Triana Moore, Space Janitor: The Complete Humorous Sci Fi Mystery Series by Julia Huni

Author:Julia Huni [Huni, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-01T22:00:00+00:00

Five

People spilled out of the Happy Poel in the usual lunchtime rush. O’Neill pushed between bodies, ignoring the strange looks and snickers his clothing inspired. Once he got through the door, the crowd thinned, as most of them were queued up at the to go line.

He took a seat in the corner of the room, at one of the few empty tables. The Księżna dozed in a throne against the back wall. O’Neill did a double take. That throne appeared to be a twin to the one she’d been sitting in when they first met. She took her ‘duchess’ title seriously. Vanti had warned him to never approach the Księżna when she was sleeping, so he ordered a beer and waited.

The crowd flowed around him, dwindling as lunchtime ended, and folks headed back to work. Finally, Vanti stepped out of the kitchen. Her blonde hair hung limply on either side of her head, and a sheen covered her face. She wiped her hands on a towel, threw it down on the counter, and crossed to O’Neill’s table.

“Let’s go talk to her,” she said, jerking her head at the Księżna.

“I thought we had to wait until she wakes up.” O’Neill stood and followed Vanti across the room.

“She’s awake. She’s playing Galactic Aviator on a neural link.” Vanti pointed at a tiny red light on the throne. “The light turns green so Ye’an knows when she’s ‘receiving.’ She gets pissed if you interrupt her. But she called you here, so she’ll see us.”

The Księżna’s eyes opened, and the tiny light turned green. “I’m sure you von’t tell anyvon our leetle secret,” she said, pointing at the tiny light. “Seet here.” She waved at two low stools that sat on the dais next to her throne.

O’Neill gave Vanti a questioning look, but she just sat down. He followed her lead. A faint hum and vibration started, and the dais turned slowly, rotating through the wall. Seconds later, they found themselves in the same room where they’d visited the Księżna the first time.

“Nifty,” O’Neill said. “What’s up with the accent?”

The Księżna shrugged. “It’s expected. You can’t be duchess of the Poelish mafia if you sound like a station rat.” All trace of the accent was gone.

“Another thing,” O’Neill said. He was in a grumpy mood and didn’t care if the duchess knew it. “The first time we came here, you insisted we climb down an access shaft to avoid notice. Seems to me sitting on a turning platform in front of a full restaurant is hardly stealthy.”

“Now that ‘Lisa’ is working here, your visit is feasible. And it is not unusual for me to summon the partners of our new employees for a private visit. You can get away with a lot when you’re the Księżna. As to the rotating dais—I like a little drama. But now,” she threw off the blanket and stood, “we have work to do.”

“What work?” O’Neill crossed his arms and stayed stubbornly in his seat. “I basically witnessed a murder, didn’t manage to stop it, and the killer got away.

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