The Adventure of the Silicon Beeches (A Chevonne & Sherlock Tale)

2

THE SILICON BEECHES WAS A GLEAMING, copper-and-white Birchir-class ship that could easily dwarf my apartment building. The wide, somewhat triangular shape reminded me of an enormous bird with outstretched wings. One side featured an image of three lush trees rendered in a dark silver shade, and I wondered if these were the beeches the ship took its name from. Quite a contrast from the boxy little Zander that Sherlock and I occupied. Only the extraordinarily wealthy could afford to live on private starships—not only because the ship itself was insanely expensive, but also due to the exorbitant costs associated with stocking and maintaining such a vessel.

The day Sherlock and I went to investigate, the Silicon Beeches was hovering in a remote region so far from the nearest civilized planet, it took us nearly a day to reach it. If I'd had any doubts that Makya's parents were into something shady, the location alone dispelled them. A person didn't take their starship so far from the known worlds unless they had something to hide. As to what it might be, well, I decided not to attempt any conclusions, since Sherlock would surely deduce the answer soon enough, and I'd look idiotic for trying to compete with her.

I steered the Zander toward the enormous starship, feeling like an insect approaching a lion. My Zander was so ridiculously small, it didn't even contain living quarters; just a cockpit, a washroom, and a storage closet. Which meant I had no place to escape Sherlock's company during the journey and was forced to listen to her relive her latest cases. That wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't insisted that I attempt the deductions myself, only to tell me that I was wrong and that the right answer was—you guessed it—"elementary." By the time we were within visual range of the Silicon Beeches, I was seriously wishing that I'd just lent Sherlock my damn ship and stayed home.

"If you want this plan to go smoothly, then it's in your best interests not to drive your partner insane," I grumbled.

Sherlock gave me a quizzical look. "But you're the one who told me to make my conversations more interactive, rather than just talking at you."

That was true, but her idea of a solution was not what I had in mind.

Before I could respond, she pointed enthusiastically at the viewscreen. "See those drones around the Silicon Beeches?"

I did not. Assuming her superior sight allowed her to spot something too small for my mere human eyes, I glanced down at the scanner on the control panel. Several red dots surrounded the green outline of the Silicon Beeches, indicating armed vessels.

"Bettas?" I pursed my lips. The small attack drones were mostly used by warships in combat—why would a businesswoman and a professor have them around their home? "Seems a little paranoid."

"They're afraid of something." Sherlock leaned back in the copilot's chair. "Let's hail them before they decide we're a threat."

She pressed an icon on the control screen to request communication. Except the signal wouldn't be coming from a crappy little Zander registered to one Chevonne Watson. Thanks to bit of code she'd obtained the previous day, the Namokis would be receiving a transmission from an armed, respectable Barracuda-class fighter registered to the Thern Police Department. I didn't want to know how she got her hands on that.

The Silicon Beeches accepted our transmission, and the viewscreen switched to an image of a middle-aged woman with black hair wound into twin knots on the sides of her head. Together, they resembled butterfly wings, and they framed a regal face with hard, black eyes and a wide mouth. Though she shared Makya's copper complexion and broad cheekbones, her aura of shrewd sternness contrasted his wide-eyed innocence so greatly, I almost didn't notice the physical resemblance.