1
A Point of Honor
I put my last two credits out of my pouch and hopped down to the casino floor to play The Craps. I squeezed myself between a Hurti and a blue-faced glorst-looking thing and put the credits down on the Pass Line.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” I said, clapping my claws together with the rhythmic pattern Humans do in their instructional video.
The croupier, a Human, pushed two dice over to a Kil’noil with a stick on the other side of the big table. (I must say, I still marvel I am allowed to breathe the same air as a Kil’noil.) With her webbed fingers, she gathered up the dice, wished for luck, and threw them overhand. They hit the far side of the table weakly, rolled a few times before they settled down right before me. A Two and a One.
“Three, Craps. Line away,” the croupier called out. I watched gloomily as my two credits were scooped up. I turned on my toenails and walked away. I had to be careful not to rip the carpet.
The Billion Sun Casino is very large, practically the size of a whole Clan-Tree compound back home. The gravity of this planet is a bit heavier than even the Humans are used to and it always makes me tired. The indoor lighting is a shade too disturbing for me but if I watch the flashing numbers on the Keno board, I find it helps to calm me down. I made it over where I supposed to meet Russell, at a Human cocktail lounge, whose name, “The Coconut Grove,” meant nothing to me.
A Human female, barely dressed, came up to me at once.
“Humanoid only, birdbrain,” she said sternly. “You got your own bar, over there, remember?” She pointed with her index finger in that direction, a Human gesture that
always struck me as hilarious, since Humans can’t read magnetic flux.
“Ipxso,” I heard someone shout. “Over here.”
I peered into the lounge and saw Russell waving his hand. I knew the significance of that waving movement. I was to sit next to him. I walked past the female and lowered myself in the surprisingly comfortable padded chair next to the Deputy Swing Shift Security Supervisor.
“Hey, Ipxso,” he said. He was just raising a glass container of liquid to his lips. The label on the bottle was in English so I had no problem reading it. Understanding it, now, that was another thing. I thought the word, “Lite,” referred to a shorthand spelling of the word, “light.” But the substance inside the bottle appeared to be dark.
I’ll never understand Humans. Like them, yes. Admire and respect them, sure. Look what they managed to do in such a short time. But understand them? Not in a thousand rotation cycles.
“What’s your pleasure?”
“A female mate, pleasing plumage, and in sexual compatibility mode.”
Russell threw back his head and roared a loud laugh, much like a Dr’rlac, though I’d never tell him that. I then realized he was making polite noise about beverages.
“A steaming bowl of tt’yyr would be nice.”
“Sure thing.” He beckoned to the Human female. “Connie, sweetheart, run up to Treetops Lounge and bring back a bowl of tt’yyr for Ipxso, would you please?”
She answered him back in pleasant vocal tones, though I could smell a hint of
irritation in her body chemistry.
“How’s the job going?”
“It is going fine. The garbage dump is always busy.”
“Yeah, but it’s a living. Or, as you say, Tyl ff’wuu.” He whistled the completely incorrect phrase but I said nothing.
“And don’t worry about being in ahumanoid-only cocktail lounge.” He chuckled, Humanish. “I just love to screw up the authorities here.”
I was not aware of this sexual preference. Probably another of their multitude of sexual innuendos. I did my version of a Human shrug.
Russell upended his bottle, slurped a bit too loudly, then slowly put it down. I noticed he wiped his mouth with the back of his right hand.
“Now, Ipxso, I wanted to see you now for a reason.” I gestured affirmatively. That much was obvious.
“We Humans have an expression. I want to ‘pick your brain’ on something.”
Luckily, I had heard of that expression before and recognized it to be a slang term. Otherwise, I would have screeched.
“You, of course, are the same Species-Strain as Likko is. Or rather, was. There are not many Flmiol here. So, since I’m in charge of the investigation of his sudden death, I asked you here, inside the casino, rather than me going outside to see you at the garbage dump. I hope you don’t mind.”
I nodded my head, knowing that was how Humans indicated agreement. Humans have a different gesture for every different thing.
Russell glanced around the lounge, looking for a waitress to serve him another
beer. I looked out over the casino.
Such an unusual establishment. There’s nothing in the Empire like it, sanctioned by the Leaders for reasons which seem to indicate some kind of compromise. Someone
with my status would never know why it’s here, but I’m so glad it is.
Bells, whistles, flashing lights, shouts and bellows, all issuing from the same location, as if in a jungle. The Tolerance Decree allows the different Strains to mingle legally and exchange trinkets and the odd piece of technology for the privilege of competing for honor, luck, prestige and, of course, reward.
There are disputes, of course, but not between different Strains. I could not clan-fight with a Taggi, for instance.
The waitress appeared with my order and a bottle of Guinness Lite.
“Thanks, Connie,” Russell said. His oxytocins were becoming electrified within his aura, I could easily see. I didn’t mention it to him, of course, since her aura did not signify reciprocally. Russell watched the female waitressleave. His aura colors lessened.
“Okay,” he sighed. “To work. Likko was a guest here at the casino. Now, back on your Flmiol home planet, he was in charge of new weapon development. Let’s start there. Would anyone be envious of his position?”
“Envious?”
“Yes. Would somebody else want to be in charge of new weapon development?”
“Likko was in charge of new weapon development,” I said, slowly. Sometimes you have to speak to Humans as if they were newly hatched. Which, now that I thought
of it, I suppose they are.
“Yes,” Russell replied, just as slow. “But suppose somebody else wanted to be in
charge of new weapon development? Won’t they want to put Likko out of the way?”
“Our leaders would not have appointed Likko if they didn’t want him to be in charge of new weapon development.” I swallowed some tt’yyr. I always enjoy the
tickling sensations as the insects wiggle down my throat.
“I see.” Russell sipped at his liquid. “Would that be a feeling every other
Strain would have? It’s a very important and rewarding position. Maybe someone else
thought he, or she, could perform it better than Likko?”
“Then that person would have been appointed instead of Likko.” Humans make me laugh sometimes.
“Okay. Let’s try something else. Was Likko married? You know, were his affections committedto another Flmiol?”
I knew what Russell meant by married. I told him no.
“Okay. So, perhaps he may have had a lover. Or two. Could his death then be caused by jealousy?”
A sudden whoop of delight cut through the casino background noise. A Taggi had lifted his trunk and trumpeted his pleasure, sounding like a flock of mating stingermoths. I could see three big bales of hay drop down its slot machine chute.
Russell watched the Taggi, too. He laughed. “That big elephant must have spent twenty Krugerrands to win fifty bucks worth of grass.”
He turned back to me. “Anyway. Is it possible Likko was killed by someone who had been jilted by him?”
“Jilted?”
“Spurned. Rejected in love.”
Humans can be so alien. “No.”
I then tried to explain to Russell various Flmiol physiological and psychological
needs but he held up his hand after just a few minutes.
“Thank you, Ipxso. I get it.” His face suddenly became a darker shade of pink. “I think we can rule out jealousy as a possible motive. So, let me start again. According to your time sheet, you were at the garbage dump when Likko died, right?”
“Yes.”
“I have checked out the other Flmiolians here at the casino, not that there are very many. They were all working, too. So. Let’s work backwards a bit.”
I squawked. Working backwards, there’s a thought.
“We know Likko was discovered in his office with a knife in his back, Ipxso. The fingerprints were wiped clean so I have no leads at all.”
“Yes?” I swallowed a mouthful of tt’yyr. My throat tickled.
He brought out a small package that had been beside him on the chair. He unwrapped it to reveal a ceremonial Flmiol dagger “Does this look familiar?”
“Yes, it is a common knife. We all carry daggers, it is quite legal.” I took mine out of my pouch and showed him. “See? That knife may belong to Likko.”
“That would make sense.”
“Could it have been an accident, Russell?”
“The position of the knife was in his spine, not someplace Likko could have reached himself, Ipxso. So, unless he backed into the knife, it was not an accident. But the handle was fitted for humanoid hands. So the murderer would had have been, a humanoid Strain with enough power and thrust that would have done him in.”
“That would have done in . . . what?”
Russell uttered an untranslatable word. “Do you know if there a Strain out there that doesn’t like the Flmiol?”
“Of course, Out of four thousand Strains, none are universally liked. Not even
Humans,” I sniggered.
“Can you tell me of any?” Two Wichens floated over our heads, chattering in their annoying way. Russell threw up a pretzel and laughed as they pecked it to crumbs.
“The Yuipl, for one. We were their subservient Strain but not anymore, since we were Promoted. And the Degarnia have considered us a delicacy, from time to time.” Which was quite the understatement.
“Are either of those Strains present here at the Casino?”
“No. And I am not aware of any other Strain that would hate us enough to
randomly or purposefully kill one of us.”
“I see. Great. I’m back at Square One.”
An idiom. One I recognized from the Human’s childish game, Candyland.
He drained his liquid and signaled the waitress for another. He again wiped his mouth with his right hand. I stared at him, waiting.
“I think that’s all for now. You can go back to work. If I think of anything, or if you think of something else, just let me know. You still have my card, right? It has my office number and phone number.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. Glad we had a chance to talk.”
It was a dismissal so I left.
I decided to take my time going back to work at the garbage dump. I do not get the opportunity to be inside the casino during my working hours. Just like during the evening hours, the Billion Sun Casino was very busy. Maybe more so, since there are not
many nocturnal Strains.
Row upon row of slot machines cluttered the floor, everyone being played by one Strain or another. As I walked, I saw several Strains, as lofty as the Rumstras and as lowly as the Greps, play side by side, as if equals. Once again, I marveled at the yells, squeals, hoots and roars, mingling into a delightful cacophony, unlike anywhere else within the billion suns.
Gambling, as a structured activity, what an alien concept. I am glad, even grateful, wagering is condoned. Its varied endeavors are so exciting and challenging. And that it is allowed for us lower status Strains.
I earn a decent wage, emptying the casino refuse cans onto conveyor belts for other Strains to filter for usable items. My work was tedious but better than employment opportunities back in the Nest. And it affords extra credits, after my allotment is deducted, to indulge in the games of chance. Not that I have had too much of that what Humans call luck. Butgambling is thrilling to me. I am not expected back for some time, I imagined. I thought to play The Craps again, even though I do not have the luck.
I looked through my pouch, once more in the pockets, and even in the lining, in the vain hope I had overlooked some credits inside. No luck. I was reduced to hopping down aisle after aisle, avoiding casino personnel, hoping to find lost credits. No avail.
Hearing the bells, the shouts, the growls, only made me want to play The Craps more. Odd how much I need to play, now. At our Orientation, we were told if you thought you were addicted to gambling, there were meetings you could attend. As if anyone would admit weakness.
I came back to the lounge. Perhaps Russell would advance me a few credits. I
stayed back a bit, out of sight of the stern Human female. Russell was still there. I saw him get up, slowly and erratically, from his lounge seat.
Not wishing to be turned down in front of others, I followed Russell a few paces behind him, through the employee entrance and down a long corridor. I feared his office would be upstairs, where a person of my status would not be allowed, but was relieved to see him open a door on his right and go inside. Luckily, it was not a restroom but his office. More luckily, he had not locked the door behind him so I went right in.
He was at his desk, retrieving a bottle of liquid from a drawer, when the noise of me closing the door alerted him to my presence.
“Ipxso? Is that you?” His eyes were squinted. Not from the overhead light, but probably from his overconsumption of liquid.
“It’s me,” I replied.
He laughed. “Wasn’t sure. You Flmiol all look alike.” He closed the drawer but not before he put the liquid on the desktop.
“Something on your mind? I’m kinda busy right now.”
“I have a request to make. I wish you would advance me ten credits for me to play The Craps. I will gladly pay you back Tuesday.”
“He shook his head. “Sorry. No can do, Ipxso. You shouldn’t even be inside the casino now, much less on the gambling tables. I stuck my neck out as it is bringing you inside for the investigation.”
He twisted the cap on the bottle, then threw the cap in a trashcan. I wondered idly if I would later find that same cap in a refuse container.
Even though casino noises were dim in his office, I could still hear them.
“I do not like to beg.”
“I do not like to refuse, Ipxso, but rules are rules.”
He raised his bottle. “Cheers.” He took a long swallow, then put down the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I could take no more. “Oh, look, there is a large insect on your floor.”
“Where?” He turned his back to look down on the floor. Quickly, I reached into my pouch and withdrew my informal dagger. With a practiced motion, I threw it expertly into Russell’s back. He jerked up, crying out one long syllable. His hands fluttered behind him, in a vain attempt to remove the knife. He turned to me, his eyes wide with astonishment and pain. He staggered, and then fell into his chair. I swiveled his chair so the knife would not be apparent to anyone knocking at the door.
Blood trickled from his mouth. “Why?” The word had two prolonged syllables. He reached up to wipe the blood from his mouth. Snarling, I slapped the hand away.
“Do not wipe your mouth again. Insult me no longer!”
“His breath was labored. “What?”
“That, that . . .obscene gesture of yours.”
“Huh?” His single word took a long time to form.
“Wiping your . . . mouth with your . . . appendage . . .” I shuddered with disgust.
“I don’t . . . “
“And you never will again. It was bad enough you did that twice, twice, at the
Lounge. Now, here you did it a third time.”
“What?” His skin color was changing, almost to grayish.
“I am sorry, I suppose. As an alien, you did speak to me as an equal. Whether you
knew it or not.”
“Did you?” He paused for breath. “Come here to kill me?”
“No. I came in here to borrow credits to play The Craps.” I brightened. “Could you perhaps loan me a few? I will pay you back on my payday.”
His head bobbed on his neck but I don’t think his nod indicated agreement.
His eyes rolled up into their sockets and he slumped forward. I raised him to an upward position, the better to hide the knife. He still breathed so I waited, as custom dictated, to give him company before his departure. Just like I had waited for Likko to die, when I had sneaked into the casino while I was supposed to be working.
I briefly thought I should retrieve my dagger, like I should have with Likko, but again, custom forbade it. One should let the world know why one has been killed. Even if the Human in charge was too ikk’vo to understand it.
I was worried when I was summoned to the lounge, but very relieved, when I realized Russell didn’t recognize the killing weapon knife to be myown Flmiol ceremonial knife. We always carry at least two daggers. And that, of course, there would not be any fingerprints on the knife. Flmiol don’t have any fingerprints.