Monroe's Demise

This work is copyright of Charles E. Weindorf  (1988) and may not be
posted to other electronic forums or media, or placed in print without
                the written permission of the author.
                                  
                                  
     The inspector frowned at the suspects and adjusted the universal
translator.  It had been some time since this investigation began, and
the case had posed several special problems.  One challenge had been
getting used to space travel.  This was, after all, his first trip away
from Earth.  The alien suspects had been difficult to figure as well: the
inspector had been quite puzzled after interrogating the various beings. 
But, he had solved this mystery.  One job left to do.
     "You are probably wondering why I have called you here today," 
Irza said while suppressing a grin.  He had always wanted to say that. 
"I have found Mr. Monroe's murderer."
                        *          *          *
     The ship glided effortlessly through the realm of space.  Ion
engines of the newest design and computers of the highest order
transported the human passengers to their destination.  The craft had
passed many wonders and sights of the galaxy,  but inspector Martin Irza
did not notice.  Engines and computers were the spawn of voodoo-working
engineers.  The wonders and sights were acts of God, and they would
remain even if an insignificant man like Irza did not notice them.  The
inspector had always dealt in life: human life.  The grandeur of the
universe and the advances in technology did not compare.  It was Irza's
job to prevent the loss of a human life, or, as now, find the reason a
life had been lost.  There had been a murder.
     Irza waddled to a window.  Even in the low artificial gravity of
the space ship, Martin Irza had trouble moving gracefully.  Eating was
his one vice; his one passion after his work.  His doctors warned it
would kill him, but Irza treated his own health with the same
indifference as the universe in general.  Noticing his reflection in the
tinted window, Martin frowned at his image against the backdrop of one of
God's nebulae.
     "When the parts were handed out," Irza said to himself, "you were
holding the door for everyone else."
     The inspector was not a handsome man.  His hair was sparse, long
and unkept.  Dark brown eyes stared from beneath a caterpillar brow, and
his nose was short and wide.  He did have a pleasant smile, of course. 
This was one of the last things that was needed or wanted in a murder
investigation.  Irza believed in luck.  Mostly bad.
     Yet, his mind was a thing of beauty.  It was not the unfeeling
machine that so many younger inspectors possessed.  It felt the fear of
the victim, the pain of the family, the evil of the murderer.  This was
the very reason Irza worked to preserve life.  These experiences, good or
bad, were the right of every living thing.  His mind found the murderers,
cut them from the human herd and brought the law to bear.  Many had
underestimated him.  No other inspector would claim to be his equal.
     Which brought Martin Irza to the space mansion of one Irving
Monroe.  Mr. Monroe was one of the wealthiest human beings in the
explored galaxy.  And, he was quite dead.  Since the Universal Government
frowned on the extermination of an important part of its tax base, Irza
had been sent to investigate.  Soon, the ship would dock, giving the
inspector his first look at the suspects.  Wiping a bit of sweat from his
brow, Irza tried to forget the nervousness he felt before he started an
investigation.  This one would not be easy.  He had never dealt with many
of the alien creatures that Monroe used as servants.
     "Figure out who did it yet?" an annoying voice asked.
     Martin turned to see his partner, Bernin Vant.  Vant was a tall,
handsome man who possessed a self-acclaimed mastery over the opposite
sex.  He was not a wise inspector, nor was he threatening to be.  But, he
was the son of an important politician.  Irza tried to clear his thoughts
and come up with a compliment for his young counterpart.  Irza drew a
blank.
     "Hell," Irza thought, "Vant's a jerk.  But a likable jerk, at
least."  Bernin reminded the older inspector of a well-intentioned child
whose best never seemed to be good enough.  When on duty, however, Irza
was tough on his bungling assistant.
     "This will be a great chance for me to see you in action, Marty,"
Bernin continued.  "I can't wait to solve this case."
     "First," Irza said calmly, "if you call me Marty again, you will be
directing traffic in the Lerican sector.  You know the Lericans.  They
are the aliens who have made a sport out of hit-and-run accidents? 
Second, you will do exactly what I tell you.  Do not get in my way, or I
will convince Bernin senior to send you to military school.  The nearest
one is on Neptune, I believe."
     "Calm down, Martin," Vant waved one hand.  "I came to tell you the
docking is complete.  We can go into the mansion now."
     The inspector nodded and walked past the tall man.  The nervousness
was gone; the job was at hand.  There was a murderer to catch.
     Irza moved through the airlock and into the vast receiving chamber
of Monroe's house.  The roof of the room was a glass, dome ceiling at
least fifty feet high, and the nebula dominated the view of space.  Even
Irza was impressed by the feat of architecture, and he stared at the
swirling nebula.
     "Bet this place cost a mint," Vant declared.  "I don't think your
pension would pay for 10 feet of this dome."
     Irza suppressed the urge to throttle Vant.  It would be too much
work to have two murder investigations at once.  Maybe Irza could use
Vant to bait the murderer?  After ten minutes closed in a room with
Bernin, the murderer would repeat the crime.  Oh, well, it was just a
thought.
     A small, gentle-looking woman walked to the two inspectors, and
Irza recognized her at once.  She was Dinia Monroe, the wife of the
victim.  She was elegantly dressed and wore jewelry that would have
rivaled a Pharaoh's best.  Yet, her eyes did not carry the haughty stare
of the rich; her posture did not reflect he place in society.  Irza used
his mind to project the image of sorrow he had seen so many times before. 
She matched the image perfectly, and he sensed no hate or remorse.  At
least, he guessed Dinia was not the murderer.  She did not have the
emotions of a killer.
     "Thank you for coming, inspectors" she welcomed wearily.  "I am
Dinia Monroe.  I will do anything that I can to aid your investigation."
     "I am inspector Martin Irza and this is Bernin Vant," Irza took her
hand.  "Let me begin by saying you are not a suspect in this
investigation. However, I would ask you not to tell any of the servants
this.  It is best that the murderer think everyone is under suspicion."
     At the mention of the killer, Dinia's eyes began to tear, and
Martin cursed his callousness.
     "Mrs. Monroe," he said quickly.  "Is there someone here who can
show us around?  We would like to disturb you as little as possible."
     "Certainly," Dinia led the men from the domed room.  "Irving's maid
has not had anything to do since..."
     She began to weep openly, and Irza nudged Vant.  Bernin understood
and took Dinia's arm to keep her from stumbling.  He set her feet back on
the ground, and she nodded her thanks to the young man.  Martin realized
his tall partner was much better at consoling women than he was.  Odd. 
Bernin didn't seem to care about other people, but they seemed to trust
him.  Perhaps jerks were the best people to trust.
     Dinia led the inspectors through winding paths in a hanging garden. 
The three entered a glass elevator and rode into the heights of the
mansion.  The immensity of the Monroe home and the slightly greater
immensity of the nebula filled the elevator walls.
     "This is a beautiful home, Mrs. Monroe," Irza complimented.  "Has
anyone gotten lost here?"
     Dinia managed an amused laugh at the innocent question.  "I can
tell you are from the over-populated Earth.  Many visitors are amazed by
the few number of people that occupy this place."
     "Indeed," Martin smiled, "but my question is important.  Could
someone be hiding here?  Could the criminal be an uninvited house guest?"
     "I was going to ask that," Vant complained in a whisper.  Irza
showed his partner a "shut up" stare.
     "No," Dinia said, "we have been isolated for months.  Even an
expert could not avoid Irving's bodyguard for that long."
     Dinia led the inspectors from the elevator and into the living
quarters of the mansion.  More windowed walls and ceilings revealed
vistas of the galaxy, causing Irza to pause and admire the sight once
more.  Bernin was admiring another sight.  Mr. Monroe's maid was standing
in the door of the bedroom.  Irza looked away from space and brought his
mind to the task at hand.
     "Martin Irza and Bernin Vant," Dinia introduced, "this is Purelena. 
She is a Delthasian Cat."
     Martin took a moment to recall the information about Delthasian
Cats.  They were more human than Cat, and this was obvious in Purelena. 
She had the hands, eyes and mouth of a human female, but she had the
ears, body fur and tail of a definitely feline variety.  Her mostly human
physique barely fit into her traditional maid's uniform.  Delthasian Cats
were also physically compatible with a human partner: many wealthy humans
kept them as lovers.  This seemed to fit in with the permissive life
style on Delthas.  It was a lawless place.  They were also, according to
the history file, adept at contrary information.  Irza had a more common
term for that: Delthasians lied a lot.
     The inspector looked back to Dinia Monroe and opened his mind to
her emotions.  Instead of the burst of emotions that he expected to feel,
there were none.  No jealousy, hate or other violent feelings.  Either
there was no love triangle here, or Dinia did not care this promiscuous
Cat cared for Mr. Monroe.
     "Thank you, Mrs. Monroe," Martin bowed to the lady.  "With
Purelena's help, I hope to solve this case promptly.  We will not be
needing you, if you wish to retire."
     "I will Mr. Irza," she nodded.  "But first, I will have some food
sent up.  You would enjoy some home cooking, in the place of the star
ship food."
     "Thank you again," Irza replied anxiously.  The food on the space
ship had not been appetizing.  As Dinia left, the inspector turned his
attention to the maid.
     "Purelena," he began after adjusting his universal language
translator.  "I would like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Monroe."
     "Before you begin," the Cat said softly, with a purr in her voice,
"I will tell you what you need to know.  Mr. Monroe and I were not
lovers."
     She paused for a moment before turning a melting gaze on Vant.
     "I am unattached and available," it was barely a whisper.
     "Wonderful," Irza thought as he saw the affect she was having on
Bernin.  The attentions of one of these sensual creatures would be
distracting to any human.  On a jerk, Purelena's charms were just not
fair.
     "If you would excuse us," Irza nodded as he dragged Vant away. 
Before speaking, the older inspector pulled a small device out of his
pocket. 
     "Why are you using a sound damper?" Vant asked.  "She can't hear us
way over here."
     "Indeed?" Irza raised his eyebrows.  "Their hearing is three times
as sensitive as our own.  Have you forgotten your briefings already?"
     "All right," Vant conceded as he stole a glance at Purelena.  "What
did you need to tell me."
     "Just this.  She is off limits, and that is an order.  I cannot
risk her having any emotional hold over you."
     "Yes, sir," Vant frowned like a child who had dropped an ice cream
cone at the beach. "But I will warn you.  I think she is lying about not
being Monroe's mistress.  As with many beautiful women, when she says
'no' she may mean 'yes.'"
     "Boorishly stated," Irza said, "but I agree with your assessment. 
Perhaps you will be able to ignore your over-active glands and be helpful
in this investigation?"
     Turning off the sound damper, Martin led Bernin back to Purelena.
     "Your nourishment has arrived," the Cat smiled slightly.  After
looking to Vant again, she continued.  "You will find it quite
satisfying."
     Irza waddled quickly over to the table, less concerned about the
Delthasian Cat and the case.
     "My over-active glands and your over-active stomach," Bernin
observed.  "We make a good team."
     Irza gave Bernin the "shut up" glare again before digging into the
exotic fruit, salad and vegetable stew.  After the two inspectors had
their fill, Bernin became curious.
     "Will we go to the murder scene now?" Vant asked.  "We still know
nothing about Monroe's death."
     Irza patted his full, happy belly.
     "Murder is a personal, emotional crime," he stated.  "The murder
scene is merely the collection, the focus of the act.  At this nexus, the
murderer has committed the ultimate evil.  But, while the clues of the
scene point an accusing finger to the criminal, the most important facts
are about the suspect.  No, the murder scene's importance is secondary, a
mere affirmation of the theories based on the investigation of the
suspects.  We will go to the murder scene last."
     Vant shrugged and smiled at Purelena.  Irza knew she would become a
problem.
     "Where were you at the time of Mr. Monroe's murder?" Irza asked the
Delthasian Cat.  "Tell me if anyone else can support your story."
     "I was in bed," she moved uncomfortably close to Vant.  "Mr. Monroe
was killed in the early evening, and he never required my services until
much later."
     She paused to make sure she had Bernin's full attention.
     "I was alone," purred the Cat.  "I have no other alibi."
     "Purelena, I have no more questions for you now," the senior
inspector frowned.  "Still, I would be less than honest if I said you
were not a suspect.  If you are innocent, do not let this concern you for
I have never made a false accusation.  For now, I would like to meet Mr.
Monroe's bodyguard.  Please take us to him."
     "Certainly," she nodded. "Follow me."
     As the group passed ceiling window, Irza stopped to look at the
nebula once more.
     "Martin," Vant puzzled, "you did not look at comets, planets,
asteroids or stars during the voyage.  But this nebula catches your eye
at every turn."
     "I do not look at the nebula," Irza confided.  "We are being
followed.  A chameleon hides within the colors of the nebula.  It is
floating inside of the mansion, but it uses the nebula for camouflage."
     Vant glanced up nervously.  "If you can't see the creature, how do
you know it is there?"
     "I feel its emotion," Irza replied as he started to walk again. 
"Though I do not know what emotion it is, it is strong."
     Bernin stepped quickly to keep from falling behind his plodding
boss.
     Purelena reached a door that led to the servant's quarters.
     "Grarnash is inside," she said smoothly.  "I will wait for you
here."
     "Thank you," Irza nodded, and he led his partner through the door. 
The two inspectors were met by the snarling visage of a Reptor, and Vant
fell back in fear.  Remembering the information file regarding the
Reptors, Martin held his ground and did not flinch.  Mr. Monroe's
bodyguard, Grarnash, looked much like an ancient Earth dinosaur, perhaps
a Tyrannosaurs.  It was smaller, standing about seven feet tall, but its
set of teeth was every bit as impressive as the distant Earth relative. 
The Reptor race was renowned for breeding fierce, loyal fighters, and
they were used in every endeavor from war mercenaries to gladiators.  It
was also critical to gain a Reptor's respect.
     "You are the inspector?" Grarnash roared at Irza.  "You appear to
be a soft Earther, but you show no fear to a Reptor warrior."
     "My name is Martin Irza," he replied evenly. "Bravery does not come
from physical strength or appearances.  It can only come from a soul at
peace."
     "Excellent," the Reptor snarled.  "I see you have read our
philosophies."
     "They are most interesting," Irza agreed.  "Much like the
chivalrous knights of the round table, your people profess health in the
purity of soul and body."
     The Reptor nodded, showing the inspectors a jagged, toothy grin.
     "And who is this weak-boned creature," Grarnash growled at the
cringing Vant.  "How could you keep the company of this coward, Irza?"
     "He is what we call a jerk," Martin explained.  "They are harmless
and sometimes amusing."
     Bernin became angry and began to stand his ground before the
Reptor.  Martin smiled inwardly.  He knew that calling Bernin a jerk
would make him stop backing away.
     "You were Mr. Monroe's bodyguard?" Martin began.
     "Yes," the Reptor replied.  "The greatest disgrace in my life was
failing Mr. Monroe.  I stood just outside his door, between him and
death.  Still, the murderer was able to gain entry to the room and kill
my master.  I will carry the shame of this event for the rest of my
days."
     "My report says you were on duty outside of Mr. Monroe's study,"
Irza said.  "How did the villain get by you?  I have seen the floor plan,
and I did not see another way into the room."
     "I do not know," the Reptor shook his head violently.  "But, no one
here could get by me."
     "Thank you," Martin bowed.  "My questioning is complete for now."
     Irza turned to leave.  Bernin was about to follow when he knocked
over a delicate, glass sculpture.  It shattered loudly.
     The Reptor's eyes went wide for an instant before he growled in
anger at the young inspector.  Vant nearly jumped out of his skin.
     "I am sorry for my partner's clumsiness," Martin soothed.  "He is
also what we call a klutz."
     "It can be fixed," the bodyguard clamped his jaws.  "Oilet can fix
anything." 
     Irza walked from the room with Bernin in tow.  Martin had found out
all he needed to know from Grarnash.
     "What good did that do?" Bernin complained.  "You didn't ask
anything important."
     "Indeed," Martin agreed as the pair approached Purelena.  "Nothing
important was said."
     "Purelena," Martin showed his warm smile.  "Take us to one of the
other servants.  It does not matter which."
     "Very well," she purred indifferently.  Her long tail brushed
against the back of Bernin's hand.
     "If you please," Martin reprimanded, "keep your appendages to
yourself."
     The Delthasian Cat gave the senior inspector a hurt look.
     "Get you tongue off of the floor, Vant," Martin said as he ambled
after Purelena.
     A short time later, the group reached the kitchen area.  Martin had
seen few restaurants that had kitchens larger than this.  An army could
be fed with this equipment, but only seven creatures lived here.  It was
an incredible waste of money.
     "This is Fungolis," Purelena introduced.  "It is a Sceloprun.  We
use it as a disposal for our garbage.  It can eat anything."
     "It looks like a potato," Bernin observed.
     Irza agreed and decided no other description could suffice. 
Fungolis looked like a four foot tall potato.
     "If I am correct," Martin began, "this creature does not have a
spoken language."
     "It does not speak," the Cat agreed while stretching slowly.
     "Talking to Fungolis would be a lot easier than talking to your
wife, Martin," Vant noted.  "At least you could get a few words in."
     The "shut up" stare, again.
     "Has it been known to be hostile?" Irza questioned the Cat.
     "It has never been anything other than a model Sceloprun," she
curled her fingers about her waist.
     "Then let's move on," Martin nodded.
     The Cat led the men to the hanging gardens, and along the way,
Martin noticed a floating robot.  Irza asked Purelena to call the robot
down.
     "Ambrose," she meowed loudly.
     The small robot descended to the inspectors, and Bernin tugged on
Irza's sleeve.
     "This is what has been following us," Bernin told Irza.  "It is so
colorful, it would blend in with the nebula."
     "You forget," Irza admonished.  "I felt an emotion.  This is merely
a tin can, without emotion."
     Ambrose floated before Irza, and the inspector looked at the robot
closely.
     "Your metal appears to be tarnished," Irza said with concern. 
"Haven't you been polished recently?"
     "I have not," the precise robot-voice sounded.  "It is not
necessary to my operation."
     "For heaven's sake, Irza!" Bernin complained.  "You are asking a
robot about cleanliness?  Since when have you cared about that?  Look how
you are dressed."
     "Indeed," Irza agreed.  "It was another pointless question."
     "Has our space craft been refueled yet?" Irza asked the robot.
     "I do not have access to that data," Ambrose replied.
     "You are connected to the mansion's main computer system," Martin
stated.  "You should know if our tanks are filled for a return voyage."
     "I am not aware of all operations of the main system," Ambrose
answered with a bit of frustration in its electronic voice.
     "The Ambrose series should know that," Bernin agreed with his boss. 
"My uncle had an Ambrose, and it could attach to any main computer
information system."
     Irza raised his eyebrows at his partner.  Knowing nothing about
robots and computers, Martin had guessed about the Ambrose's abilities. 
Vant had just provided a vital fact to the investigation.  Maybe Bernin
could be promoted from jerk to annoyance.
     "I think you should have a check-up," Irza advised Ambrose.  "There
may be something wrong with your circuitry."
     The robot floated off, and the inspectors continued to follow the
Delthasian Cat to the gardens.  In a short time, they arrived at the
center of the dense, tropical growth.  A creature floated from amongst
the plants, and Bernin tugged on Irza's sleeve once more.
     "Yes, Vant," Martin slapped Bernin's hand.  "This is the creature
that was following us."
     The creature was a Telmut Specter, one of the rarest beings in the
universe.  They were so rare, in fact, that the information file
contained no social or psychological data.  Only the creature's ability
to float had been described.  The Specter's body was a membrane that was
supported by long, flexible filaments.  The creature could heat up the
filaments and catch air in its membrane.  As the heated air rose, the
Specter floated above the ground and looked much like a house-haunting
ghost.  The creature's personality and its ability to change into multi-
colored shapes were mysterious.
     "This is Hoshim," the Cat waved an arm leisurely.  "He is our
gardener.  Hoshim, these are inspectors Irza and Vant."
     "Greetings, Hoshim," Irza bowed.  "This will not take long.  First,
I need to know why you were following us."
     "Mrs. Monroe has often asked me to follow guests," Hoshim replied
with a breathless hiss.  "If someone gets lost, I am there to help."
     "Ah," the inspector nodded.  "How did you come to be in Mr.
Monroe's service?  Telmut Specters are rarely seen in this arm of the
galaxy."
     "Mr. Monroe loved exotic plants," Hoshim answered in a near-human
voice.  "We met at a competition for the finest gardeners in the known
universe.  I was the winner, and he offered to fund the growing of the
beautiful flowers you see around you."
     "And they are fantastic," Irza agreed.  "Where were you at the time
of the murder?"
     "As always," Hoshim cradled a flower in its floating body, "I was
tending my flock."
     "I see," Irza smiled.  "That will be all."
     "You aren't asking any important questions!" Bernin waved his hand. 
It struck one of the nearby plants, breaking a delicate branch.
     Irza turned to the Telmut Specter in surprise.  He had felt the
unknown emotion again, and it was ten times as powerful as before.  Not
only did the Specter posses these alien feelings, it had the ability to
mask them from the inspector.  Hoshim's control had slipped for a moment.
     "Apologize, Bernin," Irza admonished.  "You have damaged that
exquisite plant."
     "I am sorry," Vant managed sincerely.  "It was an accident."
     "I...accept...the apology," Hoshim whispered.  The Specter rushed
over to examine the damage.
     Irza felt the emotion fade away.  How interesting.
     "We have only one servant left to meet," Irza said.  "Let's go."
     The Delthasian Cat took the lead once more, and the inspectors
followed her into the lower levels of the mansion.  The life support
systems and the nuclear generators were kept in these depths.  Being
ignorant of the latest technology, Irza didn't spare a look.  The
maintenance man worked here, and he was another alien being.  Irza was
puzzled by these strange creatures and the reactions he had received. 
They were all related, he felt, but he could not bring the facts
together... yet.  He was missing an important fact.
     Purelena led them into a chamber filled with power tools and heavy
equipment.  Many millions had been spent to equip this place, and yet,
every machine looked as if it had never been used.  Martin did guess the
reason for this.  The maintenance man was a Petrox.  A Petrox was one of
the most common creatures in the universe, and they were in great demand
on space ships and space stations.  A Petrox had the unique ability to
manufacture nearly anything.  Spare parts for computers, machines,
engines and hulls could be created by a Petrox, all without the aid of
any machinery.  The Petrox were chemical factories who could dissolve any
material and recombine the substances to make the desired part. 
Scientists discovered the Petrox was merely using its digestive system in
the same way a human could use his hands.
     "This is Oilet," Purelena said, her tail coming suspiciously close
to Bernin again.
     The Petrox appeared to be a transparent sack of chemicals without a
consistent shape.  It did not have arms, legs or other human-like
extensions, but it did have the ability to move and shape itself like an
amoeba.  Irza thought it could have been the star in a horror movie. "The
something that ate New York" or any similar title.
     "We will only take a moment of your time," Irza said after
introducing himself and Vant.  "I am curious about your talents."
     "I am a fully skilled Petrox," the voice came from Irza's
translator.  "I was proud to serve the Monroe family."
     "Indeed," Irza said.  "You could just swallow a piece of metal and
reform it into a different shape?"
     "Yes," Oilet answered indifferently.
     "You manufacture all of the spare parts in this mansion without the
use of machines?" Irza asked.
     "Yes," it said again.
     "Would you have any reason to kill Mr. Monroe," Irza asked
directly.
     The Petrox quivered slightly.  "The Monroes pay me three times as
much as any other Petrox!  They have made me rich beyond my wildest
dreams, and I am only doing what comes naturally.  I would be a fool to
kill Mr. Monroe."
     Bernin slipped on something as he moved away from the Delthasian
Cat's wandering tail.
     "What is this?" Martin observed.  "My klutz of a partner has found
some metal shavings next to this machine.  Why would an expert repair man
need to use these human tools?"
     The Petrox paused for a moment.  "I needed to replenish my
chemicals after an extensive project.  I had to use the machine for an
emergency repair.  It takes time for me to recover from making an
object."
     "Vant, take a sample of the shavings," Irza directed.  The older
inspector smiled at his partner.  Being a klutz had paid off!  Better to
be lucky than good.
     "Thank you," Irza smiled at the Petrox.  "That will be all."
     "That's it, Martin," Bernin frowned in anger after he put the
shavings sample into his pocket.  "This investigation is going nowhere. 
I'm taking over the questioning."
     "Be my guest," Irza replied sarcastically.
     Vant walked to the Petrox and stared into the swirling mass
intently.  "Did you kill Mr. Monroe?"
     Irza put one hand to his forehead in disbelief.  Before speaking,
the senior inspector switched on the sound damper.
     "Subtle, Vant.  That was a work of intuitive genius."
     "This is the question you should be asking," Vant argued.  "You can
sense emotion.  After asking this question, you should be able to sense
the murderer's intentions."
     "And what emotions would a Petrox have?  A Reptor?"  Martin
frowned.  "Probing a human range of emotion is like reading a book for
the tenth time.  I know how the emotions will feel.  But here, I have
avoided opening my mind to these creatures.  It would only serve to
confuse the bevy of facts we have already received.  Murder is a crime of
human passion and hate.  The driving emotion for murder here could be to
relieve boredom, for all I know.  The motive has not been determined yet. 
Now be quiet, Vant, before I demote you from annoyance back to jerk."
     Irza switched off the damper and apologized to Oilet for his
partner's exuberance.
     "Take us to the holographic studio, Purelena," Martin asked
politely.  "We will not be needing your help after we arrive there."
     The Cat covered the short distance to the studio and left the
inspectors within the quiet room.
     "Vant," Irza ordered, "put the video card of the murder scene into
the projector."
     Bernin slid the card into the projector station, and Mr. Monroe's
study materialized around them.  Irza, distrusting these magical
machines, suppressed a shudder at the realistic image.  But, the lure of
the case and the challenge that it posed soon made Irza forget the magic. 
Who cared about these machines, anyway.
     The door to the study was open with darkness beyond, but all other
areas of the scene were realistic and exact.  Mr. Monroe's body was to be
the center of attention.  Irving sat in his chair, head rolled back to
stare blankly at the ceiling.  A knife protruded from the front of his
chest.  His robe had been moved aside before the blade fell.
     "Impress me," Irza told Vant.  "Tell me what you observe here.  Use
the training that the police force has given you."
     "There are some obvious facts here," Vant said.  "Mr. Monroe was
stabbed in the chest, so he saw the murderer coming."
     "Yes," Irza nodded.  Perhaps Vant was finally learning.
     "There are no signs of struggle, so the murderer was able to get
within a few feet of Mr. Monroe.  It was someone he trusted."
     "Yes," the boss said, still nodding.
     "The hand that placed this knife," Vant noted, "was extremely
strong.  The medical report said the handle of the blade broke two of
Monroe's ribs as well."
     "Yes, again,"  Irza applauded.  "You have only missed the
significance of one other fact."
     "And what is that?" Bernin folded his arms.
     "It will become apparent in time," Martin grinned.  "You will
remember it better if I do not tell you."
     After Vant turned off the holographic projector, the inspectors
walked from the studio.  Dinia Monroe was waiting for them in the
hallway.
     "You have worked so hard, inspectors," she said with a hint of a
smile.  "Let me offer you a three course dinner."
     "My lady," Irza bowed.  "I would be in your debt."
     "Three courses, Martin?" Vant observed.  "That's six less than you
normally have."
     "You are back to jerk, Vant," came the good-natured retort.
     Dinia led the inspectors to an intimate dining room, and the men
sat down to ample plates of food.  Walking into the room, Purelena
brought another platter of exotic fruits and vegetables.  Even though
Irza ached to dig into the meal, he waited for Dinia to begin to eat.
     "Please help yourselves, inspectors," Dinia said.  "I have already
eaten, but I will remain to talk.  I have not had human conversation in
some time."
     Irza dove into his portion and let Vant carry the majority of the
small talk.  After his third plate of the delicious food, Martin felt he
could barely move.  He joined the conversation with Dinia and Bernin.
     "This took six years to construct," she was saying, gesturing to
the mansion.  "It is larger than most Earth mountains.  In fact, the
observation deck is spectacular."
     "I would like to see it," Bernin asked.
     "Purelena would be happy to take you there," Dinia gestured to the
Delthasian Cat.
     "Not now, Vant," Irza complained.  "My meal hasn't had time to
settle."
     "Tell you what," Bernin offered.  "You stay here with Mrs. Monroe,
and you can have my desert."
     Irza agreed when he saw the generous helping of a chocolate-filled
treat.
     Purelena led the young inspector to the observation deck.  The
instant they entered the room, the view of the nebula took Vant's breath
away.  The lights were kept low, and the window that faced space was
tinted slightly.  The result was an image of the nebula that was free of
distortion, glare or impurity.  It was so real, it appeared to float in
the room, just out of reach.  Why didn't Martin appreciate this type of
wonder?
     Bernin's mind forgot the view as he felt Purelena's tail curl about
his wrist.  Looking at the Cat, he nearly remembered Irza's order to stay
away from her.  Nearly.
     "Isn't the nebula exciting," she purred and moved closer.  "It has
always put me in a good mood."
     She pulled his hand to her waist, but as he reached for her with
his other hand, she sprang away lightly.  With a laugh, she jumped onto a
long sofa and patted the soft cushions.
     "Come over here," she invited.  "We will be alone for some time."
     Vant stumbled in the dark, and she twisted lithely away from the
sprawling man.  Bernin cursed his feet and her speed.  She stood a few
feet away, near the complete darkness of the corner of the room.
     "I won't run away again," she promised, tail twitching anxiously.
     Bernin decided she could not spin away this time, and got to his
feet quickly.  Then he noticed a shadow.  It was a huge shadow, and it
moved to the inspector with frightening speed.  Vant dove out of the way,
barely escaping rows of razor-teeth.  He recognized the attacker and ran
from the observation deck in confusion.  He had to find a weapon, or he
didn't stand a chance against it.  The thing pursued him, its snapping
fangs inches from Bernin's back.  Reaching the kitchen, Vant found the
exact weapon he had searched for.  He turned to face the approaching
villain.
     Irza sat up in his chair as if he had received a shock.  He had
opened his mind for an instant, and he had felt fear.  The fear of the
prey, fear of the conclusion of the chase, fear of death.  Irza knew
there was only one other human who could be having these emotions.
     "Remain here," Irza told Dinia, and he waddled in the direction of
the emotions.
     "Why did I leave him alone?" he thought.  "Why did I eat so much?"
     As he neared the kitchen, the emotions stopped abruptly.
     "I am too late," Irza said in panic.  "BERNIN!"
     The old inspector heard something flee the kitchen area as he
rounded the corner.  Vant was laying on the floor, and he was barely
conscious.
     "Thank God," Irza mumbled as he helped Vant sit up.  "Are you all
right?"
     "My head aches," Vant complained.  "But I will be fine.  You would
not believe what just attacked me."
     Irza let out a laugh that could have shamed Santa.  "Oh no?  Even
in the most stressful situation, you have found a way to look like a
jerk.  I know what you were fighting by the weapon you used."
     Martin laughed again as Vant handed the weapon to his boss.
     "What now?" the junior inspector asked.
     "This is the last piece of evidence," Irza informed him.  "I want
you to tell Mrs. Monroe to have everyone meet in the domed receiving
chamber.  You remember?  The one with the high roof?"
     "Yes," Bernin nodded.  "But what will you be doing?"
     "I have an errand to run first," Irza informed him.  "I must be
well prepared for this."
     Bernin did as he was told, and all of the servants and Mrs. Monroe
were awaiting the arrival of the senior inspector.  The servants
chattered amongst themselves in alien tongues, while Dinia talked to
Bernin.
     "Why in this room?" Dinia asked.  "It is beautiful to visit, but I
have never spent much time here."
     "I do not know," Bernin answered honestly.
     As Vant finished speaking, Irza entered the room and strode across
the marble floor.  Everyone thought Irza had indeed lost his mind.  It
was quite warm in this room, yet he wore a fur-lined parka.
     "Before you ask, Vant," Martin spoke, "I am not going walrus
hunting.  Please keep quiet and watch the end of this case."
     After saying the line he had always wanted to, he began to explain
his findings in earnest.
     "In the investigation of the murder of Irving Monroe, I was
confronted by many perplexing and contradictory facts.  At last, the
final clues were provided to me, and the solution was so obvious, that I
must chide myself for not seeing it sooner."
     Irza plodded over to the potato-like Sceloprun.
     "Fungolis, your breed of creature was nonviolent.  Yet I know you
were the one who attacked my partner.  The very weapon that Vant used
against you told me this."
     Martin held up a potato peeler and took a moment to have another
laugh at Vant's expense.  At last, he wiped a tear from his eye.
     "Yes," Vant jumped in before Irza could continue.  "Fungolis is
strong enough to have broken Mr. Monroe's ribs with the knife!"
     "Vant," Irza said.  "Shut up."
     "Of course, it was not Fungolis who used the knife.  It has no
hands to wield the blade.  But, it did become aggressive and try to eat
Vant.  Odd for a gentle Sceloprun."
     Irza moved to Oilet, the Petrox maintenance man.
     "And speaking of the knife," Martin continued, "an analysis of the
blade showed it was made within the last month.  Since there have been no
supply ships in this sector for the past four weeks, the weapon must have
been constructed here.  And I also had the metal shavings analyzed.  They
were from the murder weapon.  Oilet is the only one with security
clearance to operate the heavy machines.  Oilet also explained he had
used the machine to make an emergency repair.  Repair indeed!  Oilet made
the murder weapon.  But, why would a creature who is able to make a knife
without a trace use a machine?  Strange."
     As Irza moved to the Reptor, Grarnash, Vant interrupted again.
     "I see," Bernin exclaimed.  "Oilet made the blade and gave it to
Grarnash.  Who better to kill Mr. Monroe than his own bodyguard?  The
blade was placed by a powerful hand, and it was someone who the victim
trusted."
     "Vant!" Martin reprimanded.  "Grarnash did not murder Mr. Monroe. 
He was at his station outside of the study when the crime was committed. 
He must have seen the murderer go by him.  This is no crime in itself,
but he must know who the murderer was."
     "I saw nothing," Grarnash roared and clamped his jaws.
     "Are you sure?" the inspector laughed.  "Why do I have trouble
believing you?  When I compared the Reptor philosophy to a medieval
knight's, I was not entirely accurate.  A Reptor is a closer relative to
the Japanese Samurai.  When a Reptor fails his lord, the honorable
solution is suicide.  Yet, you are still alive, Grarnash.  And, when Vant
accidentally frightened you, you showed fear and then anger.  Shame
should have been a Reptor's reaction after fear.  You are not a model
Reptor."
     Irza paused a moment in front of the Ambrose robot.
     "A failing robot, also," Martin observed.  "Dull metal finish and
faulty circuitry.  Rare for a top-of-the-line, expensive device."
     The inspector moved to Purelena and turned a mirthless stare on the
Delthasian Cat.
     "And Purelena," he growled, "lured my partner into a trap.  Still,
she was the most believable of all of the suspects.  Not once did she lie
to me or even mislead me.  Delthasian Cats are notorious liars; it is
almost a sport on Delthas.  Either you are a poor Delthasian, or you are
the George Washington of the planet."
     Irza continued on to the Telmut Specter.
     "Hoshim, the quiet gardener, showed me an emotion that was quite
confusing.  Could you tell me what emotion that was, Hoshim?"
     The Specter remained quiet.
     "Then I will tell you," Irza prompted.  "It was a feeling of
fanaticism: an emotion driven not by the heart, but by the soul.  And, it
was strongest when Bernin damaged the plant.  From this, it was easy to
see why you must have had a passionate hatred for Mr. Monroe."
     "What are you talking about, Martin?" Vant complained.  "How could
snapping the branch of a plant be related to Mr. Monroe's murder."
     "I will demonstrate," Martin took an apple from his pocket.  He
took a large bite out of it and opened his mind to emotion.  He felt a
wave of the fanatical hate surround him.
     "Reveal yourselves," Irza ordered.  "It will not do you any good to
hide."
     One by one, the images of the servants wavered and melted.  Even
the Ambrose robot shimmered and returned to its true form. 
     Irza frowned at the six, floating Telmut Specters.
     "Martin," Bernin asked with wide eyes, "what is going on?"
     "It is time that I explained all," Irza agreed.  "But I need one
more piece of information."
     "Hoshim," the inspector asked, "what is your relationship to
plants?"
     "They are our children," it hissed at the hated human.  "They have
evolved from us.  They are the benevolent and beautiful breed of our
race."
     "Indeed!" Irza nodded.  "And you were hired to tend the gardens. 
It was a true opportunity for you.  Exotic plants from the far reaches of
this galaxy, an unlimited budget and a gigantic mansion to fill.  But,
you did not realize you were to be a farmer, raising beloved plants and
fruit to be eaten by the Monroes.  And, far worse, they were
vegetarians."
     "How do you know that?" Vant wondered.
     "Think of everything you have eaten since we arrived," Martin
frowned.  "There have been no meats or fish here.  To the Telmut Specter,
this would be the ultimate hypocrisy: humans who spurned the diet
containing beings like themselves, only to feast upon a different life
form."
     "Yes," Hoshim howled.  "You understand us.  I was ordered to lead
my own kind to the slaughter.  By my own labors, I became the executioner
of my plants.  I hated the humans with every fiber in my body."
     "And so," Irza continued, "you began to reproduce, and one by one,
you killed the other servants and put Specters in their places.  The
ability to reform your shape and coloration is amazing and convincing. 
To the naked eye, it is impossible to see a Specter in disguise.  At
last, all of the servants were dead, and you moved against Mr. Monroe. 
You did make a mistake, though.  The house computer noticed Mr. Monroe
was dead, and it notified the authorities.  You had hoped to replace Mr.
Monroe with a Specter and use his wealth.  I imagine the house computer
has now been disabled?"
     "You are intelligent, inspector," Hoshim began to float closer. 
"And you are smart enough to know we must kill you and take your ship. 
It is time to take my kind home."
     As the six Specters drifted to him, Irza grinned at the approaching
death.  Like so many others, they had underestimated him.
     A numbing cold descended in the domed room, and the Specters
shrieked as they realized what was happening.
     "You are creatures of air," Irza observed.  "Warm air, of course. 
You capture the air in your membranes and float above the cooler air.  I
will guess you can only lower your body temperature to a certain point. 
Like a human, you need to maintain a minimum temperature.  So, when you
are placed in a cold environment, you will float higher.  In effect, you
cannot stay near the ground in cold weather.  You must have evolved on a
warm planet."
     As the inspector explained, the Specters rose into the heights of
the dome.  Finally, they bounced harmlessly against the roof, fifty feet
above the floor.
     "That was fantastic," Bernin shivered, looking up at the Specters.
"It explains why you brought the parka.  But, which one of them used the
knife.  Who was the murderer?"
     Irza took a hand laser from his pocket and aimed it.
     "She did," he said, pointing to Dinia Monroe.
     "What?" Dinia asked in shock, tears springing to her eyes,  frail
body shaking against the cold of the room.
     "Martin," Vant admonished, "you can't be serious.  Let's get to a
warm place and talk this out."
     "Stay where you are Mrs. Monroe," Irza warned.  "I am an excellent
shot."
     "It is obvious that the Purelena/Specter killed Mr. Monroe," Vant
defended Dinia.  "She could have entered the office and come close to Mr.
Monroe.  He would have trusted her, especially if she had been his
mistress.  The Specters must be powerful creatures, and she had hands to
wield the blade."
     "You are correct in one vital fact, Vant," the boss nodded.  "Mr.
Monroe's murderer had to be his lover.  Who else could have gotten within
such an intimate distance and move the lapel of his robe aside?  You are
incorrect about the knife."
     Martin took the blade from another pocket and handed it to Bernin.
     "The handle is quite narrow," Irza said, "and the bevel would fit a
small, human hand nicely.  A knife is a human weapon, after all. 
Purelena's long-fingered hand would be out of place.  Remember!  This
knife was just manufactured.  It was made for a singular purpose and a
singular person."
     "What motive could she have?" Vant persisted.
     "Mrs. Monroe would have none," Irza agreed.  "If she helped the
Specters kill her husband, she would be alone with aliens who would
eventually kill her.  Yet, she must have been the murderer."
     "Are you saying," Vant puzzled, "she is a Specter?"
     "Yes," the senior inspector replied coldly.  "You helped to steady
her when we arrived, and you lifted her feet from the ground.  At first,
I thought the mansion's gravity must have been turned low, but later, it
was obvious that the gravity was normal."
     "But she is not floating into the dome," Bernin reasoned.
     "She is clinging to the floor," Irza responded instantly.  "These
feather-light creatures would need that ability to imitate a human
successfully.  The others were floating free of the floor when the cold
air hit.  They had nothing to hold on to."
     Dinia Monroe was no longer crying or shivering.  Instead, her image
shimmered, and she floated into the dome.
     "I have told the police of my findings," Irza called to the
Specters.  "They will arrive within a week.  Since you do not have a
space ship, there will be little to do but wait.  I warn you, they will
be heavily armed and aware of your abilities.  Do not try to deceive
them."
     "Vant," Irza walked to the space ship, "it is time to leave."
     The ship left the mansion and glided past the nebula once more. 
The wonders of the universe were laid open to the old inspector, but he
ignored them.  Instead, he pondered his apple.
     "What will happen to them, Martin," Vant asked.  "How will their
trial go?"
     "Your guess is as good as mine," the reclining Irza looked away
from the fruit.  "My guess is they will be sent back to their home
planet.  Mr. Monroe invited a dangerous species into his home, and the
human laws governing freedom of choice are stronger than the commandment
prohibiting murder.  In this case, Mr. Monroe was free to taunt the
Specters until they killed him.  Mr. Monroe was killed by ignorance, as
much as the aliens."
     Irza took a second bite out of the apple and pointed his laser at
Bernin.
     "Yes, Vant," Irza said stonily, "I felt the emotion.  I knew when
the real Bernin Vant's emotions ceased.  I helped you from the floor; you
were nearly weightless.  If you remember, I sent you to gather the others
while I went to have the temperature lowered in the domed room.  I could
not let you see me weep for my partner.  He had the mind of a child, so
young and foolish, so easy to like.  I failed him because of my vices. 
Failed in the worst way."
     Bernin Vant dissolved and was replaced by the ghost-like body of a
Telmut Specter.
     "It was your plan," the inspector continued, "to travel to Earth. 
Hidden amongst the billions, you could breed for generations.  You would
have brought a holy war to the plant-eating hordes of my planet.  This
was to be your crusade!"
     "I will be taken to trial, I imagine," the Specter observed.
     "Ah, yes," Irza sat up.  "A trial indeed.  If you could open your
mind to my emotions, you would sense the human feelings of rage and pain,
murder and revenge.  They are the same emotions I have sensed in human
criminals a thousand times.  Feeling this way, I can now understand the
people I pursue.  To you, I will dispense the same justice that you have
given my partner."
     "Guilty," Irza pressed the trigger.  The inspector threw his laser
away and took a gigantic bite out of the apple.  As a tear rolled down
his cheek, he relished the fruit and gloated at the pile of ash.
     "MMMMMM!"