Kzine Issue 11

by Graeme Hurry

  “To discover truth you need to consider all possibilities.”

  His shoulders drop slightly. “Study the math, and consider all possibilities.”

  The memory fades out.

  Dorotea again, in my dark living room, looking down expecting to see marble but find a bland, beige carpet.

  Confused as all hell I write him a message full of question marks. He replies inside of a minute.

  That was my disclaimer. Here’s the data. A.

  Alongside the message comes a flood of files: documents, images and spreadsheets, all zipped up in one archive titled All Possibilities. I don’t know if it’s the sleeplessness, the adrenaline of experiencing Aubrey’s memories, or a peculiar mixture of the two, but I click through the files like a maniac, immerse myself in the data, espouse their analytical frame-of-mind.

  My alarm startles me. Shit. I’m supposed to be at the lab in thirty minutes.

  Need time to process this. Too strange.

  I send the message and log off.

  Dorotea, age 25 (entry #8237):

  Professor Greenstalk’s already at the lab when I get there.

  I go through the motions with her, study the murderer’s connectomes, write things down, but it’s all muscle-memory while my mind’s parsing Aubrey’s theory. Once the initial rejection passes, I turn a critical eye at it, and try to debunk it. Late in the afternoon, when after many mental attempts I realize I can’t, I decide to tell Professor Greenstalk.

  “What if the Scramble isn’t evil?”

  “Scramble?”

  “Sorry. It’s what my dad used to call the nanobots.” I press my knuckles against my eyes.

  She sighs. “The Nanopest is a horrible chapter in our history, which people like me and you are working hard to end.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, surprising myself. “But what if it’s not just a chapter? I mean, the nanotech stuff, sure, that’s recent, but what if scrambles in one way or the other have been happening since homo erectus?”

  She stops shuffling neurons on the screen to look at me.

  “Care to explain?”

  All Possibilities. The research conclusions and the data appear before my eyes.

  “European researchers have analyzed human behavior, change patterns, and they say the nanobots make no difference.”

  Hand on hip. “Tell that to the young family and that poor student.”

  “Mathematicians siphoned data from arcane lifelogging applications and noticed that the rate of change of mental states has stayed absolutely the same. People’s minds changed in all sorts of ways prior to the bots as well.”

  “Oh, bullshit.”

  “They believe that with or without the nanotech we experience personality changes, the scramblers only make them apparent, they are not the cause. Apparently the original creator wanted people’s internal changes to be obvious to everyone.”

  “Why would someone bother doing that?”

  “Another step towards the Open Utopian Society? No one knows.” My mouth curves into a smile. “But supposedly there are followers with a manifesto already.”

  “So what do our European counterparts suggest?”

  “Accept the nanobots. The only thing they restrict is us finding out how they work. Other than that, they believe scramblers have a non-interference policy.”

  “Just what I’d except from a bunch of theoreticians.” She gets up, fires up the supercomputers. “In the meantime, we gotta get back to solving this.”

  I don’t budge.

  “Well?” She jerks her head sideways.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Need rest. Time to think.”

  She yells, “What about these four victims? Don’t they deserve your time?”

  As I’m walking out I consider mentioning that the impulsive crime would’ve been committed regardless of nanotechnology, that our obsession with the spill has made us absolve ourselves of all responsibilities, and that that has turned out to be far more dangerous than any technology, but before I manage to open my mouth I realize I’m out the lab and smiling at the setting sun.

  Dolores, age 26 (entry #8397):

  Soaking wet, he’s standing at my door.

  “You should’ve taken an umbrella.”

  “More dramatic this way.” He smiles. I don’t.

  “What do you want?”

  Adrian says, “Wanted to give you this.” He hands me a folded piece of paper.

  I open it. It’s a drawing. An old drawing of mine. A funny face with big, round, blue eyes cause I didn’t have green.

  Tears start flowing down my cheeks.

  “You stopped writing.”

  “Wanted to see where I stand. So I can be sure.”

  “Are you now?”

  He nods.

  I hesitate for a moment, then wrap my hands around him and squeeze tight.

  Dolores, age 27 (entry #8697):

  A clear morning. The smell of goat cheese and fresh baguette. He’s made breakfast. We eat, then we head for the clinic.

  We’re strolling down the Promenade, slurping from juice-boxes. The Diary-removal procedure’s supposed to be short and painless. All will be the same, except we’ll no longer have the ghosts of our past selves burdening our decisions.

  At the clinic doors, he takes my hand in his.

  We walk right in.

  WESTERN STYLE

  by Grady Yandell

  Ken Blake had been a friend of mine. His dead eyes were staring at me and asking for the one thing I could still give him… justice. I reached down to close his unseeing eyes forever. “Don’t worry partner, they’ll pay.”

  A young police officer standing nearby must have heard me. “Did you say something detective?”

  I took my glasses off, to wipe the morning dew off of them with a white handkerchief. “Have Toni come over as soon as she gets here.”

  A gentle hand touched my shoulder. “I’m here.” It was Toni.

  Did she hear me? She didn’t let on if she had heard. I sighed. “Get busy kid.”

  Toni went to the other side of Ken’s body with her crime scene tool kit. It looked like a tackle box, but it carried specialized tools of her trade. She placed her kit on the ground and began putting on purple latex gloves. After Toni finished gloving up, she directed her investigators to perform a grid search for evidence. They taped off everything around us to preserve the crime scene.

  I frowned. It wasn’t like me to let my emotions run so close to the surface, but Ken, his wife Shellie and I had been childhood friends. We were still close. Most people have moved through my life like tumbleweeds except for a few. I hold onto those friendships like the treasures they are. This hurt. There was more hurt to come. I can’t imagine how Shellie’s going to handle this.

  Snapping on a pair of latex gloves I set my feelings aside to focus on the evidence. Every clue has a story to tell. His throat had been cut from ear to ear and he had been stabbed numerous times. His wallet was on some red mud a couple of feet away. I picked it up carefully. Empty. The gold watch he normally wore was missing and so was his wedding band. Was this a simple mugging? Maybe, but there were reasons to believe it was much more than that. Ken was a Federal Agent. He told me an unidentified illegal alien girl had been murdered on the Texas side of the Red River. A date rape drug, GHB (Gamma-HydroxyButyric Acid) was found in her system. The young lady didn’t die right away mind you, but she was dead by the time the man who hurt her was done.

  Ken called me about a suspect. A man’s name came up I was all too familiar with, Rico Venezuela. Rico is a Mexican American drug lord living right here in Oklahoma City. Rico has a history of brutality that would make Al Capone proud. Since the Jane Doe had been murdered in Texas and Venezuela lived in my fair city, the F.B.I. became involved. Ken called me last night and told me he received a tip from a witness that could help us nab Rico for good. He was going to call me after he met with the witness last night. My buddy had been set up.

  Toni walked carefully aro
und the body, taking pictures and making notes. It was time for me to move out of her way. I made it to my feet with a little effort. My belt was beginning to get too tight and my arthritis made any kind of exercise a chore. I need to adjust my eating habits if I don’t want to go to seed. She moved over to where I had been kneeling to look around for clues while I walked to a pool of blood on the sidewalk a few yards away.

  There was plenty of evidence here if you know how to read the signs. A distinctive set of big footprints wearing shoes with a fancy zigzag pattern on their sole led from the body to this sidewalk. Those large footprints were joined by a set of smaller boot prints near the sidewalk that led to a parking area. Ken’s body was partially concealed by some small bushes, but an early morning jogger saw the blood as he made his circuit around the park. When he saw Ken’s body, he called it in.

  More clues clicked puzzle pieces into place, revealing a dark picture. Okay smart guy, how do you prove this is Rico’s work? Standing stock still, I looked around for something else to help our cause. There was a small brick building nearby with restrooms and vending machines. I could see an ATM machine from where I stood and something that might nail our killers. I almost smiled, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

  Walking back to Ken, I looked over signs of the attack once more. The fog was dissipating, but I had to pause to clean my eyeglasses again before studying his body. Ken was a fighter, but he was overmatched last night. His killer enjoys using a knife. It galled me to know that I wasn’t here to make a difference. Kneeling by the body, I studied his wounds one more time before looking over at our new forensics examiner. Her name is Toniita. I call her Toni. She’s tall and skinny to the point of looking anorexic. Her short black hair and pale skin wouldn’t win any beauty pageants, but she was smart and honest. Those qualities count more in this line of work than looks.

  My eyes drifted around the site, taking in our busy techs, the damp mist that kept fogging my glasses, and fast moving cars in distant traffic. Ordinary people went about their lives as though nothing happened here. But it did happen. A murder was committed here a short time ago. Ken’s murder might get thirty seconds on the news tonight, maybe a paragraph or two in tomorrow’s paper. Not much compassion from the people he served for a life of hard work.

  I kicked a stone down the paved walkway in frustration. “How long has he been dead Toni?”

  She picked up the man’s arm and tried to flex it. “This body is in the early stages of rigor. There’s some stiffness and purpling of the skin in dependent areas so I can safely say the victim died more than four hours ago. I’ll have to run a couple of tests to be more exact.”

  Toni watched me closely until she realized I was aware of her staring. Then she hurriedly glanced away. She did hear me make my promise to Ken. I sighed. Toni has a right to be curious about why I’m talking to corpses. “His name was Blake, Kenneth Blake, he went by Ken. He was an agent with the F.B.I. and a friend.”

  “Did you know him well Detective Jones?”

  “We grew up together, not far from here.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to… ”

  “Don’t.” I climbed to my feet with some difficulty. “It’s not your fault, but thanks anyway.” Toni is book smart, but being savvy about the things they don’t teach you in school make the difference between being an average investigator and something special. “Look closely at Ken. Focus on his injuries. What do you think about his knife wounds?”

  She paused. After studying Ken a few minutes she pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The wounds to his arms are defensive wounds, but the ones on his face, neck and upper body are harder to explain.”

  Good job so far. “The attacker could have been enjoying himself.”

  “You said your friend was a Federal agent. Our perp might have been torturing the victim for information.” She looked back over Ken, more carefully this time. “You could be right though. The killer may have sociopathic tendencies. He could have taken Mr. Blake’s things to make it look like a robbery. Most muggers would have killed him quickly, taken his valuables and ran off.”

  “You make good points.” I nodded. “How do you know the attacker is male?”

  She hesitated. “Judging from the depth of the knife wounds, and their angle. The assailant is either a tall, heavyset man, or a tall woman with uncommon strength.”

  “How can you tell he’s tall and heavyset?”

  “His length of stride is close to the same as yours, but his footprints are much deeper. Our perpetrator also walks with a limp.”

  A limp? She has good vision, better than mine with foggy glasses. I stand six foot four inches tall in my socks so knowing the killer’s stride was close to my own meant the killer was quite tall. I ran her description through my muddled mind palace. “One of Rico’s men fit Toni’s profile. People call him Rocky, but the monster’s real name is Antonio Escobar. He loves using his oversized fists to pound his victims to death. The man also has a fetish for knives and walks with a limp.”

  “Someone else was with him. Shorter and not nearly as heavy.” “There’s another set of boot prints on the other side of these bushes close to the sidewalk where Ken was murdered detective. A smaller set. Could be one man distracted the victim while the other attacked from behind.”

  “Maybe.” Good work. “Now, wrap it up for me.”

  “Okay.” She paused to point to the spot I had been standing in a few minutes ago. “The different sets of boot prints over there tell me that two men arrived together and left together. They are near the body and intermingled with the victim’s footprints. They’re the ones responsible for this murder.”

  I smiled for the first time since arriving at the crime scene. “You’ll do.” We’ll be working a lot of crime scenes together over the years. Call me Barnabus.”

  She flushed bright red at my compliment. “Okay… Barnabus,”

  “I’m going to call Agent Gunn with the F.B.I. He has a checkered past, but I think he’s trustworthy. He worked with Ken and he probably knows this case better than I do.” There were some detectives in the department who questioned whether or not Gunn took money to deflect interest from Rico on a high profile drug sting, but I’ve seen him work. What I saw impressed me. “I’ll ask if he can get us a search warrant and meet me at the suspect’s house pronto. I want to get the jump on Ken’s killers before they catch wind we’re onto them. I need for you to do something that will help us tie this up with a fancy bow on top for the DA.” I explained her part in my grand plan to catch the bad guys.

  Toni looked over the red brick building. “Great! I’ll get on it and call you as soon as I find out.” She hurriedly called a tech over to watch the crime scene before going on her mission. It was time for me to go too. A quick phone call to Agent Gunn netted a search warrant and some Federal back up. A call came in from Toni before I reached Rico’s. The new evidence she found necessitated another call to Gunn. This added an arrest warrant to our collection of paperwork. Not two, but a good start. With a good poker face and some sound bluffing, this could be wrapped up by lunchtime.

  Rocky wasn’t happy to see me, but he guided me through the plush mansion. We passed a pretty señorita on the way in. She was preparing breakfast for Rico’s men in a large dining room. Their loud conversations came to a sudden halt as we walked by. I nodded politely at the lady. She smiled in acknowledgement before returning to her duties.

  Rocky led me to a large study. “Wait here. I will tell Rico you wish to see him.”

  The señorita came in a few minutes later carrying a tray. Her rolled up sleeves revealed some bruising around her wrists and upper arms.

  Abuse? Is she being held here against her will? The tray contained a pitcher of fresh lemonade and some homemade doughnuts. My mouth started watering.

  She gave me an appraising look while she poured. “You are a law man, señor?”

  “Yes ma’am.” I showed her my gold detective’s badge. “My name is Jones. I’m here to
talk with Rico. Who hurt you?”

  “Please…” Marie sat the tray down on a small serving table near a plush leather chair. She hurriedly rolled down both sleeves and buttoned them. “I do not want trouble.”

  She was clearly frightened. I needed information and she needed to relax. “Don’t leave yet Marie, I won’t get you in trouble. Let me sample your cooking first. I might want something else.”

  “Really?” She fidgeted, glanced over her shoulder and then crossed her arms. “Very well, but please hurry detective.”

  I took a drink of some of the finest lemonade I ever tasted, but when I tried one of her doughnuts it was like nothing I had since my childhood days. I held my half eaten doughnut up in front of her. “Did you make this yourself?”

  “Sí señor.” A worried look crossed her face. “I am sorry if it is bad. Please let me…”

  I held my hand up to stop her from taking my doughnut away. “Ma’am, this is like a small taste of heaven. If you cook as good as you make your bear-sign, then you will make everyone here very fat.”

  “What… what are bear-sign?”

  “Sorry about that. Bear-sign is old cowboy lingo for homemade doughnuts. These are some of the best I ever had.”

  “Ah!” She laughed. “I am happy you like them.”

  “I could use some help before you go.”

  “Of course. What else can I get for you.”

  “I’m here for a reason. A friend of mine was murdered in Oklahoma City last night.”

  “You are looking for his killer?”

  “Yes ma’am. Did you see Rico or Rocky leave during the night or come home early this morning?”

  “Rocky?”

  “Either Rocky or Rico, or any of Rico’s men for that matter.”

  “I… I’m not sure.” She paused to rub one of her wrists.

  “Please.”

  She sighed. “They came in the house very early.” Marie shuddered. “Señor Venezuela, he is a bad man and very angry today.”