Infinite Justice Read online

  Infinite Justice

  Intergalactic Investigations

  Book One

  Shéa MacLeod

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Infinite Justice (Intergalactic Investigations, #1)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  A Note From Shéa MacLeod

  About Shéa MacLeod

  Non-Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod

  Cozy Mysteries by Shéa MacLeod

  Other Books by Shéa MacLeod

  Infinite Justice

  Intergalactic Investigations - Book One

  COPYRIGHT © 2014, 2017, 2019 by Shéa MacLeod

  Published 2014, 2017, 2019 by Sunwalker Press

  Portland, OR, USA

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art: Jessica Allain/https://www.enchanted-whispers.com/

  Edited by Theo Fenraven

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  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual person, places, events, or situations is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  THE COPPER TANG OF blood hit her nose a split second after her cranial implants flashed a red warning across her vision.

  Caution: Violent Death Detected.

  Gee, thanks so much. I woulda missed that.

  Her stomach turned at the sickening stench, but Zala Lei didn’t hesitate as she strode into the dark hangar, spine stiff. Her boots thunked purposefully against the plascrete floor. She was a Syndicate Captain, by the deity. This was her drakking job.

  It was a relief to get out of the infernal downpour outside. Even her nano-enhanced flight suit hadn’t been able to keep up with the onslaught of a Formia storm. She’d landed at the spaceport an hour earlier to glorious sunshine, but within minutes clouds had scudded across the sky, blocking the planet’s twin suns. Daylight turned into twilit murk.

  Disappointing. She rarely got to see the suns from planet-side, but she wasn’t here for a holiday. Like the traveling circuit judges of Old Earth’s West, it was her job to find the truth and mete out justice, regardless of how far from the home world a planet was.

  Zala zeroed in on the scene in front of her as she absentmindedly brushed drops of water from her dark, curly hair—a gift from her Moroccan acestors. Retina-searing lights shone down on a huddled form as crime scene drones hovered above what she assumed was the body. Dark, rusty red splashed across the gray floor and sprayed in drops over stacks of shipping crates in a garish display, like a late twentieth century “modern” painting gone horribly wrong.

  She clenched her jaw so hard it ached. Bloody scenes were not her favorite. You can do this.

  “Captain, thank the Mother you’re here.” A stocky man separated himself from a small group of people huddled outside the drones’ barrier of light, his blue uniform and shiny badge declaring him the local constable or whatever the Hades they called him on this godsforsaken planet. The man in charge, at any rate. She repressed a grimace. Working with the locals could be a pain in the ass.

  His gaze fixed on the cobalt tattoo swirling around her right eye, the mark of a House scion. She didn’t like showing it, but in instances like this it was efficient. It did away with any question of who was really in charge.

  “The body?” she asked in an attempt to jar him back to the matter at hand.

  He started, glancing away with a blush. “This is the second one we’ve found this month. That’s why we called you. We’re just not equipped to handle this.” Sweat glistened on his forehead. Mother, he’d better not get sick all over her crime scene. “Er, Chief Byres, by the way. I, uh, I guess I’m the head of this investigation.” If his frown got any deeper, he’d end up with permanent grooves. Displeased, was he? She almost laughed at the thought. She’d bet under normal circumstances he was thrilled to the bone to be the Big Man. She was familiar with the type. Power hungry until things went wrong. Right now, they were very wrong. “Was the head,” he amended.

  “Thank you for calling in the Syndicate. We are always happy to help.” She recited the response by rote.

  He practically wilted with relief.

  Zala nodded toward the body. “Tell me.” She spoke brusquely, knowing it was what he wanted. As a Syndicate Captain she had a reputation to uphold. A captain was the only thing standing between order and utter chaos in the barely civilized outer planets. Not that the Syndicate gave two shiyats about the worlds on the fringes of human space. They only cared about the bottom line, and law and order meant a flush bottom line.

  She pulled a small aerosol can from her utility belt and sprayed her hands. The liquid hardened instantly into a flexible material not unlike rubber, though it was environmentally friendly, breaking down into an organic compound after use. It was a genius invention, eliminating the need for gloves.

  Chief Byres cleared his throat, face ashen as he fidgeted with the tight Mandarin collar of his uniform. “You should know that while Formia has a certain reputation, our little piece of it is downright civilized. Peaceful, even. Why, there ain’t been a murder in Thorpeton in nearly twenty cycles.”

  Certain reputation? No kidding. The planet was one of the worst hellholes in the system, teeming with cutthroats, murderers, and the occasional pirate. If not for the drain on resources, the Syndicate Houses would have eliminated the entire colony and started over with more amenable settlers.

  Twenty cycles on Formia was approximately twelve Syndicate years. The Syndicate held to the old ways, syncing time to the home world, Earth, despite none of them having set foot on the planet for centuries. It was a closed world now, a monument to the past that only allowed a handful of visitors per annum. But it was still technically home to the human race, no matter how far flung they became.

  “Twenty cycles. What a stellar record. Yet you’ve had two murders in the past month.” Her tone was dry. How many times had local authorities insisted their town was the “safe” one, even after bodies began piling up?

  Byres
swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Actually, we’ve had three murders,” he admitted, going crimson. “First was four months ago. We thought it a one-off. Domestic or some such. The second body appeared two weeks ago. Now this.”

  As if a woman murdered by her partner was no big deal. A common attitude on the outer planets, where the matriarchal leanings of the Syndicate held little sway, but it made her blood boil. Unfortunately, strangling the jackass to death wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t change anything anyway, although it would be mighty satisfying.

  She walked toward the crime scene. The drones let her pass without so much as a squawk of protest, thanks to her Syndicate implants.

  She stood over the body and took in the scene: the massive amount of spilled blood, the nearly pristine body. She squatted for a better look. The dead woman huddled on her right side. She was youngish, perhaps Zala’s age. Mid-twenties at most. Her hair, once ashy blonde, was rusty red with drying blood. The attack had been vicious, but the victim’s face was untouched other than a bruise on her chin. Blitz attack, likely. One punch to the jaw, and she’d gone down, then he’d smashed the back of her head against the floor over and over.

  Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard and ordered her implants to calm her stomach. She let out a tiny sigh of relief as they worked their magic, sending a soothing coolness through her system. The head wound explained the blood spatter on the crates. She noted they were marked for delivery to Valhalla, the Syndicate’s nearest space station. Her implants automatically uploaded the information to the computers onbard her ship, Infinite Justice, for further evaluation. Where had the pool of blood under the torso come from? “Can she be moved?” She raised her voice to be heard over the incessant drumming of the rain on the metal roof.

  The chief hadn’t moved from his position just outside the crime scene. Chicken shiyat. “Er, yes,” he said. “The drones finished scanning hours ago, and the techs already gathered evidence. You can take a gander down at the station if you like. The files have already been sent to your ship.”

  Sometimes she had to gather her own evidence, but apparently Thorpeton had enough of a police force she could skip that part. She completed her own quick scan of the scene, but her implants caught nothing. Byres’s people had done a thorough job.

  She grasped the woman’s shoulder and rolled her gently onto her back. A trail of serial numbers scrolled across Zala’s vision. The victim had at one time been given implants. Nothing like her own Syndicate issue, these were high-end sex worker implants which enhanced vocal timbre, pheromone strength, stamina, and other assets. What was a high-rent girl doing on this shiyathole planet? Sex workers of this caliber stuck to the inner worlds, working the pleasure planets or the clubs catering to House scions.

  She reached for the jacket lapel. If the marks were there, she’d know for sure.

  She peeled back the edges of the dead woman’s jacket. The victim was bare from the waist up except for an expensive black lace and silk bra. Six savage slashes marked her torso, like a macabre attempt at scarification only much, much deeper.

  Shiyat.

  She sat back on her heels. “It’s him.”

  “Pardon me, Captain? It’s who?” Byres’s voice wavered slightly.

  She stood swiftly, peeled the rubber-like substance from her hands, and dropped it into the nearest receptacle. “Show me the other bodies.”

  Chief Byres looked more worried than ever. As well he should be. She’d seen this methodology before, on another planet, at another time. And this time she was sure. Never mind what the Syndicate analysts claimed. She was chasing a serial killer. One she knew very well.

  FROM THE SHADOWS HE watched her kneeling over his handiwork. His chest swelled with pride. She would see what he was capable of, and she would be afraid.

  Ah, she was a beauty. Porcelain skin, dark hair frizzing in the rain, large round eyes of the most stunning green—a mark of her Chinese ancestry. And that tattoo. His fingers itched to trace it.

  But that wasn’t what drew him to her like a moth to flame. It was what was inside, what made her unique among all his women. He practically salivated at the thought.

  Almost without volition, he reached out as if to grab her. Cursing under his breath, he curled his hands into tight fists until the nails cut into flesh. The pain reminded him of his goals. His plans.

  This was not the time. This was not the place.

  “Patience, dear boy,” he whispered. “Good things come to those who wait.”

  THE THORPETON MORGUE was, like most morgues on most worlds, located in the basement of the squat, plastcrete building that housed the police station. In Thorpeton, it was also the town hall and the city court. It huddled, an ugly gray dome, in the center of town, surrounded by smaller buildings. Mostly domes, mostly gray. There was more than one bar and more than one church, but not a single library.

  Mother, Thorpeton is an ugly city.

  The rain had stopped, and the suns broke through the clouds. It didn’t improve the settlement’s look. It was still drakking ugly. Muddy, too. On the edge of the horizon were smudges of green that might be plant life, but here in town, it was just mud.

  Byres led her down wide, plastcrete steps, his footfalls thudding loudly in the echoing chamber. At the bottom was a door with a small placard that said MORGUE in faded letters.

  “Bodies come through the rear,” he explained. “There’s a ramp back there.”

  She didn’t care. Figured he was making small talk. Nervous, probably. Most people were nervous around her. A House scion and a Syndicate captain? It was their worst nightmare come to life. The truth was she was about as powerful within the Syndicate as a gnat, but Byres didn’t need to know that.

  He stood aside to let her into the morgue. It was shiny, clean, and surprisingly modern.

  “Greetings, Captain.” The smooth, toneless greeting came from the morgue assistant, a humanoid android with shining silver skin and glowing blue eyes.

  “Greetings, M10,” she replied, giving it the usual designation.

  “Dr. Manchego calls me Bob.” The glowing blue eyes were downright eerie in the blank face. “He says it makes me less alien.”

  “Right,” she said. M10s weren’t alien at all, but human creations, but she could see why this Dr. Manchego would try to humanize the android.

  “She’s here to see the other two bodies, Bob,” Byres said.

  Bob inclined his head with surprising elegance. “I will get them for you.”

  “Where’s the doctor?” she asked Byres as Bob disappeared through a door on the other side of the room.

  “Out sick today. Or fishing, more like.”

  “You have fish here?” It surprised her. The planet seemed so...lifeless. From orbit, it had been an ugly brown ball.

  “River up north. Got some big ones in that water. Ain’t much to look at but good eating.”

  Bob returned with a bang of the door, pushing one gurney and pulling a second one behind him. They hovered inches above the floor, easily moving wherever he took them.

  “These are the two murder victims,” Bob said unnecessarily. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to see?”

  “Their injuries.” “I will show them to you. Please step closer.”

  “I’ll meet you up top,” Byres muttered and hurried out the door, looking a little green around the gills.

  Ignoring him, she stepped up to the gurneys, swallowing her own reaction. Bob pointed out bruising and skull damage consistent with the latest victim.

  She finally had to ask. “Are there any knife wounds?”

  Was it her, or did his expressionless face hold a knowing expression? “In fact there are.” He pulled the sheet lower.

  On the torso were six neat slashes.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU SURE IT’S HIM, Captain?” Audley, navigator and first officer of Zala’s ship, the Infinite Justice, furrowed his brow so hard the wrinkles had wrinkles. He was a big man with long braids an
d dark skin. Formidable and scary as Hades, if you didn’t know him.

  “Of course, I am,” Zala snapped. “I’d know his handiwork anywhere.” Bile churned again at the memory of the body she’d just examined. Just as before, her implants rushed to soothe her system.

  Audley didn’t have the grace to look repentant. Instead he looked doubtful. “I dunno. Could be a copycat. Ain’t Tannen been dead the last five years? Seems a mite unlikely he’d up and start killin’ again.”

  She snorted. “True, but remember, nobody ever saw his body.”

  “Well, damn me.”

  “Indeed.”

  He shook his head, the gold and ruby beads in his multitude of breads clicking and clacking. “You think he survived a firestorm like that?”

  “Anything is possible. He could have escaped before the prison ship blew.” More’s the pity. Tanner had been a monster. Her first. The only reason she’d been able to sleep nights was the belief he was gone for good.

  It wasn’t her that captured him. That dubious honor had gone to another. But everyone had celebrated that catch. There’d even been talk of rescinding the moratorium on the death penalty, his crimes had been so grievous, but the Syndicate House heads had voted against it.

  “We’re not savages,” her mother had declared.

  They’d stuck Tannen in the only place safe, a prison ship next to an asteroid belt, light years from inhabited space. To this day nobody knew what went wrong, only that there’d been an explosion that vaporized everyone aboard.

  But maybe there’d been one survivor.

  “What do we do now?” Audley asked as she slid into the captain’s chair and tapped numerous buttons on the arm. Images flashed across the viewscreen. “Deity, give a guy some warning, would ya?” He turned his head aside to avoid the pictures.

  “Sorry.” The images were of Tanner’s victims—each crime scene and body laid out clearly in three dimensions. It almost felt as if she could reach out and touch them. She studied them closely, looking for something, anything.