Black Swan Planet Page 14

  “Tricycle?”

  “Aren’t you paying attention? The man, woman, and chimp. The Tricycle.”

  “You said Trinity earlier.”

  “Did I, or did you just hear that? Three wheels, monkey up front, man and woman in the back.”

  “The man. Where did he go?”

  “Heathen on Earth. Pair of dice. Planned to live out his days enjoying himself. Said he’d found a place where he’d fit in just fine. Set up shop, make some deals. ‘I’ll end with a beach and gotcha’ is what I heard he said. His plan was ‘ya’ makin’ pair of dice.’”

  Nicholai would certainly be a heathen on Earth. Pair of dice? A casino? No – paradise. Nicholai’s Heaven on Earth – a Paradise. I’ll end with a beach and gotcha? Beach; island. Island with a beach and ganja. That would be his paradise for certain. But where is he making his paradise?

  “Where did you hear about all of this?”

  “There are many of us, listening, paying attention, taking notes when something doesn’t add up. We talk, we mail letters. I keep a journal of what I hear. Write everything phonetically with my own codes for sounds; no one else can read it. I write it phonetically and backward in a mirror. Practice I do, until it’s perfect. Never write down the code; only I know it. Read it aloud to myself all the time, it keeps the code fresh and the memories ripe.”

  “Of course!” I said, receiving a quizzical look from the Dentist; one eye raised, the other squinted.

  That’s why he’s getting the wrong words all the time. Reading it phonetically, in his own code, Empire becomes Umpire over time. Paradise is pair of dice. “These three. Where were they first noticed?”

  “Mountain A”

  “Mountain A? What is mountain A?”

  “Mountain A is Mountain A. It is what it is; it isn’t what it isn’t.” His lips curled in an annoyed fashion.

  “Where is this place?” I asked.

  “Not good with geography. Long way away,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. “Long way away.”

  “Can you remember anything else? Anything more on the three? Anything at all?”

  “The five-nine quake. Suspicious, odd it was. Some claimed they caused it because they wanted a fishing hole. I think that’s too far out there. Some people are just paranoid about every little thing.” His eyes darted around again as if he were looking for an unseen intruder. “Who would or could do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Cause an earthquake, just to go fishing.”

  “That’s crazy talk. You can’t cause an earthquake. You can drill into a tectonic plate and insert a series of resonance generators to dissipate and buffer the vibrations, but that is to eliminate earthquakes, not cause them…Theoretically, of course. Anyway, the technology isn’t possible.” Here, it isn’t possible.

  The Dentist raised his hand like a child. “I have a question.”

  “What is your question?”

  “Can I go home now?”

  “I don’t know what to do with you, Dentist.”

  “Take me home and I’ll help you. I’ll let you know when I hear any news on the Trilogy. You want to find them, I can help you. I can!”

  “Fine. I’ll take you home, but I’m keeping this gun. You’re too reckless with it.”

  “It’s not loaded.”

  “It’s not loaded? Seriously? What the hell!”

  “Totally not loaded,” he said, and before I could even acknowledge what he did, he had grabbed my hand and pointed the gun at his own forehead. “Not loaded, see.”

  He squeezed my hand, forcing the trigger closed. In that instant, all my senses of awareness exploded with awareness. I heard a thunderous crash of sound; so loud I wondered if I’d ever hear again. A flash of light, the smell of gunpowder, recoil through my hand and arm, the sight of a man’s forehead pierced by a bullet, and its contents splayed across the inside of the barn. He fell over. Dead.

  “FUCK! Holy father-fucking-son-of-a-monkey-licking-motherless-whore-goat! Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck! Fuck me dead I am so fucked!”

  I looked down at the gun, a tiny serpent of smoke still escaping from its barrel, my finger still on the trigger; my prints all over it. I listened for sirens, but I only heard ringing from the shot. I snapped around to look at the doors. Was someone coming? Would they see me with the gun in hand and assume I had murdered this man? What was that?

  My eyes darted all over, my pulse raced, blood filled with adrenaline. He had forced my hand closed; I had no intention of shooting. But no judge would ever believe that story. I had to do something and fast. I dropped the gun and stared at it. I imagined my fingerprints all over it and had to get them off.

  I found an old flannel shirt hanging on a nail and a kerosene lantern. I dumped some of the kerosene on the shirt and polished that gun until it shined. I needed to make it look like a suicide. I cradled the gun in the shirt and placed it in his hand. I pushed his fingers all over the gun, then set it in his hand. I looked at the way the shot had entered his forehead and the length of the barrel. Something looked wrong about this. There’s no way he could turn that gun completely around and point it at himself firing it with his index finger. He would have had to turn it backward and use his thumb. I turned the gun in his hand and pointed it back at him, forcing his thumb on the trigger. I stepped back and looked at my work. Still not quite right; his thumb wasn’t quite on the trigger far enough. I pushed his thumb in further. Once again, an explosion from the gun, a ringing in my ears, and the smell of gunpowder. This time, the bullet hit him in the chest. A small trickle of blood appeared, but it lacked pressure behind it. To any medically trained person, it would be obvious this shot had been fired after the victim died. I’d be charged with murder and despoiling a corpse.

  “Fuck! Fuck me with a rusty sewer pipe smothered in glass shards and vinegar! Fuck!”

  I startled at some motion out of the corner of my eye. A barn cat. I sighed and dropped my head into my hands.

  I could hide the body. Put it somewhere nobody would notice for a very long time. By then, I’d be long gone and never connected to this. I looked around and saw a turnbuckle used to raise bales of hay into the barn’s loft. The trolley and pully system would allow me to haul the body both vertically and horizontally into the back of the barn. By the depth of dust and dirt, nobody had been in the loft for years. The bale-lifting mechanism had two curved prongs on a pivot point, the more vertical lift applied, the tighter they would squeeze the bale. Disgusted and desperate, I set the prongs into the man’s waist. My stomach turned and I almost retched when I saw a small protrusion from his back pocket: A diary. I thumbed through it and saw nothing but symbols; the language chip in my head recognized nothing. I shoved it into my pocket for later review and heaved on the rope.

  I worked my way with this load to the loft, climbed up a rickety homemade ladder about 18 feet to the loft, and pulled the rope, hand over hand, sweat dripping from my brow and soaking through my clothes. As I pulled, I’d take a step backward, making progress. Something moved under my foot and heard a loud scream as razor sharp cat claws dug into my leg. The cat hissed, I screamed, and I let go of the rope. I heard a sickening crack as the body hit the ground and bones snapped.

  “Fuck! Rat-fodging, bastard-baboon’s-ass-smelling, cluster-lizard-loving, illegitimate, flea-ridden-donkey-humping-father-fucker!”

  I looked down at the body, now a mangled mess. “What did I do to deserve this? And you, Mr. Dentist? We’re both fools. Only one of us is leaving here today. I started pulling again, and this time, I made certain nothing would loosen my grip. I got him to the loft and pulled behind a big pile of hay. I covered his body with hay and backed my way out, wiping anything I thought I had touched with the kerosene soaked shirt. I found an old corn broom and smoothed out the footprints in the dirt. The scene looking pretty good, all things considered. I stopped as a panic filled my mind. Had I touched the light switch?

  I didn’t recall, but better safe than sorry. I do
used the flannel in kerosene one last time and wiped the metal switch plate. In doing so, I turned the switch off and on. When it came on, a spark jumped from the terminal and immediately set the flannel shirt on fire. I flung the flaming shirt away from me; it landed on a large pile of hay and the fire quickly escalated.

  “Fuck it. I’m out.”

  I shook my head as I went to my car, started it, and drove off. In the rear-view mirror, I saw the barn engulfed in flames.

  Chapter 19

  Dissolute Destiny

  Imperial Inquisition # HTE57845S Transcription by Transcripton™ Ultracomputer.

  Transcription by Transcripton™ Ultracomputer.

  Commentary and descriptions in accordance with SmartScript intergalactic standards.

  Natastia Briggam entered the darkened cell with a spring in her step, singing, “Vibratron is really neat, they put a smile in your seat; we’re all wearing Vibratron!”

  Lieutenant Denton Morrow lay curled up in a fetal position on a small, thinly padded bed build into the corner of his cell. His hair and beard long and matted, it matched his dirty and tattered clothes. He grumbled, “What?”

  “Come on, two five three! Sing along! Vibratron is really neat!” Natastia swung a weighted baton, striking Denton in the chest; he let out a moan. “They put a smile in your seat!” Smack! This time, the baton struck him in the buttocks. Another moan.

  Denton struggled to his feet. “I’m up. What do you want?”

  “Right now, I want you to sing. You know the jingle, don’t you? We’re all wearing Vibratron!”

  Denton joined in for the last few words.

  Natastia shook her head, pursing her lips together. “Wow. How terrible. What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

  “Not cat. Rats. They gnaw on my toes at night. I can’t sleep more than an hour at a time, then I have to chase them off. Nasty buggers, but sometimes I can catch one. Make him pay, I do. I always name them the same thing. Raka. Raka the rat. Usually, I bite their heads off, but sometimes I like to start with their legs or tails.”

  “That’s not happy. Today is a happy thought day!”

  “I haven’t had one of those in…” He paused, turned his eyes upwards in thought. “How long have I been in here?”

  “Not long. Let’s see. Subtract your lock-down date from today, and adjust for the remaining part of this year. Figure in the leap days and you get about eleven years and four months, give or take.”

  “Eleven years! I haven’t been outside this room for eleven years?”

  “Well, your crime was pretty heinous. Letting that fool escape in the Emperor’s private shuttle. You’re lucky we didn’t purge you.”

  “I might have been better off.”

  “Nonsense. Now, do you remember who caused you all this pain and suffering?”

  “You did.”

  Natastia rewarded his answer with a smack with the baton. “Wrong! Guess again.”

  “The rats?”

  “The rat is right. The rat named Raka, Raka Varoule. Varoule the fool, yet he made a fool of you. Never forget, every pain, indignity, every single day you spend in this smelly cell, and I do mean it: this cell reeks. Every single bit of that is his fault. If I weren’t here, you might have had a mean Inquisitor. You know I’m the nice one, don’t you? The other Inquisitors call me ‘Natastia the Softy’ or ‘Briggam Another Pillow’. Raka caused all this. Every. Single. Bit.”

  “Raka! How I loathe that name.”

  “Good. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you why I’m here on such a lovely day. Guess what we just received. Go ahead, guess.”

  “New vibrating prescription undergarments?”

  “Ha! That’s funny. No' silly, we received a signal from the Emperor’s Shuttle. Don’t you remember? Your right to redemption? You are leading the retrieval team to bring Raka Varoule back to the Emperor where he will be ceremoniously beheaded. It will be like your rats but broadcast all over the galaxy. A day of celebration for all the Empire’s children. It makes my heart warm just thinking about it! Now grab your stuff…” Natastia looked around to see nothing.

  “Never mind. Follow me. I’ll introduce you to your crew.”

  She led the way to a small room and motioned for Lieutenant Morrow to take a seat. Pressing a button on her wrist computer, she said, “Send in the first crewmember.”

  The door soon opened and a large, dark-skinned man wearing a prisoner’s uniform stepped inside. His body nearly covered in various scars; some looked rather painful in their origin. He appeared slightly less unkempt than Denton, but his uniform had wrinkles and stains that made it look like it had been slept in for some time.

  Natastia ordered, “State your name and why you’re here, for Lieutenant Morrow”

  “Magnus Aldis. I’m here because you sent for me.” A scowl snaked across his face. “It stinks in here.”

  “That it does, and it’s not improving with time. Now, tell Mr. Morrow here why you were imprisoned.”

  “Charges of larceny, piracy, soliciting a prostitute, kidnapping, disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, possession of stolen goods, resisting arrest, trafficking in controlled substances, devices or novelties, hit and run, damaging a public facility, conspiring against a public figure, ordering delivery food under false pretenses, and lewdness with an exotic animal. But in my defense, she asked for it.”

  Denton turned his head to the side, and simply said, “Nice.”

  Magnus’s eye’s brightened for a moment, then he added, “Oh yeah, I forgot one. I killed a superior officer and spaced his body. He looked at me funny.”

  Natastia interjected, “I imagine he did. You were trying to smuggle a marsupial dressed in a frilled negligee onto a ship at the time. But I digress. I recruited Mr. Aldis for this mission for his skills. He’s an accomplished pilot, as well as quite handy with a wide variety of weaponry. He will serve as your second in command.”

  “I see,” Denton replied.

  Natastia motioned toward the door, saying, “That’s all for now, Mr. Aldis. We’ll send for you when we’re ready to launch. Send in the next one, please.”

  A man stepped inside, dressed in civilian clothes: clean and clearly fitted with the latest implants. Visible within the cornea of his right eye, a seemingly random pattern of lights and images flickered in and out of existence at an unnatural speed. He smiled briefly at Natastia.

  “Please state your name and why you are here,” Natastia said.

  “Doctor Mitch Sorren. Thank you for the amazing upgrades, Ms. Briggam. I can access the entire personnel file on Mr. Morrow here and track his medical conditions for the past thirty plus years. I know everything about him as recorded since his birth. You really should try to eat more fiber, Mr. Morrow. You’d feel better. You should come and see me for some powder for that rash, too.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Denton replied, turning to Natastia. “Why do we need a Doctor?”

  “We don’t know what we’ll find on a barbarian world. There could be any number of diseases or situations that require me to have access to the latest healthcare technology.”

  “I see. To protect you,” Denton said.

  “Not that I need protection. I already have that covered sufficiently with my butler. You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s already on board, preparing my quarters. I call him Mr. Smiles. I hope you don’t mind, I took the Captain’s quarters on the ship.”

  “The ship? Which one?”

  “The Dissolute. I had her pulled out of storage for this trip. It seemed only natural that the same ship that let the fool escape, would be used to bring him home. I guess I’m nostalgic that way. We’ve done a couple of upgrades to her, well, at least to my quarters.”

  “You took my quarters? Of course you did. Where will I sleep?”

  “We added a bunk next to the Chronos Drive. Should be plenty of room there.”

  “Is that safe? Fluctuations in an individual’s timeline…”

  Doctor Sorren interjecte
d. “Shouldn’t cause much more than a constant sense of impending doom. There have been seventeen papers written on the topic in the last year. No long-term physical damage seen. Psychologically, the effects last for a few months after the last exposure. Come and see me if you are having visions, conversations with demons or a desire to end it all. I can prescribe something to help you sleep. Or we could perform a simple surgery and disconnect part of your cerebral cortex related to fear. It’s a simple procedure with a high chance of success. But that procedure has a relatively high incidence of subjects dying in accidents within the next few years. Stepping into oncoming traffic or over a ledge, playing with explosives, getting beaten to death in bar fights…”

  Natastia raised her right hand, stopping the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. Additionally, we need to remember that we are leaving Imperial Space. To return, we’ll need Free Pratique.”

  Denton looked upward as if he were searching for a memory, saying. “Free Pratique?”

  Doctor Sorren answered, “Certification from a medical professional that we are not carrying contagious diseases or dangerous cargo. There are few doctors willing to come aboard a ship returning from outside Imperial Space. Most likely, they would simply quarantine us for the better part of a year. Having me aboard allows me constantly monitor and record all exposure, and should allow us back home without being shot down.”

  “That it does. Thank you, doctor. Why don’t you go on to the ship and make sure you have everything you need to keep me healthy,” Natastia said.

  “I take my leave.”

  “Next,” Natastia ordered.

  A moment later, the door opened, and a small man walked in, thin in stature, and slightly shorter than average. He wore an old-style visual screen over his eyes that hadn’t been state-of-the-art for decades, in direct contrast to the Doctors corneal implant. He quietly said, “Per your request, madam.”

  Natastia made the introduction. “Perry Tremblan, Lieutenant Denton Morrow.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Denton said.

  Perry replied, “I knew you’d say that. I mean, with an eighty-seven point three two five percent probability, knowing your background, age, and gender bias, your response would be ‘pleased to meet you’, ‘nice to meet you’, or ‘a pleasure to make your acquaintance’. For my analysis to obtain that number, all three answers were similar enough to be lumped into a single result criteria. If I treated each response as a separate result, ‘Pleased to meet you had a forty-two point six eight preference of the three similar results. By looking at all the individual responses you might have given and not combining ones with similar meanings, the phrase “Pleased to meet you’ would be expected about twenty-seven point six two percent of the time.”