Galaxy's End: Book One by LeRoy Clary (pdf ebook reader txt) 📕

nothing to the conversation. The passengers in the dining room didn’t either. They sat, listened, and watched the interactions play out. They sensed the discussion was far deeper than it appeared. The accusation by the captain had quieted the entire room, but she knew as soon as their snack was finished and they left, those passengers were going to sprint to tell their tales and impressions.

The captain again seemed to be one step ahead. She asked the serving steward to clear the room of passengers, and to remain at the door, on the outside, to prevent any others from entering for a while.

When the three of them were alone, Kat lifted a spoonful of ice cream and paused just before placing it in her mouth. She held the steward’s eyes as she asked, “You haven’t been trained, have you?”

“On the job, like all stewards,” he grumbled defensively while trying valiantly to deflect the subject.

“No, not that. Please do not play games with us. You don’t know how to use your empathy professionally. You just stumble around and sometimes it works and at others, it does not. Right?” Kat placed the spoonful of ice cream on her tongue and let it melt as she waited for his response.

It came much as she expected. He said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Captain Stone also waited for him to answer more completely and when he didn’t, she picked up the torch of the conversation as if discussing the dreadful weather. “Was the captain of this ship the first person you ever killed?”

“I-I didn’t do that.”

The delay and stutter belied his answer.

Kat said, her eyes still locked on his, “Bert, can you hear us?”

The speaker on the ceiling answered softly, but still drawing the attention of all three in the dining room, “Yes.”

She smiled softly at the steward and spoke to Bert, “Will you please ask Bill to locate this steward’s private quarters and search it for the murder weapon?”

“You can’t do that,” the steward spat. “It’s my private space.”

“On my ship,” Captain Stone growled back in the same tone, “there are no private spaces.”

Bert said, “Done. Bill is on his way.”

Kat instinctively knew that Bert had supplied Bill with the compartment number and access codes to override the security. She watched the steward slumped in resignation. Stone had guessed correctly. The needle used to inject the poison was in his quarters. She ate another spoonful of ice cream without tasting it this time.

Her mind had shifted to what would eventually be done to the man sitting across from her.

Bert spoke from the speaker again, “Your steward has a bank deposit equaling three years of his annual pay in his account on Prager Four, deposited a day ago.”

Bill entered the room holding a medical injector in a sealed glassine bag. No doubt the murder weapon. It hadn’t taken him long to find it.

The steward leaped to his feet and charged toward the door, unfortunately choosing to rush past Bill. An elbow shot out and then Bill casually helped the steward to his feet and used a napkin from a nearby table to help stem the flow of blood from his nose.

Captain Stone turned to the steward. “My mother was from Prager Four. She always said the population was small because the soil was barren and the atmosphere hazy from erupting volcanoes and contaminated from a war nobody remembers. Only one fair-sized city on the entire planet. Too bad.”

He scowled.

She continued in a friendly manner, “With such a small population to draw from, it occurs that you and I may be distantly related.”

Bill started to escort the steward out, but Kat suddenly snapped, “Sit him back down.”

Bill did so without question. He’d heard that tone from her before and knew not to object.

Kat said, “Bert, help me out here. Of the thousands of planets humans live on, what are the chances that two random people are from the same planet, one with a small population like Prager Four? I mean, my first instinct is to say the odds are more than one in a thousand that a single person is from there, but since there are two of them in this room, what are the odds? One in five hundred?”

Bert said, “I do not understand the question.”

Kat looked at the Steward and then at Captain Stone. She spoke into her hand again, “The chances of both of them coming from Prager Four would be slim, right?”

“Very slim,” Bert agreed. “You are incorrect in your math assumption. It is a number with a lot of zeros. Let’s just say millions-to-one to round off the answer.”

Kat closed her eyes. Her mind was closing in on something—but it was not quite there. She ignored the puzzled looks from the captain and Bill and continued, “What are the odds of three people sitting at the same table in a starship by chance being from the same planet? Give me a general answer, not specific.”

Bert said, “Three people? Trillions to one, however when you consider the small percentage of people who leave their home planet to travel, especially a small one like Prager Four with a tiny population, you have to add a few more zeros, perhaps ten or twelve. Do you wish the exact amount?”

Kat sat bolt upright. “I’ve heard you can use DNA or bone samples or whatever and determine where a person and their family came from.”

“There are various methods,” Bert agreed with her.

“Is anyone in my background from Prager Four? Can you do a quick check?”

“Wait one,” Bert said, meaning she would have to wait a moment for an answer. Instead, she waited many silent moments, her eyes daring any of the others to speak. Meanwhile, her mind flitted and leaped from idea to conclusion, leapfrogging, and twisting along the way.