Starliner (The Intergalactic Investigation Bureau Book 1)

by John P. Logsdon

  The Twin-Moons of Hardenton was a seldom used term on the CCOP, and Dresker only used it when nothing else sprang to mind. Those who weren’t aware of the actual meaning made the assumption that it referred to either some god or the actual moons of a planet named Hardenton. As Dresker had been told, there was a poor fellow named Gingert Hardenton who was born with two complete sets of derrieres. Diapers, underwear, and pants became the respective challenges as the young man aged, not to mention just plain sitting. Fortunately, only one set was functional. Regardless, it was impossible for the mind to comprehend upon seeing him, and so some people actually began to worship Hardenton. They thought that he was blessed with this gift. The Church of the Twin-Moons was created and he served as the focus of praise. Statues and necklaces are still made to this day, even though Hardenton died some three hundred years ago, cheeks and all.

  “It is an odd thing,” Twekman replied, not seeming to have cared about the Hardenton mention. “And I am trying to determine what can be done to help them.”

  “So you think it’s a bad thing too, yes?”

  “That they are friendlier than they were? No, I rather approve of that. What I don’t like is that they were all changed against their will. Their individuality has been compromised, and without their consent.”

  Dresker held up a finger. “Yeah, but keep in mind that it was done by other Mechanicans.”

  “We are certain of this?”

  “One hundred percent,” Dresker affirmed. “Qweebdin, on Bricken’s team, said that the...uh...data thing came directly from The Starliner’s connection.”

  “Or maybe it just hit the Hub in general and Qweebdin made that assumption because he was, at the time, looking at The Starliner?”

  Dresker hadn’t thought about that. Why would he? This wasn’t his field. Qweebdin would have thought of that though. Right? Sure he would. He wasn’t like Twekman and his bunch, who were all theory and little practical application.

  “I’ll ask him,” Dresker said, “but so far all indications point that direction. Regardless of where it came from, how do we fix it?”

  Twekman rubbed his temples. Tchumachians did this when thinking, not because of a headache or anything like that. They rubbed their kneecaps when they had a headache. Dresker didn’t know why. He imagined that Tchumachian brains would have found a nice roomy home in the Twin-Moons of Hardenton.

  “We could perform a restore...” Twekman trailed off, looking conflicted.

  “What would that do?”

  “It would take them all back to the last point that they’d done their last Internal Storage Sync. Some would miss a click of time and some would miss days, or, depending on the frequency with which they do their syncs, even weeks or months.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “They’re not backed up,” Twekman replied. “That’s the problem. Essentially, they’re erased all the way back to their restore point. So everything they’ve experienced since the last internal storage sync will be gone.”

  “Ah, I get it,” Dresker said and then he clicked his teeth together a few times. “How long would it take to do this?”

  “It’s not a question of how long, Prime Dresker,” Twekman spat. “It’s a question of ethics.”

  “Why ethics?”

  Twekman guffawed. “Are you being serious? How would you like it if all of a sudden you passed out and then awoke to find it was a couple of months later and you had no idea what had happened while you were out?”

  After today, Dresker thought, it may be a welcome process. But he got the point. Still, it wasn’t like Mechanicans were anything beyond a bunch of wires and chips so he doubted very much that they would respond like he would.

  “Wait a second,” Dresker said, raising a finger, “can’t we also put in something that tells them not to worry about it?”

  “Brainwash them, you mean?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Would you like to be brainwashed?”

  “Depends on the circumstance, I suppose.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Think of it this way: if I had been beaten a lot or taken advantage of in some way, wouldn’t my mind try to repress these things happening to me?”

  “Honestly,” Twekman said, shaking his head, “I don’t know how you Humans work psychologically, so I can’t answer that question. However, I see your point. It is a process that some Tchumachians request if they have had a difficult life.”

  “See? So it’s—”

  “Request, Prime Dresker. It’s not something that is forced upon them, and to force it upon the Mechanicans would be no different than forcing it upon any race. Is that the kind of message we want to send to the people of the CCOP?”

  “I doubt the majority of non-Mechanicans would care, and I’d bet that the majority of BeepBots would support it.”

  Twekman just stood there with a blank look and began rubbing his knees.

  BAD HABITS

  DISGUSTING HABIT OR not, Dresker smoked a cigar once a year. He argued that it wasn’t even frequent enough to truly be considered a habit. Nonetheless, he enjoyed a nice smoke now and again, even if he did choke and gag during the entire ordeal.

  This ritual started the day after his divorce had been completed. His wife’s attorney had sent him the box of cigars along with a thank-you note. No doubt the bastard had made off with a decent payout from the settlement, something that Dresker was still dutifully paying. On the plus side, the lawyer got his ex-wife too. Dresker still recalled with a smile how he returned the sentiment by sending the man a six-pack of Xulian Blast—a locally made alcoholic beverage that was known for making one’s hair stand on end while the world spun into a kaleidoscopic frenzy—and a thank-you note of his own, that read something along the lines of, “If I had any money left, I’d give it all to you for taking her off my hands. Instead, I’m sending you some Xulian’s and a little piece of advice to keep them handy. You’re gonna need them.”

  He chuckled at the city below. Then he coughed a bit.

  The back landing of the IIB building made for a great observation point, and it was rarely in use. Not many people smoked these days and even fewer saw the point in leaving the comfort of their desks. When people wanted a diversion, they picked a different VizChannel or clicked a different link.

  So he often got the place to himself.

  The street lights were reflecting off the glass on the buildings all the way down the strip, and the overhead gave just enough of a glow to make sure the city never sat in complete darkness.

  Struggle as he might, though, Dresker couldn’t see beyond the glow and into space. That was unfortunate because he liked the stars. Sure, he could always go to one of the research offices and get some time on the free-field screens, or he could even just pop open his VizScreen and seek out any of the billions of images available to the public, but it just wasn’t the same.

  Dresker used to track these vessels so he could step outside for a look, but even that soon lost its novelty.

  Another puff and subsequent cough brought his mind to sitting at his home world in the middle of his backyard. It was a weekly ritual. He’d grill up a few burgers of whatever meat was available at the time, set a suite of cold ones next to his ratty chair, and gaze up at the night sky until he passed out. At one point he had even started tracking a few of the closer stars to try his hand at amateur astronomy. That hadn’t lasted long. Not enough mystery in the movement of those stars since all of their data was a couple of Net searches away. That was also the primary reason he didn’t read mysteries. He knew that at any time he could just flip to the last few pages and see what was going on, or, more accurately, check what he believed had happened and who the culprit was. Sometimes he did just that, getting the answer right more often than not. It ruined the experience. So like his attempt at amateur astronomy, he stopped reading the mysteries too.

  A whistling bot brought his attention back to the streets below. It was a familiar tune, but
he couldn’t quite place it.

  “I know that song,” he said aloud.

  “Return of da Legion,” the grumbling voice of Truhbel said, surprising Dresker and launching him into another coughing fit.

  “Scared me,” he said after he regained his composure.

  “Figured dat,” she said as she moved toward the rail. “Don’t blow dat stuff in my face.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Still don’t know why you do dat, anyway.”

  “Me neither,” Dresker said. “How’s Qweebdin?”

  “We’re frough.”

  He raised his eyebrows and took another draw on the cigar. “That was fast.”

  “Couldn’t handle me.”

  Dresker grinned. Aside from another Uknar, who could? Possibly a Mechanican or a Yetian, he supposed.

  “Put him in the hospital?”

  “No,” Truhbel said without humor. “Close dough. One of dees days I’m gonna learn dat you smaller types can’t handle Uknar loving.”

  Dresker nodded and let the sound of the city fill the gap of their discussion. It was peaceful out here, regardless of the whistling, ultra-happy bots below. But, as the saying goes, all good things must end.

  He took the cigar and flipped it into the incinerator. It, he noted, did not choke.

  “So anything new on the case?” he asked, trying to draw her attention away from lost love.

  “Nuffing dat I’ve heard,” she said, turning her back on the city and leaning on the rail. “You?”

  “Same. Starliner’s in on it, but we all know that. Just don’t have the evidence to prove it...yet.”

  His VizScreen buzzed.

  “Or,” he said, showing Truhbel the screen, “maybe we do.”

  Dresker answered it. “Hello, Elwood.”

  “Hello, I believe we have some information, sir.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Detective Hawkins was speaking with one of the Mechanicans and he began talking about The Starliner.”

  “The Mechanican was talking about it?”

  “No, sir. Hawkins was talking about it.”

  “Oh. Okay. And?”

  “The Mechanican was agreeing with Hawkins and then mentioned something about a leader and a captain.”

  Dresker gave Truhbel a glance and she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Elwood explained the exchange to Dresker and Truhbel.

  It was not only obvious that the burst had come from The Starliner and that it had affected all of the Mechanicans on the CCOP, it was also noted that all the Mechanicans now had the same beliefs and information that The Starliner inductees had.

  “Good work,” Dresker said. “I’ll need to get over to Zarliana’s and let her know what’s going on. We’ll get back together first thing in the morning and get our plan of action in place. I think we finally have enough to get that search warrant.”

  “Yes, sir,” Elwood said.

  “I guess that’s all, then.” Dresker paused. “Wait, one more thing. Did you or Hawkins ever locate that dock worker?”

  “No, sir…” Elwood trailed off with a puzzled look on his face. Then a slow grin came over him and he said, “Well, if that ain’t like catchin’ two fish with one hook.”

  “What did he just say?” asked Dresker.

  Hawkins leaned into the view of the VizScreen, plucked his hat up and said, “That boy done said that he just found a needle in a haystack.” He was beaming.

  “At the risk of repeating myself,” said Dresker, this time looking at Truhbel, “what did he say?”

  “Don’t look at me,” she replied with a shrug. “I don’t understand you Human types.”

  “Sir,” Elwood said, regaining his normal vernacular, “I just remembered where I’d seen the dock worker’s face. When Detective Hawkins and I were at GPS, I saw a muscle-bound guy come running out of the back room. I remember thinking at the time that he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him until just now.”

  “That’s good news,” Dresker said and then pointed at the screen. “You two get back there first thing and find that guy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After he hung up, Dresker and Truhbel traversed the labyrinth of cubicles until they finally reached his office. He walked in to find Tony Ravallo sitting in his chair with his ever-present henchman flanking him.

  “Ah, there you are,” Ravallo said in his raspy voice. “We was looking for you.”

  “I was just about to go and pay a visit to the president,” Dresker said, a bit testily.

  “Yeah, I know,” Ravallo replied with a smile.

  TIME FOR CHANGE

  THE PRESIDENT’S OFFICE was empty when Dresker walked in. He sat and pulled up his VizScreen to check the feeds until Zarliana showed up.

  Scanning the headlines, he found that the “erect penis” sound byte was now the number one most installed VizScreen buzz tone of all time. Dresker couldn’t have been any more proud. He pressed the link after first carefully turning the volume very low.

  “So just to make sure everyone has heard me loud and clear, I will say it one more time. Eeeerrrrect! Peeeennniiiisssss!”

  “Ugh,” he said with a shake of his head. “Of all the things...”

  Turning his attention to the other feeds he found that The Reknep had still not checked in since it went to radio silence a couple days ago. There was talk of sending out a search party, but they were having problems putting together a team that they felt could handle the venture. The Prime of Customer Acquisitions, Ordeph Ireekin, was putting a call out to any Humans that had even an inkling of military training to please contact him for potential inclusion in the mission. If Dresker was any judge of character and sociological study, there wasn’t a single Human that would show up for that call. Though he did note that his own heartstrings were being tugged on. Even with the past days’ adventure, Dresker knew that feeling wouldn’t last. An off-site investigation might be just the thing. Then he sighed. Zarliana would never allow it.

  “Hello, Prime Dresker,” the Hyzethian president said as she swept around him and took her seat. She kept her eyes on her iPane, but said, “I take it the investigation is going well?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “The Mechanicans—”

  “Were tampered with. Yes, I know,” she said, pointing at her iPane and smiling. “I find it all quite interesting, don’t you?”

  He scrunched his brow. “Depends on your definition of interesting, I suppose.”

  “It’s been said that the only constant in the universe is change. Do you believe that?”

  “No.”

  “Oh?”

  “One plus one will always equal two.”

  “From a Human perspective, I would agree. But that’s a discussion for another time. Have you been following the feeds regarding The Reknep?”

  “As a matter of fact,” he replied, taken aback, “I have.”

  “Good, because I’ve been thinking that we should expand the role of the IIB.”

  What?

  “What?”

  “Don’t be so surprised, Adam,” Zarliana said, using his first name, which was another oddity. “You yourself have expressed a sense of boredom over the last year. It would be good for you to get away from the mundane and try something fresh and we need you out there, beyond these walls.”

  Dresker just sat, blinking at her. What the hell was she talking about?

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” He said it while looking directly into her eyes. He knew that could prove to be a mistake, but for some reason he just didn’t care.

  “Yes, I am,” she answered with a grin and then looked away. “As I said before, I see all of this recent mayhem in a different light than you do. Chaos breeds order and order breeds chaos. People don’t like where they are for very long. They’re always seeking to fix their current situation by getting into a more exciting situation. Once they have that excitement, they long for conte
ntment. It’s a vicious cycle, certainly, but it’s also one that causes our economic situation to ever increase.”

  She crossed her arms, which was a sign of relaxation to the Hyzethian people. “You are one of the few people that I rely on to tell it like it is. You don’t hide behind words. If someone is doing something foolish, you tell them directly. That’s not to say you’re not tactful when you need to be, but there is a difference between tact and cowardice. You are no coward, Adam.”

  “Thanks?”

  “You’re quite welcome. However, what you are is someone that is in constant need of change. You can’t handle sitting still for very long. Struggles, good or bad, are the only suitor that you have. There is no time for gray in your world. It defines how well you play the role of investigator, after all. Sifting through the gray to find the black and white.

  “But,” she continued, “there are grays out there that are just as relevant. You see the events of the last days as being bad. I see them as opportunity. While you attempt to push the haze out of the way, I try using it to increase business and build an underlying family amongst our employees.”

  “Yes, I know,” Dresker said with a touch of resentment. “You see all of this as a good thing. People were hurt, you know?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Zarliana said, looking away. “I’m not happy with that. People are hurt every day, though, and more often than not it’s due to things that have little potential for benefiting everyone.”

  “And this event benefits us how, again?”

  “Simple.” Zarliana rose and motioned him to join her at the window. “Look out there and tell me what you see.”

  “The city.”

  “Deeper.”

  He sighed. “Okay, the city is teaming with people.”

  “At night,” she added. “And there are a lot of them.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “How many reports would you say have come in tonight regarding violence or domestic disputes?”

  Dresker opened his VizScreen and tapped around. “Three from the IIB and twenty-seven for Local.”