“Any other ideas?” Radnor asked.  “Governor is upset I haven’t arrested the guilty parties yet.  I have no idea who they are.  That’s assuming there’s a guilty party, not a poison geyser.  Can’t arrest Yosemite, even if it kills someone sometimes.”

“One.” Winston smiled.  “Is there a surveying place that owes a favor you can call in?  I need the height of something measured.”

“Spencer and Sons,” Radnor answered.  For once, he thought, Winston had asked a simple question.  “Tell them I sent you.  Three streets down, hang a left, about half a block down on the right.”

Spencer and Sons had a modest sign hanging out beyond their awnings.  The hum of electric fans filled the air inside.  Several younger men, and a younger woman, were seemingly hard at work at desks. An older man sat in back, his desk on a modestly raised platform.  He waved  at Winston, summoning him.

Winston, hat in hand, walked swiftly to the rear of the room.

“Yes, Deputy? I hope nothing is wrong here,” the older man said.

“Hello.  I’m Winston Cooper.  The Sheriff, Radnor Cooper, is my grandfather.  He sent me.”

“And I am James Spencer,” the older man said as he stood.  “I own this establishment.  Why did Radnor send you?”

“I’m in charge of investigating the blasted heath,” Winston explained.  “Gramps, Sheriff Cooper, gave me the job. He thinks I went to Harvard so I know everything.  Not hardly.  But I have a surveying problem, so he said I should ask you for help, if you’d be willing.  It’s one height measurement, no more, and can be done from town.”

“Understood,” Tzoltzin said, “though I am confident that the Republic can currently find all the drive cores you need to maintain your shipping fleet, at a very small fraction of the expense of developing a new class of ship, as you are doing.  After all, you do have a fiduciary responsibility to your debtors and stockholders  to maximize their profits.”

“As it happens, the only remaining debts are owed to me,” Chelan said, “the ownership rights are divided between me and the Seldon Legion, and we are in complete agreement as to our plans, plans that include the construction effort that you were so kind as to inspect today.  So I am grateful for your extremely generous offer, but I must decline.”

“For you and leading Legion members, it would be possible to arrange highly lucrative consultancies,” Tzoltzin observed, “if you were to accept my offer.  Very highly lucrative consultancies.”

“Your offer is overwhelmingly generous, but I am legally forbidden to accept such an offer.”  He shook his head firmly.  “Citizens of the Anglic Union may not work for foreigners.  There is also a question of currency exchange under your laws.   You have a very long flight back to Batavia.  I have other work to which I must urgently attend.  I believe in the interests of amity we should allow you to return home.”

“I understand that sometimes local cultures have strong and highly proper reasons for going about things in expensive and inefficient ways, and I respect you for holding to your reasons,” Tzoltzin said. “And I can see where certain of my colleagues have been – I believe that the amusing English phrase that you may not know is’hoist by their own petard’ – caught up by their own cleverness.”

Chelan wondered how Tzoltzin could manage that line without laughing.

“To set forth on the starry void in a ship of your own design,” Tzoltzin said, “is an act of great courage, which I much respect. If you change your mind, the offer remains open.  But you are correct. I should be on my path homeward.”

“In that case,” Chelan said, “thank your for your remarkably generous offer.  Only a fool would foreclose accepting such a proposal on drive cores and fusactors, let alone on the consultancies, so I shall not do so.”

* * * * *

Several days later, a troop of state militia cavalry showed up at City Hall.  The troop dismounted in the Public Common, waiting while their Lieutenant filed his report via Western Union.  They’d spent three days riding the length of the missing rails, looking for survivors of the train wrecks.  None had been found.  Isolated farm houses had been destroyed, leaving nothing beyond foundations and fireplaces.

Winston dutifully walked across the Common.  Grandpa had told him to ask if anything had  been seen near the Jameson Ranch.  The troopers, Winston thought, were remarkably lackadaisical.   Their horses were mangy horseflesh.  He counted.

“Are some of your horses someplace else?” he asked.  “There seem to be more of you than horses to ride on.”

“We had three horses die,” the troop’s Sergeant said.  “We brought along plenty of fodder.  Streams were  running clean.  No idea what happened. And when we left, horses were in prime condition, not like this, not at all.”

“I see.” Winston shook his head.  “A shame about the horses.  Sheriff asked if you had seen anything near the Jameson ranch — that was the last foundation before you came back to normal ground.”

“No, sir,” the Sergeant answered, “but by then we were just pushing to get out of the orange sand.  Especially at night, it’s unearthly. It glows.  Strange colors. Frightening.”

“Thank you, then, Sergeant,” Winston tipped his hat.  “I have my work waiting for me.”  He tapped his badge, saluted, stepped away from the cavalrymen, and headed back to the Jail.

Grandfather was waiting for him.  Raised eyebrows sent a clear message.

“No such luck,” Winston said.  “They saw nothing.  But warn people to keep out of the area.  They lost three horses in three days, the other horses look sick, and the men don’t look all that well, either.  Your poison gas guess…there may still be some hanging around.”

“Oh, joy.” Radnor frowned deeply.  “So if we get a strong south wind, it comes here?  That’s not good.  Perhaps that orange stuff is bad for you?  It doesn’t blow around; the grains stick to each other.  You sent some of those pretty rocks and the orange sand off to California to tell us what they are.  Have you heard yet?”

“No, Gramps.  Figure a week to reach the place where Honest Ike told me to send samples, at best another week for them to tell us what’s there, and another week for a letter to get back.  We might know next month.”

“I see,” Tzoltzin acknowledged.  “As per treaty, I need a few minutes to record all this.”

“The treaty is clear,” Bell answered.  “If you want us to adjust the listing, you have but to ask.”

“Not necessary.”  His free hand made a gesture of negation.  “I should apologize for doubting your honesty.  A ship without alpha cores? In my many years as an Inspector, this outcome has not previously arisen.  You see, when you reach my age – when I was born, this continent had not yet had European settlements — you can still have new experiences.  This is good.”  

Recording finished, the party headed back toward Tzoltzin’s aircar.   Victor Chelan stood in the parking lot, awaiting their return.  He wore the classic men’s garb of the last century, tan trousers, shirt and open tunic, high-collared full-length cream dress cape, and a conical hat.

“Senior Inspector,” Chelan said, not bothering to smile, “I gather you have some questions for me?”

“You will not receive me in your office?” Tzoltzin asked.

“Your inspection area is limited to spaceships we are building,”  Chelan answered.  “Unless you claim I have a starship under my desk?”  Good try, he thought, but you do not get to insert spyprobes everywhere.

“Clearly not,” Tzoltzin acknowledged.  “However, I have been shown an improbable object, namely a spaceship with no alpha cores, nor any place to put them, and wonder if there is some deception.”

“That’s a legitimate concern,” Chelan answered.  “Not tactful, but legitimate.  Our current freight haulers are quite old.  At some point they will wear out, needing huge amounts of maintenance.  One has already worn out.  Inquiries by past management revealed a galaxy-wide alpha drive core and fusactor shortage, in that they could not buy either alpha cores or high-field fusactors.  From anyone.  We are therefore building ships – you saw the test bed vessel – that are based only on devices we can build without trespassing on your patent rights.”

“Building ships?” Tzoltzin asked.  “More than one?”

“I expect I will be seeing a great deal of you,” Chelan answered.  “The number of inspections climbs impressively as the ship becomes larger.  Unless you decide to trust us, in which case you could skip most of your during-construction inspections.  Of course, trust is a rare and expensive commodity.”

“Perhaps, if you limited yourself to replacing your current ships, we could find new alpha cores for you,”  Tzoltzin said, “enough to maintain your current vessels, so you could avoid the vast expense of developing new classes of spaceship.”

“That would be an interesting alternative,” Chelan said, “but I think we prefer our current approach, which does not risk putting you in the embarrassing position, someday, of having to tell us that the Stellar Republic is out of alpha drive cores again.  After all, to advance amity it is best not to do things that would embarrass your amicable partners.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll keep them elsewhere.”

“Why were you interested in them, anyhow?  And the sand?” Radnor asked.

“Never seen sand like that.  And there were patches everywhere. Besides the pretty rocks on the ground, the ones in the bottle, there were several stuck into what was left of the house’s concrete wall.  Only the south side of the house.  And the concrete looked spalled where the stones were imbedded. Had to be going at a good clip when they hit the wall.”

“Sensible.  And here we are at the Trinity, and I see the special is all sold out.  You like prime rib?” Radnor asked.

* * * * *

Much later in the evening, Winston returned to the Sheriff’s office. 

“Evening, Hugh,” he called to the Sergeant on duty.

‘Evening, Winston…been quiet since you two left.  Two familiar drunks now in the tank. One fistfight, settled before our man got there, with apologies all around.  Phone calls, now from the Eastern press.  Chicago. New York.  Washington.  Boston.  All want to know about  south of here.  Someone’s calling it the  ‘blasted heath’.  I told each of them.  I’m the night desk.  No one told me anything.  That aeroplane that flew in today.  They saw things, told the Phoenix Rising Sun about it.  Sun ran a big extra.  Those newspapers heard wild rumors from the Sun.  Rail tracks gone.  Trains destroyed.  Railmaster called. Figure a two day delay in mail from Phoenix, so we see that newspaper last.”

Winston’s mail was waiting, locked in his desk.   The envelope was from the Physical Review.  “…apologies for the delay…took paper to Europe to ask an opinion…Einstein says yes…Bohr is furious…I am pleased to accept your paper ‘A Proposed Experimental Test of the Photon Hypothesis’…”  The paper was surely good news.  It meant that his stay in Prescott would not destroy his career.  The letter from Einstein discussed photons.  Winston decided that he was honored to be included in the small circle of men to whom Einstein thought it worthwhile to write. A reply would need careful consideration.

The phone rang. Winston dutifully picked up the receiver.  Polite back-and-forth revealed that the caller was from the Los Angeles Times.  He wanted to know who had caused the blasted heath, and how it could be prevented from forming again elsewhere.  Winston alternated ‘we don’t comment on ongoing investigations’ with ‘no comment’ and ‘a hitherto unnoticed volcanic fissure that erupts burning sand’, not that it stopped the reporter.

The Times reporter finally hung up.  Winston remarked to Hugh “A few more days, and these reporters will all be here.  It will be a complete circus.”

Local Issues delayed Post

“As you wish,” Tzoltzin answered.  “Your position agrees with precedent.  It just makes things slow.”

“To give you news you may find more positive,” Bell said, “you had asked to speak to Victor Chelan. By the time you are finished with your inspection, he will be available for an exchange of opinions.”

“This is indeed good news.”

“And here is the ship dock,” Bell said. She pointed at a bright white dome two hundred yards across.  “For your purposes we would best enter through the side door B.”  She pointed.  The transporter wheeled inside.

Construction Dock 3 was brightly lit, a highly reflective roof removing every shadow.  The air was warm and pleasantly dry.

“As you see,” Bell said, “We’re only assembling ship framing as needed to support modules as they are installed.  From this angle you can see where decking will be inserted.  However,  in the area toward the bottom where there are already deck plates, down and toward the rear, you may be able to make out where several drive and fusactor modules have been inserted.  You asked, so we’ll look at those first.”  The transporter wheeled down a ramp.  “As your inspection probe should show, those are both beta drive cores.  The large object in between is a conventional low-field civilian fusactor.”

Tzoltzin looked at his handcomp.  “Indeed,” he said, “I confirm that these are beta cores, and that the device between them is indeed a high-power low-field fusactor.  None of these would be expected to have IP tags.”

“Now perhaps it is clearer why I meant no offense, when I said you would not be getting the IP codes. There were none for you to receive.  I can also point out where the other fusactors and drive coils will be mounted,” Bell continued. “There’s four of each in a square down there, and another square of four, to be installed near the top of the ship, where the strakes and ribs have yet to be installed.”

“Three fist fights,” Winston answered. “Two domestic disturbances.  Two women, allegedly of negotiable virtue.  New crowd screaming and shouting at the train station.  I had to send everyone I could find to the station, but the crowd calmed down.  No arrests needed.  Oh, I finished my report.  You get to tell me what I left out.”

“Precious little, I expect. ” Radnor asked. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No, and I missed lunch, too.  Though that time with the Mayor was relaxing,” Winston said.

Radnor frowned.  “Eat on time!  Your meals, house special, are covered at Trinity House Cafe.  So let us advance there, though down Flint Street.”

“You’re fond of Flint Street for some reason,” Winston observed.

“Never told you that story, have I?” Radnor smiled.  “Stupid Hollywood types have Main Street at high noon gun fights in every movie.  We actually had one.”

“And you know this because…?”

“I won.”

“What?” Winston exclaimed. “You were actually in a gun fight?  Mom and Dad never told me.”

“It was a good idea at the time.  So we lined up, several blocks apart, started walking toward each other.  There was a big audience.  I looked for people who weren’t there.  They had brains.  I wanted to listen to  them.  Like the attractive young lady visiting from Boston who finally married your dad.  In any event, we were a couple hundred yards apart, and I started my draw.”

“That far? But you outdrew him?”

“Heck, no,” Radnor answered.  “I started to draw, so he drew and started shooting.  I kept walking, finally stopped, held my pistol in both hands, and took careful aim.   By this time, he was out of ammunition, having hit two water troughs and the big glass window on the general store.  I would’ve lost the bet I didn’t make.  I was sure he’d hit someone in the audience.  He didn’t.  On six shots, I hit him twice.  He dropped to the ground, screaming, had the brains to throw his pistol away, so I didn’t pull my other pistol and finish him off.  Doc managed to patch him up.  He spent much time working without pay to repay the general store for its window.”

“Amazing,” Winston said.

“Stupidest thing I ever did in my life,” Radnor said.  “Don’t ever think of doing it yourself.  Mentioning stupid or not, collecting those rocks is what I told you to do,” Radnor said, “but rocks don’t kill people.  They’re yours to keep, souveneirs, whatever, but don’t waste office space or on-duty time on them.”

“Understood.” Bell smiled.  “I’ll try to make sure no strange customs are exposed.”

The Senior Inspector waddled across the tarmac. Bell turned to face him, hands forward, palms up.  That was supposed to be the polite formal greeting for a Creztailian, a greeting he returned.

“Tzoltzin,” He announced.

“Bell,” she responded.

“I expected to meet here Victor Chelan as person in command of this facility,” Tzoltzin announced.  “Where is he?  For that matter, where is my Honor Guard?”

Bell wished matters had started more smoothly.  “I am Boss of the Yard,” she answered.   “I believe that translates as *Master of the Works*, as close as I can pronounce your language.  With respect to an Honor Guard, this is a private not an Anglic Union facility, so we do not indulge in military frippery.” She waited for a response.

“You speak my language well,” Tzoltzin said, “given your vocal apparatus.   I see we already have an agreement on something, namely a dislike of idle ceremony.”

 “it is always good to begin with an agreement,” Bell said.  “You want to discuss manufacturing operations, you need to talk to me, or wait for Victor to ask me what the answers to your questions are. Or perhaps to ask me what your questions mean.”

“Boss of the Yard?” Tzoltzin asked, his voice a deep rumble.  “Perhaps closer as ‘Great Commander of Building Things?”

“A title showing much respect, Senior Inspector, for what is after all a small and limited facility.  You honor me,” Bell acknowledged.  “In that case we should perhaps be getting under way.” She gestured for the passenger transporter.  “We may talk while we are going to the new ship you with to inspect.”

Passengers loaded, the transporter began its slow wheel toward Construction Bay Three.  “I must give a formal statement,” Tzoltzin said.  “It has been brought to the attention of the Stellar Republic that you are constructing a spaceship.  Under our Treaty of Amity, we are entitled to inspect this vessel to ensure that you are respecting our intellectual property rights, primarily with respect to high-density fusactors and alpha cores.  I am therefore here to perform an inspection, the first of several under the voluntary Treaty of Amity.”

Voluntary, Bell thought, my tight and well-shaped backside.  They made clear they’d keep supporting their fake rebel groups unless we agreed to sign. At least they agreed their IP rules would only be enforced in their territory, not ours, but they get to inspect my ship for violations.

“I should then ask for the IP codes for your fusactors and alpha core,” Tzotzin said.  “That way, I can rapidly confirm you are building a spaceship by buying alpha cores and fusactors, not violating our intellectual property rights. I can look at the units, and then be on my way.”

“We are not violating the Treaty of Amity,” Bell said.  “However, there are no codes that you will be given.”

Tzoltzin’s cheek pouches inflated. “You are not entitled to refuse to give me the codes in question,” he said firmly.

Interesting, she thought, his English is almost accent-free.  “I am not refusing,” she said.  “We support amity.  I understand your concern, but matters will be simpler to clarify once you have inspected the ship.  I am absolutely confident that you will find that you have no grounds for complaint.”

He shook his head.  “In that case, I believe that this conversation has advanced to its natural stopping point.”

“Agreed,” Broadbent said.  “I’m always happy to talk with you on issues of mutual interest.  That’s one of the reasons I am here, after all.”

“Thank you for taking my call,” Bronkowski answered.  “It is always very pleasant to talk to you.  Bronkowski out.”

“Broadbent out,” Broadbent echoed while she closed down the call. She inhaled her tea’s aroma.  It was a fine tea for such a dreary day.  She opened a channel on her deskcomp and began to dictate a report on the conversation.  Bronkowski appeared to know something that she didn’t, a position she did not like to be in.

Inspector Tzoltzin

The day was warm and humid, even with the morning sun not that far off the horizon.  Four centuries ago, Elaine Bell thought,  that Pacific current offshore would have been a cold current, so Humbold Bay ran twenty degrees colder than it does now.  The ocean was then cold, not semitropical.  It wasn’t so hot that she was sweating, though she would be happier when she moved to an air-conditioned work space.

*Inspector Tzoltzin’s aircar is entering its final approach.*  The voice in her ear was the only-occasionally-manned Bulger Flight Control Center.  Soon enough, she felt in her bones the hum of a vehicle landing on its alpha drive core.  Showy, she thought.  Emphasizes the Stellar Republic’s superiority over us primitive natives.  They can use alpha cores for air cars.  We can’t even build them.  A large area on one parking lot had been marked off with luminous cones. The air car settled to the ground very close to the center of its landing area.

The hum faded as the aircar’s drives powered down.  As they stopped, she marched across the tarmac toward a remarkably large vehicle, all painted in Republic orange.  More like an armoured combat support vehicle, Bell thought; it would appear to be overkill for transporting a somewhat junior embassy official across a continent at peace. A side hatch opened.  Broad stairs, wide enough for two people to walk abreast, swung down.

A young man, tall, well-muscled, in the dress uniform of the Stellar Republic’s embassy guards,  walked down the stairs and stood to the side.  Long sleeves, Bell thought, really dark grey bottom and top, gold stripes on the trousers,  no hat…this fellow will be uncomfortable if he has to stand in the sun for very long.  And Junior Lieutenant’s stripes.  Someone does not think much of the Senior Inspector.  After a few moments the batrachian visage of Senior Inspector Tzoltzin appeared at the hatch.  The inspector was a Creztailian, very far from home across the galaxy, interacting with space aliens – us, she corrected – with strange customs and habits.  Creztailians were armored mammals, much of their bodies being parked behind bony plates.  He was undoubtedly also staunchly loyal to the Stellar Republic and its interpretation of intellectual property laws.

“Lieutenant,” she said,  nodding politely. “I’m Elaine Bell, here to meet the Senior Inspector.”

“I am Lieutenant Tashiro Junichiro, Junior Lieutenant Tashiro if we are being formal.  I am here as the Senior Inspector’s Adjutant and shield from strange local customs.”

 * * * *

The end of a long walk brought Winston to the Sheriff’s headquarters and city jail.   He barely managed to hang up his hat when his grandfather called from his office. 

“Winston, where were you?  Did you solve the murders yet?”

“No, Gramps,” Winston answered, “in fact, I found four more of them.  One with evidence, three suspicious disappearances. But I brought the mail.  You have four pieces, and a stack of telegrams.”

“Telegrams?”  Grandpa Winston growled.  “And my phone has been ringing off the hook.  The late night passenger train from Albuquerque through Phoenix didn’t get here.  People want to know where it is. I can’t tell people it was wrecked, no sign of survivors.  So I tell them we are investigating.  What’s this about murders?”

Winston pulled a sample bottle from his pocket.  “Rudolph Schudel, jeweler, says that that wedding ring for sure belonged to Susie Jameson.  She and husband owned that ranch along the tracks south of here.   The other ring is missing its gemstone.  Her dentist was William Washington.  He says he’d recently filled her first three cavities.  Three fillings were found on the ground.  Washington said they match, roughly, what he put in.  There was a faint shadow of a skeleton, not even ashes, on the ground where I found these, at what was left of her ranch.  Her husband and two ranchhands are missing, no sign of them.”

“Oh, joy,” Gramps said.  “I can pass off these other things as not in my jurisdiction, but the Jameson Ranch for sure is.  That’s where I buy my horses.  And … was the body hers?  I’ve hanged men on less evidence.  Good work!  But nothing was left of the body?  Just a dusting of ash? Never heard of such a  thing.  Okay, you have the phone.  I get to read these and join the coroner at the train station.”

Winston returned to his desk and began outlining a report.

* * * * *

“Winston?” Radnor Cooper called to his grandson.  “I’m back.  Oh, you were right.  Two dead in the signal tower.  No idea why they died.  That place was locked tighter than a drum.  At the ranch, we found three more skeletons, what was left of them.  They all look to have been running when they fell and died.   Coroner took pictures.  He also recovered a fair amount of ash…need to show it’s human bone remains, not some kid marking chalk on a sidewalk.  What did I miss?”