I admit that I'm not the nicest guy in the galaxy, but I never expected to be arrested for murder. It all started on Brunzibar during a lawn party at the estate of a local corporate industrialist. I'd recently reinvented myself as a sort of global mogul, the CEO of the newly formed Buffalogic, Inc. I was the man responsible for breaking the alien monopoly on the rare and obscenely expensive Buffalo Dogs, delightful little creatures that ate anything and farted oxygen. My position required me to rub elbows with the rich and powerful--a tough job, but you know what they say. Brunzibar's a mercantile worldlet, a settled moon in neutral space where deals are made by governments and planetary corporations. The resident population is primarily human, but many alien governments and corporations maintain embassies and offices there. The current party was a typical example of the high level mingling commonplace on Brunzibar.
I has arrived with Calinda, the Baroness Parmaq, one of only three members of Traken nobility on Brunzibar and easily one of the sexiest and most intelligent women I've ever had the pleasure to hypnotize. I was there because she wanted me there; that's the way it is with the Traken. Call it telepathy of intention, call it unconscious mind control, the Traken nobility may act the very definition of conservative decorum, but they're also the most self-assured people in the galaxy. Traken nobles always seem to get what they want without even asking for it. For reasons known only to herself, the Baroness wanted to be with me. I wasn't about to argue.
It was a brilliant spring day and the lawn had been set up early for croquet. A wave of Terran Anglophilia had recently swept over Brunzibar. I didn't mind the tea and crumpets so much, but there's something unsettling about seeing aliens explain the merits of cricket. There was a lovely gazebo with a stringed quartet and elegant tables laden with eclectic English snack food; delicate finger sandwiches lay displayed side by side with bangers and blood pudding. It was a prestigious event, with only the highest social and political types in attendance, a Who's Who among the rich and famous on Brunzibar, both human and alien. We had just started at croquet, playing with a set of mallets, wickets, and balls fabricated from a local wood and painted with painfully bright colors.
"No, Mr. Conroy, you're swinging your mallet much too hard. Let me show you." Baroness Parmaq moved behind me and her arms surrounded my waist as her hands grasped my forearms. I did my best to hold onto my mallet. Trakens are aliens, but they're human looking aliens--third cousins, if you will. In the case of the Baroness, kissing cousins. She was a stunningly athletic woman half a head taller than me, and I'm considered tall. Her hair was blonde and coifed in an elaborate swirl of spiraling locks that cascaded all around her head and made me think of a force of nature, like a hurricane. Her skin had tanned to a golden perfection, and her face would have sparked envy in Helen of Troy. She strolled along the lawn in an airy frock of iridescent pearl that showed a great deal of leg and left her shoulders bare. So, no, I didn't mind in the least getting croquet instruction from her, and didn't care whether that attitude originated in my head or was something she'd slipped into it. I was in the arms of a sophisticated woman who also happened to be fabulously wealthy and powerful. I had nothing to complain about, but not everyone shared my view. Which is how the trouble started.
Reggie, my buffalo dog--and the most likely reason that the Baroness had latched onto me--had been happily nibbling the grass near my feet. He began bleating plaintively and scratching at my shoes. A shiver ran through me, and then I heard a familiar voice.
"Get away from her, you ... you ... human!"
I'd been looking down at my croquet ball. I looked up in time to catch a fist to the face. It was a powerful punch but I didn't fall. I couldn't. The Baroness, inadvertently but quite effectively, held me up. As a result, I received a second blow before I could stagger free. I turned to confront the bastard who'd sucker-punched me, Lord Ramilon Nerkt, President of Trakus Industrials. I'd met him the same day I'd met the Baroness; I hadn't much cared for him then either. He glowered now; his eyes radiated hatred and contempt with just enough jealousy to justify their brilliant green. He had enjoyed a relationship of some sort with the Baroness, and it had ended rather badly just days ago. Clearly, he thought I'd replaced him. He came at me again and I raised my guard; he wasn't going to get another freebie.
Only, I couldn't lift my arms up. Part of me just didn't want to, and that part held control. I felt loathsome, despicable, an utter cad. I deserved a good thrashing. His third punch caught me just below my left eye and snapped my head back hard enough to bounce my brain against the inside of my skull. It was only right. I dropped to my knees like a broken thing, sobbing. Lord Nerkt hovered above me. He chortled, and I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face. I could take him, I knew I could, but ... I couldn't. Nerkt's fist landed in my gut and knocked me onto my back. I watched, paralyzed and helpless, as he raised his boot over my face and prepared to stomp down with his full weight.
And then he fell over. My head cleared instantly and I could move again. Reggie stampeded over to me and began licking my face with his tiny blue tongue. I gathered him into the crook of my arm and scrambled to my feet. The Baroness stood holding a croquet mallet as she frowned down at the unconscious Lord Nerkt.
"Are you all right, Mr. Conroy? I'm terribly sorry," she said. "I had no idea that Ramy would be here, let alone behave so poorly."
I paused a moment and checked to see if the bastard had broken my nose while also trying to figure out what had just happened. "What just happened? I couldn't move ... couldn't fight back."
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