Chapter 29
Further Revelations
"Nothing would surprise me now," Douqh said. "Nothing! Even if everybody on this whole ship proves to be a member of the Archer or Hernandez circle, I won't be a bit surprised."
"That is a very profound remark," Plormot said with a grim smile. "Would you like to see what one of your favorite suspects has to say? The human shuttle salesman?"
"You're testing another guess of yours?"
"Exactly."
"This is just such a fantastical case," said Suric.
"On the contrary. It is most natural." Plormot ignored Douqh as his friend flung his arms up with comic despair.
"Natural! Natural, he says. What part of any of this is natural?" He fell silent when the attendant brought forth the giant human.
Declan Stills came forth with a wary look. He shot glances to each of their faces, to the chair in which intended to sit, to the door opposite him, to the portholes and back to their faces. He reminded Plormot of a trapped animal that recognized it's diminishing chances of escape. He briefly thought back to the sense of veiled danger he'd felt with Reed and Sato mere minutes ago.
"What is it you want!" Stills demanded. It seemed he'd lost control over his volume. His voice boomed. "What else could I possibly tell you? What else?" He struck one of his hands on the table, causing Plormot's Douqh's teacup to rattle.
"You might first dispense with the attempt to act angry," Plormot began. At Stills's questioning glance, Plormot performed a crude mimic of Stills.
" 'What do you want!' " Plormot repeated somewhat comically, " 'What!?' " He belatedly slapped a weak hand against the table.
"Do you see what I mean? You merely pretend at indignation, so it doesn't occur to you to hit the table until after you have spoken. Human anger, I have come to learn, is explosive. It happens all at once. It is why humans have a reputation for being unpredictable." Instead of waiting for a response, he briskly got to business.
"Now, you ask what I want, Mr. Stills. It is quite simple. I would like to know why you have lied to us regarding your true identity?" He ignored Douqh's head slumping into his hands. Stills slowly dropped his pretense of anger and revealed his true jittery nervousness.
"My identity?"
"I have no doubt that your credentials are real," Plormot continued. "But you are not Declan Stills. I imagine Declan Stills is some poor man long since dead from the Xindi Attack some years back. I am told the practice of using such identities is considered commonplace."
The man's eyes found their way to the passport Plormot held on the table.
"You're wrong," he said. "Declan Stills didn't die in the Xindi Attack. He had never set foot on Earth."
"Who was he, then?"
"My cousin. We grew up on the Horizon together." He shot Plormot a look. "Declan really did work for Horizon Inc. And he really was always a great salesman, too."
"Your name, sir?" It took a moment to shake the large human from his memories.
"Travis Mayweather."
"Ah," Plormot sat back. "I am not so intimately familiar with Captain Archer's crew, having only read an article that mentioned some of you upon the end of the Xindi War some six years ago. But it makes sense. That would make you the pilot, yes?"
"The helmsman." Mayweather responded. His nervousness had died down, and he looked older now, since both his nerves and his charming charisma had gone.
"You have something more to tell us," Plormot said firmly. "The truth!"
The nerves came flooding back, and Mayweather looked like he was simultaneously ready to bolt and melt into a miserable hole.
"The truth?"
'My,' Plormot thought. 'When we met this man, and he was all youthful self-assurance and geniality. That boyish, sunny man is all gone, and he is left a nervous wreck.'
"The truth. It would help you greatly if you tell the truth now."
"You sound like the police. 'Come clean' they say. 'It's okay, just come clean.' "
"So you have prior experience with the police?"
Plormot imagined this Mayweather to have once been a present-minded man of enormous wit and easy confidence. Now, he was erratic, swinging from calm resignation to fearful terror and back again. At this moment, Mayweather swung back to panic.
"No! No, they never had anything on me! Not that they didn't try – I never did anything wrong! That's why they never found anything! Not for their lack of trying to find something."
Plormot tried to dial it down:
"The Archer Affair. You were the … I forget the English term, the chauffeur? The pilot?" Mayweather nodded.
"Helmsman. I shuttled the family wherever they needed to go, on or off Earth." The bluster had left him again, and Mayweather suddenly held the look of someone far older than him. Plormot was accustomed to old men attaining a look of haunted, hunted, exhaustion. It looked curiously revolting on such a young and handsome man.
"Seems you know who I am," Mayweather continued. "Since you knew, why bother asking me?"
"Why did you lie this morning?"
"Why? Because of course. I don't trust the Nivaluzian police. Hell, I don't really trust any police at this point, but Nivaluzians don't really like humans, do they? And with who I really am, they would never have given me justice."
"Perhaps it is precisely justice that they would have given you."
"No. No!" Mayweather flashed Plormot a disgusted look before turning to the porthole. "I've never committed murder, if that's what you're implying. You can't prove anything against me – not for killing this monster – this Parisi."
Plormot tapped the passport a couple more times, thinking. He turned back to Mayweather and said:
"Very good. You can go." Mayweather sensed he'd missed something and wound up.
"… So you know that I didn't commit murder?"
"I said you can go."
Such an empty answer left Mayweather spiraling back into his memories of the Archer investigation.
"Are you going to tell the Nivaluzian police it was me? All for a monster of a man who should have gotten his due years ago? It was a sham that he didn't. If it had been me, like the police thought – If I had been arrested-"
"But it was not you. You had nothing to do with the child's abduction."
"What are you saying?" Mayweather gripped the armrests. "You sound just like them, the police. I could never hurt a kid, let alone Daisy! She -" He broke off, suddenly wheeling into despondent grief rather than feeding off of nerves.
"She called me 'Avis, did you know that? She couldn't pronounce Travis, so she started calling me 'Avis and that was my name, just like that, even after she started learning to pronounce her Ts and Rs." He fiddled with a loose thread on the cuff of his sleeve.
"She'd sit on my lap and demand that we fly. I'd set the controls to autopilot, and she'd sit on my lap and make me point out which controls did what. And she'd mime along." His long fingers continued to worry at the fraying hem of his sleeve. He broke into a smile, giving a hollow reminder of his boyish looks.
"I was going to make her into the best pilot the galaxy has ever known. I was always giving the Captain a run for his money as far as flying went, and I knew Daisy'd be better than me in no time. She was a natural. She-" he briefly looked bashful, "I never let the Captain know this, but I'd actually take the shuttle off autopilot every so often and let her fly for real. Solo. I was always ready to take over, but she was a natural."
"You let a five-year-old fly a shuttle?" Dr. Suric asked, nonplussed. He had forgotten himself, and Plormot could have smacked him in that moment. Luckily, it didn't break Travis's state, because he simply shrugged and gave a watery smile.
"You didn't see her. I hardly needed to step in. If I'd had a couple more years, I'd have had her doing side-lateral zero-grav parking jobs before she finished learning to pronounce her Ts." His smile dropped. "She was the light of that house. We all worshiped her.
"The Captains, they'd had a tough time of it during the war, and she was the only good thing to last through it, and Trip and the Subcommander were off their heads with Eliz - with all the stuff they had going on. She helped Zia acclimate to Earth and human customs – she really was the glue. Truly." He faltered for just a moment.
"I wasn't exactly as relaxed as I had been, and I was just trying to keep it together. I guess I don't look it now, but I used to have solid nerves. Even T'Pol once told me I was always calm under stress ... Anyway, my nerves were shot after the war. And we couldn't figure out why H-" he stumbled. "Why our comms officer was getting worse, and then Commander Shran died, so Daisy was Talla's lifeline." He fixed his gaze back onto Plormot's for the first time in several minutes. Plormot finally understood why humans poetically called their eyes the windows into their souls. Travis's eyes were pools of earnest depth.
"Eventually, the police came to realize how much she held everyone together. They had to go after everyone and make sure none of use were behind it. I understood, I got that. Only, they refused to believe me that I'd never do anything to her! Well, eventually, they realized what she meant to everyone." His voice had grown progressively softer. The shining tears he had managed to hold back receded to leave dull eyes. Again, he was unexpectedly left without much in the way of energy. A moment or two passed in silence before he wheeled out of his chair and disappeared out the door.
"And how did you guess Mayweather's true identity?" Douqh asked, no longer with his characteristic admiration and pomp. The human's emotional roller-coaster had left everyone exhausted. Plormot gave a shrug.
"Reed mentioned it has become normal to take another human's identity if they want to travel privately. Stills felt like a real person to me, and yet I knew he must be a fraud. It makes sense, then, that Still's true identity be someone who would still know a great deal about ships. A helmsman made sense. The Archers would have had one."
"He is all over the place," Douqh noted unhappily. "Could he have leapt from one state of mind to another and produce an attack as irregular as his emotional states?" Dr. Suric frowned and looked over to Plormot, who deflected back.
"What do you think, doctor?"
"For my part, he certainly could have done it. Physically, I believe he is the most formidable person aboard this ship. And the irregularities in the stab wounds would entirely fit what we've just witnessed. As far as my purview permits, he is my new 'favorite' suspect for this crime. But I am no psychologist. What do you say, Mr. Plormot?"
The Xoisk detective sat still for a bit.
"It could be," he murmured. "It could be, but then…?" He trailed off before shaking himself. "But, we must carry on, before we distract ourselves with endless ponderings." Plormot waved at the attendant through the porthole in the door at the far end who obliged and withdrew to summon the next passenger.
"No, Hilus. Another?" Douqh's cries drastically lowered in pitch when he saw who entered. "Not her, it is not possible. How could it be?"
"My friend, we must know. Even if, in the end, every sentient being on this ship proves to have had a motive for killing Parisi, we must know. Once we know, we can settle once and for all where the guilt truly lies."
"My head is spinning," Douqh complained, whispering now, as Finta drew nearer.
Finta was ushered in by a sympathetic attendant. Once the crewman withdrew to watch the proceedings through the door's porthole should Plormot wave again, Finta allowed herself to weep more freely. She let her legs give way and sat, blowing into a tissue.
"Now, dear Finta, please do not exhaust yourself." Plormot gave her a genuine smile and he patted her shoulder. "Just a little bit of clarification. Just a few words of truth is all. You were the pediatrician in charge of Daisy Archer?"
"It's true, it's true," Finta sobbed. "She was everyone's angel. She trusted everyone!" Her sobs grew to wails. "She never knew anything but love and kindness – until that – that…!" She gulped.
"All until he took her. He would have been the first cruelty she would have ever known, and the last thing she ever knew. And Erika was positively lost, and the other one who never lived at all. And Jonathan buried himself in the search. You cannot understand. There's no way you could know. If you had been there, if you had seen…!" Plormot plucked up a chance to speak during a break when she drew breath to calm herself.
"You were there? You were with Dr. Phlox when you both stumbled into the abduction?" She nodded.
"Phlox. My husband. We had taken a night out, and when we returned, something was wrong. Phlox went to see, and then I followed and then the world turned upside down. It's never been right, since."
Plormot continued to pat and soothe her.
"I should have told you the truth about myself this morning. But I was afraid. And I was glad that he was dead, I admit that. He cannot kill or torture any other child. He cannot ruin any more lives." She crumbled into resigned sobs, all the while Plormot rubbed circles into her threadbare sweater.
"There, that's alright. I understand everything. I have no more questions of you. I understand."
Plormot eventually got her calmed enough to wave the attendant back into the room. He aided the elderly woman as she groped her way through her tears and retreated out the room. Before Plormot could arrange for the next passenger, Strophyr Zahn entered.
"I hope I am not intruding, sirs. Is this a good time?" As polite as ever. Plormot nodded.
"It's just that my berth-mate here, he's been pretty out of it since he came back from seeing you. I gather he's told you what Daisy meant to him. If you've got it into your head that he was somehow able to commit murder, you've got it all wrong."
"Oh?" Plormot asked. "How would you know?"
"I was Captain Hernandez's steward during the war. I met Travis on occasion throughout, but we started working together afterwards. I stayed on as her assistant, and Travis took up as the helmsman. Anyway, I know I hid my history and employment with Captain Hernandez this morning, so I need you to know it, now.
"Travis could never hurt a fly. Literally. He was born in the void, you know. So any sort of insect was a minor miracle to him. It didn't matter if they they were mosquitoes and if they bit him, he couldn't bear to kill them. Daisy…" he choked.
"Daisy hated flies, and this one time there were several stuck in her room. Zia was new to Earth and didn't know what to do, so Daisy called for Travis. He spent a quarter of an hour leaping around her room with a jar and a net, tying to capture them alive and take them outside..." The steward's ordinarily unreadable face showed him plainly reliving a good memory.
"So you see, I've known Travis for years. I know he can seem a bit off as far as his emotions these days, but he's a good kid. He was put through the wringer during the investigation, but even they eventually realized he was only ever a big brother to her." The steward stared at them.
"Is that all you have to say?" Plormot asked.
"That is all, sir." Strophyr regarded them for a moment more before he turned and departed.
"This," Suric said, "is more improbable and astounding than any work of fiction I have ever read." Douqh drained his teacup.
"Out of twelve passengers, nine of them have now proved to have had a connection with the Archer Affair. What next? Or rather, who next?"
"But look," Plormot said. "Here comes our Earth-based sleuth, Zraevetsol." Indeed, the giant green man had entered and approached.
"Is he coming to confess?" Douqh whispered, but stopped when the orion drew near.
He flopped down into the seat across from them and gave a friendly huff.
"Do you have any idea what's going on with this ship? It's a mess, is what it is." Plormot grinned at him.
"Are you quite sure, Zraevetsol, that you were not the Archer's gardener?"
"They didn't have a gardener," he responded literally. "Besides, I've never had a 'green thumb.'" He grinned at the irony, given his obviously green pigmentation.
"So you weren't the dog walker?"
"Nope. They were never the type to ever have a need for one. As I understand it, they were the type to do the walking and grooming themselves. They were pretty hands-on with all that stuff. But, I see what you're asking.
"No, I was never employed by anyone in the family. I'm starting to think I'm about the only one on this ship who wasn't! Can you believe it? Seems like just about everyone here either worked for them, or was a member of the family!
"It's certainly a lot to digest," Plormot commented in a mild voice. "Do you have any theories of your own about this crime, Zraevetsol?"
"No, sir! I don't envy you the job you have ahead of you. I know I'm supposed to be a Pinkerton and all that, so I'm supposed to self-promote just how well-trained I am in the ways of detection. But I wouldn't have a clue as to where to even begin. How are you going to decide who here is the guilty party? Really, though, how did you figure out as much about the passengers as you did? That's what I really want to know."
"I guessed."
"You guessed? Well, then, you're an amazing guesser. You belong at the card table. If you ever decide to visit Vegas, hit me up and I'll hold a place at the table for you." Zraevetsol gave Plormot an admiring look.
"Maybe I've spent too much time around humans," he continued. "But you'll excuse me if this comes off as rude: No one would believe it to look at you, but you truly are brilliant."
"You are too kind, Zraevetsol."
"Nope, not at all. Credit where credit's due."
"Do not credit me too soon." Plormot said. "This case is not yet solved. Can we say with certainty that we know who killed Mr. Evered?"
"Count me out," said Zraevetsol. "I'm just full of admiration to you. I've heard of you, but I never imagined I'd get to see you work up close. As to the case, I've no idea.
"Hey," he said, uncrossing his leg and switching it with the other. "What about the other two you haven't had a second go around with? The old risian lady, the crazy one, and the betazoid one? I guess they're the only innocent people on this whole ship?"
"Unless," Plormot smiled, "we can work them into our cohort. Who would they be cast as? Say, an administrator of sorts?"
"Well, nothing wold surprise me at this point," Zraevetsol repeated. He grew lost for a moment before shaking his head again. "Nothing at all."
"Hilus," Douqh spoke up. "To 'cast' the final two in connection to the Archer Affair is madness. It defies any sense. They cannot all be in on it."
"You do not understand," Plormot countered. "Do you not know who killed Evered?"
"Do you?" Douqh shot back. Plormot nodded solemly.
"I have known for some time. It is so clear that I wonder you have not seen it also." Plormot looked to Zraevetsol. "What about you?"
"I told you, I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to even begin to tackle this case."
Plormot was silent a minute as he eyed the green man. Then:
"Zraevetsol, if you would please. Assemble everyone here. There are only two possible solutions to this case. I will lay them both before you all."