Gresham glanced up. “Nikkwill is actually coming?”
“His ship arrives tomorrow morning,” Godford said with a broad smile. “Shows how important this summit is. When was the last time a High Prod personally visited a sovereign nation for a conference? Especially us?”
“It’s been decades. Probably before Dennokk’s reign, to be honest.”
“That’s why security is of utmost importance, especially in light of all these recent assassinations. We have probably the best opportunity in years of demonstrating galactic unity and it will happen here, in Los Angeles, tomorrow night.”
Moss flipped through his briefing. “You’re putting it out on Catalina? At the convention center?”
“We were going to do it at Shoregrove, but after Haimon’s assassination we felt it inappropriate to stage it there so soon. The Catalina site is much smaller, so we cut down on the Commissioners and bureaucrats invited. There’ll be no more than three hundred people there, tops.” Godford indicated their briefings. “You are both cleared to attend the pre-summit dinner event Friday evening along with the media and assorted delegations, but you both have full itineraries of the weekend’s events.”
“Three days out on an island,” Moss said in disbelief. “What will security be like?”
“Around the clock. That convention center is being turned into a fortress as we speak,” Godford explained. “Those security clearances are current, as are the itineraries. I’ll get you both updates in case of major changes.”
Godford turned his attention to Gresham. “Now, I realize that you may be a little disappointed about my decision to hold charges until Monday, but this is delicate. The most powerful member of the krokator military will be here tomorrow and a member of his race, unaffiliated or not, just attacked the centerpiece of a major investigation two days before the summit. French wasn’t expected to attend the summit, at least he wasn’t last I checked, but this is still sensitive. Once the High Prod is gone, we resume our hunt for French’s assailant and then proceed with the indictment.”
“What’s your gauge on the success of trying French?” Moss asked, setting his drink aside.
“Well, the indictment is inevitable at this point and his political career is as good as dead even if he escapes conviction. I’m proud of you, John, this is a big deal and it’s your baby.”
Gresham glanced away. “I couldn’t have done it without Lara, sir.”
“Lara?”
“Lara Taylor with SIS. Her help was invaluable.”
Godford nodded. “Due credit will be given.”
“I think Major Gresham has some concerns about his own legal status,” Moss volunteered. “Will charges be filed against John?”
“The President will likely pardon any charges raised by Cray and the usual suspects,” Godford muttered with a look of disdain. “In the end, nobody can prove that John attacked French. Finding the krokator who attacked French is equally unlikely, so the investigation will solely focus on the extent of French’s gun-running involvement. This could be potentially huge. French was expected to announce a Presidential campaign within the next few weeks.”
“Any leads on the krokator I chased after?” Gresham asked after a momentary pause.
“Well, no, not at this time. He’s probably some gun-for-hire that French’s partners sent out to cover their tracks. He’ll be back in the Zone by now.”
“The Zone, mm?”
Godford sat forward. “You have a thought, Major Gresham?”
“Well, during my investigation a name came up – Kalenn Jurkken. He seems to have had a business relationship with Lugrash down in the Zone and may have been part of the gun-running operation. The okka needles used to kill Frank Price may hint at a more sinister connection. Could it be that Jurkken was the seller and Lugrash a hired hand?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose gun sales go through Jurkken or an associate of his, but you need someone to ship them off the planet or bring them here from somewhere else, right? Lugrash just didn’t seem like he was selling guns out of his warehouse. Literally everything in there was boxed up.”
“So Jurkken’s the real bastard we want to look for,” Godford said, stroking his jaw. “Do you have a way of finding him?”
“Well, no, that’s the problem. He’s dropped off the map at SIS, they haven’t seen or heard from him in years, and apparently the only record he exists are licenses to sell gukka recreationally. I talked to a friend of mine who knows the Zone pretty well and he doesn’t know where exactly Jurkken’s gukka bars are at, he just knows that they’re in the part of the Zone you don’t want to go to.”
“Sounds like every part of the Zone.”
“No kidding.”
Godford glanced at his watch. “Well, Gresham, I’m intrigued to hear what more you come up with on this matter. You’re both dismissed.”
Gresham shook the general’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Moss followed him out of the office. “John, I wanted to say something real quick.”
“Yes, Gary?”
“I know I expressed serious doubts about this assignment, but you’ve shown a certain knack for field work. I know that you enjoy being an analyst, so this is just a suggestion…”
Gresham’s interest was piqued. “What’s going on?”
“I drafted a glowing recommendation if you were to request a transfer to Section One, to do field work permanently. It’s still on my hard drive, but after the summit, if you want to move over to work for Beveridge, I would approve.”
“But Gary, I’ve been in Section Four since I came to Terra… we’ve worked together for years.”
Moss laughed. “John, I’m not demoting you or firing you. It’s just a thought I had. I haven’t even talked to Godford or Beveridge about it yet.”
Gresham was stunned. “Wow, I’m not sure what to say. Field work is a really different line and all.”
“You’re not even forty yet, you’re still young. Mull it over and let me know what you want to do. I think you’re wasting a natural talent in my office, John, but I can’t force you.” Moss extended his hand. “In the meantime, there is some paperwork I need you to take care of since you do still work for me.”
Gresham laughed and shook it. “I’ll get on it. Thanks, Gary.”
“Don’t mention it.”
#
Zurra yawned and woke up from his nap. He was still exhausted despite having spent several hours on the human soldier’s couch. It took him a few moments to remember how to get the massive screen on the wall to turn on, but when he did, he was met with a fascinating array of colors accompanied by blasting, screeching music. He covered his ears in surprise, wincing. What a terrible noise!
He quickly shouted out a random number and lucked out with a display of running waterfalls and soothing voice detailing the wonders of the untainted wildernesses found on the jungle world of Fannindrax. A massive, purple-hued winged beast circled over the steaming lake beneath the cataract, screeching audibly alongside the narrator’s description of the perfection of the ecosystem.
Zurra was amazed at the idiotic types of entertainment that were available on the thousand channels Gresham had at his disposal. The humans played a variety of sports, each with rules that he had trouble discerning, including one that seemed to revolve around hitting a ball with a stick and then catching it, and another where men kicked a ball at each other for extended periods of time, and the strangest of all, where men in battle armor rammed into one another at terrifyingly high speeds.
There was a multitude of programming Zurra could never imagine in the Empire, where the broadcasts were typically newscasts, of a religious nature or adaptations of classical works. There were dozens of channels centered solely around cooking food, buying goods, making the strange floating vehicles the humans piloted work, and endless assaults of hellishly agitating music. Zurra was a little overwhelmed and elected to turn the screen off after his eyes began to hurt.
> The heat grew more and more intense as the day wore on and he found himself trying to figure out how to obtain water from the automated kitchen in Gresham’s apartment more and more often. The lunch he ate was excellent, and he was continuously in awe of whatever strange mechanism powered the complexity of it.
With the temperature at its worst in the early afternoon, Zurra retrieved his towel and made his way down to the communal pool he had spotted earlier in the day. Tenants of the Palisades community were gathered in and around the pool, and some had brought out barbecues. Little children splashed in the water as their parents stood around grinning and joking with one another.
After a moment’s pause before entering, Zurra pushed open the gate and stepped through, and he immediately felt the searing distaste from all the residents pour over him like a wave. Two men who had moments before been amicably sharing stories fell completely silent and looked in his direction with hate in their eyes.
“Oh you can’t be serious…”
“Don’t they have ordinances against this sort of thing?”
Zurra decided against politely acknowledging them and moved on, finding a lawn chair that he gingerly put his towel down on and he removed his shirt, revealing to the assorted crowd his honors tattooed to his back and chest, their white color stark against his dark skin.
The crowd was still watching him carefully. He saw one female shoot him a look of disgust as she pulled her child from the pool. “Well, I never thought…”
Two juvenile humans approached Zurra as he tightened his kekkalo around his waist and stopped directly in front of him.
“Crock!” one of them screamed and threw a plastic bottle at his head. Zurra instinctively dodged it.
“Yeah, get out of here, you stupid Crock!” the other child said and stepped down hard on Zurra’s foot before running away.
A woman that appeared to be somewhat older than the rest tapped Zurra on the shoulder and gave him a look that nearly froze his veins. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. There are children here, families trying to enjoy their afternoon without you ruining it for them! Who even let you in here?”
Zurra spotted two of the community’s security robots rolling along over the pavement and approaching the pool, with a human wearing an official-looking shirt close behind them.
“I am sorry, I do not mean any harm,” Zurra said. This was almost as bad as the beach. What was it with humans and recreational swimming?
“We ought to be able to come to the pool without dirty ETs like you here scaring the children and contaminating the water. Thank the Lord you didn’t get in!”
The security robots pulled up outside the gate and the human entered, stopping about ten yards away and placing his hands on his hips. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” the human barked. “Here, come with me. Now.”
Zurra gathered his things and obliged. He heard a chorus of insults as he walked out of the gate and a plastic cup bounced off of his back.
The security robots were dismissed by the human as they walked away from the pool. “What were you thinking walking in there like that?” the human asked.
“I did not know that the pool was for humans only,” Zurra answered genuinely. “My friend that I am staying with, he said other… well, other non-humans reside here.”
“They do, but they’re not dumb enough to go barging in on barbecues while the other tenants are all out. They go to ET pools in the city or the ET part of the beach down in Malibu. None of those people want to have you around them when they’re bathing or enjoying their afternoon.”
Zurra was legitimately frustrated, although he appreciated the reasoned tone of what he assumed was a security officer. “But why? That is what I do not understand. I was not bothering anyone or causing trouble.”
“Because they don’t like aliens and don’t want your kind around. Look, I have some good friends who work at my company who are ETs, and I’m not a bigot of any kind but… well, it’s just the way it works. I’m sorry. You’re not in trouble, and nobody’s going to beat you up.”
Zurra stoically replied, “I would have liked to see them attempt it.”
“Who are you staying with?”
“I am staying with cooker of – I am staying with John Gresham.”
“I know John. I’ll let him know what happened when he gets home, but for now, just go relax in his apartment, watch some TV or whatever. Just please don’t cause me anymore trouble, okay?”
Zurra nodded reluctantly. “Very well.”
He was growing tired of this planet. When was he actually going to get something done without having another racist human stepping in his way?
#
Jurkken blew a perfect smoke ring into the air and watched the expanding circle hover over his head. He handed the gukka pipe to a friend of his when a large krokator with a horrific overbite entered his private lounge.
“Elijah Perry is here,” he announced. “Should I show him in, sir?”
Jurkken scowled and rubbed his eyes. What the hell did Perry want? He turned to look back at the two nude females, one human and the other a Fantoon, who were massaging him.
“Get out of here,” he said in Standard and pulled out ten credits for each of them. “I’ll pay you the rest later.”
They pulled on robes and slid out of the room. Jurkken turned his attention back to his cohort. “Show Mr. Perry in.”
“This had better be good,” a lean, muscular blue-skin said from a pillow a few feet away.
“You will like Perry as much as I do. He always has something new he wants me to do for him.”
Perry pushed his way through the glittering array of beads blocking off the entrance to Jurkken’s lounge and sat down on the nearest unoccupied pillow.
“What can I do for you this afternoon, komok?” Jurkken asked in Standard. “I took care of Chiles, just like you asked. It was in the news. They said it was an accident. He drove off a cliff and burnt up all on his own.”
“Excellent work,” Perry said. “Now I need a few more favors from you before we move tomorrow night.”
“I thought you might,” Jurkken grimaced and loaded a fresh scoop of gukka into the pipe’s bowl. “I assume another assassination of some kind. Do you have any idea the risks I take every time you ask me to kill someone for you? You clearly have the knack yourself for getting your hands dirty. Sending a krokator to take out French… I get the sense you are trying to get leverage on me by making it look like something I did?”
“I would never incriminate or blackmail you, Jurkken. We’re business partners.”
Jurkken spat on the floor, gukka residue mixed with his saliva. “Us, partners? Never. Our superiors are aligned and that makes this a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”
Perry glanced at the other three krokator watching him intently. “May we speak in private?”
“No. We speak here. Two of them do not even understand a word of Standard. This part of the Zone is like the Empire, everyone speaks my language. I have had enough of your secrets. If you want me to do a favor for you, you can tell the men I often send out to do your bidding.”
Frustrated rage passed over Perry’s face momentarily before he smiled courteously. “As you say, Jurkken. I have some new loose ends to tie up that I hadn’t anticipated. A krokator from the sukuda attacked French yesterday afternoon and I need him found. This is what he looks like. Maybe you or an associate will recognize him.”
He handed Jurkken the photograph he had taken from the security footage at French’s office. The krokator glanced at it and smiled. “I know this face.”
“Who is it?”
The lean, fit blueskin in the corner took one look at the photograph and looked up. “That is Sharm Akgu Zurra. He is not sukuda; he is the personal assassin of the High Prod himself.”
Perry paused. “Do I know you?”
“It appears an introduction needs to be made,” Jurkken said. “Eli, this is Kamaan Dakkal, the friend of mine from the Em
pire we talked about earlier.”
Perry regarded the intimidating krokator before looking back at Jurkken. “So you know this Sharm Akgu Zurra?”
“Not personally. He is a military man, one of the best. You rarely find killers more cold-blooded than this one.”
“So why would he come after Jack French? Any ideas?”
“You think he was there to kill French?” Dakkal interjected.
“It looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Dakkal gave a toothy smile. “Looks can be deceiving. Zurra, he is a dangerous one. He tore a tavern I own back in the Empire to shreds looking for me.”
Jurkken nodded. “I would suspect that if he is here, it is to find us. A shame we missed this earlier.”
Perry thought about this new information. “You think he knows where to find you?”
“My existence is an open secret in the krokator community. I am sure the ambassador knows my name or one of his contacts does. You can only kill off so many sukuda,” Jurkken opined and sampled his latest gukka bowl.
“Well, then, that solves that. We need to kill him.”
Dakkal roared and bared his tusks at Perry, who nearly fell off of his chair in alarm. Jurkken guffawed through a billow of smoke and his two bodyguards joined in the merriment.
For the first time since his first journey down to Jurkken’s lair in the Zone, Perry was genuinely afraid for his life. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his suddenly sweaty hair. “So? Will you kill him or not?”
“No. You do not understand, Perry, what Akgu Zurra represents. He is the son of a very influential prod who passed away a few years ago. Our friend Grakko began his rise to power when he and the current Black Prod killed Zurra’s brother, Akgu Turka. It was quite the prize – the son of one of the Emperor’s most trusted lapdogs. Zurra and Grakko have something of a testy relationship since then.”
Dakkal glanced at Jurkken. “Nohoken?”
“Perhaps. It would not surprise me.” Jurkken passed the pipe along and cleared his throat. “Zurra led an expedition to assassinate Grakko shortly after his father died. He failed, but left Grakko with that now-famous scar. If Zurra is on Terra, our duty to our allies is to capture him alive and hand him over.”