There is only one caller on this phone. Agent Millman waits until the eighth ring to answer. "Hello, Earth."
"Hello Agent," a voice says.
"You haven't retrieved me yet," Millman says. "I thought someone would have come by now to throw me on the transport back to your fine planet. I told you, Brubeck didn't kill his mom. Case closed."
"Forget Brubeck," the voice says. "New assignment for you."
"Oh so I'm staying?" Millman asks.
"Yes, you're staying. Materials are en route to you now. Please review and we will be in touch."
The line goes dead. Millman places the receiver back in the cradle.
"Fine," the agent says to the skyline outside the window. "I told you he didn't kill his mom. I didn't say that Sam Brubeck didn't kill anyone."
088 - The Kitchen on the Tumbleweed
"As acting captain of this vessel, I declare that we should eat lunch," Feller says, rolling back his chair and standing up to stretch.
"I second that," May says. "This is taking forever."
May and Feller have spent the last several hours combing through the Tumbleweed's information systems in search of alterations by the Bird People. It's time for a break. The two head for the kitchen to forage.
Dr. Mangrove is sitting with his elbows on the kitchen's picnic table, hands on either side of his head, when May and Feller get there.
"Howdy, Doctor," Feller says, and turns to the refrigerator. "How are things? Headache getting better?"
"No," Dr. Mangrove says.
May sits down opposite Dr. Mangrove. She looks at him intently but says nothing.
"What?" Dr. Mangrove asks.
May remains silent, staring at him. Her brown eyes are huge. She's very still.
"Here you go," Feller says, setting a bagel down on the table in front of May and having a seat himself. He takes a few bites of his own lunch and chews them before he notices that neither May nor Dr. Mangrove have moved.
Feller looks the pair over. "Am I missing something?"
"I have a theory," May says.
"Don't have any theories," Dr. Mangrove says.
"Okay, I don't have a theory," May says. "I'm just sitting here, enjoying my bagel." She picks it up, takes a bite and chews, never taking her eyes off of Dr. Mangrove.
Dr. Mangrove sets his hands on the table. "Sorry I haven't been too social lately," he says.
"Yeah, me too," May says. "Wanna play Battleship later?"
"I'm not sure I can," Dr. Mangrove says. "Lots to do in the workshop, you know." His hands fidget. Sweat has broken out on his forehead.
"I see," May says. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know," May says.
"I will, if I change my mind," Dr. Mangrove says.
May reaches out and touches Dr. Mangrove's hand.
"Let's go back to the bridge," May says to Feller.
"Um, okay," Feller says, chewing. "You finish that bagel, though. That thing wasn't cheap."
On the way back to the bridge, May elbows Feller in the ribs. "Did you see that?"
"What? Dr. Mangrove acting like he's been sedated or something? Yeah, I sure did."
"I think I know why," May says. "Remember how we pulled out that component and he got all worked up about it? Made us put it back?"
"Yeah," Feller says. "That was super fishy."
"He's being monitored," May says. "Something happened in that - Bird-lab. He's not able to talk to us about anything. This is the man who can spend way too long explaining anything in the universe. And he's gone catatonic. I think it's because he can't speak freely."
"I think you're right," Feller says. "Now, let's test that theory. We need to induce some kind of response."
"Yeah," May agrees, "but without getting the old man's head smooshed."
"Okay. One test, no smooshing. Let's get Philo," Feller says, and the pair bump fists.
089 - A Rooftop in Scar City
The floors in the elevator go to 95, and then above the 95 button, there's one more with a sticker covered by a picture of a football. Edward punches the footy button and the elevator launches upward.
The glass doors open and Edward steps out onto the roof. The light is different up here, less filtered and not blocked so much by the walls of the Scar. The entire surface is artificial turf.
Edward switches on the appearance-dampener on a string around his neck. It's nothing fancy, just bounces some light around and distorts things so nobody can quite retain an image of his face. He sits down on a bench and starts lacing up his boots. They're loud orange.
"Wow, those shoes are some caution cone orange. How you doing there, Caution-Cone?" It's a man about twice Edward's size, dark-skinned, wearing a striped jersey that's too small. He's shaved an elaborate pattern onto his head.
"Good," Edward says. "I mostly play defense, if it matters. But whatever."
"Sounds good, we need defenders," the man says. "Hey, Coach! Caution-Cone here plays defense." A burly and bald individual in an Ireland jersey and basketball shorts, apparently the coach of one of the sides, nods.
"I'm Coach," bald man says. "Pleased to meet you. Kickoff in five."
Edward joins a group taking shots on goal and performing various stretches. He can pick them out: The Wannabe Professional, the Juggler, the Guy Who Fouls, the slight woman who will have twice the speed of anyone else and score All The Goals. He smiles and passes the ball around. He makes a mental note of each person, silently evaluating who might have connections or clues worth exploring. Probably all of them.
After thirty minutes or so of play, the score is tied 1-1. Slight woman takes the ball down the side and centers it, someone tries a header but it sails over the goal and bounces off the safety net that encircles the entire roof.
The elevator doors open and a boy rolls out in a wheelchair. A man on the other team stops playing and walks over, gives the kid a high-five. They come to the sideline.
"You gonna play?" Coach barks at the boy.
"I WILL BURN YOU DOWWWWWNNNNN," the boy yells at the top of his lungs.
"Yeah, but are you gonna play football?" Coach asks.
"Nah, I'll just watch," the boy replies.
The game goes on a while longer. Edward/Caution Cone strikes up conversations along the way. One woman is a performance artist, another guy is here scouting apartments. Then he finds somebody promising. It's the dad of the kid in the wheelchair. He's a security guard, works for a private outfit.
Good person to know, Edward thinks. He invites the security guard for coffee the next day.
090 - An Arrest at Darby's
"Woa! WOA!" Sam yells. "What the heck is this?"
"Kindly unhand my patron, sir," Darby says, stepping out from behind the bar. "This establishment is a no-fly zone for aggression. You hear me?"
"You don't understand," the enormous man says through his teeth. "This here is a wanted fugitive. And a slippery one at that. Can't let him go for one second." Enormous has pinned Sam to the wall, upsetting a collection of beer glasses in the process.
Rebecca presses a gun into the neck of Enormous. "Lay off, mister. This guy isn't your problem. I am." Enormous doesn't budge. With one arm he holds Sam against the wall while he fishes a paper out of his pocket. Sure enough, it's the same guy. Wanted. On suspicion of murder.
"Take - this - OUT." Darby says, to the side of Rebecca's head. They all stand there, looking like a statue, for a good few seconds.
"Fine," Enormous says, and lets Sam down. He shoves him from the back toward the new saloon doors. Rebecca backs off a little but keeps her gun in her hand.
"You fire that weapon in the vicinity, I'll give you problems," Darby says to Rebecca. "We arrest people in our fashion out this way." Rebecca gives him a look and follows the two men out front. Her gun is still in her hand.
Enormous retains a hold on the neck of Sam's jacket. "I got good information that you're worth a nice sum, mister," he says.
"How about you just walk away, and you get
to keep your body parts," Rebecca says, raising her gun to point it at his ear.
Five more very large people materialize from the crowd, surrounding them.
"Brought some hired help," Enormous says. "Why don't you just take your firearm there and put it away."
"What is this, Sam?" Rebecca asks.
"Not sure," Sam says. "Could be a number of things, I suppose."
"That's not helpful," Rebecca says.
The group gather around Sam and begin to escort him away with some force.
"You said you're hired help? Arresting services?" Rebecca asks.
"Yep," one of them says over his shoulder.
Rebecca walks back into Darby's.
"Hello sir, you promised arrest for the discharge of a firearm?"
"I did," Darby replies.
Rebecca points her gun at the ceiling and fires it. Bits of plaster come down.
"Guards!" Darby yells.
One of the hired hands pokes his head over the saloon doors. "You called?"
"Arrest this woman," Darby says, "for menacing my establishment with her firearm."
"Right-o," the man says. Rebecca smiles as they head off after Sam.
091 - A Van in Scar City
Sam and Rebecca sit opposite each other inside a van. There are no windows at the rear. They can see very little of where they are going through the windshield. Most of the thugs who arrested them have stayed behind for other jobs, two of them sit up front to escort them to... wherever they are going.
"So, private arresting services?" Sam says. "Are there private police and courts and such too? I've never seen this."
"Yeah, it's made up," Rebecca answers. "People hire these guys as security, or to rid them of someone they want gone, or to 'arrest' people. Except it's not an arrest. It's a relocation."
"I wonder where we are being relocated to," Sam says.
"It would help if you explained why so many people seem to want to bust you," Rebecca says. "Someone out there is very convinced that you killed your mother. They are not easily dissuaded."
"I didn't kill my mother," Sam says. "I rescued her. Then a lot of really complicated stuff happened."
"Really complicated stuff doesn't constitute an explanation," Rebecca says. "Look, we're going to have to talk or fight or hack our way out of wherever we are going. These guys up front, they don't care. They just get paid for turning us in. If I don't know what we're dealing with, I can't help you. Remember I said, I may have to kick your ass if you're not straight with me."
The van comes to a stop in an intersection. They are downtown again. Lights of many colors reflect on the front windows and spill into the van's interior. The traffic is at a standstill.
A loud bang on the side of the van. A case of road rage?
"What was that?" Sam asks. The thug on the passenger side rolls his window down, probably to have a discussion with whoever is doing the banging.
A cloud of yellow dust shoots in the window, right into the two men's faces. They immediately slump down, unconscious.
"Crap!" Sam yells. "Cover your face!"
Sam and Rebecca pull their shirts up over their noses, but before they can even breathe any of the dust the back doors of the van fly open. Three people, two men and a woman, stand there in impeccable suits in an identical navy blue color. Casino personnel.
"You will come with us," the woman says. They step back to allow Sam and Rebecca to disembark.
"That's what this is? I'm being arrested by the Casino?" Sam asks. "I haven't done anything... worth arresting me. Or relocating me. Or whatever this is."
"Please get out, now, or risk breathing very toxic fumes," the woman says.
Sam and Rebecca climb out and the van is left in the intersection, occupied by a yellow cloud and two unconscious thugs.
092 - A Box Arrives from Earth
David O Millman, Agent, looks down at the box that has been dumped at his feet. He's picked up the parcel at a local combination bowling alley, bar and post office that he uses for anonymous deliveries.
He lifts the box and walks out with it. It's not very heavy, probably mostly digital stuff and not a lot of paper. He loads it onto the back of his folding bicycle and pedals off to the nearest appropriate space to take a look.
That space turns out to be a small square between two buildings, consisting of a circular path and a series of tables with chess boards printed on them. Several of the tables are the sites for current chess games, but the rest are unoccupied. Agent Millman chooses one and has a seat.
He pries the top off the box. It's as he thought, not a lot of paper and mostly digital drives. He picks one up and looks at the side of it. It's printed with a logo and the words, "Vertical Industries."
The few papers that are in the box appear to be documents pertaining to recent experiments, some of which were successful and others which failed. He scans for fatalities but does not see any listed. So this is not a murder or a wrongful death situation, it would appear.
"So, what am I supposed to be investigating?" Millman says to no one. A thin man at a nearby table moves his chess piece as his much rounder friend watches.
Around the corner he hears voices, people yelling. Somebody has abandoned a white van right in the middle of the intersection. There's yellow dust floating around it, and the guys who are supposed to be driving look to be out cold. Several people get out of their vehicles and begin pushing the van to the side, holding shirts over their faces to keep from getting knocked out by the fumes. The van's rear doors flop around.
The investigation from EarthAdmin will have to wait until Millman can get back to his apartment, or Mr. Green's apartment really, to read the digital stuff and find out what Vertical Technologies has to do with anything.
093 - Bridge of the Tumbleweed
"You called?" Philo says, entering the bridge.
"Yep, we did," Feller says. "Seems we've got a predicament. And a delicate one at that."
"The Bird People put stuff in Dr. Mangrove's head," May says.
"Stuff?" Philo asks.
"Yeah," Feller says. "And from what we can tell, it's intelligent. And knows what he's doing. As you can imagine, this is awkward for the host. The invader knows when the host is trying to get rid of it."
"What happens when the host - or Dr. Mangrove - does something the parasite doesn't like?" Philo asks.
"Gives him a horrible headache," May says. "He looks really bad."
"We have no way to know if there's other damage happening too," Feller says, but then stops when he considers that May might not take to that idea very well.
"Yeah," May says. "What if it's eating his brain?"
Neptune Road Volume IV Page 3
