The Reporter (The Galactic Football League Novellas) Page 15

  Whykor’s left foot gave a little stomp. “Messal, your organizational abilities are known far and wide, possibly even in other galaxies, but sadly I must insist — this is not a request from Miss Davenport, but rather one on behalf of Commissioner Froese himself.”

  Yolanda shook her head. If Workers were good at one thing, it was sucking up — two of them talking to each other made for a conversation that would surely last forever.

  “Whykor, your persistence is effective and also quite admirable,” Messal said. “It is not an indication of disrespect to Commissioner Froese, clearly the best Commissioner our league has ever had, by far, when I say that his greatness the Splithead refuses to allow anyone to speak to Miss Davenport under any conditions. So you see, this is not a reflection of our franchise’s infinite respect for the Commissioner, but rather the expression of our company policy. If there was any way I could help you in this endeavor, I would move suns and the planets around to do so, but my pedipalps are tied.”

  Whykor’s foot stamped again. “Very well, Messal. I am ever thankful for your time.”

  “And I am grateful you chose to contact me,” Messal said. “Many happy wishes to you and your shamakath.”

  The tank went blank.

  Yolanda walked into the living room. “You’re giving up?”

  Whykor turned to face her. “My apologies, Miss Davenport, but you heard him. He said his pedipalps were tied.”

  Yolanda threw her arms up in frustration. “And that’s it? You ever hear of not taking no for an answer?”

  “For us, that is beyond no,” he said. “Messal the Efficient said, rather politely, I might add, that there is no way you will get through to Ju Tweedy, Quentin Barnes or Gredok the Splithead.”

  “But I want to help them!”

  “They do not need your help,” Whykor said. “Even if they do need your help, they do not want it.”

  Yolanda sat down heavily on the couch and crossed her arms. “Well, then they are stupid.”

  Miriam sat next to her. “It’s not your fault, Yo — if the franchise is blocking you from getting to Ju, there’s nothing you can do. You should just get out of town.”

  Yolanda shook her head. “I won’t leave. I can prove Ju Tweedy is innocent, I know I can. We just have to find a way to reach him, have him tell us where he was that day so we can confirm it.”

  Tarat leaned against the holotank. “The confirming part of your problem is larger than you think, Yolanda. The citizens of Madderch are not likely to share whatever information they have. It is not their way. You may have to hack some recording systems.”

  “I don’t hack,” Yolanda said. “I don’t even know how to do that. Anyone here know how?”

  The room fell silent.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Unless I can talk to Ju, it doesn’t matter.”

  “There is one more thing we could try,” Tarat said. “Perhaps I could help.”

  Yolanda stood up. “Look, we appreciate you letting us stay here as long as we need to. I wouldn’t accept that offer if the woman who runs this city wasn’t trying to kill me, but I don’t need any more favors from you, okay?”

  “I know Ju’s brother,” Tarat said. “We have spoken many times about the intricacies and difficulties of the linebacker position. I have even mentored him on improving his play. I know he would take my call. Perhaps I could convince him to speak with you?”

  Yet another love/hate moment — she didn’t want any more help from Tarat, but this might be her last chance.

  “Fine,” she said. “Call him.”

  Tarat told the holotank to dial the Touchback. Within minutes, John Tweedy’s face appeared.

  “Smasher-Dasher! How the hell are ya?”

  “Hello, John,” Tarat said. “I am fine. Thank you for inquiring about my well-being.”

  “Did you see that butt-whoopin’ we laid down on Hittoni? We’re three and one, baby! Did you catch the game?”

  The words FIT ME FOR A RING scrolled across John’s forehead.

  “I have not seen it yet,” Tarat said. “I am afraid I have been tied up elsewhere, John. I have called to ask you a favor.”

  John pounded his left fist into his right palm. “Boom! That means we’ll be even!”

  Yolanda shook her head. So it wasn’t just her — Tarat traded favors like they were currency.

  “Yes, John,” Tarat said. “We will be even.”

  John shrugged. “Okay, Hall-of-Fame face, what can I do for you?”

  “I need you to speak to someone,” Tarat said. “You will not appreciate the conversation, but that is the favor I ask.”

  John looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I appreciate a conversation? I’m all kinds of chatty.”

  Tarat waved Yolanda toward the tank. She walked up to stand next to him, and John’s smile faded.

  “Tarat,” he said, “for this, we’re not even. This is worth two, so you’ll owe me one.”

  Tarat glared at Yolanda. “Very well, John. I will owe you one.”

  Yolanda wasn’t sure if that meant she now owed Tarat yet another favor (was that three, and counting?), but she wasn’t going to waste her only chance to reach Ju.

  She cleared her throat. “John, I really need to talk to your brother.” John shook his head. “No,” he said. I AM SHAKING MY HEAD NO scrolled across his face.

  “It’s really important,” she said. “I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t a life-and-death situation, literally.”

  “You have to be kidding me,” John said. “If you want to dance, you have to kid the piper, lady.”

  Kid the piper? “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you hurt my brother. And you want me to help you? There’s a gear loose in your bread box.”

  Yolanda closed her eyes and took a breath. She’d forgotten about John’s mixed metaphors. “Look, Uncle Johnny, I was wrong about Ju.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “So I need to—”

  “I said, you can say that again.”

  “What?”

  “Say it,” he said. “In fact, say it twice in a row. Nice and slow.”

  Yolanda ground her teeth. He was going to make her eat crow, and she deserved it for being bad at her job. “I was wrong about your brother. I … was … wrong … about your brother.”

  “That’s better,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his words. “So tell me what you want so I can tell you no.”

  She walked him through her investigation, leaving out Miriam’s name and summarizing it with the bottom line — if she could establish John’s whereabouts, she could prove his innocence.

  “So wait,” John said, “now you want to write a story about how my brother didn’t do it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you change your mind a lot?”

  “No, John, I was just wrong, okay? Now can you please get Ju to talk to me? I just need to find out where he was that day.

  “When hell freezes flies, lady.”

  “You’re kidding me. I’m trying to help him.”

  “You could serve him your head on a silver platter, and he wouldn’t shake your hand,” John said. “He won’t talk to you.”

  “Will Quentin talk to him?”

  “Probably,” John said. “Of course, Quentin won’t talk to you, so the point is hoot.”

  “The point is moot.”

  “Huh?”

  “Moot, John. The word you wanted was moot.”

  “Why would I want a moot? I don’t even know what that is. Does it have something to do with you changing your mind?”

  “Look, John, I have an impossible task here. I have to find time-coded video showing where your brother was when Grace was murdered. I can’t sort through an entire city’s recordings! I wouldn’t even know where to start, and even if I did, I’m not sure it’s legal.”

  “Wait-wait-wait,” he said. “Are you telling me you need to find information, and finding it might be ille
gal, but if you find it, it gets my brother off the hook?”

  Yolanda nodded. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?” he said. “I’ll talk to Ju and find out where he was that day. As for the illegal part, I can help you there, too.”

  “I don’t know for sure if it’s illegal.”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” John said. “Ignorance of the law is not a valid defense. A judge told me that once. In fact, four or five judges told me that. It sinks in after a while.”

  “I can imagine. Are you coming to Madderch or something?”

  “Me? No way, lady. You said you needed to find information on my brother? If you need to find information on someone, I know a guy.”

  • • •

  WEEK SIX:

  IONATH KRAKENS

  at OS1 ORBITING DEATH

  Pedipalp hands gently gripped her shoulder, pulling her out of a dream about floating down a sunny river, just her and Quentin Barnes. Oh, how that boy could smile.

  “Miss Davenport, wake up!” Whykor’s voice.

  Yolanda pushed sleepily at his hands. “Oh, leave me alone. I need sleep.”

  “It’s the Regulator,” Whykor said. “It is back in orbit, and Commissioner Froese is calling!”

  She blinked, sniffed, then sat up. Whykor’s eye swirled with yellow-orange: he was excited to see his shamakath again.

  Yolanda pushed herself off the guest bed and followed Whykor into the living room. Sure enough, the holotank showed the torso and head of Rob Froese, seated behind his wooden desk. Miriam was already standing in front of the tank. Whykor and Yolanda joined her.

  “Davenport,” Froese said. “I see you made the Sports Center highlights. Running across the damn field during an Orbiting Death game? I thought subtlety was your hallmark.”

  “We were staying alive, Commissioner. You don’t mind if we stay alive, do you?”

  His features softened. “Of course not. Tell me what’s happened.”

  Yolanda walked Froese through their experiences, the crawler fight, the run for freedom at the stadium. Whykor chimed in with bits that Yolanda left out, and Miriam offered up a repeat of her own testimony. In minutes, Froese had the whole story, at least as much of it as Yolanda had pieced together so far.

  Froese rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “And you still don’t have proof?”

  “No, but we’re close,” Yolanda said. “We have an autopsy report that proves Ju couldn’t have acted alone. We have Miriam’s data from the LifeLok showing the time of death. All we need is evidence of where Ju was at that time, and he’s free of this forever. We have help coming for that.”

  She didn’t share that she’d never met this help, nor did she have any idea if the unknown sentient could actually do the job.

  Froese stared, then nodded slowly, as if he’d come to a decision. “It’s too dangerous for you on OS1. I’ll send a team to bring you up to the Regulator.”

  Yolanda shook her head. “I’m not leaving now. We’re too close.”

  “They tried to kill you,” Froese said. “Twice. They’ll try again. I want you out of there.”

  “I am uninjured,” Yolanda said, the words rolling from her mouth without any thought. “Perhaps I am heartier than you think.”

  Froese stared at her. “Davenport, I’m willing to accept your evidence that Ju is innocent.”

  She laughed. “You were willing to accept his innocence with a lot less, Commissioner. Stop pretending this is about a falsely accused man and not about a star player being taken away from the game.”

  Froese leaned forward, pointed a stubby finger. “Don’t think you know my motivations, Davenport. You don’t know me at all.” He took a breath and leaned back, then looked at Whykor.

  “I’ll have a team come get you immediately, Whykor,” Froese said. “You have done excellent work.”

  Whykor’s eye swirled with light orange. “Thank you, Commissioner. But if I may make a request, would it be possible for me to stay and complete this project with Miss Davenport?”

  Froese sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve caught the reporting bug.”

  “I do not feel ill,” Whykor said. “Miss Davenport and I have been through a tumultuous experience, Commissioner. If you will allow it, I feel obligated to see her through to the end of this.”

  “All right,” Froese nodded. “You can stay until she leaves Madderch.” He then looked at Miriam. “And how about you, Connor? Are you also all rah-rah-rah to get killed?”

  “Hell, no,” she said. “You can’t send that extraction team soon enough, Commissioner. Get me off of this rock.”

  Yolanda turned to look at her friend and former bodyguard. She couldn’t fault Miriam, but she’d come to count on the HeavyG’s physical presence, almost like a safety blanket.

  Miriam’s eyes softened. “Sorry, Yo, but the Commissioner already said Ju’s career is safe. What you’re doing down here, well … it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going to die for something that doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Yolanda said quietly. “But I understand.”

  Miriam started to cry. She reached into her pocket and handed Whykor a finger-sized device.

  “Yolanda’s LifeLok,” she said. “Take care of her, Whykor. Keep her safe.”

  “I will do my best,” Whykor said.

  Miriam pulled Yolanda in for a powerful, one-armed hug.

  “Happy times,” Froese said. “If we’re all done with the love fest, I have to get back to work. Whykor, I’ll send extraction information for Connor. I’ll keep the Regulator here for three more days for the Krakens-Death game on Sunday. After that, I can’t say where the ship will be, so if you change your minds, change them quickly. Davenport, your decision is idiotic, but I wish you luck. Try to not get my assistant killed.”

  The holotank blinked out.

  • • •

  She was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Five days cooped up in Tarat’s apartment was four days too many. Sunday was coming, and since the Orbiting Death was on the road at Themala, she wouldn’t even have a game to watch until the Ionath signal filtered in later that night, as Ionath was a half-day’s punch from Orbital Station One and the Krakens were playing host to the Alimum Armada. She couldn’t wait to see how that game turned out — with a win, Quentin Barnes and the Krakens would go to 4-and-1.

  The rest of the Week Five game signals would filter in throughout the week, just as they had for Week Four. She wondered what life had been like for the ancient football fans of Earth, who could — apparently — watch all of the sport’s highest-level games all the same day.

  Tarat had left days ago, heading out to To in the Ki Empire for the Pirates’ game against the Wabash Wolfpack. Sure, the GGSS was broadcasting from a Pirates game for the second week in a row, but she couldn’t blame them — the 4-and-0 Wolfpack hosting the 5-and-0 Pirates for the first place in the Planet Division? If she weren’t stuck here, she’d have been on her way to that game as well.

  It drove her crazy to stay cooped up in Tarat’s place, but she wasn’t leaving unless she absolutely had to; Anna’s goons frightened her, but not as much as Parmot the Insane. That lethal cop could take her out and then probably find a way to make her look like a criminal who had it coming. What kind of a sentient could take so many lives?

  The only thing keeping her from going totally batty was that John Tweedy’s “guy” was supposed to show up soon. Supposedly he was coming all the way from Micovi in the Purist Nation. A technological expert from the Purist Nation? She had her doubts.

  Without warning, the platform beneath Tarat’s hovercar silently started to descend. She felt rooted to the spot — was it Marik? Turon the Ugly? Both? Maybe another of Anna’s assassins?

  Whykor came running out of the study, his eye the dark red of surprise. He held the little LifeLok wand in his hand. Blinking yellow spots flashed around it.

  “Miss Davenport! This device sa
ys your heart rate just shot up, and it also detects significant alpha-wave activity. It is quite impressive what it detects! Why, I can think of several ways to use—”

  “Whykor,” she snapped, then pointed to the hole in the floor where the platform had descended. He looked at it, then at Yolanda. “Did you send the platform down?”

  She shook her head. “I take it you didn’t, either.”

  “If I had, it would be odd to ask you if you had,” he said. “Now I understand why your fear response activated. Should we run?”

  They heard the platform land below. Yolanda cautiously stepped to the edge of the now-empty space. She peeked over. Down on the platform, a shabbily dressed Human bum stumbled against Tarat’s expensive car. The bum looked up and saw her.

  “Hey, lady,” he said in a raspy voice. “Got any change?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  The bum shrugged. “The garage door was open. I’m real hungry, lady. Got anything to eat?”

  The platform suddenly started to rise. The bum looked around, nearly panicked. “Hey! What’s happening? What are you doing to me?”

  Yolanda felt pedipalp hands tugging at her wrist. “Come on, Miss Davenport, let’s run.”

  “Run where?” She pointed to the rising platform. “That’s the way out.”

  “We can use the fire escape,” Whykor said. “We should run!”

  The car and platform rose up beside her — it moved faster than she’d expected. She stepped away as the bum stumbled off. He looked terrified.

  “Don’t hit me! Please, don’t hit me!”

  He was bent over at the waist and twisted a little as if he had a bad back. Fluid-filled pustules dotted his face, one of them leaking a clear substance.

  “Miss Davenport, do not touch him,” Whykor said. “He has the cooties.”

  The man looked genuinely afraid. If he were here to hurt her, it wouldn’t do her any good to run now, not with him already here.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  He walked half bent over, his arms tucked up against his chest. He coughed every few seconds and constantly wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He looked around the apartment.