by Steve Rzasa
“Hard to believe that dee-twenty in the middle generates enough juice to power nine states.”
Nil made a face.
“Dee-twenty. Twenty-sided die. Guys use it for role-playing games, stuff like that.” What can I say? Spent a few late nights in high school playing those. Habit was eventually cured by having a girlfriend. “Not ringing any bells?”
“Our games of chance involve bladed weapons.”
“Oh. How about that.” Sounds . . . ow. “I know a few D&D guys who’d think that was about the most awesome—”
The white flashed by to our right, barely visible in the daylight glow of Fusion One. I saw enough of it to realize it was a pickup truck.
I slammed the brakes. The Bimmer squealed and shuddered but didn’t fishtail. I made sure of that. We ended up pulled half over on the right side of the road, tilted down toward the ditch and a barbed wire fence.
An antelope sat caught in the headlights. It chewed on grass, eyeing us with what I guess was the antelope equivalent of disdain.
The white pickup was still there, in the rearview mirror. Nil and I shared a look.
I threw the Bimmer into reverse. Thankfully there wasn’t another car around for miles. There was a pair of lights way out to the north, in the opposite lane, but that was it. We backed right up to the pickup, went around to the left. I parked the Bimmer behind it, headlights glaring ahead.
Nobody home.
“Come on.” I got out. There was a heavy feeling my gut. I’d found a dead body once, where I’d expected a contact. That went from bad to worse in no time flat. Wasn’t anxious to repeat it.
At least this time I had with me an alien cop with a penchant for rolling trucks off the interstate.
The night air was cool. It smelled of vehicle exhaust and sagebrush. All you could hear was our shoes crunching on the dirt and the antelope trotting across the asphalt.
Stars filled the sky, an even better view than from the Bimmer’s front seats. I glanced at Nil. Wonder which one he came from?
The pickup was abandoned. I wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. The doors were both flung open, and it was empty. The whole works—the seats, the glove box, even the tool chest in the bed. Nothing left on or in any of the above that I could see yet.
Nil was in heaven. He sniffed everything: the air, the truck, the ground. “He was here. Not a few hours ago. As was the Sozh Uqasod.”
“Great. He’s . . . uh, he’s not dead, is he?”
“His scent was fresh when he left.”
I dug around in my pocket. Had to have my Maglite somewhere. Bingo. I shone a light on the pavement and dirt. “Yeah, here’s more tracks. Not ours.”
“Likely he met someone here and left his vehicle.”
“It’s what I’d do.” There had to be something. Somewhere. I flashed the beam across the truck seats. “Man, he didn’t even leave so much as a gum wrapper.”
“Yet the scent of the Sozh Uqasod is strong still.”
“I hear you.” Wait a sec. Something glittered on the seat. I hopped into the cab.
Aw, man.
It was a specimen slide. The kind you’d put under a microscope. It was broken in half and empty. Not a drop of suspension liquid or anything. A shiver coursed through me. Fear. That sculpture wasn’t broken, was it?
Nil poked his head in. “It is gone.”
“Yeah. Yeah, looks like it.” Part of me wondered how fast the alien hordes would drop down on us when they found out. The other part wanted to know if they needed human assistants in their overthrow of Earth’s governments.
“The Sozh Uqasod is not lost. Put your fear away. The stench sickens me.”
“Easy for you to say, when you’re on the winning team.” I backed angrily out of the cab. “For all we know that thing’s bashed on the highway or got chewed up by an antelope.”
“No. That was not their purpose. Here.”
He held up what I thought was a syringe, but it was the weirdest one I’d ever seen. So many lights and shining parts and a needle so thin I could barely see it in the flashlight beam. In spite of the cold night air I was sweating. “What is it?”
“It is a device meant to transfer microscopic cargo safely into a biological carrier.”
“You mean—someone injected the sculpture?”
Nil sniffed at it. “Into our Tyler Fisk, to be more precise.”
I stood by the window and stared out at the town of Buffalo. It was one beautiful morning out there. The sky was a stunning blue, not a hint of haze or smog. You could see clear to the Big Horn Mountains in the west. Steam from my tea fogged the window. I was up way too early.
The TV spewed the morning news at me. I had it on mostly for background noise. Didn’t want to take any chances someone could eavesdrop if I got a phone call. This was a fancy Hampton Inn, as far as chain hotels go, but the walls were thin as paper. Hey, last night I got an earful of a Big Bang Theory marathon from the dude next door until about one in the morning. No joke.
I grinned at my reflection in the window. Now he could listen to CNN at 6:30. Payback.
A pair of those big qwaddo spaceships came zipping across the mountains, on their way from who-knows-where to I-don’t-care. Blew right over the hotel. Their afterburners or the qwaddo equivalent were strong enough to roll thunder across the whole building. The windows rattled. My grin slipped right off.
My cell buzzed. It was over on the bed. I took a swig of the tea—Earl Gray, of course—and set the mug down on the air conditioner. En route to get the phone, I couldn’t help listening to the plastic-faced announcer woman as she rattled off her teleprompter notes.
“. . . The Speaker of the House has confirmed rumors that his party will oppose the joint proposal by Democrats and Republicans that would petition the Consociation for more interstellar professional visas for American citizens. The Federalist Party and its constituents are well-known opponents of the ‘space brain drain’ as he calls it. More than half a million Americans have left Earth since 6/16, with the majority residing elsewhere in the solar system. He is expected to speak following the president at ceremonies later this morning in New York City . . .”
Ack. 6/16, already? You’d think it’d be hard to forget a thing like the anniversary of aliens arriving on Earth and basically bribing us to let our solar system be used as an interplanetary Greyhound stop. But after hearing about Consociation-this and qwaddos-that nonstop, well, you get kind of numb to that anniversary.
I checked my phone. Rutherford again. Why can’t it ever be Laci? Right, ’cause I ticked her off when I kicked her out of the apartment.
[No known curent addr for Fisk. Parents Randy and Charlene. Own grvl pit.]
That’s it? I’d already figured out that from the phone book. “You’re slipping, Rutherford,” I muttered. “Some help.”
I shoved the phone into my pocket. So. Stick to the original plan. Go into town, buy some expensive antiques and paintings, pretend like I give a rip, and go find someone who would know about Fisk and his family, but who wouldn’t blab to everyone else. Make like we were old buddies, like I did at the gas station.
Have to be careful in a town this small, though. There were only about 7000 people in Buffalo. Odds were everybody knew everybody else’s business.
My choice? The library. If anybody knew everything, it was librarians.
I slugged back the rest of my tea. “Gotta go wake Nil first. After breakfast.” Happy 6/16.
<<<>>>
I shoveled down some eggs, toast, and a half a banana. Skipped the donuts. Well, for now. I wrapped one up in a napkin and pocketed it. What can I say?
Like most Hampton Inns, this one was very qwaddo friendly. They had a whole suite of rooms set aside on the top floor just for Ghiqasu use. Apparently they like the view up top.
Nil’s room, though, was Spartan. Hardly had any decorations, except for the huge painting on one wall. The forest it depicted was like what you’d see if Dr. Seuss tried his han
d at designing a planetary ecosystem. The sky was the wrong shade of blue, almost violet, and the trees had leaves that were variations on eye-watering red. Like autumn, but with the contrast turned up too high.
And as far as I could tell, judging by the height of rock spires reaching up like claws, the trees on qwaddo-world had to be a few hundred feet tall.
Nil had the container with the crispy robot innards on the bed. Everything was spread out in neat rows. Glad to see he took my advice and was handling everything with his own gloves, so I didn’t have to freak out.
I sat down in a chair—hold on, I didn’t, because there were no chairs in the room. Just these stool things that were oddly sculpted. Like big hands that grabbed you around the legs. Okay. “Find anything of interest?”
Nil didn’t look up. “There are many smells here, from its manufacture to its packaging to its sale. But I have found one scent that occurs all over this primitive machine. Very strong.”
“Our thief.”
“No. This is a different scent. One that wasn’t present in the exhibit or the museum.”
That was something. “So what that means is we have two suspects. One of whom had the tech skills to put this thing together.”
“That is correct. Since Fisk’s scent has led us this far, however, I believe we can find his associate here.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s roll into town and see what we can find.”
“Your plan smells fresh,” Nil said.
We rode the elevator to the lobby. Still can’t figure out how he got away without changing his clothes or even carrying a backpack. Just that belt of his. Hey, at least he didn’t stink like the average human male would after a couple of days.
The parking lot was packed full of pickup trucks and SUVs. Most were labeled “Fusecorp,” the mega-energy conglomerate made up of the old Exxon Mobil and Chevron companies. They owned Fusion Two northeast of here—and Fusion Three, Four, and Seven elsewhere in the country, for that matter. Other trucks had the names and logos of other energy companies.
It was the qwaddo walkers that caught my eye. I tried not to drool as we walked to the BMW. They hunched in the spots reserved for qwaddos by the front of the hotel, like jackrabbits ready to spring. Had those same green and white four-armed alien symbols on their parking spots, just like at the motel in Beverly and every other business these days. Now if you’d asked me whether I wanted a ride in one of those two-legged, spindly machines topped with a clear canopy and made of the same spiky, curving stuff as qwaddo buildings, well, I’d have squealed like a little kid.
Not in front of Nil, though. “How’s your sniffer this morning?”
He cocked his head aside, like a dog listening to a faraway sound. “Our quarry has a strong scent. He is in this vicinity, but with all the humans near it does make tracking him more difficult.”
“Oh, so you do have trouble sometimes.” I slid behind the wheel. “Here I thought you were perfect.”
“It would be the height of arrogance to think so.” Nil got in and closed his door.
Notice he didn’t say he wasn’t perfect. “You hungry?”
“I will not be for another few hours. I ate earlier.”
“Earlier than—” I checked my watch. “Eight o’clock?”
“Four-thirty by this time zone.”
And I thought I liked a late-night snack.
We drove off into town. It seemed like a nice enough burg. There was a huge sprawling set of subdivisions off to our north, sprinkled with small commercial buildings. Shiny new hotels and service stations lined this road—Hart Street, the local map said. Very few of the buildings looked like they’d been around for more than a few years. Probably fusion money put ’em up.
“So I suppose you have a plan for getting the sculpture out of our guy when we find him,” I said.
“There is a method for extracting microscopic items such as the Sozh Uqasod from the bloodstream.”
“That’s good.”
“My species is not able or permitted to perform such an action.”
“Wait. We can’t get it out of this guy?”
“No, we cannot. Even if I was able to perform the procedure, it is forbidden among my species to perform the rite that violates the sanctity of an alien’s body.”
Sanctity? Of an alien? I shook my head. “You know, you guys could have found a way to nab this Fisk without going through me.”
“There is concern about unauthorized dissemination of information regarding this theft.”
I had to chew over those words for a moment. “You’re worried about leaks?”
“Leaks?”
“Never mind.”
“Have you informed your superiors of this latest turn of events?”
“Ah, no. I told Rutherford we found the truck. He doesn’t need to know that sculpture is rattling around in some guy’s bloodstream. And the fewer people who know about this besides you and me, the better.” Isaac. Carpenter. Loya. Rutherford. Four was four too many.
“A high-profile arrest will draw too much attention.”
“Yeah, I got it, the Jinn are all bent out of shape.”
“If anything happens to the Sozh Uqasod, they will be more than ‘bent out of shape.’ They will perceive it as a racial insult of the highest order.”
“Man. Why’d anyone agree to let them show their stuff here on Earth?”
“It has been done before, safely. Our leaders considered it a gesture of trust to your species.”
We rode under the interstate overpass. There were a couple dozen people waiting at the mag-rail station, a box of glass, steel and concrete with a peaked roof. It sat perched in between the interstate lanes. Just beyond the interstate was a small restaurant with a brown roof. Dash Inn. Sign said chicken, fries, burgers.
Nil tracked it as we drove by.
“Well, at least the sculpture is tucked into Fisk’s bloodstream. It should be safe there, right?” Nil didn’t answer. “Uh, I said, ‘Right?’ ”
“There is a possibility it could degrade significantly if left untreated in a human body for a prolonged amount of time.”
My stomach turned. Breakfast seemed like a bad idea. “How prolonged?”
“Fifteen days, approximately.”
I smacked the steering wheel. Thanks a bunch, FBI. “Why didn’t anyone mention that factoid? Why didn’t you?”
“It is irrelevant. We will find him. I do not fail in my tracking.
And your record of art recovery is unmatched.”
“Nobody likes a brown-noser, Nil.”
“Why is the color of my nose relevant?”
“How’d Fisk get his hands on that injector, anyway? Don’t tell me that’s something you guys hand out as party gifts.”
Nil frowned. I think. “It is of Rycole manufacture but is only supposed to be accessible by their consecrated medical caste.”
“Rycole?”
“Another species of the Consociation. They rarely journey to Earth, and they live three hundred light years from your space. For this assignment, however, one was brought in from a Consociation medical cruiser.”
Really wanted to know what that looked like. “Nice. Someone got one of their goodies, though.”
“It seems such, yes.”
We passed a big sandstone building with stained glass windows and soaring steeples on the left. The local Roman Catholic church, according to the sign. The same sign also told us it had only one mass on Sunday and a couple of morning daily masses. You could see the faded lettering where more times had been removed. Yeah, not even the big old RC was immune to the rapid decline of Christianity.
Most businesses in Buffalo didn’t open until nine. We had plenty of time to find a spot in the two-story parking garage downtown. It was made of the same brick as the old-school business block but still looked strange sitting back behind a bunch of buildings that were more than a hundred years old. Sporting goods, books, office supplies, food, coffee—and antiques shops. Three of them
, by my cursory count.
“Your hunting ground smells promising,” Nil said. “It does that.”
Buffalo was close enough to fusion plant country that there were about a dozen Ghiqasu out and about. I spotted a trio of Observers and tensed. “No, uh, confrontations today, right?”
Nil shook his head.
Yeah, they didn’t seem that interested in us. Though when they walked by, they did glance at Nil and up at his forehead.
“I’d have thought you guys were all about intergalactic peace and tolerance.”
“I believe I am tolerated, but only so much.”
I did spot a green hand painted in chalk on the back side of an otherwise clean trash can. Guess there were some Mankind Ascendant fans around.
Nil sneered. He showed off those fangs again.
“Relax, it was probably some dumb kid painting it for 6/16.”
“The men who accosted us yesterday were not kids.”
The nearest antiques store took up two floors of an old hotel building made of red brick and tan stone. It was a shocker to walk inside and get overwhelmed by the smell of . . . well, old stuff. Books, clothing, furniture, paintings, glass and crystal, silver. It was a musty odor that always made me feel relaxed.
It also meant game time. This was my element.
Nil’s nostrils flared. And that was impressive ’cause they were already huge. “There is so much of the past in here.”
I nodded. “We haven’t been around as long as your Consociation—”
“My people were making interstellar flights long before yours discovered gunpowder weaponry.”
“But history is history.”
“I agree. I meant no disrespect.”
“Okay.”
The clerk was an older lady who ignored us until I made a show of “accidentally” flashing a wad of $100 bills. Then she showed us around to a few choice pieces. One was a revolver that belonged to some local family’s law officer son.
