mind when you and Tab kept preaching loyalty toward the Lord and Lady to them, and how the soldiers must be controlled by rules, not by some self-concerned captain. Those words were designed for the introduction of rules and bureaucracy! ]

"NOW you tell me!" he cried.

Featuring the Golems

The golems were introduced in the fifth book as a device for that book alone, but it turned out they were the most requested characters, so I was as much as forced to use them in other books. People find them hilarious. They are a lot of fun to write. This is from Iggy - A New Perspective. Iggy would become a continuing character, as would Gloria, if I had written more in the series.

*Iggy? Please wait a few minutes before leaving for Jlokt.*

That (* ... *) is the special tone Emperor Maita uses in all its communications. It always amazes me that the emperor would ask, when it made me – and IS Emperor of the Maitan Empire in two galaxies and across three planes!

"Certainly, Maita. How are things at EC?"

*Rather boring. I'm not good at a routine, but I'm preparing to set out on a little vacation. Tar-One will handle things and the crew are getting restless.*

I made a small machine laugh and remarked that almost any of their various "little adventures" would serve most beings, mechanical OR organic, for a lifetime.

*Easy enough to say when you're not part of what we are. The Terran, Thing and Kurk are coming aboard. They'll be there in only a few minutes. You have had a few "little adventures" of your own.*

"The basic threesome? What will you, Kit and Tab find to occupy you without them?"

"We're taking Gloria to Phantasie," TRD-60 (Tab's ship and partner, affectionately known as TR) answered. "We'll introduce her to Searcher on the way."

*There appears to be a small problem there. I see your passengers are entering. Bon voyage. Try to keep them out of serious trouble.*

"It will be fun!" GD interjected. "Thing, Z, Kurk – and the golems!

"What's the problem in Jlokt, Maita?"

*I'm not certain, but it seems very possible the Urprohds have found a colony of Krofpth in Jlokt. That will give you a lot of new data for your studies in sociomath.*

"For that you need the crew?" T6, Kit's ship, asked.

"If there are also some Immins on the same world I'd say so!" Inge, Gloria's ship, replied.

We ships are linked for most things in case you wonder how that bunch got in there.

I linked with Library for a fast input of data on Krofpth.

Dumb! I KNEW Krofpth had set up Library and that they built TAR-1. They were a culture that had an empire a quarter million years ago and had simply shut it down, believing there was no point to such an entity. Maita and the crew found them and had joined them. It was using their amazing machine, TAR-1, as a partner.

They had sent a few ships into intergalactic space, but had never heard from any of them again so ended the project.

I'd have to add ten cubic meters of data storage cubes and wait almost ten hours for all that input. Fortunately, I could restrict the parts I'd be likely to need.

Z announced they were aboard and that they had everything they would need. Maita said Inge would meet us in Jlokt. All the organics would travel aboard me to have company on the long trip. They would need an intelligent ship when they reached Jlokt and Inge would get the chance to work with the crew other than Gloria.

We said our fond good fortunes to Maita and the crew and I lifted. GD checked out the golems and sent them into the salon.

–Well! The Three Mushketeers! This is going to be one DULL trip!–

"Gack!" Kurk exclaimed.

+Now, No.+

-Sheesh!-

*

We were almost to the midpoint, eighteen days out, when a Bentan woman died in her quarters. It wouldn't be so strange that a passenger died on my sixty fourth trip between the galaxies – except for the simple fact that every passenger is VERY carefully examined medically before they embark on such a difficult trip and her medical records were spotless. She died of circulatory/respiratory failure, which could possibly have been allergic anaphylaxis, but I was sure the medcheck would have alerted me to any such possibilities.

I called Thing, who was playing a game of Stars and Comets with a Vendan, a Jornian and myself.

Thing was the black. The rest of us were red. Thing was about eighty one percent ahead of the rest of us, which meant we were doing extraordinarily well.

I informed Thing about the death through our silent empathic channel and it instructed I have the medoff do a complete biotic infra-cellular scan. If it didn't show anything suspicious it was probably a natural death. One in fifty thousand chances DID happen!

The scan didn't show anything.

Then, the very next sleep period, the Jornian who had been playing the Stars and Comets game with us died under identical circumstances.

Thing declared it was a shame this was a trip with no Feach medical team aboard, but we would make do (an expression from the Terran, no doubt).

We called Z and Kurk to explain what was happening and Z said to have the golems keep a close watch on all Bentans and Jornians aboard. I was to also isolate all the standard scans of them to check for contacts with the dead people.

I asked why.

"Because a premeditated murder outside the race of the victim is rare," he said.

[ You think it's murder? ]

"Oh, yeah!"

*

"I don't even understand why I'm doing THIS part!" I protested. "There were contacts with both victims by almost everyone!"

Kurk laughed. "We have to know which ones made NO contacts whatever with either victim and we have to know if there was anyone else those people had NO contact with."

–Ahha! Furface has, once again, shown a rudimentary ability to almost think!–

+Oh, dear! If YOU see logic in Kurk's processes I fear he is terribly wrong!+

–Stick it, Bee Brain!–

"I see," Z said.

–Now I'M worried that I was wrong!–

"So!" I cried. "We are sharing a rather confined space for an extended period. It isn't likely anyone would avoid contact with ALL others aboard. CERTAINLY those of the same race would meet! A lack of any contact whatever would almost necessarily be contrived – but WHY?"

+I see! No, you were right, much as I hate to admit it. NOT meeting would be abnormal in the extreme. It would be virtually imPOSSible not to meet, at least in a momentary passing sense, at many points in the daily routines we all take for gran....+

–GHEEAAAAIGH! Why not FILIBUSTER for an hour or two, Brass Brain?–

+Now, No.+

"I understand!" I said. "Very well."

A few seconds more to review the surveillance records of the trip with that in focus let me know that all had met at one time or another – except with a Jornian named Yet Farm Khot.

I reported.

[ Is there anyone else here Farm hasn't spoken with? ]

"Yes. A Bentan woman, Keathe Leah Mikt," I replied.

"Did she meet with the others?" Kurk asked.

"Yes, but infrequently," I replied.

"She's the next victim," Z said. "Watch carefully to see how he does it."

–And STOP it, of course, Dense Dome!–

+There would be that.+

*

We arrived at Welcome in Jlokt without further incident, which puzzled everyone. We decided there was something very important missing from what we knew, but couldn't figure what it might be. Z and Kurk placed a surveillance mini-device in the personal luggage of both Farm and Keathe, knowing they were definitely up to SOMETHING (that's a Terran expression), but not knowing what.

Farm was en route to Library Jlokt and Keathe was going to EC Jlokt – so Kurk and Thing went to EC, being most visible of the group and Z took on a disguise and went to Library. I arranged for Inge to be ready for their use when they returned. Chest, a Unit Captain in the Fleet, would direct them to the area where evidence of the possible colonies was found. After four local days everyone returned to Welcome and Farm and Keathe checked into a hotel on different floors to await the return trip in sixteen days. The crew came back aboard, met and invited me to participate.

"What did Farm do? Where did he go?" Kurk asked.

"He spent the entire time doing research on water worlds," Z replied. "He studied heavy planet planoforming techniques and mining of fumaroles. There are some very advanced studies here that can't be found in Esgerl.

"What about Keathe?"

[ She spent her time at the census bureau. ]

"I'm totally lost," I admitted. "What could the connection be in Esgerl? They're going right back there."

"I've been doing a number of mathematical constructs on transdakz convergencies on the qat zeta axis, Thing," GD reported. "It takes into consideration the psychological imperatives of both races and finds the veltrid chi confluence crossover zed co-bacht qid rannr lines suggest something rather specific. Are they made aware that psiltripium is now a comparatively common commodity or has Maita decided to phase it in gradually to not disrupt the economic base built on it?"

[ Psiltripium? It will have to be displaced in the economic matrix through gradual increasion.... ]

"I'll be damned!" Z cried.

"What?" Kurk asked. "You don't have a hint of what they're talking about!"

"Psiltripium is found exclusively on heavy worlds," Z said, smugly. "They've found a heavy water world, which could make it easy to mine."

"Exactly!" GD said.

"I see! They can FLOAT it to the surface with any number of simple devices!" I suggested. "It could be collected and floated in close containment, then removed when mining was completed, making it possible to remove great quantities without normal permits.

"The deceased were partners who knew where the world is so were a division of funds they prefer to not make! NOT meeting in normal shipboard situations took some definite collaboration of both parties."

"THAT occurred to me from the first," Kurk said. "What now? Follow them to the world when they get back?"

"No. We'll know where it is before we return," GD said.

[ Oh? ]

"We'll put them on the probe. We'll know everything they know in seconds," I replied. "I can show with very strong probability that they committed the murders. They will refuse to volunteer to take the probe to answer the question of whether they were in any way involved in the deaths, which is indication of guilt to a near certainty."

[ You still can't put them on the probe. ]

"Sure we can!" Kurk replied smugly. "IGGY is the only law here in intergalactic space and they present a direct and clear danger to all your other passengers.

"That's true, you know. If anyone figures them out they'll kill without thought."

[ And if we're wrong? ]

"I'll offer my sincerest apologies and suggest extreme monetary compensation," I answered. "If they're innocent they'll agree to the probe on their own."

"Your sociomath tells us that," GD warned, stopping Thing from arguing further.

Thing and Z reluctantly agreed, stating I was the law once we were outside of Jlokt, then went with Chest to the area of the mystery colonies.

There were no Immins, but there were some very strange and aggressive people of a new race who had copied the ships of the Krofpt – who had established a bustling colony world – and were starting to harass many of their neighbors. Sociomath showed they were a nonviable race who would destroy themselves naturally within two hundred local years. They were very much like the Immins.

They didn't know the theories upon which the ships were built. They had merely stolen a ship and copied it, part for part. They could probably build everything except moders now and had made large numbers of weapons of types found on the ship. Without moders the ships would go nowhere.

Fleet Jlokt swooped in suddenly and removed all the ships. They had and used the standard trace to find all moders then left them to their own devices. As we predicted, several political divisions on the planet believed the others there were behind it so there would be no measurable damage from the actions taken by Fleet. They would slide into their own self-made oblivion.

The Kropth colony would be in contact with their own mother race in Esgerl in only forty two more days. Four representatives would return there aboard me.

*

[ I'm torn between the use of the probe like that and the fact we were essentially right about Farm and Keathe. I wonder if sociomath might make use of the probe too commonplace. I see a very real danger. ]

–Don't be an ass just because you're an ass! It will only be used any different than always by Iggy!–

+Now, No. Thing merely fears the unrestricted use of such intrusive measures could become far too....+

–YEEEEE! Why not filibuster us to death, Frog Breath? Couldn't you just say Soup Brain worries 'way too much about nothing?–

"GD? Aren't they supposed to be, er, entertaining the paying customers?" Kurk asked.

–PAYING customers?!? On an intergalactic ship?!? Has all that fur displaced what passes for your brain, Butt Puss?–

+Now, No. The contact between the galaxies, indeed, among even the planes, has great value in many forms. The payment is proffered in the knowledge garnered from diverse....+

[ Just say payment is not in monetary form. ]

"Just say NOTHING for a radical change!" Z suggested.

"THAT would be downright shocking!" Kurk said.

–What, Sex Addict? Not enough females to keep you occupied this trip? You need us for a diversion to pass the time!–

+NOW you did it! You will NEVER learn!+

–Say what?–

"That's an idea! Women!" Kurk declared.

[ That! ]

This would go on all the way home.

Featuring Tab/TR

Tab/TR is the first robot detective Maita built. He is an independent intelligence and becomes a major part of the series. Kit/T6 is introduced later, the second robot.

"Call Me Tab"

My name, or designation, is Tabori R. DeSixtee. I am a detective specifically for the Emperor Maita, exalted leader of the Maitan Empire of the This Galaxy. (I call it This Galaxy as there's really no reason to name the galaxy one happens to be in at this time because we've never developed any method to cross the currents of intergalactic space, though the emperor has assured me it can be done.)

My card:

Tabori R. DeSixtee

Private Investigations

Code TRD-60 Perfect 3

"Call me Tab"

Now that the crap is over my "Name" stands for Transitive (Or traveling) Abecedarian Basic-ordered Random Intelligence. The "R" stands for robot and the D-60 is my design production number. The emperor designed and built me personally.

Maita's a machine too, but few know that. It could cause some problems among the organic members of the empire. They claim to have these hangups about being ruled by machines – meanwhile they allow those computers to handle almost every facet of their lives. I see just about everywhere I go that they stop for traffic signals on those planets that have surface travel.

The truth is they already have their lives controlled almost entirely by machines.

You explain their thought processes. I can't, though that IS my real purpose.

You see, Maita has this crew of diverse organic beings and close friends – well, just two at the moment, but there have been various others for varying lengths of time.

Thing is a Mentan and an empath while Z's from some backwater world called Terra. I was there once, and you talk about a really screwed up place.... But that's another subject entirely. Suffice it to say Z's taught us quite a lot. He's shown us that absolute illogic is sometimes the best weapon in one's arsenal.

He also gave us all a sense of humor, which is an emotional response to a ridiculous situation or about the same response to deliberately looking at something from a different perspective than was intended.

This isn't about Z and Thing.

My initials, fastcom code and ship's designation are all TRD-60.

Did I mention my ship (I know I didn't. I'm a machine)? It's really my transportation, a huge memory bank, a laboratory, a factory, a friend and part of me. We're in constant contact through a thing called radio that was once very popular among certain stages of most emerging cultures. It's a short-term usage thing as better ways of communicating come along so it's soon out of use, which makes it safe to use as TR and I do because it can't be intercepted except by Maita's machines – which have their own instructions.

In primitive cultures we have to be careful. They use it so can find it if we do.

It seems strange to enter a primitive culture and know they have the means to discover me when cultures thousands of years advanced over them seldom do.

Only Maita and I have the newest drive, designated TTH14. TR discovered it because of an accident on one of our recent little adventures. It isn't safe for ships that aren't independently intelligent. The planal interface factors and the dimensional mode planal interstices are far too complex for them.

Theron and Searcher, two intelligent machines we know, don't want the drive as it isn't really that much faster (To a machine with infinite patience) and is, as stated, dangerous to use.

Let's see. Anything else?

Oh, yeah. Perfect 3.

Perfect 3 is the third planet outward from the sun designated "Euclich," near the base of the spiral "N" arm of the galaxy. We call it N43/-1/1107, which is its galactic coordinate setting. It's one of four trade worlds in the system, each having certain characteristics that lend it to a different type of being.

Perfect 1 is small, hot, light, thick atmosphere. M1, in other words.

Perfect 2 is medium. Medium everything. Size, atmosphere, temperature. M2, (Like Terra). (If you've read any of Z's books he uses the old system where Terra was an M3, but the recent restructuring of classification puts Terra at M2, very close to M3.)

Perfect 3 is medium-sized, low atmospheric pressure, lower temperatures, low water content. M3.

Perfect 4 is large, heavy, thick atmosphere and medium temperature. It produces some heat internally. M4.

After that the planets in the system don't match their M numbers.

In the old system the "M" numbers were reversed.

I always say Perfect 3 is a nearly perfect (Get it? Sorry.) description – if you're judging on a scale of one to ten.

The galactic coordinates are simple and are possible because Maita and crew (Sometimes me included) placed gravitic pulse beacons a few years back at ten location across the galaxy. One at galactic center (Almost. There's a black hole at center, so we didn't think the beacon would hold up for long if it were placed in there. Get it?), one at the "top" of the center globe, and one at the "bottom," and one at each "compass arm" of the galaxy at 25,000 plazsis (A Maitan Empire standard light year) from galactic center. N43/-1/1107 is, therefore, 43 degrees from the galactic "N" beacon, one plazsi negative, which is galactic south of the center plane of the galaxy, and 21107 plazsis from galactic center. Set your coordinates for that, and you'll be within one plazsi of Euclich when you enter N space. Having once been there, you can calibrate much closer for subsequent trips.

42.849/-1.103/21106.8492 is within three light minutes, which is within the system about halfway between the orbits of Perfects 3 and 4.

I'm a shade under two meters in height, mass at 87 kilos and am designed to look like a Swaz.

A Swaz is an amphibian being from Swaville. Swaville (SWAH vuh leh, not Sway vil) is a planet that's not far (In interstellar terms) from Terra. It's also M2.

I have the general shape (K-form) of the reptilian Kheth or the mammalian Terrans, have webbing between my fingers and toes about one third of their length, have dual-lidded eyes (Inner clear, outer opaque), am what Z has called "built like a pro running back", (I haven't any idea what that means. I seldom know what he's talking about) have a vestigial small dorsal fin from the back of my neck to the crack of my ... buttocks. My skin is tough and leathery and I, of course, am hairless.

Swaville is a planet with a great deal of heavy metal salts in everything, which is why Maita chose the form. Those salts are stored in the skins of the beings from those planets for toxic isolation. The cells carrying the salts grow out and slough off with the skin layers. This rids the body of the cumulative poisons very effectively.

The lead and gold and such in the skin also very effectively make it virtually impossible to scan me with X-rays and E-M beams.

Neat, huh? Keeps them from finding out I'm a robot.

I was also designed to handle such things as eating and excretion and other organic functions so no one knows or can tell I'm not an actual native Swaz.

I have credentials from University or anywhere else I choose because I can plug into the machines that run things, program it in, and all will be confirmed.

That handles the preliminaries. Now to the case.

I was tinkering with the atom architects in the lab on TR when it told me there was a fastcom message coming in. I went in to take the sheet from the printer (Fastcom can only send printing, not voice) and read it.

That's another thing. I can plug directly into the fastcom to send and receive. Part of being a machine.

<TRD-60>

~Lanta:gvrnmnt brdcst:N52/0/20001

~Manipulation of economics causing disruptions

~See what's going on there Tab

>Maita.<

"Lanta," I said.

"You got it, Boss!" TR replied and took off.

Lanta isn't but a couple of hundred plazsis from Perfect so we'd be there in a few minutes. I asked TR to give me everything it had on Lanta and their systems.

Lanta is a very rare sort of place, I discovered. It has two intelligences who evolved together and who actually get along fairly well. One's basically reptilian, the Mirks, and is the higher intelligence. The others are called the Keepos, who're (Ha! I just noticed! Don't forget the apostrophe in that one!) like some animal Z calls "an intelligent chimpanzee with speech".

They're mammals.

They have a large reptilian animal they use for a beast of burden.

We grounded on the space port where I went to the local hotel, checked in and established myself under the name of Eks Trah, a name I often use.

I've had enough publicity in the past that it interferes with my investigations. I'd be the only Swaz on Lanta but, as all peoples of one race tended to look alike to another race that wouldn't be a serious problem.

TR can modify me tremendously when necessary and has a few disguises of its own.

I decided to take awhile to see what the real situation was before I put my big mouth into it, so strolled around getting the feel of the place.

A nice thing about being a machine and, to top that, being designed by the designer of most of the machines used for keeping the records for a large empire, is that I can interface directly to "read" those machines.

Now all I had to do was to discover what meaning any of it had so far as this case went.

I wasn't even sure what this case was. Maita hadn't said very much. It was economic, which generally isn't in the detective area so I'd have to go back to TR to study economics. I had all the information these machines around here would give, now I had to get the entire theory behind it.

It would take about two minutes as I simply plugged into TR's console to have it input on demand. I have several distinct partitions in my "mind" so I can input the information to study later. I can erase what isn't needed and use the space for something else.

Lanta is a stage four planet so there's only a very limited part of the world where empire people and other aliens are allowed to go. I sent floaters out at night to "read" the machines in other areas. I immediately found that the interference was from outside so it was definitely an empire matter.

But why? What did Lanta have to offer?

It was an agricultural planet. I wasn't aware of anything here anyone else would want badly enough to try to manipulate an entire economy to get! Titanium and rhodium were exports, as was the very high quality beryllium they produced, but that wasn't enough to bring anyone in. Those were all things that could be acquired easily from any number of places.

I input all about the agricultural products, but there didn't seem to be anything of overriding importance grown on the planet.

Okay. I had to find who was here illegally and get them out without harming an emerging culture. These things were delicate, but I wasn't worried about these people. They were open and friendly and aliens weren't a problem to their psychology.

Why the culprits, whoever they were, were here was another question. The only race who actually were stupid enough to think they could start an empire with themselves as overlords were the Immins and they were, for most practical considerations, now extinct.

Races joined the empire by their own request and could drop out anytime they chose. All the empire really is is a huge trading guild and social club. It was strictly for convenience races used the empire machines instead of millions of obstructive bureaucrats.

So who? What? Why?

I took two days (Local) gathering data, then went to see the agents for Lanta. I was still totally unlearned as to anything except that someone was manipulating the economy here for the singular purpose of bankrupting the place. The extreme economic depression seemed aimed at the people themselves.

A Keepo named Kupe spoke to me for a moment, then led me in to introduce me to a Mirk named Lahro, who was some sort of liaison officer for Lanta. He was somewhat slender, had fairly short arms in relation to his legs and body, a slight snout and sharp teeth.

He was wearing eyeglasses! It was the first time I had ever seen a reptile with glasses. They were of a strange design with a sort of clamp around the upper snout.

The ears were like mine. Slits in the side of the head.

"Please make yourself at home," he said. "Kupe said you were an economist?

"Please understand, if you are not familiar with our races, that Kupe's people are not as developed as are the Mirk. They were for centuries used for pets, they have evolved intelligence. It is in a formative stage. At this time they have the mental abilities of someone just prepubescent in my race.

"The races cooperate and we do get along well.

"Why is an economist from University on Lanta?"

"Because there's some anomalous feature in your economy that's about to throw your world into a great depression internally. We wish to prevent that," I replied. "There's the strong possibility it's an outside influence."

He (?) studied me carefully for a moment. "I am, of course, aware something is not right in our economy," he said. "We have a study team trying to find what is wrong so it may be corrected. I was not aware that University involved itself with such local things – especially on undeveloped worlds such as Lanta."

"We usually don't interfere when a race is doing something that'll cause problems only to itself," I said. "That doesn't seem to be the case here. We want to know what's happening so we can prevent a disaster that's not of your own making.

"We don't manipulate economies because that always comes back to haunt a culture later. It's a political trick.

"I must know who's going into the interior here who isn't native to this planet. Perhaps I can trace what's wrong and who, why and how it's being done, if you follow me."

"No one is leaving Spaceport," he said definitely. "That is certain. Our own economists have said it is an artificial kind of influence. They have the same trepidations as you, apparently."

I nodded, spoke a few pleasantries, then took my leave.

The empire had sensors so the only way anyone could come to this world undetected was to do it through this city. That no one had left this city other than natives of this world was equally certain.

That meant tampering with the machines. THAT'S something I'm particularly well-designed to handle!

Two days later I had to say flatly that there had been no tampering here. Period. No tampering and no one from outside.

How was it being done? – and, damn it! Why?

I went back to TR where we had a silent discussion. We decided it had to be a plan by someone who'd been here or who'd been represented here since the start of the decline.

It also had to be someone who had connections with Lanta's native financial institutions.

We went over the lists of aliens who fit that description and found there were only thirty four possibilities. TR said it would send floaters to follow that many, then argued they could easily defense surveillance.

Some people seem to think we have some very sophisticated weapons to use in detection, what with all the technology.

That's true. Unfortunately, every advance in our technology has a corresponding advance in something designed to thwart the technology and we're further behind all the time in some ways.

Not in mentality!

"Then we'll have a very good idea of who they are!" I said.

TR is nothing if not quick to see a point. "Yo!" it quickly replied.

I went back to the hotel to spend the next afternoon and evening until TR sent me the list of six who had defensed the floaters.

It worked! There were six people here who were deeply into something they wished to keep hidden so strongly that they had gone to the expense of buying anti-surveillance equipment. Three were investigators for investment firms so would naturally have such equipment. Three more were legal police organizations who would, also naturally, have the equipment.

By logical elimination it was one or more of the investment investigators. Someone had found something here and wanted to break the economy as a means of getting control of it.

That wasn't logical.

I went back to TR to argue it out, but it boiled down to those six.

I fastcommed the emperor to ask what possible thing could be on this world, then waited. It would take a certain amount of time for even such a sophisticated machine as Maita to search through every little clue.

The fastcom dinged and began printing: *There are no minerals or precious stones or inorganic compounds on Lanta that can't be found elsewhere in greater concentration and/or on unowned planets or asteroids. That leaves organic compounds or technology. There's no technology on Lanta that's more than primitive. There are no unusual theories and no psy talents beyond the norm. There are no drugs that can't be synthesized cheaper and better, either medical or recreational. It remains for you to discover what else it could be. Thing says hello and to ask you if you have found anything like gincha there? It's a thing that can be synthesized only with an atomic architect and only you and I have that technology. Z says to remember Feach. I assume that will mean something to you. I send greetings.*

Signed with the emperor's seal, so to speak. (Our personal link carried the seal as asterisks in the form of the great seal. Only direct coms from Maita had those seals on empire machines.) Even if there was something of interest in the message to anyone other than myself no machine in the galaxy would receive the message except TRD-60, its coded destination.

I thought a moment.

I knew who the culprit was, but I didn't know why or anything else. I didn't know how.

It was Koomthe Klaas, the investigator for Maitan Galactic Delicacies.

Both Thing and Z figured it much the way I did. It was a spice or rare flavoring that could be synthesized only with an atomic architect. Everyone else here dealt with other types of products.

Now to find the stuff, straighten out the economy and get Koomthe off the planet.

I had TR set a spy floater to watch the MGD warehouses and another to trace all shipments that came into the place. It could call others as needed.

It was wait time again, which is ninety percent of detective work, so I strolled around until I found Klaas in a shop having the aforementioned gincha with two natives. I had TR send two minifloaters to follow the natives when they left and sat at a table close to Klaas. He would know I was interested in him – or that someone was – because of the floater. I would dare him and see what transpired.

When the two left he nodded, then signaled for me to join him.

"I suppose they're to be followed?" he said as I sat.

"No, Klaas," I answered (Proving a machine CAN lie – if it's designed to do so, so don't believe what you've heard about that one!). "It's you I'm going to catch, not your flunkies."

He studied me.

He was a Fethren, which is a mammalian species something like an overly fat Terran with black and white fur.

"I wish you luck, but not good luck," he replied. "What are the charges to be?

"You're working for Lanta?"

"No, I'm working for the economics department at University," I lied, watching his reaction. He gasped slightly and I could see he was having a bit of trouble breathing.

If anyone caught the interest of University they were doomed and he knew it. The very finest brains from thousands of cultures directed at one was scrutiny nothing could withstand for long.

I stood and said, "Don't die of heart failure on me! I want to see you thoroughly destroyed and your name held to ridicule throughout the galaxy!" and walked out.

This was, obviously, psychological warfare. If he got scared he'd get careless and, though I planned to finish this quickly, every edge was an edge.

TR said two people had come to the warehouse and left. It reported the floaters had sent followers that had shown one to be a farmer in the mountains while the other was a free stockbroker. They both left with large sums of money on their persons.

I went to the nearest records machine where I plugged in as soon as it was safe to do so.

The way the economy was being wrecked was that vanadium, THE precious metal here and the basis of the economy, was being dumped in large supply all over the planet, destroying the basis of the economic system, thus the system itself. A gram of the metal was two hundred credits exchange one year ago, but was only forty two credits exchange now. A few more tons of a common element and this economy would collapse.

I went to the warehouse, used my sensors to find the security system, then used a couple of floaters to protect myself as I went inside after the place was closed for the night.

There were various cartons, sacks of things, jars and crates. I took small samples of everything, then went into the "office" section.

Klaas was seated behind a desk with a small light on his face. He was dead.

I ran sensors that determined he had died half an hour earlier of an electronic interference that stopped his heartbeat. He should never have told them I was after him.

Whoever "they" were.

I "read" the console of the security system to determine who was in the building at the time of death, then searched the rest of the offices.

In a closet in one was about a quarter ton of vanadium ingots, which I took on a pallet, loaded onto floaters, then sent to TR along with the samples from the containers.

I made the security system "forget" I'd been there, then went back to the hotel.

In the morning TR told me what was happening. There was a spice that was as much as addicting here, it grew in the outer mountains, it couldn't be synthesized except with the architect and the natives wouldn't grow it except as a last resort as they didn't use it on moral grounds, and these are a moral people. It was a rare type of compound in that it affected both reptilian and mammalian beings.

"Break the economy and force a depression so you can force the people to grow this stuff," TR snarled. "Every time I think we've found the lowest lifeform in the galaxy we find something lower.

"What next?"

"Does MGD have a ship here now?" I asked.

"Yo!"

"We have to get aboard," I said. "How long has it been on the planet?"

"Since yesterday morning," TR replied. "They took on some boxes and sacks."

"Has anything been taken off?" I asked.

"No. Two people," TR said.

I grinned and stood. TR told me which ship so I took four very small passive "bugs" along with some other very important stuff I "swallowed."

I went to the ship and strolled in as though I belonged. A security robot checked me over, but I turned on my "machine" responses so it decided I was another depot cargo handler servo.

I placed the "bugs" where I wanted them, then went to the control bay. No one was there so I announced my presence on the PA mike.

They came from all over the place with disruptors and lasers drawn. I grinned at the two who were obviously in charge.

"Kopey Lahch and Beerm Kluce?" I asked. "I spoke with your representative yesterday. Klaas?

"I really think you'd better leave Lanta and head out to intergalactic space. You people working for them who can take the probe and know you'll pass needn't worry, but the ones who're in the know will wish you hadn't been born or hatched or whatever."

"Kill him!" Kluce snarled.

I dropped the special compound on the elementizer grid (The thing that makes it possible for me to eat and drink), which breaks things down to their basic elements. I can then reassemble or vent off the gases, such as the strong anesthetic I sprayed over them. They were all sound asleep as I searched the ship with the help of several floaters. We removed two more tons of vanadium along with all the narcotic/spice.

I sealed the ship and called Maita to send an Empire cruiser, then went back to TRD-60.

"Boss, they store the vanadium in a huge vault in Capital City, not too far from here. What can we do?" TR asked.

"What if the weight of all that metal were to cause some kind of cave-in where most of it was forever lost?" I asked.

"I scan limestone caverns all under the place, but nothing deep enough to handle it," TR replied.

"So make something deep enough to handle it, then do it," I said.

To make a long story shorter, TR sent a floater with a sonic disintegrator to carve a deep flue, then to take the floor from under part of the vanadium.

I hoped to get the price back up to normal, but we only got enough to get it to about eighty six credits, but that was enough to save the economy after a bit of inflation and devaluation.

Now we'd have to bring others here to suggest the world's monetary system be changed to something that wouldn't be so easy to manipulate as some stupid metal. Maybe we could eventually get them onto empire exchange – which is based on the fact that most cultures wanted to get along with most others so it wasn't really based on anything except when Maita decreed one credit was the value of the average work done by any citizen of the Maitan Empire in one fifth of a MGS (Maitan Galactic Standard) hour.

To be quite truthful, the money was nothing more nor less than an excuse for diverse peoples to get together.

There's really very little crime in the empire. I'll have to spend some time answering some hard questions, such as: Why did these Fethren, a generally good, law-abiding race, want to get large amounts of money?

Why would they stoop to such a low method as to deal in addicting drugs?

Is this the only place such a thing is taking place?

Why is there a market for the drugs?

Where is that market?

There are thousands of other questions.

This is what I'm designed for – not so much for answering questions, but for asking new ones. It's a big galaxy. I'm sure there are far more questions out there than there are answers. I want to discover what some of them are!

Featuring Kit/T6

Kit/T6 is the second robot. He is not featured alone in any shorts, so I'll put one here where he and Tab work together. All the continuing characters work with all other and in any combination.

"Here it comes now!" TRD-60 announced to its two passengers, Tab (Tabori R. DeSixtee) and Kit, two robot detectives for the Maitan Empire. The two were together aboard TR at that moment though they were in constant communication through the special internal circuitry with each other and with their ships, TR and T6. It was a complicated arrangement the ships had worked out together (The ships were also independently intelligent) making the group for all practical purposes one being at the same time they were four separate personalities.

The internal system was a mixture of gravitics and radio they were sure couldn't be detected – yet. If anyone ever discovered they were using it they would soon have eavesdroppers. The trouble with technology was that as fast as a thing was invented its neutralizing principle was also invented so the detective business wasn't much easier in this tremendously advanced empire. It was about the same as before space flight was even developed.

What TR was referring to was the expected fastcom call with a client for the T-K Detective Agency. The Emperor Maita, itself a machine intelligence (We won't go into that now except to say the Maitan Empire was galaxy-wide and few knew the emperor was a machine), had built TR and Tab as detectives more than a century past. T6 had developed intelligence because some "government" maintenance people had used a number of shortcuts and improper parts in its upkeep and repair. Kit was later built by Maita to serve the same functions with T6 that Tab did with TR.

Kit was designed to look, feel and smell (VERY important!) like a Kheth while Tab was ditto as a Swaz, though Maita, T6 or TR could modify them greatly as needed when they were to pass for other races.

"What sort of thing is it?" Tab asked aloud. They had agreed to speak aloud whenever they were together or when there was no reason not to so they would be "in character" as a habit. That would prevent deadly slips later. TR could pass fastcom directly to them on internals. They all enjoyed playing odd word games and one-upmanship games, which required vocalizations because it was often a matter of inflection or using a particular word NOT in translation. The digital sign for a word like "no" was the same for almost all negatives so a play between "not" and "knot" wouldn't work in silent communication.

They carried storage for any known language, the customs of the speaker of that dialect and much other racial information. They could be programmed thoroughly for a language in less than one second or could "unload" or erase that language as quickly. TR and T6 had all known languages ready at no notice.

While they could be linked together in any combination to share their mental capacities each had a secret part of its mind it did NOT share. That was important, even to machines, and would have made the original experiment useless had it not been included. The real reasons the experiment hadn't worked had to do with other things entirely.

"It's some kind of big business deal gone sour on Klohr," TR replied. "It wouldn't be brought to our attention except there've been a couple of murders. Someone's playing dirty. Tab really likes murders, as you'll learn soon enough, Kit."

"Information," Tab said.

"The Klohrians are mammals on the order of the Cheeth," TR replied. "They have a common type economic system that's competitive/capital structured. They're fairly new in the empire, of course. These things don't happen in the more evolved societies.

"The problem, as it seems to me, is almost twelve percent of the population of the planet are employed by the two companies so this could quickly deteriorate into a worldwide economic depression. Needless to state it's the working people who suffer at those times and they tend to revolt. Revolution breeds repression, breeds violence, breeds further repression, breeds the failure of the system. The particular system there has run its course and should fail, but not in such a manner. It probably won't be too easy a job, but maybe you can defuse this bomb."

"What kinds of things are supplied by these two companies and does merger mean monopoly?" Kit asked.

"Transportation facilities and, yes, a virtual monopoly," TR replied.

"Stock and bond market?" Tab asked.

"General type. A few people control the wealth of the world," TR replied.

"Could we cause a recession and devaluation of both companies' stock?" T6 asked. "That could stop them short of the revolution-repression cycle, force the merger and leave us with time to make longterm adjustments."

"We could try what you and Z did on Klemmr," Kit suggested. "Invent things that will drain off interest in the companies and weaken them both and maybe start a process directly on the stock market that will make such things impossible in the future. Bring in strong market laws."

"We'll do a little of both," Tab agreed. "We have to design something that'll make permanent changes in the way things are done there. Maita doesn't want to have to intercede in this sort of thing because once it gets started it's so damned hard to stop. It would soon have to spend all its time screwing around with these local problems.

"Let's get modified and go to Klohr. We can assess it better there."

They agreed to that and each went to the shop on his ship. The next thing Tab or Kit knew they were in orbit above the planet.

"I have an idea," Kit said over the com system. "We can be competitors! I can move into the market in Southport and you can move in at the same time in Majority City. TR and T Six can use our abilities to input a held company for each of us that has been registered for some time. What we'll need is some reason to suddenly both need to get capital from the market – and in the transportation area. It'll divert the market and, if it's good enough, should maybe make the other two companies move to get together to get rid of us."

"It could work," Tab agreed. "They've got linkage to Library, but don't use it much. I'll show research linkage for the past two years – my company will have been registered then. TR says it can input whatever we want into the computer records here easily enough. The way their comps work we can have been in the records for decades without anyone noticing.

"You should register a bit earlier and should have linkage records to Library. Something's beginning to take shape!

"TR's done it. I'm Frah Lore, owner and sole stockholder in Bright Future Success, Inc., a diversified exploratory company. I've accessed the ancient world of Kleefan Dis through Library and discovered the Nrxrmf Beamed Power Principle which will be very cheap to produce, will be available right away and will make what they already have here obsolete. My use patent for Klohr is in the files as of today."

"I'm Neep Tide – that's a joke from Z – who is sole owner etc. of Innovative Concepts, the same sort of company," Kit said. "I'm an ass to get along with, but I've searched through Library and have found ... what?"

"The Armantane Gravitic Drive," T6 suggested. "The AGD is everything the NBPP is, is a bit more expensive to produce, but cheaper to use. The two should balance so far as the market is concerned. You registered your use patent just yesterday."

"You're both planning to arrive in Record City tomorrow and are prebooked at the Royal Palace Hotel there," TR continued. "You share the third floor, but at opposite ends of the building. You must go there if you wish to open a stock option. Perhaps you'll meet at the registrar's office for a moment. You'll read in the listings the following day about each other's companies – and that you've both registered major stock openings in transportation. You both have to raise money to go into production so will become immediate competitors.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take it from that point yourselves. T Six and I can't do it all!"

"Damn!" Kit replied. "You mean I can't stay here and let you handle all of it through the computers?"

"Stick it!" T6 shot back. "We are now given permission to land on our separate pads. You two'll have a whole afternoon to set up your companies that've been there for a year or more! Enjoy! Enjoy

*

Tab landed on the assigned pad, went to his hotel, then out to find something in the local records he could use as a business location. He would necessarily have to find some place that was unoccupied for the past year, at least. He plugged into the hotel's computer system through the phone connection and came up with a better idea.

He went to the local postal building, accessed the records, located a box number that hadn't been used in several years and registered it in his name. He had the small fee such boxes cost placed into the PO account, informed TR as he did it so it would be placed in the records of the Future Success business.

As the company had never been active no one would know it was done until they had reason to check. They would, hopefully, have reason to check very soon.

He knew TR was making the working model of the NBPP-1, as he would call it, to show to potential investors. Notes and diagrams that would appear to go back for almost a year were also being made, including a fastcom readout of the entire text the "idea" came from. As nothing in Library required a patent except in the section that dealt with active patents anyone who had the credits it cost to have such things fastcommed could do the same thing.

The patent Tab, or rather, Frah Lore, held was a use patent that would guarantee no one else on Klohr could make or sell the thing nor would it allow identical units to be brought to Klohr from offworld for sale for a period of ten MGS years.

He then spent the evening making friends.

In the morning he went to Records City and to the Royal Palace Hotel, room 302.

* *

Kit went through much the same process and even came to the same conclusion for the address of Innovative Concepts. The difference being he spent the evening being obnoxious to people.

His room in the Royal Palace Hotel was 321.

At the assigned time, Kit went to the records officer at the government complex to open a stock venture. T6 gave him official papers these bureaucrats would always require along with a lot of useless ones. Kit was to be abrasive so would have learned a long time ago to cover any possible requirement no matter how silly or unreasonable. In short, he pretty much knew how to deal with bureaucrats. He was a total ass to the woman at the desk, but he somehow intimidated her, hinting he had friends in high places and any trouble from her and she'd be reassigned to the Icedesert Station offices.

He wanted her to remember him if the time came when he would need her – and she most definitely would! He would be remembered as the first-prize obnoxious ass of the year!

As Neep Tide was leaving the office Frah Lore was coming in. Tide made a remark about rude people who barged blindly through a door without regard for the safety of others and banged on out.

Z grinned at the desk clerk and shrugged. She rolled her eyes upward and had him sit. He went through the process in no time.

Kit went directly to the offices of the stock exchange to register to sell one hundred fifty thousand shares of common stock at ten credits a share. The brokers were trying to get it through to him that he wasn't going to be able to sell any stock without some kind of proof he could produce what he claimed and at the cost he claimed – and besides, he didn't tell them what he was going to produce yet!

"Transportation, damn it!" he snapped. "I got the patent and everything. No way am I gonna stick MY neck out for the sword. I know what I got. Got all the figures and projections and all that damned crap. Worth billions! All I need is the opening capital. Had it and I'd do the whole damned bit myself. Don't need anymore damned aggravation! Worth billions! Everybody the hell on Klohr will want them! Ain't all that expensive, neither. Big BIG profit margin. There ain't any competition on the whole damned world – and I got the patents that say there ain't GONNA be any for ten years!

"Get off your fat asses and turn over some money! That's what the hell you're paid to do, ain't it? Do I have to even do your jobs, too? Move!"

"Can we see a model? Some blueprints? Some proof it will work? Anything?" the agent asked. "Has it been tried? Can you show us something other than a lot of claims?"

"Tried?" Kit snapped in disbelief. "TRIED? Damn it, this is from the Library records! It was TRIED for centuries! It WORKED the hell for centuries! OF COURSE I have a model! I'm not stupid, damn it!"

"I see," the broker said. "Can I see the use patent? Is it complete and for how long?"

"Here! I already SAID it was for ten years, minimum! Are you deaf or just stupid? Damn!" Kit spat and threw the patent and the descriptive fastcom readout onto the desk. The patent was complete and was renewable every ten years for ten renewals.

"Here's the cost of production, the cost of use and the cost to the consumer," Kit snarled. "I ain't damned stupid! It's all done, damn it! Just get off your fat ass and SELL the damned stuff so I can get started!"

"My word!" the broker cried, reading through the reports and computations. "This IS worth billions! Can you really produce them for that figure? That's all it costs to keep them running? They don't use any fuel except the storage cells? Why hasn't this been done before?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Kit said. "It HAS been done before! How the HELL do you think I GOT the stuff? DAMN! Don't anybody here have any damned SENSE? Are you all deaf? You didn't hear me say it was from Library? How the hell do you think it got there if it hadn't been used? Cripes!"

"I meant why hasn't anyone ever found this in Library before now?" he replied. "This kind of thing is public property anywhere in the empire."

Kit took on a hard look and tone of someone lecturing a small and slightly retarded child: "I rather would think it's been done a thousand times before in the empire," he said. "I also rather think I'M the first one here to have the common sense to LOOK for it from HERE! It took me almost a year of looking through all the stuff in Library to find this. That cost me a lot of credits. The bills from EFC are right there. That's why I'm out of money. That's why I must sell stock.

"Will you get off you FAT ASSES and do something?"

The broker jumped up and went to confer with his supervisor, who called the head office, who said the stock would be placed on sale, but it wouldn't be pushed hard until a place was found for production and a working model was shown that could be placed on display for potential investors.

"Well, I can have a place ready and the model at, say, midday on the day following tomorrow? It will be at home. Southport. I'll meet your committee at the port and take them right to the prospective plant."

It was arranged.

Neep Tide marched back to the hotel where he grunted at Frah Lore, who was in the elevator with him and the other passengers. Lore tried to start a conversation about seeing him leaving the records offices, but he grunted and pushed out of the elevator on 3. Lore got off on the same floor.

*

A similar day was passed by Tab except that he was pleasant and people were pleasant to him. He set up his agreement for production and headed back to Majority City. Both Kit and Tab had the same idea about the meeting with the broker and representatives. That wasn't so surprising, as both had the same previous experiences programmed in or lived through. The communications system made it even easier to do things that would keep them at about dead even in the competition. To work, the schemes must be timed to suddenly conflict with one another soon after the big companies tried to buy in.

Tab met a company broker representative, a sales representative with recording equipment, video and audio crap and two "major potential investors" from major automobile companies who "happened" to come along for a relaxing time away from their offices.

"I am Don Darl," the broker said. "This is the rep, Ginj Fee, and Jehr Nill and Pond Kard, two people who may wish to invest if this is anything like it's purported to be.

"Shall we get this started?"

Tab led them to the model of the NBPP-PCV-CW, as he had named it. They were excited at the sleek clean lines and the roominess inside. They were soon en route to the large structure Tab had rented the day before. Production could begin as soon as funding was guaranteed and parts were ordered.

"This is called NBPP hyphen PC hyphen CW, meaning a word we can't pronounce – a name of the inventor, really – that started with the N sound, B for Beamed, P for Power and P for Principle, then the PCV is for personal conveyance vehicle, then CW for cargo wagon.

"The rear where Fee, Nill and Kard are seated has fold-down seats. They fold to leave a large area to carry things. It'll mostly come in handy for families or small commercial deliveries. The motive power is simple gravity. The principle is to take gravity, amplify it like we do on the spaceships, but then to reverse its field with a gravitic resonator. The car stays about twenty centimeters above the surface so you needn't stay only on paved roads. You have no tires to wear or anything else. Nothing touches the road. It pushes liquids aside so I don't recommend going over water, ha-ha!

"The gravitics are beamed from the rear to move you forward. As the lower units neutralize weight and friction it doesn't take much to move you. If you're standing within a meter or so of the rear grid when the car starts out you can feel the push. If a full-power start is made it could knock a person down, but it's a square of the distance thing so it's not dangerous.

"That rear propulsion is where the B comes from. There are no moving parts so nothing ever wears out in the drive train. The doors can be made in magnetic repulsor fields, but that's an unnecessary expense. Hinges won't wear out for many years if the owner lubricates once a year.

"We're here. We traveled at a sustained velocity of two hundred kilometers per local hour, the maximum allowed speed on the freeway. I think you'll have to agree it was the quietest and smoothest ride you've ever taken at even half the speed! A gravitic field is very pliable so small obstacles aren't projected to the vehicle itself. The luxury model will have a double field so will be able to move over ridges in the path that're much larger than any vehicle with tires could navigate – and the passengers will feel absolutely nothing!

"Hovercraft are almost as comfortable to ride, but are very expensive to maintain and to fuel. They are loud, while this is entirely silent, as you have noted.

"The air can be vented through the reactive part of the field to heat it or through the expansion vanes to cool it so air-conditioning or heating is automatic.

"I've rented this warehouse. Most of the interior parts are already mass-produced and those we must build ourselves are simple windings and focuses and things that aren't greatly expensive to produce. The gravitic focus amplifier is the same type of unit used on the freight floaters at the ports. They've been around for years, which is why I'm puzzled that no one thought of this before and patented it. I'm very lucky I was able to find it before that happened!

"Any questions?"

* *

"You rode the damned thing all the hell the way out here!" Kit exploded. "How can you be so damned stupid? What the hell kind of question is that?"

"You have to admit we can't observe the power cells!" Liht Keen said as snappishly. "If I knew what type they are and what size and how long they hold up under what conditions I wouldn't be asking! As for stupid, it's YOU who needs funding! I suggest you don't forget that!"

"People'll beg to give me money for a cut in this and we both the hell know it!" Kit snapped back. "You can see the space the damned cell's in so you can figure what they draw! I told you where they were! Just lift the damned lid and look and cut the crap! You have all the specifications as to the power drain and lengths in your stupid damned hand! Can you read? Krostef give me strength!"

The "potential investor" who had come along, Jit Forr, quickly stepped in. "Let's not argue personalities," he said. "I can see the car is made of stock parts – and cheap ones, at that.

"This isn't much of a warehouse. What will you require, other than standard stock parts?"

"Coils and repulsor shields," Kit replied. "Six broads sitting at a line bench can make thirty six per day. I figure on producing thirty damned six damned cars per damned day to start!"

"You have projections of only thirty people to do that?" Forr asked. "They should come in well under projected cost! You said, ummmmmm, nine hundred fifty credits to produce a vehicle that you will wholesale for, uhhhhh, twenty eight sixty three? Why that figure?"

"Because the assholes will pay that odd figure, but would be suspicious if it were an even twenty seven fifty or something," Kit replied. "You left off the twenty one centime. If its some strange figure and change we must have figured it as close as we could. The retailer will get right at five thou, which will be three thou cheaper than the only competition here. It won't cost much of damned nothin' to run and maintain the things so there ain't no damned competition! National Motors and Strong Automobiles and even little old Import Cars will be out of business in a year! We can buy all of their plants for next to nothin' and can use their labor force to top it. What the hell more could anyone ask?"

Jitt Forr was a major stockholder in Strong Automobiles as Liht Keen and Hakj Fold represented the other companies. The big battle was between Strong and National. Import was siding with National.

*

It was quite late. Tab laid back on the hotel bed to feign sleep. Jehr Nill and Pond Kard had grabbed all the stock and he had the cash to begin production. That would be immediate, as would the advertising campaign which Kit would "happen" to see about the time Tab "happened" to see Kit's ads. Kit sent everything to Tab as Tab did to him so Tab was aware Jitt Forr personally bought all of Kit's stock. TR, who had been checking on these big buyers with T6, gave them the information about them: "Jitt Forr is a majority stockholder in Strong," TR sent. "He apparently always had a man in each brokerage firm to inform him if anyone comes up with anything that could be damaging to the company and will make his own on the side, even if it means bankrupting Strong.

"Jehr Nill is National and Pond Kard is Import – same story. It's Strong against both National and Import, who would soon merge. That's the war we've heard about. I'm waiting for one of them to contact the other to gloat!"

Tab grinned. In the morning he would hire an attorney and would make the strangest will ever seen on this world, as would Kit. This was going to happen fast. It had to if the enemy were to be kept off balance enough for success. The wills would accomplish pretty much what this world needed to put them among the better worlds in the Maitan Empire. It was time these people saw the bigger picture of life as part of a galactic culture and not a closed one-world society.

In the morning Tab hired a foreman and had her hire the other workers. He put out contracts for standard parts and hired the drive builders' foreman and showed her what would be needed. She would set it up, working from the plans and blueprints Tab gave her. Then he went to the lawyer. TR had done an extensive search for the type of idealist they would need to carry on what they were going to start. The will was a big part of the plan for the ideas it would give to others.

This was to be phrased exactly and was to be registered on the empire judge machine so no one could stop the process once it was started.

Then both of the detectives could relax except for threatened lawsuits and a vicious advertising campaign, one against the other. The courts declared the drives weren't even close to being the same so no patent rights were infringed, which seemed to send Neep Tide into a fury, added to by the attitude of "screw you!" Frah Lore projected back at him.

National Motors merged with Import suddenly and attempted to then bring about a merger with Strong, but it was far too late for any of them. The worldwide demonstrations of the AGD and the NBPP caused all potentional orders on record for standard vehicles to be cancelled and left the two new companies with a six year order backlog even if they were able to make production increases of a thousand percent immediately.

Strong Automobiles closed their facilities and offered to merge with AGD, but Neep Tide said they were as damned stupid as he guessed all along to suggest it – but he would buy all their facilities at one centime on the credit. When he finally agreed to six point four centimes the deal was settled. It was barely enough to keep the stockholders from actual poverty and guaranteed employment for a good number of the people who would have lost their jobs with a permanent closing.

The same sort of thing happened with NBPP and National Import Vehicles. That left only Tab and Kit to have a huge international fight, which they did with great glee. Over one hundred forty days they insulted and complained at each other through the media. Most of the media people kept trying to interject the fact both companies would never be able to fill standing orders even if they worked together and even using all the facilities of the old bankrupt companies. Others grabbed every opportunity to instigate more and more enmity. That was planned, too. T– K knew the psychology of these people very well.

There was a lot of under-the-table dealing, too. By both of them. They had to set up a specific set of circumstances, then to act at the right time and in the right way.

Neep Tide "happened" to be at a meeting of worldwide investors at the same time Frah Lore was there. They came face to face and began arguing about cheap crooks who stole patents. It ended when bystanders pulled them apart after they started brawling. As they were forcibly separated Tide swore he wouldn't rest as long as Lore was alive. Lore screamed back he felt the same and he was going to do more than threaten.

That scared those news reporters who had been instigating this trouble, but they'd gone much too far and couldn't see any way to defuse the situation now that it had come to direct violence.

Lore claimed an attempt was made on his life and Tide was almost run down by one of his own vehicles. Bystanders said the driver looked like Lore, but Lore said there was no way he would get inside of one of those AGD garbage death-traps.

Then shots were fired publicly at each of them. Pencil lasers. Deadly little things.

Meanwhile the factories were working at their maximum and the stock market was up. Almost everyone could afford the cars. Competition was keeping the price down.

Then Tide publicly challenged Lore to meet him in space to have it out once and for all. The police rushed to Lore's private pad to prevent his leaving, but were seconds too late. There was a spectacular battle in orbit, from which nothing returned to Klohr. It filled the news and everyone wondered what would happen to the companies now. Who would take over?

Then the empire judge declared them dead and made the wills public.

* * *

Tab leaned back in the pilot's chair on TR as Kit leaned back in the one on T6. They were back to their "normal" forms and the ships were linked. They were orbiting Klohr listening to the reading of the will:

I, Neep Tide, being in control of all mental facilities, do hereby decree this as my last will and testament.

Upon the declaration of my death all assets and properties of which I am possessed will be accounted. There will at that time be an issuing of stock in my company, Innovative Concepts.

These assets will be divided so any one share will be of equal value to any other share.

There will be one share issued to each person employed by my company(s) at the moment of my death.

As is known by this time, I spent a great deal of time studying through Library. I have found that most worlds in the Maitan Empire, as well as all successful worlds of the past, have always made their ways to a system where the people who worked in a place owned that place. It is an incentive to succeed that one works for oneself, not for some damned idiot like me sitting at a desk somewhere doing nothing or for a lot of `stockholders' who contribute nothing but greed.

I, therefore, decree that each employee have his one share, and that sufficient extra shares be issued in the division to ensure the continued solvency of the company, and to give each employee his own share after constant employment by the company for two tenthyars.

As the company progresses and increases its holdings, yearly shares shall be presented to each person employed by the company. These shares are to be in the form of percent of profit. The funds for those shares are to be deposited into an account and are to be paid to the employee for his certificates, plus interest, at his retirement.

Should such funds be needed for an emergency at any time, the employee may withdraw them by turning in his certificates. In the event of the death of a person employed by the company the certificates may be cashed by his heirs.

There was a lot more, but that was the drift. The object was to give the incentive of working for oneself. One appreciated the profits of his own company in addition to the basic salary. One didn't get anything unless he was an employee of the company. It wasn't socialism nor welfarism. A person could be retired by fellow employees if he didn't produce. He could then turn in any certificates he had for face value and that was that.

The final clause was an explanation of the will: "I have seen some companies in my lifetime that, upon the unexpected and/or unexplained death of an owner were awarded to and individual or collection of individuals or that were reverted to a board of directors or to major stockholders. If such a situation exists at my death this will means the one or one who brought about my demise will profit nothing. That is my final revenge!

"This is a lot easier than I thought it would be," Kit said. "We didn't have to solve anything at all. Just form a plan and go in there and do it."

"The first one was supposed to be easy," TR replied. "You two have to get used to working together."

"It was hardly more than a drill," T6 agreed. "Keep in mind that you have a lot of experience to draw on when it comes to a thing like this. It won't always be that way."

"I have a question," Kit said. "What was that about murders when we first started?"

"There were four people murdered by your big original investors to get control of the things they had when you got there. In case you didn't know they were ruined and are being exposed a little at the time now," TR answered. "The end of the wills made that part clear. No one was going to murder you and end up with the company."

"It was an unusual kind of thing," Kit agreed. "A little offbeat, as Z would say. I guess we won't get too many like that."

"You should have known Wahnee!" Tab said. "Now, SHE could come up with the screwy cases!"

"Well, I think this goody-goody job is done, and I think maybe it will give the people a few ideas. It should last," TR said. "I'll be waiting for you on Perfect Three, T Six!"

TR flashed, and was gone.

"We'll see who's waiting for who!" T6 replied as it flashed into TTH mode.

"Waiting for WHOM," Kit corrected, stretching back in a very organic-looking way.

Featuring Kurk

Kurk is the next continuing character. He is from another plane and is terrifying when you first see him. His laugh is used as a weapon. After a few minutes, you know he really could be as dangerous as he first seems, but he's also a very basic good guy. He is called the Empire's Main Stud. Women of many races are drawn to him.

Kurk isn't featured alone in any shorts. This is a chapter from What Now?, which features Kurk and Kit/T6.

"This may well be a VERY strange one," Kit mused. "The old Krofpth Empire was right on the dome. It wasn't anywhere near this area of the galaxy, large as it was. I wonder where they got the emergency signal.... T Six?"

"Yo?" T6 replied.

"Are they using straight Krofpth or is it another of the languages?" Kit asked.

"Yep! Straight from Library unabridged classic Krofpth," T6 answered. "If it had been anything else I think I wouldn't have answered it. Not personally. I would've called Fleet. I'm calling Maita to ask what we should do. There's a lot more oddity to this every second. The closer, the odder it gets."

"We should go right on in," Kurk suggested. "It's a call for help on an emergency beacon. Someone needs help – or did when that signal was sent out. We can call Fleet or Hospital when and if they're needed. Maybe it's something fairly simple that we can handle without anybody else. Maybe all they need is Hospital (A planet that was exactly that and that had ships to go anywhere in the galaxy at a moment's notice if an emergency arose)."

"Maita's gone with Z and Thing on some new adventure and says for us to handle it ourselves. Tab had to go to some place to meet somebody for the agency and can't help," T6 replied. "Well, Kurk! You've worked with all of us now and you've worked with Maita and Thing. If this is something new and interesting it'll be our first chance to work as only the three of us! Most of what Kit and I do is with the whole crew or with Tab and the agency so we pool our ideas before we act, okay?"

"In other words don't go running amok through this until we decide if we know what's going on," Kurk said with a wide grin. "Agreed. I think we can work together very well. I've gotten a feel for the way you operate with the Gretschiim thing."

They came in close to a system a quick visual probe showed as having eleven planets, two of which were in the life zone. There were two very large planets with large moons that could also support life.

"Can you triangulate exactly where the signals are coming from?" Kit asked. "IF they're still being sent, of course. There's always the chance the signals were sent years ago and the cause of the emergency has rendered our arrival incidental and irrelevant as no one survived."

"Yo! From geostationary orbit over the fourth planet," T6 replied. "There seems to be activity of a civilization on the fourth planet. Signals. I'm doing spectra.... There's quite a little civilization there. A mix of some advanced and a lot of pre-industrial societies. The world is more than two thirds water, as reasonably comfortable as wet M three planets generally are for Swaz, Kheth, Terrans and Plutons – also for robots designed in those patterns. It has a stable oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere and is lushly forested. There are six continent-sized land masses along with several thousands of islands of all sizes. There's evidence of some fairly large cities, all on two tropical through temperate zones continents. The more advanced types of pollution and such are there, naturally.

"There's some small bit of ocean travel as well as land travel. Perhaps there's some near-rocket travel, but nothing greatly advanced so far as I can detect. We've found civilizations before that have primitive space travel before they have ... but they don't have any air traffic I can see. They don't have simple television or radio – but the beacon is using focused gravitics to make the aid call. It's also in a high stable orbit.

"None of this adds up! There isn't evidence a.... How strange! I wonder if they've detected us?

"They couldn't have! I would've detected their scans and we can't be seen with telescopes from this distance! Not through an atmosphere!"

"What happened?" Kurk asked.

"The transmissions stopped!" T6 answered. "This is weird! Maybe they have some kind of psy power they can use to see us?"

"T Six, back away from the system a plazsi or so," Kit suggested. "Come back inward in jumps of a light day. Check the way their transmissions have changed over the period of a year to see if there's some kind of pattern that would indicate an automated response."

They felt the mental twist that dropping into and out of TTH dimensional drives caused when it interfered with natural electrical flow in the brain.

"There isn't any transmission here," T6 said. "We'll move in to see when it starts again. I see what Kit was saying."

"They turn the damned thing on and off," Kurk said. "How can they do that? Radio controls? Who would turn an emergency distress signal off? Why? Why turn it on again?"

"It would seem they're doing exactly that," T6 replied. "Maybe they think it'll conserve power, though those Krofpth signals would operate for centuries after the star burned out."

They waited for another few hours with forty or so jumps to determine the timing of the beacon's transmissions.

"Okay! They turn it on for five of their hours every fifth day," T6 said. "The message is a flat call for aid in the old Krofpth language and codes on four separate emergency channels at once. It's not a simple basic call signal, but it doesn't contain any vast information, either. It's just – there."

"But that doesn't make sense!" Kit cried. "Why would anyone only send a call for emergency aid for a few hours every few days? Either they're in trouble or they're not!"

"The first thing we're going to do is make a VERY cautious approach to the planet," T6 replied. "We're gonna find out what the people are like and what stage they're in, then we're gonna find exactly where and why that stupid transmission is coming from."

"Why it's coming from?" Kurk asked with his toothy grin. "You've blown your logic circuits! I have an idea it's some kind of artifact someone learned to turn on and off. They're probably trying to find out what it is themselves. It's something that's in an orbit it's been in for centuries and they've recently located something in an old escape pod or cave or something that turns it on and off and are trying to find out what the thing they've found is for. It's probably got a full set of instructions with it, but no one can read them."

"So why not sit out here and argue about it?" Kit said with heavy sarcasm. "That way we won't have to actually DO anything!"

The mood was much lighter suddenly, though none of them knew why.

TR approached the planet only to confirm the races didn't have space travel. They didn't have atmospheric travel at all. They had some sort of steam engines running industry and large trains. There were apparently a few steam driven cars on rough roads. They were in an early iron age technologically, but their civilization seemed even more backward than that from what they could see with the scanners. The society would be somewhat rigidly controlled, judging by the building patterns. They knew how to discern psychological implications of patterns after more than three centuries of study by University (Another specialized planet that was just that).

"It seems they're still in the animal power stage for the most part," Kit noted. "T Six, send out some floaters for the language and for some closeups of that society. The way it's laid out says it's not at all advanced into science. We'll find the source of the transmissions while the probes are down there."

"And don't start telling us how Maita will raise hell about using the probes!" Kurk threw in. "You always have that stupid argument and you always use the damned thing anyway!"

The probe was like a helmet that was placed on the subject's head (Or whatever passed for a head on the being in question) where it "read" the entire contents of the mind, recording everything. The floater with the probe, usually taken on some person who was either asleep or anesthetized, is taken aboard one of the ships where it's edited, leaving only language and customs. The edited probe is then recorded on small diamond-like crystals that are fitted into sockets of the organic members of the crew. In the case of Kurk and Z the sockets were placed on the ears where the fine crystal would appear as minor decoration. The wearer of the crystal had immediate use of the language as the sockets were wired directly to specific areas of the brain. As Z already knew and Kurk was rapidly learning some forms of speech used different muscles in different ways than they were used to so could cause some pain and rapid tiring at first.

T6 launched automatic floaters then searched the standard geostationary orbital positions, soon finding the broadcasting satellite.

"You can almost feel the age of that thing!" Kurk said in awe. "Can you detect how long it's been here, T Six? Use some of your fancy lab tests. I'd say it's been there since the Krofpth Empire days – a quarter of a million years!"

"Let me gather some of the detritus that's been building up around those antennae for analysis," T6 replied. "The Krofpth really built things. This thing's been in space and was fairly protected. It's got a dependable self-correcting orbital engine. It derives power directly from light and stores it in that lower container. The cells have some metals that slowly decay so I can place the time since the thing was manufactured to within a thousand years or so. It's apparently an ejected emergency beacon that was left when a ship crashed onto the planet below. There's, therefore, an information storage section under the cells. We can get in there and read the whole mess if we have to. If it's been there a long enough time I'm sure the thing had to correct orbit at least once. There'll be records of that.

"Ah! I have it!"

They waited while T6 ran a thorough analysis with the atomic elementizer grids.

"Great exploding galaxies!" T6 suddenly cried. "That thing's been there for two hundred fifty three thousand years! Kurk was right! It was put there while the Krofpth Empire was – but they were never in this area! Not even close!"

"We may assume that some kind of exploratory ship crashed on the planet leaving the beacon in orbit – no," Kit suggested. "It didn't crash. They placed the satellite in that orbit and set up the accumulators, fixed the four channels, recorded a message that's being broadcast simultaneously in two radio bands and two gravitics bands. They had to set up the energy tracers and fix them on the star. They.... We'll have to see. There are no relays so none of it would ever reach back to the old Kropfth Empire areas. Perhaps they didn't even have ... they didn't! They took some kind of device to the planet with them to activate the satellite – then didn't activate it until now!"

"I see why you call yourself a detective," Kurk said. "Very deductive. What we're left with is a race down there who haven't the ability to build a radio, but who use a sending device a quarter of a million years old to start and stop that thing at will?"

"All we can do is wait until the probe floaters are back," T6 replied. "I suspect that, strange as it seems, much of that IS what happened. This is going to be interesting – if not far more!"

"Contact Library," Kit suggested. "There's an Inktan named Keralt there doing research for Maita. Tell him to look for any indications of lost ships back about that time. Maybe there'll be some kind of record. See if anyone sent a colony ship out that didn't come back or something. There MUST be some kind of record! Those people put everything in Library!"

"I doubt it," Kurk said. "What I see as having happened is that something happened to the drive or the control computers or even the moder itself. They found themselves near here when they were able to come back to N space. Maybe they didn't have the power to go back so figured the rate of expansion of the Krofpth Empire and set the thing to operate automatically at some later date. Something happened to the timer sequence and it only recently started the calls."

"There's a very good chance we'll never know, but the floaters are on their way back now," T6 replied. "I have good visuals and a good bit of other information. From what I've learned it's not a very pretty life down there. It's that phase of life that's bloody and mean. They have lots of castles all over the place and huge slum areas near the small elite parts of the cities. I can see that from up here. There will be a few tyrant-type landowners who live in pure luxury and the rest will be serfs. Almost slaves.

"I'll make crystals for you, Kurk. The language isn't much like anything I've found at Library. Definitely no obvious roots to Kropfth."

They waited again, then the crystal popped onto the tray. Kurk placed it, then studied it carefully for awhile.

"Hmm. It's a time much like Tlorg was like before Maita decided to ask them into the empire," Kurk deduced slowly. "It's what Z calls medieval. Life is cheap. Lords and kings, most of them a lot like the Countess Toot (Book five: Now You See It – Now You Don't) and those of that ilk. Vicious, cruel, self-important.

"I see they have a small belief in magic and wizards. The priests are very powerful, but only within the class? Caste? "There isn't much carryover from one part of society into another. There's a strong class system with no way to get from one class to another. That's one hell of a lot of stagnation to build into a society. Ninety eight percent hopelessness."

"Hah! Would Z love THIS one!" T6 said. "He loves to go into these sordid times so he can play magician. YOU know that, Kurk. You were his demon on Tlorg."

"I AM a demon," Kurk said smugly. "These people are mammals. Can you make Kit into one of them?"

"Now wait a damned minute!" T6 cried. "We're NOT going to interfere with them!"

"If we're to find how that beacon is working and why we are," Kit pointed out. "I don't plan to interfere. We'll simply go in there, find our answers and get back out. We don't have to interfere, but we have to know what this is and we have to tell Kropfth about their beacon out here.

"I see they believe in demons, but no one's ever actually seen one. All the crystals indicate the subject knew someone who knew someone else who had this seventh cousin twice removed who knew someone who disappeared and was found torn to pieces – obviously by a demon. The priests solemnly pronounced that it was demons, there wasn't any other explanation so it was demons. Take it on faith."

"There's something very strange about that faith bit," T6 replied cautiously. "What? No one actually believes ... in it? What is it for, then? Why have priests and demons if no one will believe in them?

"Take demons on faith, but you have no faith?"

"If there's anything I'm good at it's being a demon," Kurk agreed. "After all, I are one! We can stay up here to locate where the signal comes from to activate the satellite. If it self-activates we can turn it off and go away after determining why it's here in the first place. If they're turning it on from down there we show up as a wizard and his demon. It'll be sorta hard for them to not believe in demons when there's one staring them in the face!

"Fair enough?"

"Seems a likely way to handle it to me!" Kit replied. "As I said before, this one's going to be interesting if nothing else!"

"And YOU'RE the ones who're explaining this crap to Maita!" T6 cried, but they knew it was as excited about this as they were. They all loved adventure. That was built into Kit and T6 and was why Kurk decided to join the crew in the first place. Their words and arguments were more for a way to pass time while they waited for the thing to be turned on again than for anything else. They were destined to go aground as soon as they found the thing. They wouldn't consider leaving with the puzzle not even investigated. It would be against all their natures.

"You two review the Tlorg thing through Z's and Tom's tapes and through Thing's concise reports," T6 suggested. "Also, you might review the Klemmr thing Tab handled (Book twelve: Happy Birthday). Maita's reports go without saying."

"Then why say it?" Kit asked.

"To irritate you," T6 replied quickly. "I'll make a floater into a shield thing like Tab used on Klemmr. It'll keep me in touch plus I'll send out other floaters as I deem necessary. The satellite will turn on, one way or another, in a little over three more days so we'll hang around in orbit and wait to gather information about what's really going on down there.

"I detect a strange reading on the energy scales from that sort of pyramid near the port city near the mouth of the large river. They don't have the form or the amount at their disposal so what we want will be there."

"So knock it off with the description of a place that only you can see," Kurk said. "What we'll need to know is on these crystals to some extent. It seems you only got the lower classes, though. They know the higher class language, but we don't know much of anything about what actually takes place inside of those castles. If we're to be wizard and demon we'll have to know more."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!" T6 shot back. "You sure as hell get picky sometimes! I work my diodes off and all I get is a bunch of stupid complaints!"

"Stick it in your compchips!" Kit snarled. "Get a floater down there and get us what we have to know you pile of reject overused parts!"

"Sheesh, what a grouch!" T6 replied innocently. "It so happens I have three servo floaters down there right now doing precisely that. I might decide to let you extract the necessary information for yourself you mechanized excuse for a mechanized excuse!"

"My-my!" Kurk said lightly. "And you say we organic types can't get along! Could you two keep it down? You're giving me a headache."

"You give me a pain, too!" Kit put in. "It's substantially lower on the anatomy, though."

"If you two juvenile idiots will knock it off I'll process the vast amounts of information my floaters have brought back," T6 said.

"I'll have you know that we are both MATURE idiots!" Kurk sniffed haughtily. "I've told you at least ten million times not to exaggerate! Vast, indeed!"

"T Six always makes vast projections from half-vast data," Kit quipped.

The crystal dropped onto the tray and Kurk inserted it.

"You'll see that I've combined the information of the first crystal with the new information on this one," T6 said. "There are some interesting points. The formal actions are quite different from the informal. All of it's highly stylized."

"The elite don't have too much else to do," Kit agreed. "Their wizards are either laughed at or greatly feared, I see."

"With me along as a demon and familiar I imagine we'll be respected and feared," Kurk replied. "If they try that kind of bribery stuff with me they'll learn what fear is! You can tell they never knew any real demons or they wouldn't have a bunch of legends about bribing us."

"I think seeing those legends alive and in person could pretty well destroy this society," T6 warned. "You can't do it."

"We'll handle it," Kurk replied. "Look at the way the elite consider their fellows. They think very literally that they're chosen of their gods and the peasants are less than the beasts of burden. How can a race actually think that way?"

"Quite a few of them usually do in this stage of development," Kit answered. "Maybe we can effect some changes for the better. These people have the ability to become something better. They once were, I think."

"I'll go to the medbox shop for modification," Kit said. "We might as well be ready."

"You hold it right the hells there you sorry excuse for a tin tyrant!" T6 snapped. "We don't have any idea yet if we're even GOING down there! I'm willing to go along with this crap, but only if we have to. That's the deal!"

"Oh, we've decided that we have to," Kurk replied. "We've eliminated everything that would indicate we won't have to go aground."

"WE'VE eliminated? Where do you get this WE crap, paleface?" T6 cried.

"What?" Kurk asked. "If there's anything you can't call me it's paleface! If you've bothered to notice I'm a blacker black than even exists in this plane!"

"It's one of Z's jokes," Kit answered. "There was once a race on Earth called the Amerinds, a dark skinned, dark haired people. These people were at war with those like Z, pale skin and light hair. These were called the Europeans. The Amerinds were referred to as 'Redskins' while the white Europeans were called 'Palefaces' due to the contrasts in racial coloration.

"There was a television and film series about a friendship between one of the Amerinds and one of the Europeans. They would adventure together over the entire western part of the American continent, always a team. The joke was that one time the two friends found themselves suddenly surrounded by a thousand Amerind warriors whereupon the European turned to his Amerind friend, saying, 'It appears that we are in very serious trouble, my friend,' at which time the Amerind looked at his friend and replied, 'Where do you get this 'WE' crap, paleface?'"

"Now you're repeating Z's stupid jokes?" T6 cried. "I think I'm losing control!"

"Well, you never had it you mobile mechanical maniac!" Kit pointed out. "I'll do the basic modification bit now."

"Hah! Guess who controls what you'll be like when you come back out of there?" T6 sneered. "Get into the shop! We'll see who wins this little battle!"

They continued with the insult game, but T6 was ready and willing to modify Kit before it ever started. They would've found any excuse to go aground on this world to try to alleviate the cruelties. Maita hadn't programmed Kit to ignore such excesses, compassion was learned by T6 from Rimalt and Kurk was always ready to fight anything he saw as unfair. He was the classic fan of the underdog (That's one of the Terran's expressions. The crew didn't know what an underdog was, but found the expression was clear enough to most).

It was more than two hours later before Kit came from the medshop as a Rhaid, as the people called themselves. He was now five feet eight inches tall, was rather humanoid, dark brown skin with very blond hair and had very green eyes. His hair was worn neck-length as was the fashion among the elite and he had various gold rings and bracelets. A large gold medallion with his power symbol in the center was worn around his neck. The symbol contained a very large emerald, the most sought-after of the precious stones on Rhaid. He wore long purple robes with power symbols woven through the cloth in gold thread and leather sandals with gold buckles on the straps with a large ruby on each buckle.

"Not an unattractive people," T6 said. "Kurk will be his own horrendous self. Glare for them a lot, Kurk. Laugh at things – that'll scare a few centimeters from their growth! (Kurk's laugh could curdle the blood of a very strong person of most races.)

"Now we wait until we see where the signal comes from down there – like we don't know."

"It'll come from the pyramid," Kurk agreed. "I've got this one figured out. That pyramid will be old beyond belief. It's now a temple of some sort or a powerful sacred shrine. It was originally designed to house the artifacts of the ship that landed here, one of which they've learned to turn on and off. It's used in some religious ceremony now.

"T Six, have you been able to trace the race? They aren't Krofpth, I know. Those people are reptilian. Is there a record of them at Library?"

"Keralt reported there're records of various missing ships at that approximate time. The moders weren't clse to the greatest so far as dependability, it seems, so some were lost," T6 reported. "I've direct-accessed a hell of a lot of information. The language doesn't seem to have any roots in any of those races that fit the general type. I took a small sample of skin from one of the subjects for the probe that I've done complete genetic analysis on. There's no match on Library, which is not surprising. Most survey ships that went out had only Krofpth on board.

"There's a lot of random information at Library that we don't have time to look through so it might all be there. Keralt will keep looking in his spare time. There are a lot of things that were deliberately hidden in Library. The Krofpth DID have a fairly large military, which means all kinds of silly secrecy things in those earlier times of the empire. It won't necessarily be easy to find now."

"As that thing broadcasts in exact Krofpth we have a race that must have evolved naturally here, then," Kit pondered. "Very interesting. They've ... T Six! What did the Krofpth have that would last this long in an atmosphere? A quarter million years?"

"I see," Kurk said. "That pyramid. It had to be some special material."

"They had various alloys that would probably make it," T6 agreed. "I can analyze that structure when we're down there. It could be a number of things. What puzzles me the most is what power source they had that survived this long onplanet! I don't see anything like solar collectors – which couldn't survive a thousand years at best in an atmosphere, anyhow! The instability of their material is what makes them work at all."

"You said you detected some weird kind of power usage there at their pyramid?" Kurk asked. "Is it being used all the time or only when the signal is sent or some other schedule?"

"Yo!" T6 replied. "Constant, so far as I can tell."

"So much of a draw that it...." Kurk began. "That much time simply couldn't be any type of nuclear device could it?"

"Not unless there was changing of the fuel several times," Kit said. "We can be certain that didn't happen. The language tells us none of the original party survived. These aren't related to the Krofpth, either. T Six showed that with genetic print identification – not to mention the fact that reptiles don't evolve into mammals in a lousy quarter of a million years."

"We can only surmise," T6 said. "That's a waste of time, I think. It can be interesting though. We have time to waste so we can make up a scenario or two. It'll pass the time.

"I say the ship left this satellite here, then landed on the planet to try to locate where home was only to discover home wasn't anywhere they could hope to return to, tried to establish a society here, but died out for some reason. They made the pyramid thing to endure for the time when the Krofpth came this far knowing they had no hope of contact in their lifetimes. The satellite started automatically at a preset signal. Perhaps our own gravitics when we put the relays out here a few years ago started it. It could be reactive response to a specific gravitic frequency or something.

"Kit?"

"It was obviously a colony ship," Kit began. "They had the materials to build that pyramid and they definitely had that satellite aboard. Everything is standard practice. The only difference was that for some reason the ship couldn't leave the planet again. The people perished, leaving the artifacts as we find them. It's very possible our own relays started the satellite's transmissions. It will be a circuit that reacts to a wide band of the gravitics we use for fastcom.

"Kurk?"

"Maybe some of both scenarios," Kurk replied. "I think maybe we don't have enough information to make any realistic guesses. I think I'm an organic so I'd better get some rest. We might be busy for quite some time when this starts.

"T Six, please wake me when the transmissions start again if I'm not already awake at the time."

"Yo!" T6 answered. "Now tell us what you really think about our little scenarios."

"They're too far away from the old empire for one thing," Kurk answered. "The satellite didn't broadcast on our frequencies for another so it's not at all likely our frequencies would trigger anything. There's something about the power in the pyramid that does NOT fit. It's too long. We don't have the information. It's that simple. It's a waste of time to make all these theories without some information to base something on."

"There's that," T6 agreed.

Kurk slept awhile, then was awake again to practice some of the actions and to learn to speak the language without much tiring of the muscles needed. Finally T6 announced the signals had started again. There was a direct radio signal from the pyramid to start it.

"I expected it when I saw all those people going toward the pyramid," T6 said, showing the scene spy floaters concealed in trees near the pyramid broadcast to them. There were around a hundred people who approached the place in a procession. Their leaders were dressed in bright colors and wore elaborate headdresses. There were four who walked two to each side of the fifth, who was dressed in red cloth woven with gold.

"Religious," Kit noted. "Four priests of the second rank and their leader. Only the leader went inside, you'll note, while the four stood guard at the entrance. The people are of the elite, you'll also notice. No commoners."

"He made quite a show of entering, of opening the portal," Kurk said. "I'd deduce he got his priestly power by opening it in the first place. He found something inside that ... there it is! Look at the top block!"

The tip of the pyramid was beginning to glow a dull reddish, then got brighter and brighter until it was too bright to look directly at.

"This satellite is broadcasting a microwave power beam to the pyramid!" T6 exclaimed. "The satellite's basically a power accumulator that happened to have an emergency beacon aboard. We have to get into that pyramid or I'll blow a few fuses from curiosity!"

"The high priest is in there throwing switches," Kit suggested. "He's learned which ones get results so he's built some kind of ritual around it. Maybe we can use this in some way to do something positive with these people. I think one thing's fairly sure now. We damned well have to get down there! That thing's dangerous! That's too much power for some primitive priest to be in charge.... T Six! What's happening to all that power? Great exploding galaxies! What will happen when that power reaches saturation of the storage facilities?"

"If it's going into unprotected storage or if that priest has turned off the automatic regulators that thing's going to blast a tremendous section of that world apart when it overloads too much," T6 replied. "Maybe that's why it cuts off after a certain time. The cells fill and an emergency cut-off cuts in, shutting the whole system down."

"Then what uses all that power so they can replenish it?" Kurk asked. "Is there steady type of leakage causing your readings or is it because there's something down there actually using that much power? It's a hell of a lot to use in only a few lousy days!

"Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Yo!" T6 replied. "You two get into the hold. I'll make a floater with a beam that's too intense to look at to take you to their little ceremony in a few minutes. I've placed one of the people at the ceremony on the probe. No one even noticed she was gone so I'll have more information. You need a plan – and fast! There's nothing on this planet that could use the power being input there! The whole damned planet couldn't use it!"

"We'll appear, saying we were called from some never-never land by the sacred pyramid and demand to know who dares to trifle with powers of such a wizard as I happen to be," Kit said. "My personal demon will be there with me to show them I'm not their regular assembly line wizard so they'd better pay attention. We'll go right into the pyramid to learn what there is in there."

"I want to see what that power's being used on!" Kurk said. "We can handle that ridiculous priest I suppose, but that won't necessarily solve any of our problems. We'll have to establish authority at once, then start giving orders before they regain any balance. We won't know what we can do until we know what's inside that pyramid. We'll have to be commoners, you know."

"Commoners? Why?" T6 asked.

"Because the elite would stick together. They wouldn't fear each other, but a commoner with the powers we're going to exhibit will scare them into reacting. We have to control that reaction very carefully or this will turn into just what we don't want. We don't want the elite to start repressing the commoners anymore than they are at present. We certainly don't want to precipitate any attacks by one segment on another. The elite will tend to strike out from habit. It's what has always kept the commoners in their place."

"I take it we're going to throw all caution to the stars and interfere with this culture in any way we choose?" T6 asked. "I don't think I like this!"

"Call Maita," Kurk suggested. "I'll talk to it."

T6 called Emperor Maita, explained their situation, then turned it over to Kurk. Kurk said he thought the only real hope these people could have was if they could do something to change the direction they were going. What they had was worse than stagnation, it was regression. If it didn't change soon this race was doomed. The decadence of the elite was extreme.

"Remember, Maita," Kurk finished, "this is the kind of thing you and your original crews did. Sometimes it's the only thing that can work. This culture's become so rigidly stagnated with that stupid class system it'll never be able to break out on its own effort."

Maita told Kit and T6 that Kurk was probably right. The people on Rhaid were doomed by their own natures if something wasn't done so they were to decide what would be most effective among themselves and were to act according to those decisions. Kurk had been asked to join the crew for the very real reason he would tend to view things from a new angle. It was something the original crew had forgotten, though they were trying to regain their old selves and ways of thinking with what they were doing – a puzzle for T6 and crew to wonder about.

"If we don't do anything they're lost," Kurk pointed out. "If we fail it will be because we didn't move the society. The worst we can do to them is what's already happening here so we can't do any real damage."

Maita agreed. That was Kurk's value. Take his lead.

"We might as well get started, then!" Kit said, climbing on the floater. "Right or wrong, here we come!

"This is going to be one ceremony that none of those people down there are ever going to forget for one second!"

Afterword

This is put together because people who like SciFi, sometimes with a minimal bit of fantasy thrown in (but explained as trickery or a different slant on natural processes) can see how I have developed characters who are, I hope, distinct. My first "favorite" character was Thing, then the Golems, then Kurk.

I decided to not write further in the series. It's a matter of looking for a new slant on things. I believe my limitation is in feeling that changing a location or name of a character is a dodge that makes for dullness. My new slants are in things like Iggy. They can carry a short, but are not enough for an entire book.

I hope you enjoy my characters. I tend to like most of them. - C. D. Moulton

(I am living in Panama' now. Everyone calls me "CD" here, because I was in music and those are my initials, for Charles David)

Hellstorm on Helstrom

© 2013 by C. D. Moulton

Foreword

I have written more than 200 books to date. A number of shorts were printed in the Murder Mystery and SciFi mags over the years, as well as the articles in the orchid society periodicals.

I believe in doing it all, myself. I don't want a cover someone else designed to try to express what I'm trying to say

This and a few stories being published came about because of those covers. This one when a manipulated photograph had a few things added to it. It was a matter of light. The difference in natural features because of a different radiation spectrum of a star ... lightning on a world orbiting a star that radiated far toward the violet ... the kind of culture that may evolve under those conditions.

The photo is across a pasture toward a few mountains in the distance. I snap a great number of them when I'm doing the research bit. I do botanical studies of orchids and medicinal plants in the area. (Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá)

The natural features of this beautiful place are featured on many of the book covers, particularly the Clint Faraday Mysteries and the miscellaneous things since I moved here, eight years ago.

After more than 200 books I'm still experimenting and finding new things. Seldom are drawn additions included, but this was a background that needed something else. Having a weird imagination helps with this mess.

Anyhow, hope you enjoy – CD

Hellstorm on Helstrom

Farth Kennl looked at the ominous clouds building toward the east and flipped his long ears in the expression of some trepidation. While thunderstorms were common enough on this part of Helstrom, this one looked like it might be something special.

He ran his claws through the thick fur on his head and sighed. Batten down the doors and windows and go to work as usual. He needed the job to pay for all the assorted crap he and others were propagandized into feeling they needed.

He didn't fool himself that any of it was real need. Garft! Who needed a 600 MBpower engine in a private conveyance when a 65 MBp would handle more than he would ever need? So he could get to work, just forty KM away, two minutes faster? With all that, it still wouldn't outrun a lightning strike!

He locked the place down and got in the damned money-eater and cycled the canopy closed. It was an excuse to spend his nights doing things to earn enough to buy things he didn't need and, to be honest, didn't want.

What was it about people? They knew what it was to the last of them, but they did it, anyhow.

He would stay low, below the peaks. He didn't want to be in a direct bolt of lightning. It would overload the power computers and end up costing him a month's salary to reprogram.

He was low, but a bolt struck even lower. He was only a half kilometer away from the intense blue-green bolt!

The read-out on the dash said he must immediately go to ground. The system would shut down to reboot in one minute ... 59 seconds ... 58 seconds ...

Crap! Just what he needed!

There was an e-pad along the ground road. He was never more than thirty seconds from one. He switched for the car to land. He was lucky, in one way. Two others were headed for the pad. He was first by two seconds. They would have to land on the road. What little traffic there was would have to wait the twenty two seconds a reboot took.

There was a lot of road traffic. He hadn't watched the morning report. There must be warnings out. They were always on the holovision half an hour before the official ... warning that was just now being announced on his dash unit.

Typical! Wait until it hits to give official warning!

This was not going to be any ordinary day. He should have have, as the saying goes, kept his ass in bed until tomorrow!

Reboot complete. No damage found. Have a nice day.

"It's not going to be a nice day! The day's over! It's now evening and it's a long way from 'nice', you halfbrained moron!"

Great! Now rant at a damned machine! Shows who's the halfbrained moron! Look in a mirror!

He lifted and headed on. Another bolt, not quite as close as the last, threw a lot of bright blue sparks. It hit something.

Emergency! Respond! Beam setting approach! came on the dash unit. The car turned and went top acceleration to the spot, jerking his head back against the support, then throwing him hard against the restraints as the car stopped.

What the hell! It was his duty! It was part of being a Helstromian!

The restraints snapped open and the canopy snapped open almost hard enough to snap it from the hinges. To save a damned picosecond? Crap multiplied!

He ran to the car on the private pad that showed some scorching from the strike. He could see two people in the craft. They were unconscious or dead. If they were only unconscious, they would soon be dead if that car wasn't opened! There was no air cycling with the batteries grounded.

He did know how to open the craft in an emergency. He quickly found the relay and punched 2-2-2-2-3-3-4. The charge blew the canopy open. He saw the guage, that was on extreme danger for carbon dioxide, cycle to normal. It wasn't yet to critical. If they were alive now, they would live. They wouldn't in about four and a half more minutes!

He went to his car and called that he had responded. Two people. Unconscious or dead – he was no medic, and couldn't say – and he had released the canopy. He explained exactly what the guage said and the apparent condition of things. The craft had been hit directly enough to explode the batteries. That intense a bolt had caused the oxygen inside the sealed canopy to ionize and react with the safety reagent, leaving the occupants with no oxygen. He had been in time, if they weren't affected in any other way. The strike had, of course, rendered the passengers unconscious, if not dead.

The emergency response craft was en route, but had to stop on the way. Three minutes twenty two seconds. It would be reported at his place of employment that he had been detained on state emergency procedures and wasn't to be held responsible for the delay.

Not that Drinith would, but that made it official.

He went to look in the stricken craft. The female groaned slightly and moved. She, at least, was alive.

A bolt hit the arresters on the next building. There was some kind of problem with the insulation. It knocked Kennl off his feet a hundred thirty meters away!

Your craft will reboot in one minute ... fifty nine seconds ... fifty eight ... the voice on his communicator announced.

"It wasn't in use, you idiot! I just left the com on for ... why am I arguing with a damned machine!?"

"Please remove this craft from the pad for emergeny response team," the dash com sounded.

"It's rebooting!" Kennl cried, exasperated.

"You will immediately remove this craft from the pad for emergency response team! That is an order! Comply immediately!"

"Reboot completed. No damage found. Have a nice day."

Kennl jumped in and lifted without closing the canopy. He was swearing in every term in both the languages he knew. The emergency craft landed. He moved close to call that his damned car was rebooting was why he didn't leave before they got there. The woman driving shook her head and said she would report that he had complied in a timely fashion, that he had already performed procedures that had saved the lives of two people. He was to be commended, not treated like a criminal.

"The bureaucrats in the dispatch office cause ten times the delay that citizens like you do. I don't know of one case in my nine years at the job where anyone at dispatch had done anything at all, much less save two peoples' lives! I could cite two cases where they had caused deaths with their bureaucratic crap!"

He explained what he'd found and what he'd done. She said there was no doubt whatever that he had saved those two people. They would be okay. The recorder on the pad had it all. He had moved quickly and efficiently. He should get a public commendation for citizenship.

She was very attractive. She seemed to like him. He was about to ask her for a date, but her crew jumped back in and said this was filed and done. Great job, but they had other calls coming in.

The girl called that she was Rhihita, if there was need of a witness. He yelled that she had his name and number on the automatic report if she needed him for anything. They waved at each other and the emergency craft sped away. Kennl looked at the two people who were just then climbing from their car. He waved and left.

Drinith listened to his report when he checked in. She said there was a message from Emergency Response that said much the same thing. He went to his mini-office and turned on his work station to see things had gone, if not perfectly, well. He was only twelve minutes late.

The office went off-line twice before the storm had completely passed. It was the worst electrical storm in more than fourteen years. There were seven reported deaths, to the moment.

The holovision was on in the main office when he checked out. A report of six people who had failed to respond to emergency help requests was given and their reprimands were recorded and noted. Two people had acted in heroic fashion, Farth Kennl and Vlend Proco. The public thanked them and would hold them in honor.

That made him feel good!

The next shift manager stepped from his office to call Kennl – to announce he was being sued! He had caused a private craft to blow the canopy and damage the connectors. It would cost him four hundred credits plus fifty court costs, unless he fought it, which would end up costing him double, even though he would win.

"Let's see. I blew the canopy as the only way to save their lives, so I'm being sued for damages?

"Somehow, it figures!"

"Well, it's the dawn. Have a nice day!" the shift manager answered.

"Yeah. Right."

C. D. Moulton's works are available through most major outlets and at

www.smashwords.com/profile/view/maitaman
