Chapter 22
The Evidence of the Passengers' Luggage
"Regardless," Plormot said, "we have been waylaid. To the passengers' luggage."
"Pardon," Dr. Suric interjected once the chief engineer had departed to tend once more to the escape pod's exterior maintenance. "But, why are we searching passenger luggage without first searching the escape pod? Isn't it possible the uniform or the robe could have been dumped there just as well?"
"Possible, yes," Plormot allowed. "It is possible. But I still maintain my prediction. The robe will be discovered in the luggage of one of the male passengers, and the purser's uniform will be found in the possession of one of the female passengers. If I am wrong, I will reexamine things as they stand. Come, let us not waste time."
They began with Zraevetsol's compartment, and intended to work their way along the section. He was not surprised, and greeted them with an affable air. When the purpose of the visit was made clear to him, he nodded approvingly.
"I've been wondering why you haven't gotten 'round to it sooner. Here's my key to the case just there. I'll unlock it and then you can have at it." He reached up, got the case down and obliged them. Despite being based in the Sol system, he didn't use the analog key and lock mechanism Earth and everyone in the Sol system seemed to keep wanting to use – it was magnetically activated.
The contents were examined, and they found what might be considered a concerning amount of hard liquors from in and around the Nivaluz region.
"Ah," Douqh started. His eyes darted around to the others and to the door. It was immediately clear he felt caught between his professional obligation to check into the legality of such an amount of alcohol crossing galactic borders without customs forms being filed, and his desire to have a crime solved aboard one of his ships without raising issues with galactic borders.
"Ahem," Douqh tried again. "Perhaps I shouldn't be here for this part."
"Nonsense," Plormot interjected. "Our only aim is to catch a killer. And judging by the looks of this stash, I imagine our friend here, Zraevetsol, will ensure a lesser amount will remain by the time he reaches his next port." Zraevetsol caught on and winked.
"I'll get working on it right away," he answered with a healthy humor as he reached for one of the bottles of Antaran schnapps.
"Perhaps at the conclusion of the investigation," Plormot amended hastily. "I may need to ask you further questions, so perhaps you could hold off for the moment?" Zraevetsol smiled and again winked before settling himself back into his seat.
Plormot got to task gently removing the liquors from Zraevetsol's case so he could better rifle through the other contents. He carried conversation as he worked.
"You are originally from the Belt, yes?"
"That's right."
"Dielgev Station, I recall. It is, I am aware, a trying place to live, particularly for the young." Zraevetsol shrugged.
"It was all I knew. It was home."
"But then you left?" A polite nod. "What made you leave your home?"
Zraevetsol pointed to a small catch in his case that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.
"You've missed a spot. There's a hidden compartment just there. Mind you, there are some work-related documents in there, so discretion is key." Plormot obediently slid the catch aside and a false lining dropped to reveal a collection of data chips and Pinkerton-branded gadgets to aid in his work. As Plormot further examined the gadget collection, now more out of interest than any suspicion, Zraevetsol sighed and answered Plormot's unanswered question.
"I left because I wanted to get out. I was nearing adulthood and it was only a matter of time before I'd be forced to make a choice. So I took my chances and snuck aboard a freighter headed anywhere. I'd meant to make it as far as Andorian space – the Andorians I'd met at Dielgev Station all proclaimed to value justice and strength, two things I wanted." He gave a quiet laugh.
"I didn't make it to Andorian space. The crew found me in their hold and were about to dump me at the next stop, where the only outcome would have been my repatriation into Orion space, when this … non-grey man stepped forward."
"Non-grey?"
"Well, there weren't too many humans out in Orion space at that time. Still aren't, actually. But, even fewer back then. Anyway, I couldn't figure out if this guy was yellow, or pink or beige in color. He seemed to be a dull, in-between shade. Turns out he was human. Can you believe they describe his general ethnic group as white? I'm still convinced humans are all slightly colorblind.
"Well, this not-grey man steps forward and said since I was just a kid that we should at least try to find my parents." He shook his head at the naivete.
"Once I told them where I was trying to go, he tried to pay the captain to cover my fare to get me to Andoria. Of course, the captain wanted no part of it. It would mean all kinds of paperwork and delays in his itinerary. And Andoria was already overwhelmed with processing Andorian refugees who were returning after some Klingon expansion, so even if the captain agreed, it might all be for nothing. So this human turned to me and asked me whether I wanted to try for the Sol system.
"Not that I knew anything about it. But I wasn't exactly flush with options. I'd only ever heard of the place once or twice, and always derisively. It was a backwater pit as far as I was concerned, but it was better than where I was coming from, so I agreed.
"What I didn't know was that Earth was making inroads with Axanar, Andoria and several other players, so it hadn't really been a backwater for a while." He stopped talking sent a look of consideration towards the Antaran schnapps.
"It seems you found a home," Izu Douqh said. His voice had taken on a thicker, throaty quality. Plormot looked over to find Douqh was looking at the orion man with new eyes. It seemed Douqh's prior prejudices were finally, truly, beginning to ebb. "Come, come, if I may." Douqh strode forward, grabbed two tumblers and took the liberty of opening the Antaran schnapps and poured himself and Zraevetsol a generous share each.
"It couldn't have been easy," Plormot fished, making sure to continue rooting around in Zraevetsol's case. "Orions have had a trying reputation in many corners of the quadrant, including the Sol system." Zraevetsol nodded absently.
"No, it wasn't easy. But it wasn't exactly hard, either. There was the xenophobia, but that was nothing new. But they insisted I get what they considered to be a proper education, and made it a mandatory part of my immigration process."
"Was it hard?" Douqh had taken up the questioning like a natural, so enamored with Zraevetsol's tale that he hardly noticed when he tried to pour a second round, spilling some of the spirit onto the table. Zraevetsol absently mopped it up.
"Academically, sure, I guess. I was in a new education system – hell, I was in an education system period. But it wasn't so bad. I made friends. I was placed with home-stay families until I came of age. And it wasn't like I was the first alien to arrive."
"Ah," Plormot interjected. "Companionship is the balm to much hardship, is it not? And the Xindi attack would have been right around your early years in the Sol system … it couldn't have been easy."
"As I say, I made friends. And I was a citizen of Earth by that point, and it would later be updated to Federation membership, once everything was ratified."
"I imagine meeting others fleeing the fallout from the Xindi War would have felt like meeting an old friend," Plormot said while casually seating himself with the others. "After the Xoisk-Fhaxtu Border Skirmishes of my youth, I found much comfort in meeting others with differing backgrounds but similar stories. For Earth, so many Xindi arrived after it was over. I can only imagine what a relief it would be to relate to some sympathetic arboreal or primate."
Zraevetsol turned away to peer out at the phal and a nearby star for a minute. His glass sat, still mostly full.
"Perhaps you're right, Mr. Plormot." He said. "But with all the post-war suspicion, I guess every planet feels most at home with those they see as familiar."
He blinked as though the back-lit phal had dazzled his eyes.
"Wow, that's bright," he remarked. "Say, gentlemen, this business has been dragging on and getting on my nerves – all this sitting around and not doing anything. After this is all settled and done with, I'll be glad to reach atmosphere and get on to doing something."
"You exhibit the true restless human spirit," Douqh said warmly. Plormot wondered whether his estimations of the Orion man had changed permanently. They called for Bael to come and reorder Zraevetsol's belongings. As they left, Bael was straightening out Zraevetsol's clothes, companionably quiet while Zraevetsol reached for another tumbler. They moved to the next compartment.
Lieutenant Keller was sitting in a corner, reading from a pad and flicking through screens.
Plormot explained their purpose, and the lieutenant made no comment. He didn't have keys to hand over, but rose and tapped in the code to unlock the clasps.
"This is all you bring?"
"The rest of my kit was sent by Federation lines, per regulation."
Like most military men, the lieutenant was a neat packer. The examination took only a few minutes. With nothing else to keep them, they filed out into the corridor again.
The next room was occupied by Princess Nehn. When they knocked, her deep voice bid them to enter. Mr. Douqh took the liberty of becoming their spokesman this this light. He used all deferential conjugations and was polite as ever as he explained what they intended. She listened, impassive, and then nodded.
"My maid has the bulk of my luggage in her compartment." Bael was summoned and sent for her.
In the meantime:
"Does your maid always carry your luggage, Madame?"
"Of course. There are occasions where this is not feasible, but otherwise, it is normal."
"You trust her, then?"
"Yes. I do not employ any whom I do not trust."
"Hm, trust. Such deep trust is a rare thing to find in a companion of a different class, hailing from a different sector. It is more typical for the nobility of Antar to employ Xindi, and sometimess Xoisk, help, is it not?"
Her dark, intelligent eyes fixed upon his face.
"What exactly are you implying, sir?"
"Me? Nothing, Madame."
"But of course you are." She continued on without bothering to corner Plormot on his lie. "You think, like many, that I should have employed, as is traditional, a Xoisk girl or a primate Xindi to attend to my service." It wasn't a question.
"It would be the more traditional thing, Madame."
She shook her head.
"Toloe is loyal." She lingered on the word. "Loyalty is priceless."
The aging betazoid woman had arrived, Bael in tow, carrying the extra case.
The great princess stood and went into the hall to make room for the others to open and search her luggage. In Antaran, she spoke to Tehf Toloe, instructing her to open the luggage and aid them in their search. Plormot remained in the hallway with her, where she watched the phall clumping together on one of the nacelles. She gave him an odd smile.
"You do not stay in there to see what my bags hide?"
"Madame Princess, it is a formality, nothing more."
"Truly?"
"For you, yes."
"Yet I have told you already. I knew, loved and admired Lillian Aldana. I loved her daughter, Erika Hernandez. You think I wouldn't soil my hands by killing such a lowly beast as that man, Parisi?"
Plormot didn't answer, but she continued.
"Do you know what consumed my thoughts during the search for Daisy? I watched Erika go mad with grief before pulling herself together so she could fulfill her duties to the Columbia. I watched her fall to pieces again and again, each time building back up so she could be strong. Do you know what I ached to do? Had it been within my power, I would have ordered this man be stricken to death and have his remains dumped into the nearest asteroid field. That was how things were done when I was young."
Still, Plormot did not speak, merely drinking in her words.
"You have not said anything, Mr. Plormot. What are you thinking?"
He looked at her steadily, now without any kowtowing deference.
"I think, Princess, that your strength is in your character, but not your body."
She gazed down at her arms, wasted of muscle and with creaking joints. The grey hands laden with large and colorful jewels. It was likely her hands hadn't lifted or carried anything heavier than a teacup in years.
"That is true, I'm afraid. I have none of my old strength in me anymore." Abruptly, she turned back to her room, where the maid was busy packing up her cases and bags. She cut off Mr. Douqh's apologies, saying: "Enough, no need for apologies, sir. A murder has been committed. That is all there is to it."
The next two doors were the adjoining rooms of the Andorian couple. Douqh stopped short.
"This may be awkward," he said, giving Plormot a pleading look. "This couple, they have diplomatic passports. Their baggage is exempt from searches."
"From customs, yes. But a murder is different."
"A murder is worse!" Douqh kept his voice low while his ire grew. "This couple cannot be caught up in a murder scandal. I cannot be caught up in a murder scandal! Neither can this ship!"
"Calm yourself, dear friend, the Count and Countess will be reasonable. The Princess Nehn was ever so accommodating for us."
"She is of a branch of royalty that is so secure as to assure a certain lack of repercussion should it turn out to be her! They are both members of Andoria's noble class and the darlings of Andoria's diplomatic corps! Even if they agree to a search of their baggage, there is currently no evidence to point to them. Therefore, Andoria would see such an act as a baseless and uncouth invasion of privacy!"
"All will be well, now come, we waste time."
Upon knocking, the Count's deep voice bid them enter. Their joined rooms rivaled Princess Nehn's for luxury.
The Count was sitting in the corner near the door reading the news from a pad. He was flicking through the articles with quick, lazy fingers. Plormot remembered the latest news he could have received would be out of date by now.
The Countess was curled up in the opposite corner near the porthole, wrapped in her robe she had described to him earlier. Orange, with white and purple floral designs all over it. There was a pillow squashed between her head, shoulders and the porthole. It seemed she had allowed herself to doze as she looked out.
The newcomers quickly made their respectful greetings and gave explanation for their arrival. To Plormot's pleasure, the Count made no excuse or protest other than to turn to his wife and ask:
"So long as you have no reservations, Talla?"
She shook her head, so they got to it.
Contrary to his actions with the Antaran princess, Plormot took an active role in unpacking the couple's belongings. He preempted any awkward silence by delivering a running stream of narration of what he found and how very fashionable this was, or how that thing proclaimed such a stylish innocence. The Count ignored him and the Countess did not reply to his observations.
She seemed rather bored by the whole process, and remained curled up in her corner, staring dreamily out through the porthole while the men searched her luggage. Her large, orb-like eyes reflected the particulate matter swirling in the void inches from her face.
Plormot found their luggage rather bereft of anything notable. Talla Kyrth's toiletry bag contained an expensive cream filled with anti-aging ingredients, though she was hardly old enough to need such a product, several packets of adhesive patches designed to deliver a deeper and more consistent night's sleep than a hypospray, and a few hypospray cartridges with sedatives. Plormot was careful not to comment on the redundancy of multiple methods of inducing sleep. Finding nothing more, they withdrew.
Mrs. Valy'r's compartment came next, and they had barely described their mission when she ushered them in and gave a breathless recounting of the night before to them as they went through her luggage. Upon trying to take their leave, she insisted on showing them pictures of her daughter, as plain and moody-looking as ever, and revealing grandchildren.
"My daughter's children! Aren't they cunning? Why, my daughter says..."
They skipped the next two compartments, as they were those of the dead man and of Plormot's own.
The next one was the shared berth, occupied by Hannah Lee, who was reviewing her pad, and Finta, who had been sleeping and woke with a start at their arrival.
Plormot repeated his spiel. The denobulan seemed typically nervous and agitated and the human seemed calmly indifferent. Both entered the codes or handed over the keys to their luggage without hesitation.
"I wonder," Plormot ventured to the denobulan," whether you might attend to the good Mrs. Valy'r. She had quite the shock last night, you may have heard. She is currently recuperating, but I think she is of the type who does best when they have someone to talk to. Perhaps if someone of your disposition could lend a sensitive hand of support…?"
The good woman was instantly sympathetic and immediately rose from her berth and put on her shoes. She left to commiserate with the poor risian woman. She must be in terrible turmoil, since her separation from her daughter. Once she had bustled off, Plormot took the liberty of examining her possessions.
He could see both women were traveling light, but the denobulan's single, small case contained a small number of items in the extreme. The religious sect to which she belonged, to Plormot's knowledge, was not defined by extreme asceticism, but perhaps he would need to read up on them once the phal cleared.
Miss Lee had switched off her pad and put it down. She was watching Plormot. As he lifted down her case, she asked:
"Why did you send her away, Mr. Plormot?"
"I, Miss? To tend to the Risian lady, or course. She's had a terrible shock."
Miss Lee's face was unimpressed. To be fair, Mrs. Valy'r seemed to revel in the development rather than feel any visceral sense of horror, and Plormot sensed between them a tacit understanding on this fact. Further, Miss Lee's dark, unyielding eyes fixed themselves on Dr. Suric, who stood in the corner. It underlined her point that Plormot did not send the practicing doctor to tend to a woman in 'shock' but instead the other traveler in her compartment.
"A pretext." She phrased it as a statement rather than giving Plormot any wiggle room to try to pretend at a misunderstanding. He may as well try, anyway:
"I don't understand you, Miss."
"You understand me very well, sir." She smiled. "You wanted to get me alone."
"You are putting words into my mouth, dear girl."
If she felt any annoyance at the phrase 'dear girl,' which many humans found to be patronizing, she didn't address it.
"No, I don't think so. I don't think you'd allow anyone to put words into your mouth, let alone ideas into your head. You already have ideas, isn't that right?"
"Miss, in Xoisk, we have a proverb-"
"{Those who accuse others, accuse themselves.} Is that what you were going to say? It's a common enough proverb in a number of languages."
Another, more charismatic person, would have forgone the comments of it being a common proverb. A more charismatic person would have completed his thought for him and delivered it with some sense of friendly triumph. If only this woman had a greater sense of joy, her cultured disposition would be irresistible. Instead, he felt he was conversing with a sentient machine.
"You have a keen sense for observation, Miss, and common sense." She was similarly unimpressed with his compliments and smiled in return, but was not distracted.
"And you seem to think I knew something of this murder – a murder of a man I've never met before."
"You are imagining things, Miss."
The look he received in return was professionally gracious, but showed her waning patience with his denials.
"No, I'm not imaging things. But it seems to me that a lot of time is wasted by not addressing the point right away. {Beating about the bush} is an English phrase that denotes how time is wasted when one doesn't come to the point."
"And you do not like to waste time." Plormot agreed, finally giving up his pretense. "No, you like to come straight to the point. You are direct and prefer efficient, scientific procedures. Have you always been that way?" The question partly annoyed her – yet another tangential question! – and partly threw her for its perceived irrelevance.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, have you always been so composed when faced with adverse situations?" To his surprise, a genuine smile flashed across her face before subsiding.
"No. It's something I've learned to value."
"Learned to? From whom?" She shrugged, lightly frowning at the questions.
"My family, I suppose. My teachers, professors. Supervisors, colleagues and the like."
"You must have had very good teachers, then. In English, you would say, a very good {mentor}? To be as adept as you are at maintaining focus under stress. As I mentioned earlier, I would go so far as to say you are often quite Vulcan in your disposition."
If he was hoping for a definitive reaction, he found none. She remained largely impassive, if perhaps slightly depressed at having been trapped into discussion with him.
"You strike me as very well traveled, Miss Lee. I can see you getting on with some vulcan academic quite swimmingly. Have you ever run into them during your travels?"
"On occasion." It seemed Lee had finally wearied of his abstract and personal questions. He correctly sensed she was close to checking out of the discussion entirely.
"Very well. I will dispense with the meandering method and get to, as you say, the point." Plormot took the opportunity to take the other seat. "I will ask you the meaning of certain words, Miss, that I overheard on the journey from Sy'xenia, when the Taurus Express had a stopover at the station on Ahuok." Plormot watched as the human's head cocked to one side, showing her renewed attention.
"I had gotten off the ship to breathe a bit of atmosphere before our next leg of the journey when I heard two voices. Yours and that of the Lieutenant's, I heard them as I paced the platform. You said to him: 'Not now. When it's all over. When it's done.' Words very close to that. What did you mean by those words, Miss?"
"You think I meant murder?" Her voice was soft and quiet.
"I am the one who is asking you, Miss."
She sighed, getting – as humans said – lost in thought. It seemed she, too, was just as capable of following wandering lines of thought as any other. Then she roused herself and retook possession of herself.
"Those words had meaning, Mr. Plormot, but they're private. I can only give you my word of honor that I had never met this man Evered in my life until boarding this vessel."
"So you refuse to explain those words?"
"Yes, if you prefer to put it that way, then I refuse. They had to do with – a decision I had made."
"A decision?"
"Yes. On whether to undertake a task or not."
"A task that is now ended?"
"What do you mean?"
"It is ended, is it not?"
"Why would you assume so?" Behind him, Plormot could sense, rather than hear, Dr. Suric and Mr. Douqh shifting uncomfortably.
"Listen, Miss Lee. I will outline another incident for you. There was a delay to the Taurus Express on the day we were to reach St'aldor. You were very agitated, Miss. I have classified you in my mind as someone calm and self-controlled. You lost that calm."
"I did not want to miss my connection."
"So you say. So you said, at the time. But, the Orion Express leaves St'aldor daily. The only exceptions are certain holidays and the season of Wyveghkk, which isn't for another six years. Even if you had missed the connection it would only have been a matter a single day's delay."
For the first time, Miss Lee seemed to show signs of a deeper something. Not simple annoyance. Plormot estimated her sentiments were closer to a feeling of affront. Perhaps an indignation from being questioned by someone audacious enough to be simultaneously pedantic and ignorant.
"I have a connection to make in Iser. I have scheduled appointments waiting for me, and one delay can lead to others, causing an increasingly exponential delay."
"Ah, it is like that? You are the punctual type, and do not wish to risk delay out of principle?"
"If you wish to put it that way, yes."
"And yet, it is curious. On this vessel, on the Orion, we again have a delay. This time, more serious, since there is no possibility of sending word of your delay, where issues might be mitigated. How do you say it?" Plormot paused as he tried to remember the Federate term for it. "The word where one uses a radio across long distances …?"
"The DX?"
"Ah, yes. It is the word for long distance radio communication in Federate space, is it not?"
"Not originally. DX used to be a human term for amateur radio hobbyists to trade radio communications long distance, but it bled into Starfleet, and later Federate, jargon. It's less common in Vulcan and Antaran regions."
"I see. But the jargon used in somewhat more official lanes of Starfleet and the Federation is simply radiograph, isn't it?"
"Comms," she corrected. "As you say, it is an inconvenience not to be able to send word ahead."
"And yet, this time, your manner is quite different. You no longer display a sense of urgency. You are calm. It was not so aboard the Taurus."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though the rest of her face remained frozen.
"You have no answer, Miss?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear a question."
"The explanation of your change of attitude, Miss."
Her head cocked to the side again.
"Attitudes change. It seems to me you're making rather a large fuss over a change of attitude. Regardless," she seemed to reset, regaining some slipped control.
"Iser is the end of the line for the Orion Express, and is firmly in Federate space. From there, there is an abundance of travel options going every which way. Once I made it aboard the Orion, I was no longer worried about a significant detriment to my travel plans."
This woman had an answer for everything, it seemed. Still, Plormot decided to make another attempt.
"Still," Plormot began. Again, he saw that veiled indignation flare up in her.
"Still, your reaction at the delay aboard the Taurus. I noticed a more physical reaction from you. I believe it is unusual for human physiology to have uneven pupils when faced with simple stressors like travel issues. I also observed you to be physically off-balance, and you had to hold the bulkhead to keep on your feet..."
He trailed and then stopped himself.
Lee's dark, inscrutable eyes were looking – truly looking, into him.
Reevaluating him.
For the first time, Lee made Plormot feel just how human she could be. He had mentally gotten into the habit of classifying her as vulcan in nature, and he was reminded just what a mistake that could be.
It wasn't so much that she glared at him, or made any specific expression. It reminded him instead of his dinner at the Tokatlian Hotel. And of his breakfast aboard the Taurus Express.
For a moment – just a moment – Evered's gaze had swept over him. And he'd been filled with a prey species's instinctive revulsion and horror at being hunted. Evered – no, Parisi – had truly been a beastly man. Looking back, now knowing his true identity and his past deeds, Plormot was not relieved. Instead, the memory served to underline a distinct sense of panic at having brushed so near danger.
And at breakfast, the upright Lieutenant Keller's eyes had swept the room as he sat with Lee. Plormot had not felt the same malevolence, from Keller. Again, during his interview with Keller, his impudence had earned him a jarring look from Keller. Instead of malevolence, he felt something more contained, so tightly controlled. It was as though the man had, at some point in his past, been just as ignoble as Evered, and had been reigned in only through unforgiving discipline. Keller's look had set Plormot at ease, once he'd moved on, having determined no threat.
Now, Lee. Lee held eye contact with Plormot, and again felt he was being assessed. Perhaps it was just his impression, since human eyes were set closer together than most.
Close-set eyes were an adaptation by predator species which granted them incredible depth perception, the better to measure up their prey, or perhaps an adversary they intended to eliminate. He almost feared to think what her internal verdict would be. Would her assessment determine him to be more trouble than he was worth?
His memories and internal thoughts flurried through his mind all in a matter of a few seconds.
He plunged ahead again:
"Your two reactions simply seem very different. The second would indicate a calm and stoic philosophy. The first would indicate to me one of two things. One would be that you are more emotional than you pretend. And the other would indicate some form of neurological imbalance, triggered by stress."
No response. Again, that look of assessment.
"No response, Miss Lee?"
"What is your specific question, Mr. Plormot?"
"Well, to narrow down these options for me, do you consider yourself to be the calm, controlled type, or the emotional type?"
"Both, I suppose. Humans are rarely so one-dimensional."
"Allow me to eliminate the third possibility, then, at least. Do you have any neurological irregularities, Miss Lee?"
"That is no concern of yours, Mr. Plormot." Firm. He spread his hands in a gesture of goodwill.
"It is like that with detectives like myself. I expect behavior to be consistent. My training does not allow for changes of mood.
"You know Lieutenant Keller well, Miss?"
Plormot thought he saw some shift within her. He liked to think she was relieved by the change of subject.
"I met Lieutenant Keller for the first time a few days ago."
"Do you have any reason to suspect that he may have known this man, Evered?"
Lee shook her head.
"No, he didn't."
"Why are you so sure?"
"By the way he spoke."
"And yet, Miss, he is a strong and healthy human male from Earth, as is the victim. He has training in combat and it is plain in his mannerisms that his quite capable of any feat he decides to take up. He is of an upright character that would not forget the crimes of the victim. His alibi is provided by a malleable young man who I dare say has already gained a respect for Lieutenant Keller.
"I do not see Lieutenant Keller asking Mr. Qozz for an alibi, but I do see Mr. Qozz providing one of his own accord. Our young Mr. Qozz admits his father was involved in the Archer Affair, and the least he could do is give our lieutenant an alibi."
Plormot watched her narrowly, but she remained dispassionate.
"Nonsense. It's absurd. Lieutenant Keller is the last man in the sector who would get mixed up in a crime like this. Especially a crime like this – it's rather theatrical, to stab someone an unnecessary number of times."
She was so sound, so reasonable, that Plormot was inclined to agree with her.
"I must remind you that you do not know him very well, Miss Lee." She shrugged.
"I know the type well enough."
"You still refuse to tell me the meaning of those words: 'When it is done?'" He kept his voice gentle and nonjudgmental, but her response was now cold.
"I have nothing more to say."
"It does not matter," Hilus Plormot responded. "I will find out."
The visiting men stood and left the compartment, the door sliding shut behind them.
"Was that wise?" Izu Douqh asked, taking his friend at the arm. "You have put her on guard, and through her, you have put the Lieutenant on his guard as well."
"If you wish to find the hidden orb, you must shake the whaff. If the orb is there, it dislodges itself and is revealed. That is all I have done." Plormot's analogy centered around a Xoisk children's game. It delivered a message similar to an Earth phrase of flushing a hare from hiding by sending forth a canine.
They entered the compartment of Tehf Toloe. She stood in respectful readiness, her face unemotional. Plormot quickly shuffled through her smaller case at the foot of the bed. Everything was in order. She lifted down the larger case from it's shelf and stepped back. He stepped forward and opened Miss Toloe's case.
Sitting atop her other belongings was a bunched up Agate Incorporated uniform, complete with the Orion Express vessel's shoulder patch.
Seeing the uniform shoved into her case, the betazoid woman rippled through with surprise and despair.
"Oh!" She suddenly sat. "That isn't mine. I didn't put it here. I haven't even opened it since I left St'aldor! You must believe me that it isn't mine!" Her pleading face latched onto Plormot's. Suddenly, self-recrimination took over. "I should have double-checked my things!" She berated herself. "I often check and double-check everything I can to ensure everything is in order! It's my fault it wasn't discovered until now-"
Plormot gently patted her arm.
"Do not worry. We believe you. Calm yourself." She looked at him doubtfully. He assured her:
"I am as sure you did not wear this uniform as I am sure that you are as organized as the best administrator. See? You are a good administrator, are you not?"
The grateful woman smiled in spite of herself, though the stress in her face was still plain.
"Yes, indeed. All of my supervisors have said so. I –"
She stopped, her mouth open, looking frightened all over again.
"Hush, calm yourself," Plormot soothed her. "I assure you, I suspected something like this would transpire, and I have already arrived at an explanation.
"This man, the man you bumped into in the Orion Express uniform. He was coming out of the dead man's compartment. He collides with you, which is bad luck for him. He would have hoped to have no witnesses. What can he do? He must get rid of the uniform. It is no longer a disguise for him, but a liability.
"There is the phal, which works to unravel his plans. Where can he hide the uniform? All of the compartments are full. He realizes you have just come from yours. He opens it to find it is empty. He slips in, stuffs it into a case on the shelf and knows it may be a while before it is discovered. It is unlikely to be discovered that night and indeed, it is only now that we have found it, and only because of your collision in the hall."
Plormot held up the uniform's jacket in front of him. Slipping his hand into the pockets, he came upon an Orion Express passkey.
"This would explain how he was able to pass through locked doors," Mr. Douqh breathed. "Locked or not, this man could easily get through any of the doors he wanted."
"Is that true?" Plormot pressed. "Any of the doors?"
Douqh took from his pocket a device closely resembling a slotted tricorder. He took the passkey from Plormot and inserted it into the device. Reading the screen, he nodded to himself.
"It seems to be a duplicate of a standard purser's card. It would grant access to any part of the passenger and crew quarters. It also gives the normal purser privileges to the bridge, engineering or other areas, but only if they are unlocked. This passkey would not permit an override if these areas are locked from the inside. But the passenger quarters, this card would certainly work."
"Hm," Plormot said.
"It does fit," Mr. Douqh continued. "You remember, Bael said that when Mrs. Valy'r had him enter her room to check for an intruder, he saw the communicating door to Evered's room was locked. It would explain why Bael was so confused and thought she was dreaming."
"It would seem," Dr. Suric finally jumped in. "We have solved the issue of how this man passed into areas deemed impossible."
"But not," Plormot countered, "how this person obtained such a copy. Agate Incorporated prides herself as a company offering more than luxury travel. Basic security would be expected, no?" He ignored Douqh's injured look and continued:
"We have found the uniform. Now, we are missing only the scarlet robe."
Dr. Suric frowned.
"The last two compartments are occupied by men."
They had entered the hall at this point, leaving Miss Toloe to recollect herself.
Wroe'bex Qozz was open and congenial in opening his luggage for them.
"I'm glad you've finally gotten around to it," he said with smile. "It's just that I feel like I'm naturally the most suspicious person on the ship, given my father and everything. The only thing left to find is a will from Evered saying he's left me all his money, and I'm sure that would tie things up quite nicely."
Mr. Douqh shot a suspicious look to Qozz, who rushed to cover himself.
"I'm only joking," he laughed, albeit slightly nervous towards Douqh. "He would never have left me a cent more than I was owed. He was stingy like that. He only kept me around because he said he was too old to learn new languages and he didn't trust translation applications. He's right about that, you know, programmed translation applications aren't universally reliable, yet. Vulcan-Denobulan is fairly accurate, I hear, but aside from them … well, anyway.
"And it isn't like I'm a linguist, anyway. I speak Common and Axanarian, of course, and I'm passable with the pleasantries of Antaran, but I'm pretty good with the most basic of phrases in a number of languages besides."
He seemed to chatter on, nervous.
Plormot straightened up from Qozz's belongings.
"Nothing," he said. "No last will and testament to speak of."
"That's a relief, to say the least," Qozz sighed.
They moved on to the final compartment.
Plormot took extra care to thoroughly pick through the luggage of both the antaran steward and the big human shuttle salesman, but came up with no result. Having found nothing, they left and stood in the hallway.
"What now?" Dr. Suric asked.
"We will return to the dining mess," Plormot answered. "We know all we can know from their luggage. We have collected accounts from the passengers, and evidence from their baggage, and observed everything with our eyes. It is now up to us to make deductions with our minds."
This whole affair was such a vexing one, and Plormot's mind cast back to his compartment, where he had the remainder of a bottle of vadu waiting for him. He would fetch it and join his friends in the dinning compartment.
"I will join you in a moment. We have many questions to answer. Who wore the red robe? Where is it now? If only we knew. There is something about this case, some thing that we are missing! I have the uncomfortable feeling that it is difficult, but only out of design. Excuse me, I will go get my water."
He returned to his compartment. There, on his little table, was the bottle. He might even indulge in a threnado tablet, which he could dissolve into the water and give himself an extra boost of antioxidants to help clear his mind. He never traveled without them.
Plormot got down his case and snapped the lock open.
He rocked back on his heels and stared down.
Neatly folded on the top of the case was a long, scarlet robe, gleaming with gold trim.
"So it is like that, a challenge." He murmured. It was a bold, defiant play.
"Very well."