The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon)

by Alex P. Berg

  “The way I remember it, it was my arrival and swift finger jabs that turned the tide of battle in your favor,” said Carl. “And that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” I asked.

  “The police summons you’re most likely going to receive any moment, now.”

  “Ah. Right.”

  On our trip back from the race dome, Carl had expounded on his hypothesis for why the Veesnu Dirax had attacked me in the bathroom, which mainly revolved around the fact that local privacy laws prevented businesses from installing security cameras in places where people were likely to expose their genitals. However, the vast majority of the rest of the arena was under surveillance, including the hallway outside the men’s room, and the event staff surely knew by now that the Diraxi and I were responsible for the damage to their lavatory.

  I, of course, had my own Brain feed as evidence of my innocence in the mêlée, but Carl and I had pored over it together on our tube trip back from the arena, and unfortunately, it was anything but conclusive. Because I’d had my back to the Diraxi priest when he initiated his pincer punch, I didn’t have any evidence of his intent to harm me, and his subsequent backhand looked rather out of control when viewed through my feed. The next action by either party was me kicking him in the waist. After watching the feed a few more times, we decided the overall impression of who initiated the fighting was inconclusive—or, at least, it could appear that way to a jury. Besides, even if a jury determined I wasn’t the instigator in the fight, I’d still be liable for damages caused and be subject to a hearty fine.

  The fact that I hadn’t yet received a call from the police, however, meant I might skate away scot-free. Perhaps the arena owners were used to disorderly fans upset by race results and didn’t want to have to bother with the police any more than I did. Or, perhaps they saw the burst pipes, wet floors, and cracked bathroom tiles and figured they had nothing to gain from a police investigation and quite a bit to lose from a potential lawsuit. Either way, I felt more at ease about the legal ramifications of my actions with each passing moment.

  “I don’t know, Carl,” I said. “I think my patented Weed family luck is going to keep me out of trouble again.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” my partner said. “There’s no such thing. If there was, you wouldn’t have been attacked in the lavatory in the first place. Or woken up in that alley. Or set upon by angry bees yesterday.”

  “You’ll never understand,” I said. “You’re a glass half-empty kind of guy, whereas I’m the glass totally full sort. Preferably full of something delicious, like whiskey and cola.”

  “I think your metaphors are getting a little stretched,” said Carl.

  I shrugged, rolled my eyes, and focused my attentions on something useful—how long it would take for the pizza to arrive. I gave Paige a silent, digital prod.

  Relax, she said. It hasn’t even finished cooking, yet. See?

  A progress bar flashed in the bottom left of my field of vision.

  Carl tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Why do you think the Diraxi attacked you, anyway?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, shifting in my seat and reversing the positions of my feet on the desk. “They don’t want me digging into Valerie’s past anymore…”

  I paused. In the aftermath of the fight, with my adrenaline surging and blood pounding through my ears, I hadn’t spared a thought for my client. As soon as fears for my own safety had receded, they’d been replaced with Carl’s concerns for my legal well-being. It wasn’t until now, with the various drugs I’d ingested taking effect in my system, that I thought about what Valerie had said to me earlier in the day.

  I pictured her, standing in front of my door wearing her paisley leggings and yellow halter top, twisting her fingers together as she glanced over her shoulders. ‘There’s people after you?,’ I’d asked. ‘Yes, exactly! The Diraxi,’ she’d said. I’d taken her concerns with a grain of salt at the time, but what if she’d meant the statement literally? What if the Diraxi meant her physical harm, as they’d meant me? Despite her spectacular, toned abdominals, I didn’t get the impression Valerie was the kind of woman who could defend herself against a mob of angry, pincer-wielding aliens.

  “Well, of course the Diraxi don’t want you looking into Valerie’s connection to them,” continued Carl, “but the question is why? What secret would be worth physically assaulting someone to hide?”

  “I, uh…don’t know,” I said, my mind heading in a different direction. “Maybe brainwashing technology, like I said earlier. Paige, can we call Valerie? I’m a little concerned about her.”

  I can try, she said, but, well…you know.

  I sat expectantly, hoping to hear the distinctive trill of a Brain call, but nothing more than the sound of my own breathing filled my ears.

  Paige’s voice returned to confirm what I already knew. Sorry. We’re still blocked.

  I frowned and rubbed my brow. “I don’t get it. She clearly needs our help. She admitted that much this morning. Why block us from calling her?”

  “Maybe someone’s monitoring her communications,” said Carl, “and she doesn’t want a third party privy to her conversations. Or maybe it has to do with that mental blockage you hypothesized.”

  “Maybe.” I drummed my fingers on my desk, my thoughts of Valerie transforming into wild fantasies, including one where she ran through the woods in a flowing white dress as wild-eyed Diraxi chased her, firing electromagnetic prompts of fear and anxiety toward her cerebral cortex.

  “Rich?” said Carl.

  I blinked and looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Did you change the settings on the cleaning bots for your office?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been here without me since we left yesterday?” asked Carl.

  “Now, when would I have done that?” I asked. “I’ve been with you the entire time. Why are you asking?”

  “Because I think someone’s been in here,” he said.

  I pulled my feet off the desk and sat up. “Huh? How can you tell?”

  Carl pointed to the bronze bust of me that graced the corner of my desk, the one with my professional win-loss record etched into the base to remind me of the glory days. “Your egotistical monument. It’s been rotated three hundredths of a radian clockwise with respect to your desk.”

  I glanced at the statue, pausing a moment to admire my own face. “Really?”

  Carl nodded. “I cache all sorts of arbitrary information in my memory banks. Usually it proves useless and I delete it later, but not always.”

  “So, what? You think someone broke into my office?” A thought struck me. “The same people who tossed Valerie’s place?”

  “Possibly.” Carl stood and moved toward the shelves, sofa, and coffee table that helped my office look like a real place of business. He glanced to and fro, inspecting the curios and knickknacks populating the area. “No. Scratch that. I’d say it’s unlikely.”

  “Unlikely someone broke in, or unlikely it was the same people that trashed Val’s apartment?” I asked.

  “The latter,” said Carl. “Someone was clearly here. A number of things are out of place, but unlike Miss Meeks’ residence, the items are only slightly shifted. Whoever was here hid their tracks well. My optical filters aren’t detecting any unexpected fingerprints, and if I hadn’t recently cached a vid of your office, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  I scratched my head. Someone had broken into my office, but if Carl was right, it wasn’t the same people who’d trespassed on Valerie’s property. So who did it? The Diraxi from the Veesnu chapel? Valerie? Who? And why the hell wasn’t Valerie answering my calls?

  “What’s on your mind?” asked Carl, returning to his seat.

  “What’s on my mind is I’m tired of pussy-footing around. I think it’s time we returned the favor someone so generously gifted us. You up for some snooping?”

  “Depends on how dangerous and or
legal is it,” said Carl. “What’s your plan?”

  “You’ll see.” I gave my robot friend a wink. It didn’t put him at ease.

  23

  “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” said Carl.

  “What are you talking about,” I said as our cab pulled over to the side of the street. “This plan is foolproof.”

  “You said something very similar yesterday,” said Carl. “Right before you were set upon by angry bees.”

  I stared out the window at the blocky Veesnu chapel, the sun and neuron projection hovering over the entrance. “Trust me, this is going to work. Now, let’s go over the details one more time.”

  Carl clenched his jaw and looked out the opposite window. “I’m not going to do this.”

  “Yes, you are,” I said.

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to do it all by myself, and without you, my chances of success plummet,” I said. “Given the potential risks involved, you’re not going to let that happen. Now, again. The plan.”

  Carl sighed. “I’ll enter the chapel. The greeter at the door should recognize me and ask me to leave. I’ll ignore him and race toward the lift, but I won’t use it. I’ll race down the stairs. Once I reach the basement level, I’ll break into the sermon room and take stock of the situation. If a sermon is in progress, I’ll make a scene while taking stock of the location and the people who are there. If not, I’ll bypass it and keep going. I’ll make a rounds of the basement, saving the recording from my visual feed, then head back upstairs and exit the premises. Meanwhile, you’ll progress with your part in this doomed arrangement.”

  “It’s not doomed,” I said as I rubbed at my face. It already felt hot. “This is totally going to work.”

  “Unless one of the Diraxi talks to you,” said Carl. “I may not be an expert on Diraxi physiology, but I’m fairly sure they’ll know you’re you if you communicate with them.”

  “Then I won’t talk to them.” I took a deep breath and adjusted my robe. “Now be honest. How do I look?”

  “Ridiculous,” said Carl. “But…more or less like your canvas. If it’s dark, people might confuse the two of you.”

  I smiled. Before returning to the Veesnu chapel, we’d called upon a friend of mine, someone I’d met years ago during my stint as a flightwing instructor. He was a makeup artist who specialized in prostheses for high-budget, techno-thriller vids—the kinds that featured crazy, made up alien races and in which entire star-systems tended to combust as a result of the wild actions of the protagonists. Using my cached Brain feed from when I’d entered the Veesnu chapel the first time, he’d printed me a realistic mask mimicking the facial features of the bald chap I’d spotted inside the church. As long as I didn’t make exaggerated motions with my lips or jaw, the mask disguised me perfectly—or at least I thought so. Carl disagreed.

  “Don’t worry so much,” I said. “Between the mask and this stylish navy robe my buddy snagged from the prop department, I look like a dead ringer for our friend, Baldy.”

  Carl cringed. “Couldn’t you have used an adjective other than ‘dead?’ Are you intentionally trying to make me nervous?”

  “Come on, you know the Diraxi weren’t trying to kill me at the race dome,” I said. “They just planned on roughing me up a little. Scare me. Get me to give up on the case. If they’d meant me real harm, they would’ve come after me someplace else. Someplace that didn’t have cameras pointed at the entrances and exits to all the bathrooms.”

  “Someplace like this?” Carl pointed at the church.

  I snorted. “Ok, point made. But this would still be a terrible place to off me. Paige has the full feed of my actions. If I go in that door and never come back out, I think the cops will know who to blame.”

  “Yes, but you’d still be dead,” said Carl.

  “I’ll be fine, Carl. I promise. Now go on. Enact phase one of the plan. Paige’ll let me know when to move in.”

  The cab door swung open. Carl looked at me. He hesitated, as if he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead he hopped out and headed into the Veesnu shrine.

  I sat in the cab, drumming my fingers on my thigh. “Alright, Paige. Give me the blow by blow.”

  No nonsense from Paige. She got straight to it. Perhaps she was worried, too. There’s a Dirax at the front, waiting at the podium. Not the same one who was there earlier, based on the curvature of its anepisternum—

  I didn’t ask, and Paige kept going.

  —but it’s wearing the same distinctive pair of sashes as your attacker. It seems to be aware of who Carl is. It’s telling him to leave, and…Carl’s off. He’s running. He’s at the stairs, heading down. The Dirax is yelling. Hold on a sec. Carl’s glancing back. Ok, yes, the Dirax with the velvet chest flair is after him. Go.

  I gripped the side of the cab, launched myself out, and darted in through the chapel’s front doors with all the speed and grace one could expect from a medically-rejuvenated octogenarian kick boxer. The cramped, cylindrical entryway was devoid of life, so I hustled past the podium and down the left hallway.

  As much as I’d argued to Carl that my plan to snoop on the Veesnu cultists was solid, there was one giant, gaping pitfall—one I hoped I wouldn’t fall into. What if I happened to bump into my shiny-headed body double? I’d taken the left hallway in the hopes Baldy still lingered in the room I’d seen him enter on the right, but I couldn’t discount the possibility that I might encounter him. If I did, I had a backup plan—one I hadn’t shared with Carl, one that required wit, sophistication, and subtlety: I’d kick the dude in his giblets and make a run for it.

  I slowed as I approached the first door on my right. I drew a deep breath as I reminded myself to be calm and act reserved. I stepped forward, and the door blinked open.

  The room the door revealed was empty, at least of intelligent life. An austere bed, neatly made with plain white sheets, rested along the wall to my left. To my right, I spotted a plush recliner with a wall mounted projector behind it, and speakers peeked out from alcoves set in the walls—audiovisual systems for Veesnu indoctrination, no doubt. Through a door to my right, I saw polished tile, porcelain, and chrome. A bathroom, most likely.

  I stepped out and continued along the hallway. Under different circumstances, I might’ve partaken in more serious digging, but I was operating under time constraints, and I didn’t think rifling through one of the Veesnu disciples’ living quarters would provide many clues for my investigation.

  “How are we doing, Paige?” I whispered.

  Not bad, she said. Carl’s fast, and those Diraxi aren’t. I don’t think they expected anyone to bust in and run an eight hundred meter dash in their basement.

  The next room I tried mimicked the first, but the third room contained something the other two hadn’t—a man, sitting on his bed, wearing khaki trousers and a pleated white shirt with a single buttoned front pocket. He looked up at the sound of the door and blinked a few times. I took a step back, but I was too slow.

  “Royce? Hey.” He stood and approached. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

  It was the moment of truth—the time to channel my inner monk. I clasped my hands and responded with a shrug, a slightly tilted head, and a couple of raised thumbs.

  “Hm. Yeah. Me, too,” said the man. “I’ve got to admit, it’s been difficult these past few weeks. More difficult than I expected. The sermons. The reading materials. The flow of information. It’s overwhelming at times. I have trouble remembering it all. Sometimes… Sometimes I think I have trouble remembering other things, too. Did you ever feel that way when you started?”

  I shook my head.

  “No? I suppose not. You’re a natural, from everything I’ve heard. Speaking of which, I’ve heard you’re on the short list for ascension. Are they that close?”

  I wondered what that last part meant, but I nodded.

  The mystery man raised his brows
and nodded. “Wow. Well…you’ve earned it. Any advice for the rest of us?”

  I took a moment to think that one through, then I brought my arm out and held it toward the sofa chair and projector combo.

  “A deeper understand of Veesnu. Yes, of course. Thanks, Royce. Your advice is always impeccable.”

  I jerked a thumb at the hallway.

  “You have things to do. I understand. Well, thanks for stopping by. And good luck.”

  I nodded and moved on.

  Nicely done, said Paige. Makes me think you should shut up and listen more often.

  I thought of a snappy retort but kept it to myself as the crux of Paige’s statement dawned on me.

  I knew you could learn, Paige said, reading my thoughts. Now hurry. Carl can’t keep those Diraxi busy forever.

  I found a staircase and headed up, taking the steps two at a time. Lady Luck was with me. The corridor I popped into was completely empty. The first door I tried led to a supply closet, but in a twist of serendipity, the second door I tested led me straight to the jackpot.

  I stood in a rectangular, whitewashed room that looked like a cross between an oncologist’s office and a military command center. In front of me, two parallel rows of translucent, acrylic desks faced the wall, each fitted with a trio of displays and ringed from behind by a bay of holoprojectors. Behind each desk was a padded, high-backed chair—for Diraxi use, based on the tucks in the seat backs. The holoprojectors hung, quiet and lifeless, and all the displays gleamed with a dull, matte off-black.

  A huge, toroidal machine with white plastic walls and a bed in the middle dominated the other half of the room. It reminded me of a magnetic resonance scanner, but this one was decidedly home-brewed. An additional display—no holoprojector this time—sprouted from a gap in the plastic, and thick, multicolored cables bundled with zip-ties trailed out the gap, along the floor, and up into the ceiling. Next to the cylindrical monstrosity sat a plush recliner chair surrounded by holoprojectors and speakers. A compact integrated medical scanner for measuring vitals stood next to it, and an unopened bag of saline, electrolytes, and nutrients hung from a pole atop it.