You've Been Served

Taylor wanted to sprint. Every fiber of her being urged her to pump her legs and run full speed, but the half gravity of the small moon made that impossible. Instead, she fought against instinct to maintain a loping stride that covered ground faster than her pursuers could hope to keep up for any length of time … as long as she stayed under the canopy of the thin, alien trees.

The slow descent on each stride gave her time to react to any irregularities in the ground. She wondered if it was how the world felt to cats. The thought of her cat back home took her attention away from what she was doing, and she pushed off at a bad angle. Taylor wasted the energy from the step that should’ve propelled her forward to leap almost straight up.

She corrected on the next step and scolded herself for losing focus. Far too soon, the edge of the forest approached. The clear light of the system’s sun mixed with the reflected pink of the gas giant the moon orbited, painting the ground beyond the forest a pale puce.

With no choice but to continue, Taylor maintained her pace past the edge of the trees, and across the cleared fields. The hope of safety was still kilometers away. The odd pace wore at her. It was more like climbing stairs than running. She’d run 20k races, half-marathons, and one full marathon, but this was punishing in a whole new way.

She passed a small pile of stones that might mean nothing to others, but to her it meant she was only nine kilometers from the ship. She forced herself to keep up the pace while sweat dripped from her brow and blurred her vision.

The first she knew she’d been caught was when the net tripped her up, even as she ripped through it with her momentum. Before she could get back on her feet, a warning shot heated the ground in front of her, creating a small pool of black glass.

“Shit.”

Vehicles surrounded her, tall, blue-grey aliens manning turrets atop each one, all aimed at her. Her job had put her in dangerous situations before, but this was ridiculous. As far as she could tell, these guys, gals — or whatever — were military. The very human wildlife photographer she’d just served was not remotely involved with any military, especially these aliens.

“What is this? A ransom situation?” she asked. “You won’t get anything out of my employer, and none of my friends or family have ransom money.”

“You are under arrest for violation of the Aqualarius treaty, section nineteen, part twenty-two,” the synthetic voice of the translator came over a loudspeaker. “Do not move from your position until instructed by the officers.”

“Aquarius what?” Taylor groaned. “Whatever. I’m not moving anywhere. Don’t shoot me.”

An hour later, she was seated in an interrogation room in a ship breaking orbit from the moon. Her own little runabout had been towed in and docked in the aliens’ ship. The furniture was built for them, her feet dangling above the ground, and the table high enough to lay her head on without bending over too far.

The interrogator entered, dressed in the usual black attire of the aliens rather than the camouflage that the arresting team had worn. “I’m investigator Sirlian. Sorry we don’t have a booster seat for you,” she said in perfect English.

“Very funny.”

“I was being serious.” Sirlian spread her three-fingered hand on the table to start up the recording devices in the room. Each of the three fingers and the thumb were all overly long with one too many joints. “Let’s start with the basics. Who are you?”

“Taylor McAllister. I’m a public process server will All-Where Services.”

“You’re from Sol three?”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah. Earth. And before you ask, I’m originally from British Columbia and currently reside in Berlin.”

Sirlian titled her head. “What were you doing on the wildlife sanctuary moon Ixaros?”

“My job. I was serving papers from the 14th Division Civil Court to Mr. Jason Betham.”

“What were those papers about?”

Taylor shrugged. “Not my business. We don’t ever know. We serve the papers, get paid, and that’s the end of our involvement. Although, based on how he acted, my guess would be divorce or someone’s suing him for being a massive dickhole.”

“Well enough.” Sirlian leaned forward. “According to the Aqualarius treaty, section nineteen, part twenty-two, predatory species, including humans, are not to visit designated vartaloon habitats without a permit which requires prior authorization, vetting by conservationists, and predatory feature disguising camouflage.”

“Varta-whats? And what’s that treaty?” Taylor asked.

“Vartaloons,” Sirlian answered, showing a picture of a small, eight-limbed creature that looked like the cross of a frog with a spider-monkey. “The treaty is a multi-species treaty that deals with conservation, and in cases of fragile ecosystems or creatures, requires permits. Mr. Betham has such a permit. You, however, do not.”

“I’ve got my travel papers and visas in order, and there’s nothing on or around that moon that declares it’s a vartaloon sanctuary.” Taylor groaned. “Besides, I didn’t see anything like that down there.”

“Of course not. Anything with forward-facing, binocular vision sends vartaloons into flight mode, and they scurry to hide in whatever nook or cranny they can find.”

“How much of a fine am I looking at?”

“Fine? You think you can violate a multi-species treaty and it’s fine?”

“Fine, as in fee, as in, how much do I have to pay?”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten that form of the word. No fine, but you are facing 90 local days of conservation work as restitution.” Sirlian tapped her long fingers on the table. “How did you locate Mr. Betham in the first place?”

“His comms device was on. Just locked on and followed the signal.”

“And you saw no signs? Heard no broadcast warnings about the nature of Ixaros?”

“Nope. Nada. Nothing.” Taylor blew out a deep sigh. “Do I get an attorney? Am I free to go until the trial?”

“Don’t go anywhere.” Sirlian rose and left the room.

Taylor waited as the minutes, and then hours crawled by. She was curled up on the floor, taking a nap when Sirlian re-entered. “Sorry that took so long,” she said. “You’re free to go.”

“What changed?”

Taylor didn’t think the aliens could look frustrated, but Sirlian proved her wrong. “We re-flew the approach to Ixaros, and the warning beacons were all off-line. In light of that, we don’t feel we can successfully prosecute.”

Taylor stood and stretched. “I’m sorry you went to all that trouble for nothing. But don’t you think your officers were overdoing it with the vehicle-mounted weapons?”

“Oh, those were sanctuary wardens. Those weapons are for fighting poachers who come armed to hunt hellabira.”

“Are those the big things?”

“Largest known land animal in the galaxy,” Sirlian said. “The hunters are heavily armed and armored.”

“I can’t see the sport in hunting them, though. I chased two of them off while I was trekking from my ship to the forest where Mr. Betham was. All I had to do was wave my arms and yell.”

Sirlian froze for a moment. “You … scared off two hellabira?”

Taylor shrugged. “Less trouble than a guard dog. I have way too many run-ins with those in my job.”