by Gary Starta
The next day Anna awoke with no pain in her head. In fact she found herself singing in the shower. The lyrics to a song she could not remember ever hearing suddenly popped into her head.
“But If I had to say one word, don’t you
know what that word would be, you
would have all the whys you need and
that word would begin
with E,
He’s everything I know, Everything that’s right,
Everything I read, Everything I write…”
Peter was shocked to hear his wife singing a song. She had hardly ever listened to music and quite often told him to turn down any recording he ever attempted to play. His surprise segued into dismay as Anna exited the shower and strode in front of him. The only thing covering her body was a few droplets of water. Peter also had never known his wife to display such confidence in her body. “What’s going on here?” he asked himself. The alarmed scientist was too embarrassed to ask his wife for an explanation as she began to eat her breakfast in the nude. Peter was further intimated when the look on Anna’s face revealed nothing but smug confidence. To her, nothing was out of place or character. For Peter, confidence was no longer a word in his vocabulary. Mikola Petrovsky had chosen him as his next mind control victim.
Peter Ciprelli wandered aimlessly around his property a few hours after his wife’s display. He could not place why his wife’s behavior made him so distraught. He knew their marriage was fast becoming a platonic friendship. However, he had chosen that course. If his wife were now to have a change of heart—why wasn’t he made aware? Peter struggled to answer this question as his foot unconsciously began to dig into the artificial soil of his yard. “Why would she be singing a love song when we’ve rarely slept in the same bed?”
Ciprelli’s thoughts of anguish soon turned to Karen Hiroshi. Peter knew it was wrong to think about another woman, but he somehow felt he and the young scientist shared a lot in common. Still, every time he had contacted Karen she somehow had an excuse ready at hand for not seeing him.
Peter also could not place why his feelings on these matters was so overwhelming. Just like Anna and Akira, Ciprelli didn’t have a clue that his mind had been poisoned by Mikola Petrovsky. Peter knew only one thing for sure. A drastic course of action must take place.
As Peter struggled with his thoughts and Anna sipped tea in the raw, the newest citizens of Ceres turned their attention to the great outdoors. Plastic surgeon Dr. Jon Sanderson had invited his ship mate Steven Carlisle to join him in a game of catch.
Sanderson had smuggled several gloves and baseballs aboard Terran’s Ark. He hid them underneath as shirt as he exited the ship so as not to attract the attention of Linda Dougherty. Jon knew Linda frowned upon any illegal type of action and did not want to raise her ire. Sanderson’s protruding belly had not raised any suspicions as the surgeon was prone to pack on a few pounds every now and then from his sugar cravings. Little did Jon know that a lot more dangerous secrets were being hidden than in the lining of his clothes.
The two men leisurely began to toss the ball around as Jon felt they were a safe distance from the eyes of Linda. The pair had chosen to play ball in front of the beautiful three-story municipal building Peter Ciprelli had designed. A distorted image of the structure was now being reflected in the artificial pond which also been constructed with the help of holographic technology.
After each pass of the ball, the men unconsciously began taking short pauses. It was not because they were out of shape. Linda had scheduled a diet and exercise regimen for the entire crew. Even though Jon had often cheated on his diet, he still faithfully ran laps in the ship’s rec room. The reason for the frequent stops in action was a need for the men to satisfy their curiosity.
Peter first asked Jon if he found it strange that no reporters were bombarding them with questions. “I can’t believe we’ve been left in total peace to throw a piece of cowhide around,” Steven commented.
Jon could not come up with an answer for Steve’s question. The surgeon reasoned that he never was one to invite publicity unless it was for his medical practice. “I’d be content to live in obscurity—as long as I am wealthy,” he joked.
Steven was still lost in thought as Jon lobbed a ball that went just out of reach of his glove.
“I should have known science fiction nuts like you lack coordination,” Jon teased as Steven chased the errant ball.
As Steven fought to regain the ball and his breath, he retorted, “Well at least we don’t lack imagination like you doctor types.”
“We don’t need imagination anymore, Steven. We just have to relax and produce babies.”
The two men continued to trade barbs and baseballs unaware that someone was now on the roof of the municipal building.
What are You
Made Of?
Part V
Chapter 1: Small Talk
Jeff Turner’s hand tapped the desk in front of him intermittently. The intervals between taps were reserved for the murder suspect’s lawyer to scold him for the noise making. Turner and his legal counsel had been waiting in a holding cell to meet with Detective Valentino and CSI’s Morton and Benson for more than an hour. Deep down inside, attorney Ezekiel Horowitz did not care for his client anymore then one would care for a toothache . But when he took the case he saw what the World Aeronautics Association hoped he and the rest of the universe would see—a simple murder between colleagues. He believed his client was truly innocent of the crime lab’s accusations especially since there had been no evidence linking Turner with the murder weapons. Jeff also had no motive as he did not know either Paterson nor Schmitt. The crime lab had also concealed the fact the skin cells and hair follicles found on both the deceased space technicians contained no DNA which would lead one to believe foul play was afoot. (Virginia law officials did not have a hard time concealing this fact as most of the world was tuned in to tabloid broadcasts which focused on little more than Dana Jackson’s cleavage.)
So Ezekiel Horowitz had little reason to suspect his defense of Jeff Turner would actually involve work. For this reason, the attorney cursed himself that he was not better prepared for the impending inquisition. Horowitz loosened his neck tie while recalling that Turner’s off hand remarks to the Virginia PD upon his arrest had nearly given them sufficient rope to hang his client. For that reason, Horowitz begged Jeff on more than one occasion to lose his flippant attitude. The tapping on the desk was just another confirmation that Jeff would remain in defiance. The attorney did not know that Jeff’s insolence was an attempt to mask his own fear. Turner believed no cop should ever be given the satisfaction of knowing they had intimated him. “How else can I be a successful career criminal?” Turner tried to argue with his conscious. But he was losing this battle. Turner’s stomach muscles had tightened into a knot and perspiration had begun to soak his clothing. Jeff realized trained investigators would be able to see through his facade. So he reached down into his dark soul and tried to muster up the courage to face the interrogation. “Let me try to pretend they’re just like Felicia. A stupid bitch who believed all my stories. Yeah, that’s the ticket. They’re just another kind of a whore…”
Morton and Benson enjoyed the way they were keeping Turner waiting. The fast paced investigation they had conducted was nearly 90% complete and they could taste a conviction. The CSI’s knew the purpose of the interview was to convince Jeff to give up whomever had hired him. The forensic investigators were confident Turner would tell them who was behind the murders now that they could prove his guilt. Samuel’s residual knife test had revealed that the same smoker’s print had been left on both the murder weapon as well as on the utensils in Turner’s apartment. The unique nicotine oxide signature emitted from Jeff’s lungs was verification that his knife was used to fatally pierce Paterson’s stomach. As for Schmitts’ murder, Sandra conclusively proved the trauma inflicted upon the holographic skull was similar to the fatal wound the space tech suffered. This meant
the sound of the hammer heard on the data net recorder was indeed the noise Turner had made when delivering the blow to the space tech’s head. The resulting wound on both the real and simulated skull had been an exact match according to medical examiner Doc Thompson.
The CSI’s could also place Turner at the murder scenes through his boot prints, the brand of candy he had picked up at Schmitt’s apartment—and spit out at Paterson’s—as well as the data net device he had left behind. In addition, the dog hair found on Schmitt’s pants indicated he was dragged from his apartment to an elevator. The hair clippings found in his Turner’s trash also told the investigators that Jeff had shaved his beard off between murders. This explained why the elderly grandmother told investigators the courier she let in Schmitt’s building had facial hair.
One piece of evidence was left to process as the forensic investigators prepared for the interview. Morton and Benson thought it would be best to share it with their suspect.
Samuel Benson strode into the holding cell brimming with confidence. A surge of adrenaline shot through his body as soon as he eyed Turner.
“So Jeff, looks like maybe we should offer you a drag on an artificial cigarette or maybe you would like to suck on this chocolate taffy. Oops. Sorry, I forgot. You probably only indulge in these vices after committing a double homicide. “Bullshit!” Turner yelled. Benson’s intention to strike a nerve had worked like a charm. Without pausing to acknowledge Turner’s rantings or his lawyer’s protests, Sandra calmly proceeded to lay the damning evidence upon the cold, metallic table.
“Looks like science has beat you up pretty good, Turner,” Valentino added after Morton’s impressive demonstration.
Everybody’s face in the room was now adorned with a scowl except for Sandra who remained devoid of emotion. She then turned to face Horowitz advising him that it was his right to know hair follicles and skin samples processed on the bodies did not contain DNA. “I am laying all our evidence on the table counselor as we are now formally charging your client in the double homicide. If your client is at all interested in avoiding the federation’s death penalty, you can have him tell us who hired him and supplied him with the genetically altered tissue. Let me remind you that the sentence for multiple murder mandates the administration of rapid cell acceleration. In effect, the convict will die within minutes as we will program his body to age to that of a 120-year-old-man.”
This bit of news was enough to drain the last ounce of fake courage Turner could muster. However, he managed to shout out a weak, “Never!” in response to Sandra’s conclusions.
“Let me remind you gentlemen that we also have a tape of Chuck Paterson accusing the space agency of conspiring to murder Phil Jackson.” Sandra then played the recording which her partner had not yet heard. “We know the agency is behind these murders—we just want a name.”
“Yeah, just a name and maybe we’ll consider saving your worthless life,” Samuel said to Turner as the two engaged in a staring contest.
The defeated suspect then spat on the table in disgust. “You tryin’ to give us more evidence, Turner,” Valentino joked without smiling.
After the CSI’s got what they wanted from Turner, Benson and Morton strode triumphantly down the corridor to get a well earned cup of coffee. While Samuel stirred his drink, he could not resist asking Morton why she did not listen to Paterson’s recording at the beginning of the investigation.
“Sam, if we heard what was on that audio file before we completed our processing it could have influenced our evaluation of the evidence. That same type of investigative procedure—or lack of—is why the entire world believed Paterson and Schmitt fought to the death over a lover. The physical evidence must be allowed to speak first. You should be proud of your work. But you also should realize we’re not done. We now have to prove the space association contracted the murders. Chuck Paterson did not have this proof when he talked to the reporter, Kay Jennings. Don’t get me wrong, I am not defending Jennings. If she was a professional journalist she would have investigated the claims. However, it is a favorable policy to back up all accusations with tangible evidence in her defense. Since then, Jennings has apparently thrown all her ethics out the window since she ran the first lead story concerning the Dana Jackson love triangle. Nevertheless, we will have warrants by the morning to start collecting that evidence to make an arrest. So let’s get at least one night’s sleep and hope the press remains oblivious to our findings for at least one more day.”
Sandra had left Samuel speechless for the first time ever.
Over at the space association, Renee Mercer had greedily accepted Brooke Lawrence’s invitation to appear on her Internet broadcast. Mercer had to only take one look at Lawrence’s picture to assess that the young woman would become another sexual conquest for him.
The interview would also allow him to display his false sympathy for the families of Chuck Paterson and Bob Schmitt. At this juncture, the aeronautics association still enjoyed an untarnished reputation. Lawrence fed on Mercer’s greed as she cunningly alluded that the interview was to honor the aeronautics security executive for his part in the Ceres colonization. The law student knew that Mercer was scum when he immediately arranged her flight and hotel accommodations without bothering to check her credentials.
“I am unstoppable now, baby,” Renee said to himself after taking a few swigs of his trademark drink—banana liqueur. Mercer spent a few moments fantasizing about Brooke’s body, but those thoughts began to fade quickly when the thought of power entered his mind. “I may even enjoy some well earned fame,” he thought in response to his upcoming broadcast appearance.
With blurred speech, Renee then spoke out loud to the one thing that had always listened to his arrogant remarks—the empty office that had become his home away from home. “Yeah Brooke, just fly ah’n down to my headquarters. Cause I’ve got a powerful rocket ship of my own waitin’ for ya.”
Chapter 2: Seeing Is Believing
Peter Ciprelli was distraught. He believed taking a stroll to his latest creation—the Reliance Point municipal building—would help ease the panic he was suddenly experiencing.
“I’ve got to quell the thoughts in my mind,” he told himself.
The pursuit of architectural design had always been a consuming passion for Peter even when his soul burned with desire for Karen Hiroshi. But on this day, Ciprelli didn’t seem to know himself. He entered the vacant building and rode the elevator to the top floor where he believed he could leave all his troubles behind. However, the surrounding beauty of the building did not stop the unusual lead-like thump of his heart nor the dizzy feeling he felt in his head.
Peter’s mind felt like it had been invaded by a stranger. Desperate thoughts began to agonize his soul one after another.
“You’ve got to end this charade. You’re no more than a acquaintance to your wife. You also have to admit that Karen probably sees that you’re too old for her. She already married a man almost twice her age. So you know what you’ve got to do now. You’ve got to move on. Your work here is done—you’ve designed your buildings for the colonists. What a waste it was dedicating your life to science—huh, Peter? Well you can change that life before it leads to your humiliation. Before you end up groveling like a wounded sheep as you plead for your wife’s forgiveness, or worse, beg for the favor of a younger woman. Peter, you can prevent yourself from becoming the fool of Ceres…just open that window over there…”
The voice which Peter fought to shut out was now leading him to a third-story window the way a kitten is led with a ball of string. He could not stop himself from opening the window as his hands shook and his knees felt like two rubber appendages. The power of suggestion was just too strong. The anguished architect then gingerly climbed out to a ledge where he propelled himself up to the building’s flat rooftop with uncharacteristic ease. The wind at this altitude stung Peter’s face but did not interrupt his train of thought. He was now a slave to his very unforgiving conscious.
/> Jon Sanderson and Steven Carlisle had continued to play their game of catch while Peter Ciprelli struggled with his life defining moment just a few dozen meters from them. Each pass of the ball seemed to accentuate the point the other had previously made. Steven did not want to believe he existed only to create children as Jon had argued. In turn, Jon argued that the accommodation of wealth should be the sole motivating factor for Ceres citizens despite Steven’s disgust for big business. The two men began to whip the ball harder and harder to reinforce their points as the friendly game had now become less cordial.
Carlisle complained that the pursuit of wealth would turn the new planet into what Earth had become. A place where imagination only counted if you could turn a buck from it. “The only reason the federation had for colonizing Ceres was financial,” Steven complained to Jon. “We didn’t come here to be fascinated by exploration. In the federation’s eyes, we came here to raise children who could earn them a return on their investments.”
“If you can’t accept that, Steven,” Jon retorted, “then why did you come here?”
“I came here because I believe change is possible. Earth is now the old world. American colonists fought for their independence from England in the 18th century. They were living in a new world at that time and wanted to cut their ties to the old. So this proves that the mistakes of the old world don’t have to be repeated if you have conviction.”
“How do you call world peace a mistake,” Sanderson countered. “The revolution you speak of involved much blood shed. We haven’t experienced war in decades. I don’t believe you would really resort to that kind of violence to create this new world you speak of. You readily participate in the space wars your holographic game provides, yet I don’t see you behaving that way in the real world. I think people like you just want to point fingers. Steven, if we were created to behave in a certain way, why don’t you consider that is simply the way we were intended to be?”
