The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon)

by Alex P. Berg

  I felt a shaking underneath me—not the rocking of a wave, more like a mild earthquake. A rumbling. Perhaps the pounding of feet. Leaving my neck and its crankiness alone, I tried to shift my eyeballs from the intoxicating allure of the ceiling and the mysterious, roiling black cloud travelling across it.

  They obliged. I peered down the hallway. I spotted someone. Carl! Good old Carl, he’d never abandon me—though he looked busy. He’d made some friends. Well-dressed chaps in gray suits. Some of them held long, oblong implements. Batons, maybe? And they were throwing a party. There were others. Diraxi, mostly.

  I blinked. Actually, just Diraxi. And it wasn’t so much of a party as a mêlée. Diraxi pincers snapped at grey rayon covered arms, batons flew, and Carl darted here and there, chopping at carapaces with his bare hands. He turned and ran toward me, but didn’t stop.

  I tried to shift my eyes his way as he left my field of vision, but the squishy orbs in my skull wouldn’t cooperate. The hot rain continued to fall, and the pounding of the waves continued.

  A minute, or perhaps only a few seconds, later, Carl returned. He stood over me, his mouth moving, but no words came out.

  “Hey, Carl, it’s good to see you. What’s with the waves and the rain and the roar?” I asked—or I think I did. My mouth moved. I could feel it.

  Carl’s lips continued to flap. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but his timing was lousy. Didn’t he know I was trying to sleep? I distinctly remembered desiring that in the near past. With Paige’s voice surging in my mind and Carl’s face centimeters from my own, I decided to take a nap.

  27

  I sat in a hard-backed excuse for an office chair, staring across a desk at a surly sergeant at the local police branch. The man sported a thick horseshoe mustache that he wore over his scowl, and his fingers drummed the surface of his desk with the same intensity as his gaze.

  Nearby, a nasally-voiced Meertor proclaimed his innocence to a deputy detective. “I implore you sir, those anhydrous tetrachloride tablets aren’t mine. I mean, they are, I suppose, but I didn’t know that’s what they were. I was just asking that man for a dose of respirator inhalants, as my current stores are running low. He must’ve slipped them into my satchel when I wasn’t looking. Please—”

  The sergeant’s gruff voice drowned out the Meertor’s pleas. “So, let’s go over this one more time. For my amusement, let’s say.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really.”

  I sighed. Despite reveling in the joys of an explosion-induced catnap, I’d never made it to bed.

  I’d woken up on the sidewalk outside my apartment building. Carl had sat beside me, a worried expression plastered across his face. As soon as he’d seen my eyelids flicker, he’d sighed and asked if I could hear him. I could. The crashing wave-like roar that had filled my ears was gone, replaced instead with a dull, bothersome ringing. I’d tried to nod to Carl in agreement, but my neck took exception to that, so I’d been forced to use words.

  My vocal cords had strained, my voice sounding scratchy and faint in my own head as I’d said yes. Carl had sighed, and suddenly Paige had appeared in my mind, asking if I was ok. I thought I was, and I’d tried to say as much, but I’m not sure how much of it came out the way I’d intended. I’d also noted how thirsty I was and asked if Carl could get me a drink of water. He’d said he would, but he insisted I wait until the paramedics arrived.

  Above me, tongues of flame licked at the sides of my fourth floor office while firefighting drones zipped around the outside of the building firing water and fire-retardant chemicals in through broken windows. The inferno seemed to have been contained on my floor, though based on the twisting of the steel girders peeking through the smoke haze and the char covering the exterior of the building, some serious damage had been inflicted.

  I’d asked Carl how I’d made it to the sidewalk, and he’d proceeded to fill in the gaps in my memory. The blast from the explosion had briefly laid him out as well—possibly damaging a few of his more finely-tuned sensors—but he’d recovered much more quickly than I had. His systems had come back online bare moments after the sprinklers had activated. And that’s when the party had started.

  A squad of Diraxi had poured in through the stairwell down the hall, none of them wearing sashes, but according to Paige’s analysis of Carl’s feed, their posture and the prominence of their thoraxes had betrayed their evil intentions. Carl had prepped to defend me, but before the Diraxi took more than a few steps toward us, the door to the office down the hall from me, that of a self-employed financial advisor, had snapped open, spitting out a group of dudes in gray suits. They’d come prepared for trouble. With Carl’s help, they engaged the Diraxi, who apparently hadn’t counted on the presence of the suit-and-tie clad folks. The alien intruders put up minimal resistance before retreating. The guys in gray had chased after them, and Carl had returned to me. As the fire threatened to grow into an inferno, Carl whisked me downstairs and out to the sidewalk.

  I’d asked about the men in gray, but Carl had as little knowledge about them as I did. He’d never considered pursuing them. His entire focus had been on me and my well-being. I’d smiled when he’d told me that. Good old Carl.

  At that point, the EMTs had arrived and I’d been whisked to the local outpost of Pylon Alpha General, where I’d been poked, prodded, scanned, checked for burns, smoke inhalation, and popped eardrums, and run through a gamut of concussion and neurological tests. After a couple hours of exciting medical testing, I was diagnosed with moderate cases of whiplash and tinnitus, mild dehydration, and a bruised coccyx from where’d I’d landed flat on my ass. I was given a cocktail of medications and summarily discharged, but my night had only just begun. A nice, scowling police officer had met me at the discharge station and gently suggested I accompany him to the local station for a chat.

  From there, I’d taken an all-expenses-paid trip in a lights- and siren-equipped police cruiser to the precinct, gotten my prints and retina scanned, and been introduced to the sunny, lovable sergeant and his pet face caterpillar.

  I stared at the man, wondering if his autoshaver secretly laughed at him every morning as it worked around his whiskers. “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with your office,” said the sergeant. “You know, the one that exploded.”

  “As if there were any other.” The officer glared at me. Apparently he didn’t appreciate my wit. “What about it?”

  “You think the party who set the explosive inside it was…?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “The Diraxi. The Veesnu nuts. From the chapel in Knottington.”

  “Right. The priests.” The sergeant looked at me, his brows furrowed and his lips twisted in ill-restrained displeasure.

  “You don’t have to believe me,” I said. “You’ve got Carl’s feed of the whole incident, as well as the one from my own Brain.”

  “Oh, I know,” said the sergeant. “We’re analyzing it as we speak, along with other evidence we’ve gathered. Such as the surveillance video we requisitioned from the race dome downtown.”

  “Well, there you go,” I said. “Between that and my Brain feed of the incident, you have more than enough evidence to implicate the Veesnu lunatics.”

  “You mean the feed of you and that fellow with the sashes going at it in the bathroom? You seemed to have given as good as you got.”

  I knew he’d bring that up. “You know as well as I do I’m the victim here. I’m the one whose office was torched. I was assaulted. The only reason I didn’t report that race dome thing was because I didn’t want to be held responsible for the damages to the facilities.”

  “Riiiiight,” said the sergeant. “And I’m sure your choice not to report the fight had nothing to do with your subsequent trespassing at the Veesnu chapel.”

  “I didn’t trespass,” I said, folding my arms.

  “Oh, really? Explain that to me.”

  “The church is freely open to anyone w
ho wishes to visit it,” I said. “I’d already visited it before and been welcomed with open arms—or, open pincers, as the case may be. I simply decided to pay the place a second visit. No one at any time indicated to me I wasn’t welcome there, nor did they ask me to leave.”

  “At least, not until the arrival of this one Dirax with the…what did you call it?” said the sergeant. “The blotchy face?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “And he wasn’t upset with your snooping?”

  “I was lost,” I said. “And no he wasn’t. He escorted me to the exit in a kind and efficient manner.”

  The police officer continued to drum his fingers on the table. “And the reason you think this is all happening, the reason you think this pious batch of Diraxi is after you is because…?”

  “I know how it sounds.”

  “Humor me.”

  I didn’t think humoring the man was possible. Not in his current state. “Because I’ve discovered they’re medically altering people’s minds. They’re brainwashing them, preparing them for some weird mystical journey, and turning them into true believers of Veesnu.”

  “Like they did with your current client?” asked the sergeant. “One Valerie Meeks?”

  “Correct.”

  “The one who claimed not to know you? And won’t return your calls? And who you can’t find?”

  “Yes. Possibly because she’s been kidnapped,” I said. “You should look into that, by the way.”

  “Duly noted.” The sergeant held up a hand. “Hold on, I’ve got a call.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes defocusing. “Hmm? Yes. Yes. No. Nothing? You’re sure? And who authorized that? He did? Oh. I see. Alright then. Yes, I understand.”

  The officer sat up and turned his moustache back in my direction.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “None of your business.” He continued to glare at me, without elaborating.

  I got tired of waiting for a prompt. “Um…so what happens now? Are we done here?”

  “I’m not done,” said the sergeant. “Not by a long shot. I have a ton of work to do to wrap up this disaster, thanks in no small part to you. But you, the lucky dog that you are, are done. As much as I’d love to send this mess crashing down on your head, I don’t have enough evidence to charge you with anything, and your private investigator’s license shields you from some of the more minor claims I could file against you. But if you so much as sniff that chapel in Knottington, or any of the other Veesnu locations in my jurisdiction, I’ll slap you with so many obstruction of justice and tampering charges your head will spin. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I stood. “What about the Diraxi, though? What happens to them?”

  “They’re my problem, now,” said the sergeant. “But if you’re concerned about your safety, don’t be. We have them in custody awaiting questioning, and the bomb squad just finished checking out your apartment. It’s clear. I’ve even been asked to dispatch a squad to keep tabs on your neighborhood until everything clears up.”

  I rose an eyebrow. “You’ve been asked? By who?” Was that what the call was about?

  The officer stared at me as he ran a thumb and forefinger over his fuzzy piece of face décor, his lips motionless. I would’ve appreciated an answer to the question, as well as answers to numerous other ones that milled about the recesses of my mind, but it didn’t look as if I was going to get any satisfaction out of the policeman. I headed for the exit, sending a ping to my partner as I did so.

  28

  I found Carl waiting for me on the street corner outside the station. We shared a wordless moment—mutual looks of relief that I was neither dead, severely injured, or imprisoned. My luck held steady as we headed home, as I managed to avoid getting tailed, attacked, or having anything in my general vicinity spontaneously combust.

  I didn’t let myself fully relax until my feet lay firmly planted on my welcome mat and I heard the front door to my apartment zip shut behind me. I took a deep breath and sighed.

  “Home sweet home, huh?” said Carl.

  “Let’s say I would’ve been very upset if it were this place instead of my office that had been blown to smithereens,” I said.

  “Want to grab a bite or have a sip of something with a kick?” said Carl.

  I shook my head. “Even though it feels like an eternity since I deposited that sushi into my gullet, I just want to get to bed.”

  Carl nodded and headed toward the wrought iron spiral stairs. “I’ll walk you up.”

  “I’m not a child, Carl,” I said. “I can put myself to sleep.”

  He paused with a foot on the first step and turned to look at me. “Right. Sorry. It’s one of the curses of being an android. I still remember when you were a babe in my arms as if it were yesterday. Sometimes when I experience high levels of external stress, I forget it’s been eighty-five years. Well, not forget, precisely, but—”

  I clapped my old friend on the shoulder. “I know what you mean, bud. And thanks for everything you did today. I wouldn’t be here without you. Literally.”

  Carl nodded, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. “Anytime, Rich.” He clapped me on my shoulder in turn. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Carl headed toward the kitchen, perhaps to take stock of the groceries, while I headed up to my room.

  Paige’s bubbly voice accosted me while I walked. Aww… That was a sweet moment.

  “Feeling left out?” I said.

  Paige tickled my Brain, the closest she could come to a playful bat of the eyes. Don’t worry, Rich. I know who you really love.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Once I got to my room, I sat on my bed, bringing my knees up so I could peel off my shoes and socks. As I stood to take off my shirt, I noticed something on my nightstand—something that hadn’t been there when I’d left in the morning.

  I let my shirt fall back down to my sides. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. How many times am I going to have my personal space violated today?”

  Paige analyzed the contents of the nightstand using the visual feed from my Brain. Well, on the bright side, it’s not a bomb.

  A stack of Veesnu cardslips, perhaps two dozen or so, rested on the corner of my bedside table. On first glance, each appeared to be identical, featuring the distinctive sun and neuron logo I was starting to wish I’d never have to set eyes on ever again.

  “What’s on them?” I asked. “Anything special?”

  Nope, said Paige as she interfaced with them. They all hold the same Veesnu proselytization spiel you’ve heard a couple times now. Want to see it again?

  “Not really.” I picked up one of the cards and held it between my fingers. The surface was rough, as if it had been scratched with a pick or blade. I held the card to the light and realized the scratches were actually words. I grabbed another off the pile and inspected it. Same thing.

  I scrunched my brows. “What the…”

  Wait, said Paige. Maybe it’s a letter.

  “There are numerous letters,” I said.

  Not letters, genius. A letter. Before the rise of digital communications, people communicated by writing each other missives on pieces of paper or parchment or on stone tablets. It’s unorthodox, but I suppose you could do the same thing on plastic cardslips.

  “Stone tablets?” I said “Really?”

  You need to brush up on your history, said Paige. Now shut up and read the thing.

  Figuring I had nothing to lose, I sat back down on my bed and held the first card up to my face.

  Dear Rich,

  I looked up. Dear? Who was this so-called letter from? Valerie? If so, what did she mean by such an introduction? Did she have feelings for me?

  Focus, Rich, said Paige. ‘Dear’ is a standard salutation for these sorts of things. Eyes back on the cards.

  “Right.” I tried again, picking up one card as the next ended in an attempt to turn the stack of cards into a coherent, flowing
missive.

  Dear Rich,

  If you’re reading this, then you’ve found my antiquated attempt at communication. I wish there was an easier way for me to contact you, but unfortunately, my circumstances dictate an unconventional strategy in that regard. I wish I could communicate with you directly via more modern methods, but, for reasons I’d still rather not discuss, I was, and still am, simply unable to do so.

  Before I go any further, let me first express my sincerest, most profound apologies for how this situation unfolded. Know that I never intended for you to come to any physical harm, or for you to suffer any undue emotional distress as a result of my actions. I mean that from the core of my being. If I’d known my visit to you yesterday morning would take you on the journey it did, I never would’ve come to you in the first place.

  With that said, I must admit, I did intentionally mislead you in regards to my initial appeal. As you may have already guessed, I placed the arcade token in the sock drawer of my apartment with the intent that you’d find it and follow the path on which it took you. But I sorely misjudged where that path would lead, and that’s my fault. If only you’d found my fourth and final clue, I’m certain you’d have resolved everything in a much simpler fashion, but you didn’t, and so here we are. All I can say is I’m sorry.

  And now I come to the part of this letter I’ve been dreading—the part that pains me as much as it may pain you. Knowing full well that doing so may result in further physical and emotional distress for you, I must still ask that you continue your investigation into the Diraxi practitioners of Veesnu. What they do is an abomination and a condemnation of free will, and as much as it may have benefitted me personally, I cannot in good faith condone their actions any further. They must be stopped. To allow them to continue on their path is to risk the death and suffering of many individuals—more so than just you, Rich. As much as I care for you, I must consider the well-being of others, as well.