B8 Pulling the Strings (Patreon)

I feel like I make apology posts to you guys a lot. I'm sorry about that.

There I go, apologizing again.

Prior to this year, when I still had my old job, I felt a lot more inspired. I wasn't so damn burned out at the end of the workday that I just wanted to get drunk instead of write. It's very frustrating living like this. I don't hate my current job, but I sure don't love it either.

I also know that it's time limited. If my calculations are correct, then after another thirty-two grueling months of this, I should be able to quit and write fulltime. Yay. But that sense of time-limitedness also keeps me from looking for a different job since I can put up with most anything for thirty-two months.

My point is that I really appreciate you guys. I feel like it was easier to stick by me when I was writing constantly, providing you  with lots of fun things to read, and fulfilling all of my Patreon commitments. Some of you have wandered away—I don't blame them—but you guys have stuck with me. That really means a lot. So, thank you.

And while I'm here, a quick update before we go on with today's scene:

We went to Megaplex'23 two weeks ago and it was a ton of fun. We met so many people, sold some books, and I gave a talk about publishing. I also really stuck my nose in where I had no business, but it can't all be good news.

Oh, and my car broke down! It wasn't a big deal, but it worked out so well. I drove 10+ hours down to the con, unloaded, moved the car to a temporary spot so it wouldn't be in the loading zone, and then it died. It could have died at any earlier moment that day and it would have messed everything up. It was like the guardian angel of car troubles was watching out for me.

Now, we're back in Huntsville and coping with family drama. My dad hurt his eye. I don't think he's going to lose it, but I doubt he'll keep vision in it either, so sucks to be him. My dad and I aren't terribly close, so I'm ducking the rest of the family while they deal with him. I'm supposed to be driving another 10+ hours each way on Thursday to go to a wedding, but instead I've decided to feign sickness.

Yeah, that's a little shitty, but you can only do so much before you have to stop and think about some self-care.

Enough bitching? Yeah, let's get onto the latest new scene from Executioner's Gambit. In this one, Tori suspects that someone rich has hired the killer, so she's off to interview the ship's richest.

———

In the morning, Tori set out with Holly to interview more of the crew. But standing before the first door of the day, she hesitated. Although just an apartment door, this one felt so different from her own. The metal was painted bright red, unlike her raw, silver door. It was wider, taller, and felt more substantial and imposing than others.

Also, the owner had inset a video screen in the door where the apartment number would normally be painted. On the screen, a video of hand-drawn animation looped, showing scenes from Gerootec: a leafy forest, a snow-swept tundra, blue waves lapping against white sand. And in each segment of video, the artist had incorporated the number eleven into the images by changing the colors of some of the leaves, or drawing tracks in the snow, or by laying stones out on the sand.

“Wow,” whispered Holly as he watched the display. Tori couldn’t guess if he was astounded that the owner would pay so much for something as simple as a number on their apartment door or if he was just surprised that the apartment number had only two digits in the address, unlike the five digits they had down where most of the crew lived.

Doesn’t really matter, Tori told herself as she rang the bell. A minute later, the apartment number vanished from the screen, replaced with video of an attractive geroo in her forties. She stared for a long moment before simply saying, “What?”

Tori straightened her posture, as if worried she was being judged. “Hello, ma’am, I’m Investigator Tori. I need to ask you a few questions about The Executioner killings.”

“Why?”

Tori cringed in frustration. What is it with the crew on this ship? she wanted to shout. Why was everyone treating a string of murders like it was no big deal? “What do you mean, ‘Why?’” she demanded. “He’s murdering crewmates, that’s why.”

On-screen, the gal’s red ears stood high from her white head. “No, I mean, why are you asking me? I don’t have anything to do with that.”

Tori relaxed a bit. “Well, someone does,” said Tori, “and I’m going to keep interviewing geroo until I find out who.”

The video screen returned to its animated loop, and the heavy door swung in. The female who greeted them was all-white except for her ears and the tip of her tail—those were a red just a touch too bright to be natural. She peeked both directions into the corridor. “Fine, whatever,” she grumbled, “just come inside, and have a seat in the drawing room before the neighbors see you and think I’m a suspect.”

“Yes, well, for what it’s worth, I’ll be interviewing them next,” Tori replied. “I’m starting at the top of the ship and will work my way to the bottom if I must.” With one paw on Holly’s elbow and the other on her cane, she hobbled her way through a foyer the size of her apartment. Her eyes opened wide at the sheer scale and opulence around her—framed paintings on the walls, chandeliers for lights, hand-stitched rugs on the deck. Walking from the door to a thickly padded seat felt like a hike to the market. The room was lined with crown molding and had a ceiling so high that… Well, Daskatoma might be able to fit in the space, but she doubted he’d be comfortable.

After helping Tori to her chair, Holly glanced nervously around, his ears hanging low when he managed to make eye contact with their host. “I’m Administrator Holly. I’m … helping,” he explained.

“I’m Darsi,” said the gal. She snapped her fingers repeatedly when an older male walked past an open archway. Though clearly engrossed in an audio conversation on his strand, he stopped and acknowledged the others with a two-fingered wave. “That’s my mate, Kuda.”

Tori tapped the names into a mostly blank note sheet on her strand. “Did you know any of the victims?”

Darsi huffed and raised her muzzle. “No, of course not.”

“Well, uh, we knew that last one,” said Kuda, placing his palm over the lower half of his strand to mute himself.

Tori’s ears perked. “Subcommander Kimoa, The Executioner’s latest victim?”

But Darsi looked unconvinced. “We did?”

Kuda nodded and leaned his hip against the high-backed chair his mate sat in. “Sure. Remember when we threw a party for the captain’s birthday a few months back?” he asked her before turning back to the two investigators. “We invited all the subcommanders.”

“Oh, I suppose we did,” said Darsi. She poked her mate when he started paying more attention to his strand than her. “Which one was Kimoa?”

“Hrm?” He stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “I believe he was the surly one who spilled the wine.”

Her ears pulled back in disgust. “That one? Oh yeah, he was a jerk.” Then, her eyes opened wide, and she said to Tori, nearly shouting, “But we didn’t kill him! We don’t poison geroo for spilling wine all over.”

The rusty red geroo nodded and tapped at her notes. “Do you know anyone who disliked Subcommander Kimoa?”

“Anyone he spilled wine on, I guess…” Darsi huffed under her breath. Then, she jumped to her paws. “Hang on! You better not be trying to pin this on us. No one from the upper decks could have had anything to do with The Executioner.”

Holly perked an ear and raised his index finger, asking, “Why do you say that?”

But Darsi rolled her eyes as if the reason were obvious. “Because killing those in power upsets the ship’s order, upsets the status quo,” she said. “But everyone in power and everyone with money doesn’t want that. We want things to continue on just as they have been.”

Kuda muttered, not really looking at anyone, “That’s rather short-sighted.”

“How do you mean?” Holly asked him.

Kuda looked at his strand for a moment. Whatever conversation he’d been listening to didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon, so he tapped a button to disconnect the call. “Well, the crew is all sorts of pissed-off. Anyone with eyes can see that,” he explained while putting the strand back in its holster. “It’s like a pot that’s threatening to boil over.”

His mate threw up her paws. “Yeah, and what do you think is going to happen when it does?” she groaned. “Once the crew kills off everyone they hate, and then they realize that their lives haven’t improved? They’ll be emboldened. They’ll start eyeing everyone who has what they want. Mark my words, those of us on the upper decks will be next,” said Darsi, jabbing a finger at Kuda to emphasize her point.

“You don’t know whether their positions will improve,” he said. Kuda leaned forward and tapped Holly’s arm with a wink. “That’s why we need The Executioner. Someone has to let some of the steam out before the pot boils over. If the captain and the commissioner aren’t up to it, then it’s only natural that the crew will take it upon themselves.”

Tori stared at him with jaw slightly agape. She had grown accustomed to crewmembers supporting the killer, but this went beyond the pale. Not only was he condoning murder, Kuda was arguing for it, saying the ship needed the murders to continue! She glared at him. “Or someone who wants to keep the status quo,” she said quietly, “could use their influence to make that happen.”

The couple’s ears raised, and the male asked her to clarify, “How do you mean?”

Tori took a moment as if she were pondering why, but she didn’t need it. After all, she had decided to interview everyone on the upper decks because she suspected that one of them had financed these hits. “Well, by paying The Executioner, obviously. Instead of waiting for one of the crew to take up arms against those in power—waiting for the pot to boil over, as you said—someone could have hired a geroo to kill the worst-of-the-worst, to let some steam out.” Tori shrugged and let her ruined ears smile. “Not everyone is motivated by money, but enough are. Combine one geroo with lots of credits and another with questionable morals, mix, and serve. That sounds like a recipe for murder to me.”

The pair shared a worried look before turning back toward their guests.

“I … didn’t do that,” he whispered.

Darsi lowered her head into her palms. “Well done, Kuda,” she said, “now she thinks you’ve hired a killer.”

“But I didn’t! I wouldn’t!” Kuda insisted. Frightened, he glanced about, searching for rescue. “I… I just like thinking through things to their logical conclusions. That doesn’t mean I killed anyone.”

Normally, at this point in an interview, Tori would give the suspect a chance to clear themselves. She’d ask where they were when the act was committed, ask if they had witnesses who could corroborate their story. But how could Kuda prove that he hadn’t paid The Executioner in untraceable shards?

———

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HgQ77gTw6LgyMcBNXm77Pj87CGobHdBSFrkLvHukQAA/edit?usp=sharing

Thoughts?