Sour Notes

by Todd C Wilson

  “He’s a tough bastard,” I said. “Anything you can tell me about the other patients, the ones we saw in the hallway?”

  The doctor stiffened. “I’m afraid I can’t give out personal information of that sort without the proper paperwork.”

  “I’m not asking for their favorite hair color or late-night snack preference, Doc, I’m just interested in their general conditions.”

  The doctor relented. “The ones you see here are second and third stage triage, covering the full spectrum. Shock, bruising, minor lacerations, broken bones, head trauma. The more serious ones have been given priority and are being treated as quickly as we can.”

  “Serious ones. Like dismemberment,” I said sourly.

  “Yes,” the doctor nodded. “But as you said, the Lieutenant is a tough bastard, so I expect he will pull through. It will be difficult, of course. But with... Family... Such as yourself, I think he will make it. Now if you will excuse me, I do have other patients to see and I am terribly busy.”

  I let the doctor escape, turning to survey the hallway and the wounded lining its walls.

  Somebody was responsible for this, and I was gonna find out who.

  And then I was gonna make ’em pay.

  ✽✽✽

  I started in the usual way, doing my job, and asking questions. The police were doing the same thing, but we pretended to ignore each other. Well, I mostly ignored them – I don’t know what they thought of me. To be honest, I didn’t really care, either.

  Most of the wounded were tight-lipped, only opening their mouths to demand medical attention. I kept at it until I noticed someone sitting in a plastic chair and trying not to be seen.

  “So that’s where you got off to,” I said, stomping over to Uavoo who was holding his bandaged head and looking miserable.

  “Hiii Jazz,” Uavoo whistled, one eye bloodshot and the other swollen and puffy. I hoped it hurt, I really did.

  “What happened to you? The last I saw, you were running out of the Escape Bar like your non-existent pants were on fire, leaving me to try and save Huboberplaph by myself. Which I failed at, by the way, so thanks for that.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder in the blob’s general direction. “Say hello to Bob, Huboberplaph’s new twin sister,” I said snippily.

  “Hiii, Bob,” Uavoo said, being polite and holding out a hand. Bob didn’t know what to do so I showed her. Quick shake of the pseudopod and done.

  “So, Bob and I are doing the rounds, meeting folks and trying to find out what happened. Oh, speaking of meeting folks, you know who I ran into? Lieutenant Araimer. You remember, our fourth for the evening? At least until he had to leave and go work crowd control just before the science building blew up in his face.” Uavoo had an unhappy look on his face but I didn’t care. “You should go see him, you can compare bandages and have dinner together. Might be a little tough for him to get around for a while, at least until they replace the parts of him that didn’t make the trip.” Bob put what felt like a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off. I was plenty cheesed off at Uavoo and wanted him to know it.

  “I’m zorry,” Uavoo said, looking even more miserable than before. “I paniczed. Never been in groundquakez before, thought the bar wazz goingz to collapze on me. I ran into the ztreet, not looking. Not zhure where I was. Zhomething hit me, I think a rock.” He touched his bandage and winced. “A bhiig azz rock.”

  I grunted, my temper cooling. I understood where Uavoo was coming from, and he probably had good reason to panic. The bar did kinda collapse, after all, squashing Huboberplaph in the process. Speaking of which, where was Bob? I quickly scanned the area and found the blue blob further down the hall, moving from person to person and talking to them as she went. I left Uavoo to be miserable by himself and went after her. She didn’t look like she needed rescuing, but I wasn’t so sure about the patients she was bothering.

  “...that’s really fascinating! So, after that what did you do?” she was asking a woody Angrot, who’s leaves were wilting slightly. The Xeno looked like it needed transplanting and maybe a big dose of fertilizer, not interrogation by a teenage blob.

  “I filed Form 22/Z,” it pronounced ‘Z’ as zeta, “in triplicate, of course,” the Angrot said, rubbing its twigs together. Lovely. A wooden bureaucrat. Bob must be bored stiff and in need of rescuing after all.

  “That’s very nice,” I said, interjecting myself into the conversation. “Bob, if you don’t mind, I need your help over here,” I added, offering her a way out. She didn’t take it.

  “Jazz, this is Vrar. Vrar works in the Lost and Found Department of the hospital and was telling me about all the extra items that have been turned in by the staff tonight. Apparently,” she said, a black eyespot floating around to look up at me. “One patient left a camera behind. I know it’s a long shot, but it sounds exactly like the one you were hired to recover. You know, the one that has the video on it,” she added, forming a protrusion in the shape of a bulky news camera, and waving it behind her back. “Jazz is a private detective.” She explained to Vrar. “I’m apprenticing, helping out because Jazz tends to forget things.” Vrar seemed extremely impressed by this if the twig rubbing was any indication.

  “Oh yes, of course. That camera. The one I was hired to find. With the video. Of the thing,” I said, finally picking up on Bob’s hints. “The thing with the video that the client wants. Who hired me- us. So,” I turned to address Vrar, “if you can direct my apprentice and I to your Lost and Found Department that would be great. So great, in fact, that we will be more than happy to put in a good word with Doctor Theezens and let them know how helpful you were during these difficult times.” Vrar appeared to find this idea more than acceptable and directed us back down the way we had come. I managed to extract Bob from Vrar’s twigs and the two of us left, pausing when we reached Uavoo who was getting an examination by a hairy physician wearing a white coat and not much else.

  “What’s the prognosis, Doc? Any numbness, tingling, feelings of remorse?” I asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” the hairball said, clicking off his penlight and scribbling something down. “Headache for a few days. Keep the wound clean and take these. Stay out of sunlight and away from falling rocks.” He thrust the prescription at Uavoo and then left, moving to the next person in line who looked like they needed a transplant instead of a few pills. I guess pills were cheaper.

  “Zorry, Jazz,” Uavoo said, still looking miserable. I frowned at him. I didn’t want to keep beating on the turtle shaped Xeno, but at the same time, I didn’t want to let him off the hook that easily. I compromised.

  “Tell you want. Araimer’s gonna need some help for a while. He’s in Bay 7. Go stay with him, keep him company. Teach him how to pick locks and whistle. You two can be miserable together while me and Bob see a tree about a video camera.” Uavoo thought it over and agreed, giving me a quick hug before lumbering off towards Araimer’s room. I briefly thought about giving Uavoo my visitor pass so he could get in but figured he could manage on his own.

  Ten minutes later I found out Uavoo could manage just fine, visitor pass missing from the lanyard around my neck. Pretty sneaky, for a turtle.

  ✽✽✽

  “Form 22/Z, yes, zeta. Submitted by Vrar,” I said, grinding my teeth while standing in front of a teller window. The hospital’s Lost and Found Department was staffed exclusively by Bradypuses, who seemed to run about one-third normal speed on a good day. Today was not a good day.

  I tapped my foot impatiently while the Bradypus typed laboriously into the computer, squinting at the screen. “Vrar. Twenty. Two. Zeta,” it said slowly.

  “Yes,” I replied. “For a video camera.”

  “Cam… era.” Click, click. Then a long pause. “No camera.”

  “For space’s sake!” I exploded. “It’s right there, on the shelf behind you! It’s the only video camera in the entire room! Channel 99 News logo on the side and it looks like it’s been run over by a truck!” This wasn’t a lie – the
camera was completely mangled, lens shattered, battery housing cracked. To be honest, I was surprised the thing hadn't burst into flames yet.

  The Bradypus turned to look and then turned slowly back to me, the entire action taking close to a minute. “I. Will. Need. Some. I. D.,” it said. I couldn’t tell if it really did talk that way or was doing it because it thought I was mentally challenged.

  “I. Showed. You. My. I. D,” I answered sarcastically, mimicking the Xeno’s speech pattern. Bob was standing next to me being quiet for once. I think she was enjoying my impending temper tantrum and wanted to see what happened when I finally had enough. It was a good thing I didn’t have Roosevelt with me, otherwise we’d find out how fast Bradypuses could be when the need arose. “Three times already. Jazz Singer, private detective.”

  “Will. Need. Form. Twenty. Two. Slash. Gamma.” It paused. “Nine.”

  I opened my mouth to fire back a nasty retort and then closed it. A pale blue snake was writhing across the floor behind the Bradypus, making a beeline towards the camera. I shot a quick glance at Bob who was still standing next to me but looking significantly thinner and smaller, one of her eyespots missing. A fat blue tendril where her foot should have been traced out and under the locked door next to the teller window. Clever girl.

  “And may I have Form 22/G 9? Please?” I asked, all sweetness and light. I took the proffered form – printed on recycled paper of course – and proceeded to fill it out as slowly as I could.

  Halfway through Bob tapped me on the shoulder and showed me a memory chip clutched in a mitten-shaped blobby hand. The mitten disappeared into my coat pocket; reappearing sans chip a second later. The pseudo hand lost its shape and returned to the rest of Bob, who was looking taller and not nearly as thin.

  Summoning up my best holo actor impersonation, I threw down my pen in disgust and shoved the paperwork at the Bradypus. “Never mind, this is a waste of time. You’ll be hearing from the advocate general,” I snarled, grabbed Bob, and headed towards the door.

  “Nice job,” I muttered out the side of my mouth, touching the memory card in my pocket.

  “Thanks!” Bob said brightly. “Does this mean I’m officially your apprentice?”

  “We’ll see. The jury’s still out, but I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

  Chapter 5

  T

  he video was the usual raw stuff, random test shots of a pink-feathered reporter, Fwunky Moh'na, standing in front of a crowd. I recognized her, having seen Moh'na and her co-host Dh’oug on the holovid from time to time, but didn’t watch Channel 99 regularly enough to have figured out who Araimer was referring to from his verbal description.

  Bob wanted to fast-forward through the boring parts, but I made her watch, mostly as an exercise in patience but really because I wanted to see if anything jumped out at me. Unfortunately, nothing did, so it turned into more me punishing myself than a proper teaching moment for Bob.

  A few Xenos caught by the lens looked promising, so I pretended to take notes but just scribbled down random stuff. Nobody could read my handwriting anyway – especially me after a few synthales – so it didn’t really matter what I wrote.

  “Ah, here we go,” I muttered to myself, sitting up straight. Bob did the same, at least as much as an amorphous blob could do so. I was just impressed she was taking an interest and being quiet.

  Moh'na was nodding her head in the direction of the camera, apparently listening to something being said into her earpiece. She straightened up and I could hear a breathy, “three, two, one,” as she counted down. And then abruptly we were watching news as it happened.

  “Hello, this is Fwunky Moh'na, reporting to you live and direct for Channel 99 News. I’m here outside the Science Facility where, as you can see, a group of protestors have gathered.” Moh’na proceeded to launch into a list of issues the protestors were apparently protesting, the crowd milling around behind her. To my untrained eye it looked more like a group of sports fans waiting for the arena to open than anything protest-like. I idly wondered how many were there simply because they were bored, and their friends made demonstrating sound more interesting than their usual weeknight get together at Peelies.

  Moh’na paused, her narrative running out. Then she stared into the camera, her face taking on that professional look I’ve seen before when reporters were asked something insightful by the talking heads back at the station. I suddenly realized the whole thing was scripted, the pause a blank spot left in for later editing. I felt cheated, like everything up to this point was a lie, nothing but fake news. I was so upset I missed part of what Moh’na said as she continued talking and had to rewind a bit.

  “... questions the Science Facility has yet to answer. At this time, nobody has gone on record to explain what the facility is doing behind these closed, and secured doors. With The Event entering its third month–” Moh’na stopped as the crowd started chanting.

  “Fifty-one. Fifty-one.”

  The sound got louder, crescendo building. The reporter looked around, eyes wide and pink feathers fluttering. She pressed one hand to an ear, tilting her head, listening intently to her earpiece, and talking hurriedly, mic covered. I manipulated the volume control, trying to hear what she was saying.

  “...not supposed... Now?... What about... Inzae-5... All right...” Moh’na straightened up and looked into the camera, her professional facade once again intact. “It appears the protest is escalating in response to the overwhelming police presence.” The camera panned around, showing the Xeno City Police Force standing around and looking confused, Araimer among them. I don’t know what kind of math Moh’na was used to using, but that didn’t look overwhelming to me. Without warning there was a popping sound, like a tire bursting. The camera swung around to catch the crowd surging forward, screaming and yelling, Moh’na nowhere to be seen. Somebody pushed the camera operator causing the video to tilt at a wild angle. The operator regained their footing, swiveling wildly to catch as much of the action as possible. A metal pipe came swinging forwards and then passed by, hitting someone just outside the field of vision. A brilliant flash of light followed by a hollow crump sound. The camera fell to the ground, cracks forming on the video as the lens shattered. A swirl of half seen bodies, incoherent yelling, another flash of light, the camera bouncing and rolling. Then a burst of static and the video stopped.

  I couldn’t tell, but Bob looked sick, her blue color a little less intense. Maybe she was reliving the moment she came into the world, as violent and as messy as the one that removed others from it. I didn’t know, and I didn’t feel it was my place to ask. Some things are better left unanswered.

  What I did know was that Fwunky Moh’na knew something about the riot. More importantly, whoever she was listening to over her earpiece knew about it. And knew about it before it happened.

  Time for a little field trip.

  Chapter 6

  “S

  hut up, you look fine,” I told Bob. “And quit squirming.”

  “But it itches! How can you vertebrates stand to wear this stuff?” Bob complained for the zillionth time.

  “Because otherwise we get cold, and not all of us can change color. Speaking of which, here,” I said, plonking a red wig I kept around strictly for cosplay purposes on top of her head. Or rather, what she was using as head at the moment. “Try this on for size.” I stepped back to take in my attempt at costuming.

  “Hmm, not bad. Blast and space, the sunglasses are sliding down again.” Bob was having a problem maintaining proper ears, not needing them until now. I dug around in a kitchen drawer and found a pair of mismatched paperclips. Working them into passable hooks, I fastened the arms of the sunglasses to some plastic mesh in the wig. If nobody looked too closely it would get the job done - I hoped.

  “Now for the shoes.”

  “No!” Bob said, putting her foot down. Or whatever. “It’s bad enough I have to... To... Walk everywhere but I’m not putting on those horrible shoe-things!” />
  I sighed. “Like I explained, you’re our ticket into the place. If I had enough time I might, repeat, might be able to forge some ID. But as long as you look and sound like Viphres Nechun, up-and-coming ace reporter currently on assignment out of town, they’ll let Viphres Nechun into Chanel 99 easy-peasy.” I hoped. Most of my plan was hinging on Bob the blob maintaining her shape long enough to get us through the front doors before she got tired or bored, whichever came first.

  “I don’t care!” Bob whined.

  I ground my teeth and counted to a hundred by threes. I was certain that taking care of a temperamental teenage blob was part of some grand plan to make me a better person, but so far all it was doing was giving me a migraine. If I’d been half as much trouble when I was Bob’s age, it’s no wonder Mom couldn’t wait to jump ship the second I reached adulthood. I didn’t blame her. Much.

  “I have an idea. You keep practicing your face and I’ll make a few calls. Maybe I can figure something out.” I grabbed my phone and retreated to the bathroom. My apartment was far too small for this kind of teenage melodrama, but I could barely afford the space that I had so an upgrade was out of the question. Ergo the relative privacy of the bathroom, complete with musty towels and wet soap.

  “Zam? Hey! I’ve got a quick question,” I said once he picked up.

  “For you, Jazz, I have answers,” Zam came back with. “Others I will charge double.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Funny man. You still have any of your old wheelchairs lying around? I’m guessing you do, since you never throw anything away.” This was a massive understatement. Zam could give master class lessons on the fine art of hoarding. In fact, I think he did, if the people cycling through his little shop of horrors was any indication.

  “Several, of course. Some are real collector’s items, dating back to the second expansion era. Hydraulic springs, gilded wood, rich Corinthian synthleather. Extremely comfortable, but sadly, not motorized.”