STOCK MARKET

by Fernando H. F. Sacchetto – July 1st, 2011

“Chambers and Compton, come in here for a moment.”

It was always a bad sign when Foster called us into his office like that. He was a rather to-the-point kind of guy, who usually preferred to walk up to your desk and lay it on you right away. When the talk was inside his office, either he was going to chew you out, or the case was particularly sensitive – which I always figured was the worse of the two. This time, it was the latter.

“What did we do this time?” Compton asked, only half joking.

“It’s not what you did, it’s what you’re gonna do, which is make pretty damn sure you know where you’re stepping with this one.” There was a fat case folder on his desk, which he turned our way. “Just in from the Department of the Treasury. The name’s W&M, for Worthington & Masters. Business consulting, financial market analysis, insurance, I don’t know what the hell else. Business never really been my thing. Problem is, they and their clients have been doing some really dodgy trading on the stock market, mostly by knowing stuff before anyone else had a right to. You know, buying just before the big merger that drives the stocks up, selling when the bad news hasn’t gotten out to the public yet, and so on. They’re calling it insider trading, of course. Have a look for yourselves.”

“That’s all very interesting and all, really,” I said, as I thumbed the folder full of figures and company names, “but pray tell, where the hell do we fit in here? Where’s the, I don’t know, dope, guns, Mafia ties? This is still Organized Crime, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” The boss didn’t look like he enjoyed it any more than we did. “That’s what I said too, but you know how it is. The official line is that some transactions in there sound like they’re buying off people in key positions… see, right here? This guy’s in the FDA. This one right over here is DMV. The list goes on. Anyway, they claim this sounds like corruption, and some other parts sound like money laundering, and those are an organized crime thing. The way I figure it, they realized they’re dealing with some really well-connected folks, who can really screw them up if they want to, and decided the good ol’ FBI could handle any bullshit that came out of it. So, my friends, that’s where you come in, and that’s why I’m telling you to be careful with this one. It’s the kind of case that can make your career… or end your life.”

“Not mine,” my partner said. “Unless one of these guys has an ‘irate spouse’ that won’t like us taking away her husband’s off-the-books income, and if we’re getting this obscure, I might as well not get out of my house. Chambers here is dying of health problems, so he’s good too.”

“It’s ‘health’, not ‘health problems’, so I could just die healthy. And it’s also beside the point – you know how these things go. I don’t know why do we even bother with these predictions, in the end they could mean anything. Foster’s says ‘RSS’, what the hell does that even mean?”

“It means ‘Really Shut-up S-right-now’. We make ‘em here for security reasons, not gossip. But yeah, Chambers, you’ve got a point, and that’s precisely why you can’t let your guard down. I mean it, you two. Just because these folks aren’t pointing guns at your faces doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.”

“Sure, Mom, got it,” I said. “We’ll behave. I will anyway, and I’ll deck Compton in the face if he acts up. C’mon, you’ve known us for what, ten years?”

“I trust you, really, believe me. That’s why I wouldn’t like you falling prey to this kind of people. But that’s enough touchy-feely crap, get the hell out of here and get crackin’!”

Compton took the folder from my hands and opened it at random as we walked out. “So… are we really gonna sit and read all this crap?”

“Like hell,” I said. “Get some new meat to do it. Willis is a pretty stand-up girl, I think she’s up to it. Meanwhile… you’ve got some sort of pet at the DMV, right?”

“Jeffrey. Been there working a few cases, and he’s the one I talk to. You think we can start there?”

“Sure. Let’s get the name of the guy Foster mentioned back there and drop this baby on Willis’s desk.”

* * *

“Tell me again, how much did he get?”

Jeffrey from the DMV was helpful enough from the get-go; it seemed his familiarity with Compton worked wonders in that regard. Getting him to snitch on a colleague wouldn’t be that easy, though, so we decided to build the case up for him before we popped the question, and making him envy the extra cash the perp got on the side was a powerful motivator.

“150 grand,” I said. “That’s over the course of the last eleven months, of course, not all at once. They seem to send the money about twice a month.”

“Son of a bitch! I knew it! That bastard Donovan, always rubbing it on our faces, Lexus this, trip to Europe that… ‘fiscal responsibility’ my ass, I knew he was getting something on the side!”

“That’s how they always fall,” Compton quipped, “they think no-one’s gonna notice the extra income. Good call, Jeff, though you could have dropped me a line before.”

I made a conscious effort to avoid rolling my eyes. “Well, one thing’s for sure, they’re not paying him for his gorgeous blue eyes. He’s gotta be selling something, and something that’s probably illegal.”

Jeffrey was fuming, right where we wanted him. “Damn right he is! Don’t worry, guys, you’ve got my full cooperation in this case. Let’s get to the bottom of this right now.”

“What kind of information can you get us?” Compton asked. “Strictly off the books, of course. This case is highly sensitive, we don’t know who else might be involved.”

“Ooh, I see. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. But you’re in luck, my friend – lots of people here are old-fashioned, you see, and they see computers as little more than fancy typewriters. Donovan’s one of them, the idiot. Don’t know how the hell they make a moron like that a supervisor… anyway, people like him have a really cavalier attitude toward securing their data. See, here, let’s check his folder on our networked server… his password’s “October”, can you believe it? Dumbass gave it to me over the phone, to get some files we needed when he was on vacation a few years back. Still hasn’t changed it, it seems. Anyway… oh, here you go. Any of this look familiar?”

I checked the files on the screen. “What about this folder? ‘WM-Report’ sounds like what we’re looking for.”

It was full of spreadsheets with dates for names. When Jeff opened them, his jaw dropped – they were driver’s license records, with all sorts of information like names, professions and addresses, of thousands of people per spreadsheet… and there were dozens of those.

“The freaking bastard! This is unbelievable! It’s criminal! Tell me he’s going down, you guys!”

“Oh, you betcha!” My partner offered a broad grin. “We’ll need copies, by the way. You never know, he might wise up and delete this stuff. Better check his e-mail as well, see who he sent ‘em to.”

“Say…” I pointed at the last column on the right. “What are these data here? They look like…”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jeffrey said. “Death predictions. Lots of people have them on file – you know, helps them out a bit with insurance, depending on what it reads, of course, and it’s also good for identification in really bad accidents.”

“But every last entry on this list seems to have ‘em… do we all have it on file? Because I sure as hell don’t remember giving mine to the DMV.”

“No, only some people inform them… I’d guess, between a third and a half. Come to think of it, it is kinda strange how they all have it.” He scrolled down the spreadsheet, then opened a few more and scanned them as well. They all had death predictions in every line.

“How come all of them have that info?” Compton wondered. “Did he fill in the blanks somehow?”

“Nah,” Jeff said, “I can tell you, it’s nowhere in our files. He couldn’t have gotten that information here. Seems he just filtered the list to include only people with predictions.”

“Come on,” I said, as we got the thumb drive with the copied files. “I’ve got a hunch about our next stop.”

Compton thanked Jeffrey for his help as he wrote down Donovan’s e-mail addresses, and assured him of his inevitable downfall. “Do tell me,” he asked, “what did you see in those lists?”

“I’ll bet you a sixpack that the main course in there, the part they’re paying him 150 grand for, is that last column. And, therefore, that they’ll also be elbow-deep into whoever’s the biggest supplier of death machines in the area. Deal?”

“Only if it’s store-brand, ’cause I think you’re right.”

* * *

A quick call to the office revealed that the place we were looking for was a company out in the suburbs called Syntronics. A highly solicitous employee quickly appeared to escort us as we walked in the front door and flashed our badges. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m Thompson, operations manager for the plant. May I help you?”

“I’m Special Agent Chambers, and this is Special Agent Compton. We’re here to chat, and maybe have a no-strings-attached look around the place.”

“Certainly, sirs! Let’s walk around the facilities, shall we? You’ll get to see the process of manufacturing our many models of expiration forecasting devices, or EFDs as we call them. It’s a surprisingly simple production chain, for such a fantastic piece of equipment. Is there anything specific you are interested in knowing?” He forced a broad smile, as if trying to distract us from whatever unpleasant business brought us there.

Compton took up the conversation. “As a matter of fact, there is. You do a lot of business with big companies?”

“Well, most of our customers are corporate… mostly in the health sector, such as hospitals and drugstore chains, but also convenience stores, schools, government agencies…”

“Financial consulting?”, I asked.

“Financial consulting?”, he repeated, blinking fiercely. “No, I don’t believe that accounts for much of our sales…”

“What about Worthington & Masters?” Compton leaned a bit closer to the officer. “I hear they’re a big partner of yours. Sure seemed that way from our visit there.”

“W-Worthington & Masters, you said?” Thompson looked around, and some suit close to us was pretending not to react to the name. “Hmm… Ah, I remember. Yes, we did sell them a few EFDs, I think.”

A buzz started spreading through the assembly line around us; I surveyed it as we talked. “Just that? Because we were under the impression that your collaboration went much deeper than that.”

“See, we have lots of business partners, it’s hard to know exactly what you’re talking about without looking up our files…”

I nudged my partner, who took the cue and said, “So maybe it’s time we had a look at them. Y’know, just to take that weight off our minds. Because when…”

His voice drifted off as I moved toward a worker that was trying his best to look like he wasn’t interested in us, and failing miserably at that. He was soldering electronic components into circuit boards, and started working so hard as I walked up to him that one of the parts he was handling flew off into a nearby belt.

I leaned over and pretended to watch his work, in order to get a good look at his name tag. “Wow, working real quick there. You seem to really know your way around this stuff.”

“Just doing my work the way I can,” he said, with an uneasy laugh.

“Yeah… that’s what I heard. So, you’re Krasitzky, right?”

“Uh… yeah? That’s my name, why do you ask?”

I nodded gravely. “You know why. W&M. Ring any bells?”

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking-”

“Cut the bullshit, Krasitzky. We’re not goofing around here. It’s a big operation, and we’re in it real deep. It’s only a matter of time by now.”

He was sweating heavily. “I swear, I wouldn’t know anything about that stuff! I just work here!”

“Yeah, here, and for W&M too, right? You wouldn’t believe how much material we’ve piled up about ‘em by now. It’s all there. I’m telling you, they’re coming down, and hard. Now tell me… are you coming down with them, or are you gonna work with us?”

“Whaddya mean, work with you?” He looked positively desperate by this point. “Please, I’ve got kids, I…”

“Maybe you’d better start thinking about them real good, then.” I briefly looked around for suits, and realized I was almost whispering. “You don’t want ‘em to grow up without their dad around, do you? Help us out, and we’ll see what we can do to help you out.”

“Please,” he was almost in tears, “please, don’t get me into jail! This job is all I’ve got, I’m gonna lose it! Please, I’ll do anything!”

“I’m just asking for the truth. Don’t worry, your name isn’t getting anywhere. We’ve got ways to make sure they never track it back to you, trust us on that. But we gotta hear it from you.”

He called for a break, and led me to the break-room. “Alright,” he started, “as long as you can guarantee this isn’t flying back into my face. I gotta family to look for.” After I nodded warmly, he continued. “I don’t know a lot about what’s going on, really… I just do what I’m told. And that’s putting a tiny extra component into those boards.” He pulled a little circuit board, just under an inch across, with a few short wires jutting out of it. “They never told me anything about it, except where to connect it… but I’ve installed hundreds and hundreds of ‘em, probably over a thousand, and got to have a really good look at it. I know a thing or two about electronics, see. Looks to me like it logs the machine’s results and then sends ‘em by RF when prompted.”

“A bug!” I turned the device over in my hands. “So that’s what it’s all about, huh? Which machines do you put ‘em on?”

“Any ones I can. I just gotta jot down the serial numbers and leave ‘em with my contact. He’s the one who pays me, of course.”

“And can you tell me–” I was suddenly interrupted by the break-room door flying open.

“What is the meaning of this?” A portly suited man barged in imperiously. “You!” He pointed at Krasitzky. “What have you told him? He doesn’t have a warrant, you don’t have to tell him a single word!”

“And you would be…?” I scanned the small throng coming in the door for Compton. When I found him, he just shrugged.

“William S. Lionels, attorney-at-law, defending my clients from grievous malicious prosecution!”

“Whoah, hey, calm down there, we’re not charging anyone with–”

“Damn right you’re not, but we’re slamming you with a whole armload of police misconduct charges unless you either produce a warrant or stop harassing this company right now!”

Thompson stood firmly by the lawyer’s side, and Krasitzky and a bunch of other employees started rallying behind him. This was clearly going nowhere. “C’mon, Compton,” I said on my way out. “That’s as far as we’ll get here.”

“This isn’t the last you’ve heard from us!” Lionels yelled as we left.

Compton turned his head back toward him. “Neither you from us! We’ll be paying your company a visit too!”

“What did you mean back there?” I asked, as we got in the car.

“He’s not from Syntronics,” he replied. “He was talking like he was, but he’s W&M, I’m sure of it. Turned up real quick too.”

“Yeah… I bet they’ve got these guys on stand-by. God, I hate white-collar. Let’s turn in, it’s getting late and I’ve had my fill of this crap.”

* * *

After he thoroughly chewed us out for our antics at the death-machine factory, Foster had us make sure we had warrants coming out the wazoo before we went anywhere significant, so I decided to spend the next morning chatting up an old friend from my university days as I waited for them to come down the pipeline. The thing was, Willis had combed the W&M folder for connections, and it seemed they’d been hiring Columbia alumni by the busload; since Michael was working at Columbia’s financial division, I arranged a meeting with him.

I gave him a quick summary on the phone before we left, and that paid off, because by the time I got there, he’d made a nice little dossier of his own – mostly comprised of a kindly little lady, who was waiting for us in his office.

“This is Mrs. Hodgson,” he explained, “from Alumni Resources. I took the liberty of asking her about it, given the subject matter, of course, and turns out she’s up to her ears in this W&M.” He turned to her. “Why don’t you take it from here? Don’t worry, I’ve known Joe for dog’s years, he’s about as honest as it gets.”

“Thanks, Mike,” I said. “Now… Mrs. Hodgson, is it? What is it about these guys? I wouldn’t think getting alums hired by a big company would be all that bad.”

She seemed a bit hesitant. “Not at all, sir, of course… if that’s all it was. But it’s dodgy, this company, not the place a Columbia alumnus deserves. They prowl university events looking for senior undergraduates, Master’s and PhD candidates, anyone they can snatch in a couple months’ time. The problem is, they’re usually young people full of academic promise who all but vanish from the face of the Earth, as if they were headed to some top-secret project… only one not done on the side of the law, I’ll tell you that.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve heard awful things about them… how they’re bribing top officers in the health sector to overlook their ghastly practices and give them license to operate laboratories that flaunt all sorts of ethical principles.”

“Wait, labs?” I leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Aren’t they a business consulting company? What the hell are they doing messing around with that?”

“I don’t know,” she continued, “but it can’t be good, if they’ve got to buy off people in the FDA to do it. They’re hiring an awful lot of lab personnel, that much I know. Technicians, veterinarians, a couple chemists, even a physicist – Dr. Rebroff, God bless his soul. His work on quantum relativity was going to be huge, or so the physics people say… and then they sweep him away like that, to be some sort of pet of theirs.”

“So, they’re not really working in consulting, is that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, they are, of course. They’ve been paying huge sums to get economists in their payroll – and political scientists as well, and military strategy experts, international relations people, statisticians, the works. They hire quite enough people in these areas to make anyone sure they’re into consulting… not just business, but everything on Earth, it would seem. It’s just the health research that’s odd… and quite shady, I’d say.”

“You can say that again,” I groaned. “Research labs, death machines, stolen death predictions, and actual consulting to boot… Wonder what the hell these guys are playing at.”

“Stolen death predictions?” She had apparently not heard that part before.

I got up. “Yeah. Looks like there’s not a single creepy activity they’d pass up. Anyway, I think I know where to look next. Thank you very much, Mrs. Hodgson… and Michael. If there’s anything else, you’ve got my phone.”

* * *

“You won’t believe the stuff these guys are into,” Compton greeted me with, as I got back to the office.

“What, biology research labs?” I offered with a grin.

The look on his face was better than I’d hoped for. “How the hell do you know?”

“What, you think I was just sipping milkshakes with my buddy all morning? I’ve been working, too. Got some pretty juicy catches of my own.”

“Damn, you bastard, way to spoil the surprise. Ah, what the hell, I’ll go first. While you were away, I paid a visit to one of the companies in Willis’s list… some Smithson, works with lab supplies.”

I mocked an exaggerated look of surprise “Wow, really? Who’da thunk, a financial firm with a lab?”

“Go to hell. Anyway, they were very forthcoming, probably because their relationship with our target looked completely legit. Other than, y’know, the fact that the lab even exists in the first place.”

“Okay, so what did our boys buy there?”

“Aside from the usual, like measuring equipment, cages, animal food, all that stuff… they were buying an awful lot of animals. Mostly rats, with a few rabbits, dogs and such. Small mammals.”

“Hmm, that’s why they were after vets,” I pondered. “Any word on what did they do to the critters?”

“Not really… from the sound of it, most clients don’t tell a company like that what they’re about. Protecting their research and all. But there’s more.” He leaned forward. “The Smithson folks also brought up how they bought lots of electrical prods, rat poison, vacuum chambers, and I don’t know what else… tools for killing animals. Enough to draw their attention, anyway.”

I flinched. “And they were okay with that?”

“Sure. That’s nothing really out of the ordinary, depending on the research you’re doing, or so they told me.”

“And I thought I hated white collar.” I followed up with a brief recap of what Mrs. Hodgson told me.

“What do you think this all means?” Compton was puzzled.

“I’m not sure, but I’ve got an inkling… at least about why they got the death machines. As for why they’re doing that, or how it fits with their consulting, beats the hell outta me.”

“Okay, so now what? Are we raiding the motherfuckers already? I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

“Not yet, unless you want Foster’s ‘RSS’ to somehow mean ‘coronary he got due to Compton’s pig-headadness’. We still gotta beef up our case a bit.” I scanned the relations map Willis had been drawing for a while, and pointed at one of the entries. “Hey, this one looks promising. Do we have a warrant?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” He was already up and walking toward the door.

I snatched the right warrant from the pile. “These days, who is anymore?”

* * *

The place was a medical laboratory called Vitae Labs. Unsurprisingly, they clammed up at the mention of W&M; even the warrant didn’t seem to sway them much.

“You have to understand, gentlemen,” their director was saying, “we operate under strict confidentiality.”

“Patient confidentiality,” I said, “and it’s got nothing to do with what we’re talking about, but nice try.”

“Now, Mrs. Billings,” my partner added, “are you going to open up with us regarding your relationship with W&M, or do we have to go through your records?”

Billings, the director, sighed. “So much for freedom of enterprise. Very well, I’ll tell you, not that there’s much to it anyway.” She sat down. “They’ve been doing some medical research, and we’re providing them with training and equipment. We’ve got invoices to prove it. Jim, please find them for me.”

“Medical research.” I started to circle her. “Equipment and training. For a consulting firm. Tell me, how exactly do they use that in market analysis?”

She just smiled. “At the risk of sounding petulant, that’s their business, not ours. We just provide what we’re hired to.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Compton chimed in, “only I have a hard time believing that’s all they’re after here.”

“Me too,” I agreed. “They’ve been paying you an awful lot for something completely outside the scope of their business.”

“Look, that’s all there is, alright?” She picked up the invoices her employee Jim brought back. “It’s all in here. If you don’t believe it, that’s your problem, not mine.”

Compton started toward the room Jim had come from. “No, I think it’s your problem, and a big one. Hey Chambers, how about we have a look for ourselves?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” I followed him with a grin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Billings was furious. “This is a medical institution! You so much as look at our files and I’ll sue you into next century!”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.” I started going over their physical files while my partner worked the computers. “But this warrant we have right here says search and seizure, and we can’t well seize without looking first, right?”

“How about this?” Compton pointed at the screen. The format was different, and so were most of its fields, but what we were looking at was very familiar: a spreadsheet with a host of personal information about several people… including death predictions.

“Hey!” The director tried to tackle the computer. “Shut that down! It’s constitutionally protected information!”

“All the more reason for you to explain it, lady,” he said smugly. “Because I found it as an e-mail attachment.”

“Ooooh, nasty,” I said. “Congrats, Compton! How did you come across that?”

“Easy. I searched the files for ‘exploded’. That’s the sort of thing that shows up in death cards, but not medical records.”

“Say, Mrs. Billings,” I asked, “did all of these patients here consent to getting predictions?”

“Of couse they did, what kind of a question is–”

“Because I believe the technical term is Expiration Forecasting, or EF, and only a few of ‘em show that in the ‘requested tests’ field. Hey, look at this one – says ‘no EF’ in its notes! How ’bout that, huh?”

“Are you two going to charge us with something or just sit there and bust our balls?” She was starting to tremble. “Because I believe we have rights, we have protections–”

“Which you just threw out the window!” Compton jumped from his chair. “You understand me? You just tossed all that protection in the garbage the minute you broke patient confidentiality! What the hell is wrong with you people?”

The director was on the verge of tears. “We didn’t hurt anyone… they never knew! They don’t wanna know how they die, fine, they don’t know it!”

I turned away from her. “You people are disgusting. And you were lecturing me about confidentiality, like you gave a rat’s ass.”

“You don’t understand! These people, they, you don’t know what they’re like… you can’t just walk away from something like that!”

“You can always walk away.” I started doing just that. “Let’s go. And you,” I pointed at Mrs. Billings, “don’t think this is over. Far from it.”

* * *

The raid was on the delivery address for all the technical equipment – the infamous W&M secret lab. We brought a half-dozen grunts with us, just in case. When we got to the facility, a small warehouse in a dilapidated block, we had a welcoming committee waiting for us outside the door – in this case, almost a dozen suits, with as many security thugs around them.

“Would you look at that,” I said, “those boys sure know how to make a guy feel special. Do we even deserve all the attention?”

That lawyer, Lionels, was among them. “It’s not too late to turn back, if you know what’s good for you.”

Compton smiled. “Intimidation, already? Man, this is starting to get really exciting. Can we walk in now?”

Lionels jumped in front of us. “Not if you value your–”

“Yadda yadda.” I waved the warrant in his general direction while our agents pressed on the crowd to let us through. “C’mon, Billy, show us where the fun is.”

I motioned for the agents to wrangle the suits while my partner and I walked deeper into the warehouse. Lionels and another officer followed us in. “We are fully licensed to operate,” the suit said, “we pay all of our taxes, there’s not a single thing we’re doing that’s not inside the law!”

“We’ll sue you down to your underwear!” Lionels added.

“There’s nothing I’d love more,” Compton said. “Then maybe you’ll get to explain the corruption, abuse of classified information, all that jazz to the judge.”

The lab itself looked rather ordinary: piles and piles of cages with rats and other furry animals, several computers, a few experimentation tables, and a number of people in white lab coats buzzing around. One of them stormed angrily in our direction when we walked in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in here? There’s a lot of sensitive research going on and you’re ruining it!”

“Nice to meet you too,” I said. “I’m Chambers, and this is Compton. Who would you be?”

“Gilpin. You have no idea how much money you’re risking by walking into the lab like that!” I realized he was talking to the suit behind me.

The man just looked annoyed. “What, they’re talking about shutting us down, and you’re worried about some stupid protocol?”

Most of the cages had little slips of paper attached to them; Compton was looking at one of them. “Hey, check this out: ‘Helmbrecht LLC. Sep. 8th. Sell, poison gas; keep, heart attack; buy, decapitation.’ Care to explain this one?”

The W&M officer looked flushed. “There’s nothing to explain. That’s just a stock we decided to buy, entirely within our prerogatives as a–”

“Damn you!” Gilpin shrieked.

“Hang on,” I said, “September 8th, that’s next Thursday, right?”

“Yes! That’s what I meant!” The scientist was out of his mind. “Johnston, you idiot, you just lost us over twenty million dollars!” He was getting the poor rat out of its cage.

“What did I do?” Johnston was almost as bewildered as us. “I didn’t do anything, I… I didn’t expose you to the result!”

“Of course you did! I wasn’t supposed to know whether to buy or sell that goddamn thing until Thursday!”

“Okay,” I piped in, “anyone care to break it down for us here?”

Gilpin ignored us. “The specimen’s been contaminated. The whole process has been shot to hell. We gotta incinerate him.”

“That’s not possible,” Johnston said, puzzled. “That’s not what it reads.”

“And what does it read, huh?”

“Uh… ‘Accident’. We just figured that was close enough to ‘decapitation’ to buy.”

Gilpin lunged toward the suit. “Your accident, you numbskull! The accident was you blurting out the result! Don’t you see?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Compton brusquely interrupted them. “Shut the hell up, everyone! Now, what the fuck is going on here?”

Gilpin drew a deep breath. “Okay. In the beginning, we’d just select the deaths based on the outcomes, do the tests, and hope for the best. Just a single team to handle it all, that was our big mistake. The results were all silly things like ‘experimentation’, ‘financial analysis’, even ‘stock market’. Then we got some physics whiz who was doing some work on the machines to look at it, and he had the idea.”

“Wait, machines?” I interrupted him. “Is this all about death machines? Where are they?”

“Yes, it’s all about them,” he continued, “and they’re miles away from here, all because of his insight. See, it’s a little thing called self-consistency. Some Russian came up with it in the eighties. That’s why we implemented the compartmentalizing protocols… which our friend Johnston here just did the huge favor of taking a huge dump on.” He shot his colleague a glare.

“Okay, you know what, I don’t care.” Compton was bagging a few items for evidence. “This is all way too technical for me. What matters is, you fuckers are going down.”

Johnston let out an uneasy laugh. “I wouldn’t bet on that, hotshot. You’ve got no idea who you’re dealing with. We’ve got people working right now on putting an end to this… charade.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said while helping my partner, “you’ll have plenty of time to brag about your connections in court. I know a couple judges who’ll be dying to hear all about it.”

My phone started ringing, and a broad smile spread itself across Lionels’s face. “What’s that, agent? News from home? I’d take that call if I were you.”

I checked out the caller; it was Foster. I shot Lionels a dirty look while answering it. “Chambers,” the boss said on the other side, “call it off. RTB.”

“What?!” I was incredulous. “Are you serious? We’ve hit the jackpot here, we’re on the verge of–”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve got no choice. Just call it off and return to base. Right freaking now. I’m serious. We’ll talk over here.” His voice was sullen.

“But you don’t understand, it’s–”

“No, listen, you don’t understand. These guys, they’re into the health industry, aren’t they? Does that ring any bells? Health? Please come back.” He hung up.

The look on Lionels’s face made me suddenly want to punch it into a pulp. “I’m telling you, boy,” he said. “This is much bigger than you two, much bigger than even the FBI. You’ve got no idea just what the stakes are in our game.”

Compton looked at me, stunned. “What was that? Please don’t tell me…”

“Call the boys. Let’s go home.” I turned toward the two smug bastards grinning at me. “Don’t think this is over. No way in hell.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Johnston said, relieved. “Not for us, anyway. But for you…”

“Motherfuckers!” My partner would’ve jumped at them if I didn’t hold him. “You’re not getting away with it! Someday, someday you’ll get what you deserve!”

“Yeah, a freakin’ Nobel,” Gilpin joined in. “That’s just typical of you goons, shutting out progress. Don’t you see? Our job is to master the future. If people pay big bucks for that, so be it. Mankind can’t afford to be a hostage to unpredictability. Not anymore… not now that we can finally beat it.”

Compton looked shocked. “But… at what cost?”

“Does it matter?” I said, as we walked out. “Knowledge is power, and when the power’s this big… has it ever mattered?”

by Fernando H. F. Sacchetto – jan. 2006

“Hey baby, did ya know I’m omniscient?”

This was of course a rhetorical question. Of course he knew that she didn’t know it, being omniscient.

“You’re what?”

He also knew that she didn’t know what that word even meant, and decided to use it anyway. Thought it’d cause a better impression.

“Omniscient. Means I know everything.”

“Ooookay… that’s a new one.” She giggled. “Then tell me, smart guy, what am I thinking right now?”

That one was easy. “You’re thinking I’m crazy.”

“Well DUH! That’s obvious!”

“Well ask me something harder then!”

“Ooookay…” She giggled again, partly because the alcohol was getting to her head. This, he not only knew, but was also counting on. “What color panties am I wearing right now?”

“Red.” The answer came right as she finished the question; after all, this was the second thing he made sure he knew about her.

“Lucky guess.” He smiled. “Well then, I’ll give ya something really hard,” to which he thought, I could say the same indeed.

She paused for a moment, trying to keep her own thoughts from tripping over. “Okay… what was the name of my first doll?”

He smiled. He was shooting for a cheap second base, but getting a question like that would easily net him third base or more. “Samantha. From that one book with the dog and the farm.”

She nearly fell from her stool. “Wow… that’s freaky.” She paused for even longer, struggling to grasp a thought and then trying to remember what she wanted to do with it. “You… you’re stalking me! Who ya been talking to?!”

Now he was the one who was fumbling to pick up his thoughts. He didn’t see that one coming, which he really ought to – not only because of the whole omniscience thing, but also because it was really obvious. It seemed that alcohol was doing a number on him too. “No baby… I’m serious… I… wait, ask me something only you know. Nobody else. Then I can’t know it!”

She looked at him with a mixture of bewilderment and disgust that only someone not quite in her best state of mind could achieve. “Then tell me… what was the name of the very first boy I had a crush on as a kid? No-one ever got to know that.”

He paused, and looked her deeply in the eyes, more for dramatic effect than to look for the answer. “Michael. Not the blond Michael, the red-haired one. Michael Loxbury.”

She stared at him, wide-mouthed, for a solid ten seconds (actually 9.6324, he determined, just out of curiosity). “Then it’s real… you… you really know everything…”

He grinned heartily. That stuff never got old for him. “Yes, actually… it’s a kind of a gift I’ve got… you see, when I was a kid…”

“You knew everything that I was gonna say!” Her tone of voice was slightly disturbing (and would be more than slightly so if he was sober), and he was really annoyed that he was caught off-guard twice in such a short timespan.

“Well uh, not really everything, you see…”

“YOU WERE PLAYING ME ALL ALONG!” Now her tone of voice was unarguably disturbing. “YOU KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT ME AND WERE USING THAT TO GET ME TO LIKE YOU!”

This whole thing was really starting to irritate him. “Well it’s not like I was playing you along, it’s just that…”

“YOU WERE MESSING WITH MY CHILDHOOD SECRETS JUST TO GET INTO MY PANTS!!!” She threw whatever little was left of her martini on him and stumbled off angrily.

“Well that’s new,” he thought out loud, “how come I didn’t see that coming? I was supposed to… y’know… s’posed to…”

“Dude, not even God can figure out women,” said the guy next to him, not realizing that the omniscient man was supposed to be talking to himself.

“What’s that? Uh… hi.”

“So, how did you know all that stuff?”

“I’m tellin’ you! I’m omniscient!”

“Yeah right. Then how come you didn’t know what was gonna happen?”

“Well that’s what I was asking myself, if you’ll excuse me!” He then asked himself that very question, and got the same answer as always: I’m horrible at finding out what people are going to do.

“I’m horrible at finding out what people are going to do,” he repeated. “Otherwise, I know pretty much everything.”

“That’s bullshit.” The other guy turned away, disappointed that he was not going to find the key to women’s childhood secrets and to the consequent poonani.

“No really, I… uh… 297-45-3316.”

“What?”

“You heard it. 297-45-3316.”

“Shh man! Quiet!” The other guy looked nervously around. Obviously, no-one else heard that, or would care even if they did. “I don’t know where you got my SSN, but that don’t prove a thing!”

The omniscient guy sighed. “Look. You don’t wanna believe me, and you ain’t got boobs, so I see no point in proving anything.”

Both of them turned back toward the counter, satisfied with that flawless logic. And, logically, less than twenty seconds later, the omniscient guy turned to his fellow and said: “37 peanuts.”

“What?”

“In the peanut bag you were meaning to order. There’s gonna be 37 peanuts in it.”

“I wasn’t meaning to… well, fuck you.” I sure hope so, the guy who knew everything thought, while both men went back to staring attentively into their drinks.

Wait, maybe that guy was trying to get into his pants? No, not gay, just bored. Whew.

After struggling for a commendable amount of time, the other guy finally gave up and ordered his peanuts. When the bartender reached for the packet, the guy stopped him and said “Wait – not that one. Get me that one instead.” He wordlessly said “Gotcha!” to his fellow, who wordlessly said “You wish!”, while the barman wordlessly said “Whatever” and gave him the peanuts.

The other guy intently ate his peanuts, obviously counting them, and obviously trying to make it clear that he was not counting them. The omniscient man just waited, making a pitiful attempt to hide a smug smile, happy to be back in charge of things. When the sack was inevitably empty after the 37th peanut, the other guy managed to stall for a good six seconds (6.25363, his fellow was content to know) before conceding defeat. “Okay. You’re right. My name’s Mark.”

“I know.” Now he was just being a jerk. “Hank.”

“Very well… Hank. How… how do you do it?”

“You see, that’s one of the very few things that I don’t know – how it works. I just mentally ask myself any question and then, somehow, I know the answer. Anything. And it’s been right on the money every single time so far.”

“Awesome… so… you always had that?”

“Well, as I was telling Chrissy,” (her name was the third thing he discovered – the first being whether she puts out) “that started when I was a kid. Thinking back at it, took me pretty long to figure out I could do it, I was almost ten… I guess that’s just not the sort of thing you really expect…”

“Okay, okay, but… I mean… why don’t you use that? You could do, like, anything with that power!”

“Look, that’s not as easy as it sounds. I mean, using that ‘power’ to know stuff, that’s easy, but it’s a bitch to get anything out of that.”

“What?! You can, like, guess the lotto numbers, for starters!”

“Yeah of course, everyone says that, and in fact it was one of the first thing to come to mind. Of course, since I was just a kid, all I could get into was raffles and stuff. Won a few of ‘em. That taught me the lesson – win too much, and people will be sure you’re doing something fishy. They thought it was rigged or something, and I had to give it all back, plus interest. That’s why I just win small prizes here and there, once in a while, just enough to get by without getting the IRS on my ass.”

“Wow, that sucks… but…”

“But I could get famous and win a Nobel and such?” Hank was starting to raise his voice. His “rant” switch was obviously flipped into the “on” position. “Yeah right. Both you and Chrissy got to believe me just because you were both drunk and bored. And tomorrow you’ll come to your senses and figure I’m just some crazy jackass.” Mark tried to articulate an excuse, say it was alright and he really believed Hank, but by now it was pretty much a monologue. “It’s always like that. Nobody believes me. That’s why it took me so long to really get to use it – my mom just thought I was crazy or trying to get attention, and my dad just thought it was cute.”

By now, Mark was starting to wish he hadn’t humored this guy. “And don’t even get me started about school. I got expelled from two, yeah, TWO schools for cheating before I learned to stay at C’s with a B thrown in once in a while for good measure. They think you can’t be smart and not be a pencil-necked four-eyed nerd, noooo, Hank has got to be getting the right answers somewhere.” Well, actually you were, Mark thought, but wisely decided to keep that thought silent.

“By the time I got to my SAT, I had gotten smart already. Sure, that was the one test I had to get right, but you can never be too safe. If I got a really good score, even in the unlikely event in that they wouldn’t kick me out for cheating, I’d become some kind of TV sideshow – ‘the kid who get a great SAT without studying’ – and I’d been there and done that, back when I was 12. Can’t hardly last a month before people coming up with a way to ‘debunk’ my ‘trickery’.” You could just pretend you were studying, y’know, keep a decent cover, Mark mentally piped up again.

“So I looked up the lowest Ivy League SAT – still way too much. Would raise too many red flags for a guy like me. But still, my parents would go wild if I got into Yale or something. So I spent pretty much all of my test time debating myself over that, and long story short, I got an Associate’s Degree at a local community college. Hey, better than nothing, right?” Mark nodded eagerly, who the hell knows what Hank was capable of.

“So I pretty much breezed through college. At least there I could get some decent grades, I mean, it’s not like someone was even looking or cared. Man, those were wild times. Thinking back on it, I could’ve spared my old man the grant cash, what with the lotto prizes and such, but who gave a fuck. Pot don’t come cheap.”

“Uh… what were you studying there again?” Mark hoped the answer would be something like “psychology” or “philosophy” or somesuch. Anything that meant Hank’s life wasn’t a total waste.

“Business, of course. I mean, duh. That’s where the money is, especially for someone with inside info, right?” Even not being omniscient, Mark knew what the next word would be. “WRONG! For one, management don’t give a shit to what you have to say if you’re new. And probably not if you’re experienced either. Anyway… well, that inside info is pretty hard to use too. I thought it was suspicious to guess the right answers at school, try guessing the stock market! Long story short, I got fired from FIVE fucking companies, they fired me before their names could get dirty with anything. Those ungrateful bastards! I mean, EVERYONE cheats in business! Hell I KNOW that, I mean, I know know that! I can even give you a figure! 78% of all companies knowingly cheat for their own good! There you go! And they fire me just because I’m netting them TOO much? Bah! ‘Going too far’ my ass! Like the IRS would ever know!”

By this point, Mark was nervously looking at his watch, hoping against hope that it was entirely too late and that he really had to go. “So, long story short, I managed to secure a nice middle management gig with a company whose boss had a little tryst with his little daughter. That way I know I’m not gonna be fired or anything, as long as I keep my low profile.” By this point, Mark was really sure that he had to leave as soon as possible.

“And you think I could at least use that shitty fucking ‘superpower’ to figure out women, right? Like hell! Oh sure, I can get them alright, just figure where they’re gonna be, what kinda wine they like, that sort of stuff, and bingo. Seen ‘Sliver’? Like that. But then, once I got them, in no time they’re running away like I’ve got the plague. Cherry there” (Chrissy, you asshole, thought Mark) “was pretty quick, well, at least that was painless. Didn’t get my hopes up and all. But my wives… I’ve been married four times, ya know. Last one left last month. Well, they just don’t make any fucking sense.” Mark knew the guy for barely 15 minutes and he couldn’t blame them.

“I mean, I KNOW what they want! I KNOW what they need! I fucking figure out all of that, hand them all that stuff in a silver platter, and the bitches keep complaining that they’re unhappy! Didn’t that bitch Sheila want a mink coat? She got that. Romantic dinner every fucking fortnight? She’s always wishing for that, I know, and she got that. Fucking trip to the Greek Isles?! I take that cow there, we go to every last sand-filled shithole in that place, the full monty, and she’s pissed all the time. From the face she had when we got back, I might as well have sent her to a Siberian gulag. And then she gives me the boot, after getting fucking everything she wants.”

Mark then decided it was finally time to take a hint from Sheila. “Look Hank, I gotta go, y’know… my mother, she’s not alright…”

“Your fucking whore of a mother died 15 years, 3 months and 12 days ago! I know you don’t have to fucking go anywhere, because your cock-sucking wife kicked you out of your home and you had nothing better to do than spend the whole night here! And you fucking knew that I knew that! Why be an asshole and lie to me?”

Mark suddenly stood up and slammed his hand on the counter. “Okay, fuckface, that’s it. You think you know it all, but you don’t know shit.” Hank chuckled. “Yeah, you heard that right. Too bad that you gotta ask a question to get your answer, because you’re too stupid to ask any question worth a damn. How about ‘why is my wife unhappy’? Did you ever bother with that?” Hank realized that he didn’t, but he was too pissed off to ask himself that at this point, and besides, he wasn’t about to admit that Mark was right. What the hell did he know anyway? He wasn’t the omniscient one, for sure. “The problem with you, Hank, is that you’re a self-serving bastard. That’s why everybody hates you – because you’re a dick. Now eat shit and die.”

With that, Mark stormed off angrily. He went to the bar to wind down and forget his problems, the last thing he needed was some jerk to piss him off. Unfortunately, the robber who accosted him had no idea of his disposition, and rather rudely tried to wrest away his wallet. In the ensuing fight, the robber’s gun (which Mark had no way to know about, not being omniscient) went off and killed him. After going through his stuff, the robber threw his victim in a nearby ditch, since he didn’t know that he wouldn’t get caught anyway even if the body was found. And neither of them could know that this ditch was soon covered by a landslide, as a result of the storm that neither of them knew was coming (but that the weatherman accurately predicted), and as a result, Mark’s body was never found. His wife, Gina, never got to know about any of the events that transpired that fateful evening, and so, with Mark’s complete and utter disappearance, she assumed that he decided to just leave and start a new life elsewhere, so she decided it was finally time to move on.

Hank, of course, knew all of that, having taken the time to wonder exactly what would be Mark’s fate. In fact, he knew all of that before Mark even reached the door, which is why the man that he left behind had a wide grin, rather than the stunned look that Mark was hoping for. With that knowledge, Hank went out to meet Gina, and – knowing the right question to ask, thanks Mark – they lived happily ever after.

by Fernando Sacchetto – dec. 2009

Once upon a time, there was a peasant boy who loved to play. While he was very poor, such that he often had to go to bed hungry, he was rarely without a smile, for his life was never devoid of wonder and magic. Nobody could tell from looking at him, as he looked in all ways like simply one more peasant boy in a dreary forgotten down, living a dreary and soon-to-be forgotten life. However, when he played – which he did in every waking moment of his life, as much as he could anyway – he lived a thousand different and fantastic lives. This time he was a bold knight, fighting against monsters so strange and fearsome that the wisest sages could scarcely find words to describe them; that time, he was an escaped slave, trudging through dank sewers as he evaded the tricks of his wicked sorcerer master, contriving plans to bring about his downfall and claim his remote frozen kingdom. His little head had more stories in it than the greatest of libraries, each more amazing than the last – and, when he finally tired enough to lay down and sleep, they came to life.

One cool spring night, the boy dreamt of a king. This king and the peasant boy were one and the same, although he could never have suspected that, having been a powerful and respected king all his many years, and a young high-born prince before that, but never a peasant boy. The king in the boy’s dream led a life of glory and greatness, for his kingdom extended in all directions as far as a horse could ride, and was filled with people who had nothing but deep love and respect for their sovereign. He lived in a vast and beautiful castle, where he sat on his high throne, dispensing justice, pronouncing edicts, laying down the law, and deciding on war and peace, all with the most hallowed wisdom. He would also go out hunting gorgeous beasts with his trusted retainers, and hold memorable feasts for a shining court, where the most delectable foods and drinks in the world were served, and the most enchanting music played. Yet, despite all this, deep inside, the king was troubled.

One summer night, after much reveling was had on the feasting hall, in celebration of a particularly glorious hunt, the king summoned his most trusted advisor, the Lord Chancellor. “Look at me”, the king said, once the two of them were alone in his chambers. “What do you see?”

“I see only the greatest man my eyes have ever met,” said the chancellor, and the king knew he would not have said that if he had not really believed it, which was why he was his most trusted advisor. “I see one who is loved and respected by each and every person I know or can conceive of, and who will go down in the books of History as the head of the best reign this kingdom has ever seen. I also see a man who leads a life of endless glamour and joy, a life that every living person deeply yearns for.”

The king walked up to his mirror, an exquisite work of the finest gold and silver, the largest of any in the kingdom, its face smooth as the calmest pond, worth as much as a castle by itself, and looked into it. “Yet that is not what I see,” he said. “I see a dazzling crown, and fine-spun robes, and a bejeweled scepter, but nothing beneath and behind them. I see the trappings of a king, but in stead of the man who holds them, I see nothing but an empty shell.”

“I will hear none of it,” the king continued, before his chancellor could protest. “The king is displeased, and demands remedy. He knows the dispensing of law, and the hunting, and the feasting, and all courtly matters, but nothing else. The king is troubled because he is nothing but a king, and knows of nothing else. His life is filled with glory, yet this glory is as ashes on his mouth, for it has become a prison, being all he has ever to look for in his life. Therefore, your king commands you to solve his predicament.”

“Nothing would please me more than to see for my king’s happiness,” said the bemused chancellor, “though I must confess that I am at a loss. This is indeed a dire situation that ills Your Majesty, and yet, I have no notion of how to even begin to counter it. Your Majesty has shown wisdom beyond bounds when deciding the fate of the kingdom, and thus, I humbly ask: what would my king bide me do, that would fill the emptiness he feels inside?”

“My Majesty has shown wisdom, but not knowledge; I know not what life is other than what surrounds me at the castle and court. I know nothing of what transpires in lands far away, and of what has passed in times long gone, and of what is yet to come. Thus, your king commands you: Go forth from this place, with a retinue as large and rich as you require, and travel as far as your horses can take you. Then, once horses can travel no more, take to the mountains and travel as far as elephants and other beasts can take you. Then, once no beast can travel any further, take to the waters and travel as far as ships can take you. Once you have reached the edge of the world, you are to use whichever means to travel as far as any man living or dead could have ever traveled. You are to visit every kingdom, empire, duchy, principality, barony and fiefdom in the world, as well as any land that bows to no lord. You are to consult with the wisest sages in each land, and the eldest tellers of lore. You are to listen to every minstrel or spinster or child who has a tale to tell. And you are to record and recall all such tales. Then, when you have enough tales that their scrolls could fill all the halls in this great castle, you are to return here and tell them to me, for I would know every last of them. That is your king’s command.”

The Lord Chancellor bowed deeply, and left at once. He dreaded his task, for he knew it would take a lifetime to complete, and would be fraught with peril; nevertheless, it was a mission on the king’s behalf, and he would carry it out to the end of his life, if necessary. He made all the proper arrangements, gathered a host of soldiers to protect him and servants to aid him, and left the next morning at first light.

The king waited patiently for his chancellor’s return, doing his best to while away the long seasons and years of waiting with his customary kingly activities. No one knows how long the king waited; after all, he, his court and his castle were part of a dream, and time does not flow in an even manner in dreams. To the king himself, the wait seemed like an eternity, thousands upon thousands of years long; to his reveling court, lost as it was in the happiness and gaiety that surrounded His Majesty wherever he went, it might as well have been the blink of an eye. The truth is, many years went by until the Lord Chancellor returned, finding a significantly older and wearier king to relay his stories to. The chancellor was aged himself as well, and significantly worn from the journey, as could be plainly seen; as for the host that followed him, only a single mute servant remained.

When word reached the king’s ears of his trusted advisor’s return, he had him summoned and brought to the throne room at once, to commence the telling of the stories in earnest, beginning with the story of the chancellor’s own travels. And thus, the wizened traveler was brought to the throne room, supported by his mute servant (for his age and travel-weariness made walking difficult), and found his lord slumped on the throne, the joy and vigor of youth drained from him. The king said nothing, for he wished only to hear; understanding this, the chancellor began immediately recounting the tale of how he set off on a journey to retrieve all the tales in the world, and of the many wonders, dangers and passions he encountered.

It would not be convenient to relay this tale at this moment, nor the other tales the chancellor told thereafter, for they would fill countless volumes, which would never permit this very tale to end. Suffice to say that the king was extremely delighted by the stories told, so much that days passed before he recalled that he needed to sleep. When he did, he dreamt for the first time in his life – for, previous to that, the only dream he could ever have was the joyful life he had in vigil. He dreamt not only of the marvelous things he was told by his advisor, but many more, for the doors of his spirit were opened by the tales he heard. He woke again more than a day later, only when his yearning for new stories surpassed his pleasure in living the ones he knew. The Lord Chancellor then supplied him with new fables and legends and chronicles, until he wearied enough to sleep and dream again, in a cycle that went on for many years still.

Then, one warm spring night, while snoring soundly on his throne – for he no longer cared to leave his throne room, where the stories were told, long enough to sleep in his own chambers – the king dreamt of a new realm. This place was somehow different from the others, in a way that could not be identified at first – for it seemed magical without showing any wonders the eye could see, and exciting without any activity that could be gleaned. The king was different as well, for in this dream, he was a boy once more, although not the prince he had once been – now, he was simply a poor commoner’s boy, wearing a toy crown made of wicker and a toy cape made of sackcloth, and carrying a toy scepter that was no more than a small gourd impaled on a wooden stick.

The boy looked about him, and he saw rolling meadows, rushing streams, chirping groves and towering mountains. He walked to and fro, climbing the tallest trees, swimming in the deepest waters, and exploring the darkest caves. He played and played like the child he was, hardly bothered by the lack of company and toys, for his imagination and the stories in his head were all he needed. After many and many hours, already tired of playing, the boy looked about him once again, and this time he realized how lonely he was. He did not remember what family or friends he had – for all he could recall was being a poor boy in a mock king’s regalia playing in the fields – but he somehow knew there was one particular person he sorely missed. He could not remember anything about this person, other than that he told him stories; nevertheless, he fervently wished this storyteller was there.

It was then that the boy heard rustling steps behind him, and turned to see an old and regal man, dressed in rich purple robes, beautifully garnished with gems of all varieties, who also wore an exquisite felt cap tipped by a long feather of various scintillating colors, and a majestic gray beard. Surprisingly, the man bowed before the boy, as if he were a lord rather than a peasant child, and said: “I see you have found this most secret of lands. Welcome, my friend.”

The boy could scarce do anything but look in wonder. “What place is this? Where am I?”

“You may not remember it at this moment,” the old man said, “but you have been told many stories, each hailing from a different place. This, well, is the place where the stories happen.”

“But I don’t see any story happening around me!” the boy protested. “I don’t see anyone I know from any stories! Where are the knights, and the nobles, and the wizards, and the dragons, and the fairies? Where are the castles and cities and temples? Where are the wars and quests and courtly feasts?”

The old man smiled, as if amused by the boy’s innocence. “Why, that is very simple, my friend. A story cannot exist until it is told, can it?”

The poor boy who played at being a king said nothing to that, for he understood. He looked around him once more, surveying his lands – for, while he was nothing but a commoner, he was free, and thus the entire world belonged to him – and set to thinking about a story to tell. It would not be a story he had heard, since such a tale would have already ended – but rather, a story of his own conception, one yet to begin. And, upon spying a rather lovely glade, he imagined the village that could sit there, and a story that could take place in it.

“Have you heard the story about the piglet who wanted to be a butcher?” he asked the old man, knowing the answer would be ‘no’, for the tale was new. Then, he set to telling it, describing the travails of the stubborn piglet and the befuddled villagers that met it, describing the village where this episode happened, and what came of it. When he ended, the old lord smiled, for it was a lovely yarn, and looked down at a glade that perfectly matched the one in the tale. There he saw a little village, every bit as quaint and picturesque as the one he had heard of. The boy followed his eyes, and smiled as well, pleased at his discovery – for the village had always been there; he had simply not looked closely enough before.

Enthused by this newfound purpose, the play-king started telling tale after tale, of wicked wizards and dainty damsels, of great conquerors and goofy commoners, of terrible trolls and mischievous mice. As he told them, he walked along with his companion, and found city after holdfast after hamlet after castle, all to match the manifold stories that were recounted. In them, he found men and women and children and beasts of all sorts and types, who lived lives filled with joy or melancholy or adventure or toil, as suited each one of them. And thus the land appeared to be filled with the wonder he first saw in it; however, the boy realized, something still was amiss.

“All these people,” he said to his old friend, “I see them going about their lives, milking cows, clashing swords, chasing stars, doing all the things they do in the stories about them… but nothing else. They are like clockwork mannequins, doing nothing but the things they were set to do. They live the stories told of them, but not their own stories.”

“Very perceptive,” said the old man, nodding sagely. “Indeed, they are as words in a book, trapped into telling the same tales over and over again, each time you look at them. And what would you suggest to remedy this situation? What could there be that would bring new stories into this place?”

The mock king sat on a wooden crate as were it his throne, set his mock scepter across his lap, and lowered his wicker-crowned head to think. Deeply and deeply he thought, for the problem seemed indeed baffling. What this land needed was new tales, and new people to live them, and new places to set them in. However, he should not be counted on to keep telling them forever, for he was already beginning to tire. He had to find the source of this novelty, the place it all sprang from – but it could not be situated in this land, for were that the case, this spring itself would also need to be fed with new tales. And there was also the matter of what to do with the old tales that were already told; the people in the land could not simply continue to live them over and over again, in an endless carousel. They had to end, in order to make place for the new stories – and then, they still had to be moved somewhere else.

The boy thought and thought, and when he wearied of considering the matter at hand, his little mind drifted back to another person he did not remember at all, but still sorely missed. It was someone who planted, and grew, and harvested countless delicacies that filled his senses. They were fruits and vegetables of all kinds, each more delicious than the last, for they were all fresh. And he could scarcely wait until she appeared anew with her fresh produce, for she was the source from which the joy in the house sprang. It was her who brought new life. With this realization, the boy leapt to his feet and announced: “The orchard! There’s an orchard that produces all kinds of delectable vegetables and gourds and fruit. Let us visit it, and talk to the lady that tends it; I am sure she knows how to bring new life and tales to this place.”

“Very good, my friend. But where is this orchard, and which path do we take to it? Should I visit the next village to procure horses?”

“No, that won’t do. Where we are going, no horse or elephant or ship can reach.” He realized the orchard was nowhere in the land, but rather inside him, so he and his friend walked until they came to a poor commoner’s holdfast, and sat on his orchard. They closed their eyes, and thought of another orchard – the first one, which all plantations are but a pale imitation of. They sat and contemplated, calmly and blissfully, until the mists of sleep came and spirited them away. They then opened their eyes, and found themselves in a bright place, full of color and life, and knew they had arrived at their destination.

They wandered through the rows of planted life, amazed as it bulged and grew and popped out all around them, bursting with new life at every moment. They plucked fruit of all imaginable varieties, and many more that could not have been imagined, and feasted on this delightful bounty. Then, when they were just about to burst themselves, they heard a chiming giggle, like a piccolo flute’s trill, and turned to see who was behind them.

They saw a portly matron, giggling like a girl, dressed in leaves and fruit, and covered in a gleam like that of a million minuscule stars. She hopped to and fro, plucking here and planting there as she went, fluttering as a bird, despite her ponderous build. She had seen her two visitors, but did not appear to be fazed by them; rather, she simply gathered a generous armful of produce, straddled it around her ample bosom, and presented it to the travelers. “Here!” she said in a high-pitched, yet deeply comforting voice. “Have some! I know you’ve come from far away. You must be tired and hungry; have some fruit, and you’ll be good as new!”

The boy and the old man stared at her, dumbfounded, for they could neither accept any more fruit than they had already eaten, nor refuse such a generous gift from such a lovable lady. Eventually, they picked a couple berries each, and started to explain their predicament. They told her the story of the land that was locked into a neverending story, and of how they needed new life and new stories to feed it with.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, in an even higher pitch than before. “I have just the thing! Here, take this.” She presented the boy with a strange, red fruit. “Open it! Come on, don’t be shy!”

The boy did so, and found it filled with dozens of tiny seeds. “What’s it for?” he asked.

The fat lady giggled some more. “The seeds, silly boy! It’s full of seeds! Each and every one of those seeds is a mighty tree waiting to be born. So, inside this fruit, there are dozens of trees, and each tree has dozens of fruit. The same is true for most other fruit in this orchard, and the other plants as well. They contain life with no end inside them, life that can be sown into countless worlds of infinite possibility. These patches around you here are where worlds are born, and all the people and beasts inside them. We need only to get the produce to your little land!”

“And how do we do that?” the boy asked, wide-eyed, because he knew it was true. Infinite worlds beyond imagining, ripe for the picking, just waiting to be born! If only he knew how to bring them forth! And he once again set to thinking, this time sitting on a particularly large gourd. There was no road leading from the orchard to the lands, but surely there should be another route… and once more, after much thinking, he yearned to find a person he did not recall. He recalled a wizened old man, one gone blind from age, but who could still see into the hearts of all. He recalled that all comings and goings went through him, both the glad arrival of pleasant new friends and their sad departure as well, once they had concluded their visit, for this man was the gatekeeper. The boy did not recall this, or know what it meant at any rate, but he understood it. And he also understood that this man surveyed a body of water – a moat, but one that might as well be a river. And so, once more, he leapt up.

“The river! There is a mighty river that runs from here and all through the lands. It goes from everything that was and onto everything that will be. It’s the perfect route for feeding the land with new life and tales, and the old man who tends it will see to that. Let’s visit him at once!”

He took his old, regal friend by the hand, and bade goodbye to the kindly lady. They walked among the patches for a while, following the irrigation streams, and closed their eyes once again as they walked, welcoming the mists, which eventually led them to the river that fed those streams.

They looked around themselves, and this time there was not much to see, for the river was wide and the air around it thick with fog, although the water was so clear and placid that they might as well have been fording a mirror. They forded on and on, stopping on islets and reed banks, thinking about everything that led them to where they were at that moment, while they examined the trembling reflections on the river’s surface. When they were so lost in thought that they had almost forgotten why they were there or even who they were, they heard something sliding through the waters, and turned around to see a barge, conducted by a wizened and blind old man, dressed in a heavy, gray hooded robe with many folds, holding a lantern in one hand and the barge’s pole in the other.

The barge stopped in front of the two travelers, and the old ferryman waited for them to step on it. They did so, and as the vehicle started moving again, the boy quipped, “Does this river run from the orchard and into the lands?” The blind man remained silent, but the boy understood the answer nevertheless.

“Then, how come the fruit and life from the orchard aren’t coming through it?” Once again, the blind man was silent, but the boy again understood. The river was still.

“Why is the river not moving?” the boy asked, and took the silent reply. “It’s because it doesn’t have anywhere to go, isn’t it? I’ve found where it starts, but not where it ends.”

The play-king shivered, for he knew where he had to go next. “Ferryman,” he said, “take us to the end of this river. Take us to the place where stories end.”

While the old blind ferryman silently carried them through the great waterway, the boy sat once more, and thought. Once again, he found his thoughts drifting to someone he did not know or remember, and who, while he did not quite yearn for, as she was a stern person who heralded joyless matters and grim admonitions, he wished to see once more. He closed his eyes, and thought of a place of sad loneliness and longing memories. And then, when the mists passed, he was there.

The boy and his old companion walked off from the barge, which was not even there anymore, and surveyed the place around them. It was gloomy, gray, and lifeless – however, its lifelessness was not full of promise, as the empty world he first awoke in, but rather full of forgotten memories. It was a bleak wasteland filled with ruins, crumbling cities and castles, long-abandoned, and countless gravestones, markers, cairns, mausoleums, and sarcophagi.

The two friends walked among the endless graveyard, admiring this tomb and that decaying tower, this empty town square and that memorial sculpture, wondering at all that came before, all that once was and is no more, and never more will be, when they heard someone behind them, coming with deliberate rustling steps.

They turned around to see a finely-appointed woman, in a rich black velvet dress, wearing a jet-black crown, and carrying a black scepter shaped like a rose. She was pale as the moon, shrouded by the black midnight sky. “Welcome to my realm,” she said. “I have been expecting you, as I expect all to come to me sooner or later.”

The boy looked at her cold eyes, transfixed. They carried no malice in them, but no benevolence either. They were serious eyes that did not love or hate, but only saw that which was before them, bare and unembellished. They looked at him and saw neither a peasant boy nor a king; they saw only the one who was looking at them. And he asked, though in his heart he knew the answer: “Who are you, and what is this place?”

“This,” she replied, “is where all come when they reach their end. All men and women and children and beasts and kingdoms and worlds. This is the end to all stories. And I am the one who tends it, the one who welcomes those who have ceased to be, and who reigns over that which is no more.”

The boy turned to his companion. “Those stories we saw in the land, the ones that would not stop being the way they were – are they over now?”

“Yes,” he said, “they have ended. Everything has ended here. This place exists after everything else has already happened. We are after the end of the great river that runs through life.”

“Does that mean… that we have ended as well?” The boy’s voice was wavering.

“No, no,” the gray-bearded man said in a reassuring tone. “We are still far from the end of our own narrative. We have simply taken a shortcut here. One day, when the river drags us here with its current, we will have to stay for good; however, since we were ferried to this place, we can just as easily head back.”

And so they did, after biding their farewell to the grim lady, for they had succeeded in finding what they were looking for. They had found a beginning for all the new stories, and an ending for all the old ones, and the path they should take in the telling. So they took the ferry once more, and traversed the great river, this time against the current that ran from what never was to what never will be. They leapt off at the middle of the way, wandering into the mists until they found themselves back at the land they started in, and indeed, it was a changed place. One could not tell just by looking at it, since it was still filled with townships and palaces and people of all stripes – however, the lives that those people were living were unlike anything the boy could have ever imagined. They were no longer living the boy’s stories, but their own lives.

Weary from all his traveling, the boy finally set down to sleep, and as he did so, he dreamt. He found himself in an enchanted land, filled with fantastic creatures and charming denizens. He saw a glamorous court, where joy was neverending, and everything around him was filled with magic and mystery. So enthralling was this land that days and weeks in it passed in but a moment’s notice, and before he knew it, he was awake again. He eagerly sought his friend, and relayed to him all the marvelous sights and sensations of the land in his dreams; however, the old man’s smile was faint, devoid of the boy’s enthusiasm.

The boy once more set to exploring the land around him, now filled with new and exciting stories and people each day, and played and played as he went across the world. By night, when he was exhausted, he would lie down and sleep, and return to that enchanted land of magic and wonder. This went on day after day, and night after night, until the boy realized something was amiss.

One late summer morning, after a particularly glorious dream about the shining court, the boy called his gray-bearded friend. “Tell me,” he asked, “have we not brought new stories and new life to this place?”

“Yes,” he said, “and found a place for the old ones to go as well. The world is no longer trapped into a single story, but free to tell as many as there may be.”

“But then,” the boy protested, “how come every night I dream the same dream? Are the stories not endless? Why must I be trapped just when I ought to be the most free?”

“Ah,” his friend replied, “you have come to a crucial question. The thing is, you are not the only one who dreams this. All who live in this land are bound to the same dream. There is an old story, older than this entire world, about a king who led a life so full of glory and majesty that all aspired to be him. Well, all who live still aspire to that king’s court, and dream of it. They dream also of a princess, the most beautiful and gracious of all, the one that all girls want to be and all boys want to espouse. They dream of a land of pleasure and wonder, a land beyond all the worries of their dreary lives. Those are the things that everyone in this land aspires to, and as such, they all dream the same dream. That is why the dream cannot change; because it is common to all.”

“But that can’t be! They can’t all dream the same dream. Can’t we find a way to give them new stories each night, just as we’ve given them by day?”

“That, my friend, would be a highly complex matter. After all, dreams are not simply the musings of the sleepers. They are tales, more vivid and more real than any other, which need some place to occur. They create a reality, one that must either end or be transformed when the dreamer wakes. When all the people dream freely, there will be countless worlds being created each night, with manifold ramifications and repercussions. There needs to be someone to tend to these worlds, as were it an exquisite garden filled with delicate flowers.”

The boy sat and thought once more, but this time, there was no place or person he yearned for. Much as he pondered, he found no answer. There was none he thought that he would entrust with such a lofty task; none but his purple-robed friend. So, after thinking and thinking, the boy tired so much that he fell asleep once more, thinking of the old man. This time, he found himself not in the enchanted land, but in a secluded grove.

He walked this way and that, weaving between the trees, but could not find anyone. All the familiar faces from his old dream were absent. He wandered through the strangely silent forest, exploring its every nook and cranny, until he tired of it, and wished there was anyone there with him – someone to tell stories, to build something out of the forest, to create something new for him to experience. It was then that he found a clearing, and saw someone standing on its edge.

As he approached, the figure gestured for him to be still. “Shh,” he said, “it is about to begin.” The boy recognized the voice as that of his old friend, and looked up to see it indeed was him. The man pointed to the center of the clearing, where there appeared to be a small bundle. Before the boy could ask anything, the bundle stirred, and then it grew as it unfolded, revealing a small child. It was a little girl, dressed in a nightgown, which slowly grew and transformed itself into a beautiful dress as the girl gradually stood up and took bearing of her surroundings. The clearing she was in seemed larger each passing moment, and she found several trappings in it that could not be seen there before – a quaint little table with a delicate tea-set, a few cozy chairs around it, floorboards and a carpet under her feet, and the walls, windows, doors and ceiling of a comfortable living room around her. There was a crackling fireplace too, which had always been there, for several years, as she could well remember. Her friends were also present for tea – a piglet, a talking horse, a princess, and a soldier. They were always there, even though the girl had not noticed it, and neither had the boy and the old man that looked on.

“That is the first guest,” the man said, “and many more will come. All thanks to you, my friend. You have found this place for them to come at night, as well as someone to tend to it.”

“That’s you, isn’t it?” The boy marveled at the girl’s dream, and of the many others that were beginning to form all around them, in as-yet unnoticed clearings within the gloomy forest. Here, a man found himself seated in soft velvet cushions among many silk-draped ladies; there, a young woman unspooled woolen thread from a pumpkin, knitting a wooden ladle with it; there, a dog rolled among fresh carcasses, overjoyed. He looked up at the regal man, with sadness. “Will you have to stay here?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Dreams are fickle and wild things, prone to clashing, crumbling, melding and unraveling if left unchecked. Look, just now, two of them are already in conflict.” He pointed, and surely enough, the young woman was beginning to pull her thread from one of the man’s cushions, slowly undoing it. “We must separate dreams that are private, lest they risk unmaking one another; others, that are dreamt in unison, must be kept from tearing apart from the pull of so many tellers recounting the same story at once.”

They both looked around once more. The dog was found by monstrous, leering scavengers, that hounded it from every corner, chasing it until it nearly collapsed from exertion. The little girl’s companions had become ghastly boggarts, with coldly gleaming eyes on faceless visages, and were weaving a web that bound her tighter and tighter, while she opened her mouth to scream, though not a sound came out. “What about those dreams?” the boy asked, cringing. “Why would such horrible things creep into what should be a happy and wonderful place?”

The old man pondered for a while before responding. “There is a shadow that lies beyond every light. The souls of all who live burn as the brightest candles, but they all still carry darkness within them. Here is the place where the infinite worlds within each person and animal come forth; those are worlds filled with love and fear, joy and hatred. Strange beasts lurk under each bed, and it is all I can do to keep them from overrunning this realm; keeping them out entirely is out of the question. Nor would it be desirable, lest they might escape into the waking world itself. I would rather set apart for them the deepest reaches of this forest, and enclose them where no dreamer is advised to tread.”

“What of the shining court?” the boy wondered, eager to turn his mind to gladder subjects. “What of the land of magic and enchantment and beauty we dreamt about before? What of the fey realm?”

“That, my friend, is a dream so old that it cannot end quite so easily; not before the world itself, in any event. So many dreamt of the fey kingdom that it now is as real as the waking world, alive on its own right. It is beyond my rule, and that of any dreamer. I would daresay that none hold sway over it at all, other than the Queen of Faerie, whose beauty filled endless nights across all realms.”

The little mock king began to tingle, as if pins and needles pricked his feet and hands, and understood that he was about to leave. “Can’t you really come back with me?” he asked, longingly.

“Don’t worry,” the old man said in a soothing tone. “I have other stories to attend to now, but your own will continue and never end, not until it is your decision to cast them aside. And should you need to see me again, you can find me beyond the mists of the night, at the very heart of this forest, in a palace made of all the dreams that never were. Goodbye, my friend.”

The boy woke before he could reply, vaguely sad, though he could not quite remember why. He found himself at the foot of a gnarled tree, hungry. The last shreds of his dream flitted away in the morning wind as he stretched, regained his bearings, and looked around for some fruit, as well as a new adventure to live in his imagination. He felt a surging satisfaction swell in his heart, though if one asked, he would not be able to say why. But, for some reason, he felt that all was right in the world. The magic he carried within himself was somehow renewed, and the worlds that sprang forth each time he played would keep coming. The spark that fed the stories burned strong, and though he was a lonely boy, there would never be a lack of heroes and villains, sages and phantoms, princesses and trolls, beings fair and foul by his side. Everything was possible, as long as he was bold enough to conceive it.

He donned his toy cape, put on his wicker crown, picked up his mock scepter, and ran off into the cool spring morning. The world was his, and he still had much to explore.

by Fernando H. F. Sacchetto – sep. 2008

There are those days when you’re so pissed off – not for any particular reason, that’s hardly necessary, just pissed off – that you don’t have any business getting out of bed. You know the deal – you look like you’re always chewing down a sour lemon laced with glass, you don’t speak as much as snarl, everything you hear is an insult, everyone and everything – even your damn toaster – seems out to get you, and even cashing in a lotto jackpot feels like torture. That was one of those days – not for me, but for God, from the look of the shitty weather. Wind, rain, the sort that annoys you rather than get you wet, sky of a color that said “piss off”, the works.

A guy – who was probably wiser than all those theology doctors and priests – once said that the difference between the angry, vengeful, smite-happy God of the Old Testament and His more chilled-out, understanding, “just love thy neighbor, okay” self in the New Testament was that He got laid in the meantime. Well, it was one of those days when it sounded like He could use another round. Not me, though – rare as it may be these days, my mood couldn’t be further from the weather’s. And yes, a girl had something to do with it. But don’t they always?

This may sound awfully cliché – probably because it is obvious, in this sort of situation – but Corinne was the sweetest thing ever. I couldn’t help seeing her everywhere I looked. Yes, there was some sex involved, of course. Call me a pig, but it’s simply the truth – nothing makes a man care more about a girl than when she makes him come, and hard. And Corinne was kind enough to give me that opportunity, at a time when I sorely needed that release. But I’m getting ahead of myself – let me start over, from the beginning.

It all began, as it often does for me, at the racetrack. My horse did piss-poor, of course – I seem to have the same luck picking horses as I have picking ladies and cases, and yet I insist, bleeding money on the first two and not getting nearly enough to cover them from the last. That’s why I didn’t have the highest of hopes when a sweet-as-pie, fairylike young brunette noticed me after the race. She’d bet on the same lousy horse – Fleur-de-Lis or something French like that – and we exchanged some inane talk like “Not this time it wasn’t” and “Better luck next time”. Like it always happens those times, I couldn’t think of anything worth saying until she was well on her way. I didn’t give it much thought – after all, the parallel between the luck I have in love and in the Sport of Kings didn’t escape my attention – but she still stuck somewhere in the back of my mind, like that nickel you forgot was in your pocket, and touch sometimes when digging for your handkerchief.

I wouldn’t see her again for days, during which I was wasting my time with a dead-end case, looking for a mugger that didn’t leave any significant clues to tell him apart from the hundreds or thousands of other similar scum in town. It was the sort of gig I’d drop in five minutes if the customer wasn’t the kind of old dame that doesn’t take “no” for an answer. She wasn’t too keen on paying in advance either, which complicated my situation vis-à-vis the landlord even further. So, one of those days, after lingering around the track for a while and deciding I didn’t have anything worth betting, I decided to hit the nearest dive and meet the only friend that still bothered to listen to me, the one that goes by JD.

I was nursing my glass when I caught a glimpse of the girl, who had already seen me. Second time we met, and of course I had to look my worst. My attempt at a smile went remarkably well, all things considered, and met with her own. Since she looked like a good enough person, I decided she could live without my troubles, and didn’t do anything to talk to her – but the damn fool had to come sit at my table. Her choice, so, her problem.

“Hey there,” she said. “We met at Suffolk Downs a few days back, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I guess we have the same lousy taste for horses.”

“Yeah, I guess… but maybe your next horse is gonna be the one. That’s the good side of the races, you can always try again.”

“Really? And here I was thinkin’ that was the bad side.”

She laughed. “Good thinking. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m Corinne.”

“Nice meeting you, Corinne. Name’s Mark.”

“Glad to meet you, Mark. Say, I know it’s none of my business, but…” She vaguely nodded toward the scotch. “You’re not still hung up on that horse, are you?”

“Good eye,” I said, with a bitter grin. “No, I’m not. It’s just that they’re making me run around in circles like a damn rat, and I’m not making any to pay the rent in the process. Say, how do you catch a crook with no name and face, in a city filled to the brim with ‘em?”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, so you’re a policeman then? What’s that like?”

“No, nothing like that. Don’t think I’d last a month in the Staties. Can’t see myself getting used to the routine. No, I’m a private dick. Sorry, detective.” She chuckled. “But I’m not gonna bore you with my cases.”

“No, please, I’d love to hear about that!” Her face said that was very much true. Somehow I forgot the kind of heartbreak that comes with those I-love-detectives girls, when they find out this life is none of the excitement and mystery and all of the filth of the movies, and gave in. Who knows, maybe it’s just that I could use some admiration right then.

And so it went, and I spent the rest of the night spinning tall tales of the crooks I’ve caught. Maybe it was the whiskey, but I was talking a lot more than most people would care to listen, and even more than I should let on to a stranger. Anyway, she was drinking every word. I walked her home at the end of the night, and left without anything better than a kiss on the cheek; like a fool, I didn’t get her numbers, only a promise to “keep in touch”.

Of course, I’m not the worst gumshoe in town, so it wasn’t hard to keep track of her. I found out she liked to walk in Columbus Park weekend afternoons. I also found out that she had just come from the south of the state about three weeks back, and that she always brought apples home from work, but that’s neither here nor there. So, I just “happened” to be reading my paper on a bench there when she passed me by. We said “hi”, started walking together, chatting a good bunch, and sooner than you know we’re at the spring (which wasn’t running and had nobody around anyway, not with that sort of weather) kissing like we were teens. She looked down though, and started saying this was a mistake, even though she seemed to like it, so she took off much too soon for comfort. I managed to shut off my self-commiseration long enough to realize this wasn’t about me; no, there was some baggage there. Which, obviously, only made the whole thing more interesting. Not to mention the challenge, of course.

So, my next week hit off well, with that itch I’ve got inside when I get the sort of tough nut to crack that keeps me up at night going over evidence and suspects, not to mention this nut happened to be a dame, and a promising one at that. I guess that made me bold enough to win Fortune’s favor as the saying goes, since that got me to turn my life around, or so it seemed at the time anyway. The thing is, next Monday, after running around in circles like a fool for the last time, I finally got fed up. When that headstrong old bat came to give me hell that afternoon, I told her to get the fuck over it and go screw herself. I don’t like to do that – it’s bad for your reputation, dropping out that way – but damn, that was liberating. And necessary.

That left me torn between feeling all warm and fuzzy inside for sticking to my guns, and worrying about how the hell was I supposed to cover the rent, whose late bills were piling up way too high for comfort. And sure, forgetting it all to wonder about Corinne. All that was cut short next day’s evening. Like I said, Fortune and all. A concerned father walked way too cautiously and self-consciously into my office. Those are my all-time favorite customers; they’re every bit as dedicated – that means, willing to shell out dough – as crazy old ladies, but much easier to deal with. Call me sexist if you want to, but hey, that’s just fact – men have always been much more reasonable than women. Well, and less persistent, too.

To nobody’s surprise, the thing involved a sweet and innocent little daughter (the kind that’s never as innocent, or at any rate as virgin, as Daddy would like to believe) and some heartless, sweet-talking scum who took advantage of her (now those do tend to fit Dad’s expectations to a tee). Also unsurprisingly, there was money involved – which is precisely why I like those cases; there’s always more where that came from. The whole thing’s so bread-and-butter, I nearly had him fill out a form.

In any event, the man was some “Josh”, from Nantucket. Jim, the father, was kind enough to get the obvious joke out of the way and say there were no buckets involved. As it always goes, nobody remembered to get Josh’s last name, much less address or anything remotely useful, and he vanished into thin air, not before getting his grubby little hands into Jim’s secret jewelry stash. Those quirky old fools never learn there’s nothing wrong with banks, and at least those have got insurance. Well, at least that’s where I would put any theoretical spare money if I had it, so maybe I’m not one to talk about that.

I started out that same evening (Josh wouldn’t be any harder to find next day, during normal human hours, but Dad insisted) with the obvious – Nancy, the virginal young lady. She still clung to some shred of hope that it was all a big mistake – nobody likes to fall for something stupid like that, of course – but didn’t put up any trouble cooperating. As expected, she didn’t have anything on the way of hard facts, but there were a couple of places and acquaintances I could track Josh from. As for himself, he was one of those suave, artsy folks – probably lured her with fake sensitivity, hooked her with poetry and European movies, and reeled her in with bed tricks I wouldn’t mind getting a hang of, if I had a better source to ask.

By that point, of course, Josh had made himself scarce in the kind of places – around South End – that Nancy knew him from, but not without leaving a trail. So, when I went sniffing around next day, I managed to nab a “Latour” that went after the Josh in a packie he had to show some ID in (looked like a kid, the pisser), as well as a vague Charlestown reference. That wasn’t far from Corinne, so I thought I’d drop by her place on my way there. She was still at work though, even at seven, so I shrugged and moved on. Mr. Latour was of course nowhere to be found, either on any sort of public record or from anyone’s acquaintance in the more obvious places in Charlestown, so I called it a day.

Come Thursday, I decided daylife had yielded all it had for the moment, so I took the day off, tried and failed to sleep through the day (had a couple swigs from some stale old gin I had kicking around the back of my freezer, but it didn’t help) and hit the nightlife, looking for new leads. I hadn’t decided yet whether they were on Josh or Corinne, but the way it turned out, I wouldn’t have to. Because, when some ditzy chick in a jazz place coughed up some digits the guy had given her a couple Saturdays back, I was in for a surprise.

“Yes?” A chill ran down my spine. That sounded exactly like her.

“Hello, is Josh there?” I muffled my voice a bit, just in case.

“Who is it?” Yes, no doubt it was Corinne. My curiosity was piqued.

“It’s from the Las Palmas, he left some stuff here that he’s going to want to get back. Can I speak to him?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The edge in her voice made it clear it was worth digging a bit more.

“Are you sure? That’s Josh Latour, from Charlestown, he wrote the number himself. C’mon, put him on the line.”

“No, I’m in North End, and I told you, I’ve never heard of any Josh!” She hung up on me.

This thing was definitely getting interesting. Neither of the two showed up that night, so next evening I hung out there again. I saw no sign of either Josh or Corinne that night either, but the barman said some kid turned up asking about Josh’s stuff. Didn’t leave a name or anything to track him by. Too bad, but at least they took the bait and let me know there was something about them. Next step was Corinne, and Saturday was coming up again.

The mere fact that she showed up at Columbus Park come Saturday, after the taste of drama we got the previous week, and without any incentive from the weather (we’re getting back to the point I was talking about early on), by itself, already spoke volumes. That she not only passed by the same spot where we met last time, but also made no mention to avoid me, only drove home that her reluctance wasn’t going to last that long. Welp, time to catch two fish with the same throw, I thought.

“Good day there, lady!” Luckily, I never had a shortage of chutzpah.

“Hi, Mark.” She at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t… know if you’d be here today.”

“Oh, so you were worried about that. Good sign.” My half-impressed, half-amused face came naturally.

“Yeah, well, you know, we didn’t leave in the brightest of moods last week. I was just… you know how it goes. I hope.” She laughed uneasily.

“Yes, I can see how we started off on the wrong foot last time. What say you we do a second take?” I stood up and extended my hand. “Hello there, my name is Mark. And what name could do justice to such a fair lady?”

“C’mon, Mark, cut it out.” She was amused enough for the gag. “I told you, it’s not like that. It’s… complicated. You don’t want to get too close to me.”

“Hey, now, you wouldn’t know the kind of messed-up ladies I’ve been with. I doubt you can top all that.” Not the smoothest thing to say, but, oh well. “And besides… you’re here, aren’t you? And don’t tell me it’s for the sun.”

“Hey, I’m still allowed to hang out at my favorite park Saturday afternoons, right?” She looked up and around and smiled. “But you’re not buying that, are you?”

“Nuh-huh. But let me tell you what I am buying – a pair of hoodsies, weather be damned. What’s your flavor?”

“Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?” We both chuckled, and went our merry way. Things were warming up, if only figuratively.

We spent the rest of the afternoon spinning around like a couple of silly lovebirds, not unlike last time. Not that the conversation was all rosy either. I poked her some on the subject of men in her life – I still had a job to do, and it’s not like it didn’t concern me on the personal front – but she dodged all around that like a kung-fu monk on crack. There was definitely something worth hiding there, something that left her divided about seeing another man, though not really unwilling. Pimp? Abusive boyfriend/husband? Brother or other random relative? I didn’t press the matter harder than she’d let me, but let those run through my head as we talked. I was positively getting intrigued, and I’ll confess, even a bit aroused.

Maybe she sensed that, or in hindsight, maybe she was just trying to divert me. If that’s the case, I’d say she succeeded. In any event, the kissing had barely started when it evolved into passionate making out and quickly rolled into some heavy petting. By that point, we were already getting into a deserted wharf alley – that sly vixen, I hadn’t even noticed her leading me there during the conversation. Well, things went as they do, petting turned into grabbing, buttons started coming off, but before I could get anywhere good in terms of skin, my pants were already dropping to my knees, and she to hers. This girl knew her stuff, and quickly proceeded to prove that even further by working my unit. If I had time to reflect on it, I’d be surprised at how quickly it had gotten ready for action – then again, as I said, I’d been getting horny for a while already.

And then, it happened. Even after thinking on it for a while, I still find it difficult to put it in words, but here’s the long and short of it: she gave me a blowjob that was the best sexual experience in my life. That simple statement doesn’t do it justice, of course, but it’s the only way to say it. The thing is, I’ve always liked blowjobs, but I’ve always seen them as something fun, but not really that fulfilling. I mean, a pussy is a pussy. My dad likes to say that, if God ever made anything better than a nice, tight pussy, He kept it for Himself, and until that moment, that was just pure gospel to me – and blowjobs were a kind of fooling-around, something you get done for kicks, not real sex. Then, Corinne proved me wrong on that. When I think back on it, it’s like that deal with the five blind guys and the elephant – I get parts of what happened, but can’t get a clear picture of the whole. It wasn’t just the tongue, or just the lips, or just the gentle biting when it’s good (that’s so terribly easy to fuck up), or just her fingers running all over in ways I still can’t fully comprehend. It was a whole much greater than the sum of those parts, plus something else she did that I didn’t even register beneath all that pleasure. There had to be something else, some trick to it. Anyways, I just hope she passes that on, ‘cause I’d be willing to pay top dollar to any hooker who learns her arts.

We didn’t have much to say after that. I mean, I tried to do… something, anything to her, to repay her in kind so to speak, but she just tidied herself up and hurried off like our business was done. That left me feeling kinda dirty, and I swear the thought of how much I’d have to pay for that briefly crossed my mind – but of course, I shrugged it off and ran after her. She was all composed, like nothing ever happened – I, of course, was bumbling like a fool. She waited far too long to concede me a naughty grin that said both that it did happen, and that she wasn’t sorry for it. So, I walked her home, with very little coming from either of our mouths on the way. The promise to meet again went unspoken, but clear – though I was stupid enough to miss getting her number once more. I mean, I had it, but she didn’t know that, so I wasn’t about to blow my cover by using it unless she gave it to me. Not that I wasn’t tempted, though.

I just took the rest of the day off to think on it – just wasn’t in any frame of mind for work – and thought all that stuff about God and the weather. Like I said, nothing like a chick that makes you come good. I treated myself to some pizza and slept the sleep of kings, certain that things were definitely turning in my favor, and that the man from Nantucket was just across the corner. In fact, I even poked around some next day, even though it was Sunday. Well, I meant to ask around about Josh, but my research ended up being mostly on Corinne. I just couldn’t wait to see her again, but couldn’t just ring her up, so I tried to track her down and surprise her some. No such luck, though – both her and this Latour guy rather kept to themselves. Didn’t really dig anything on the personal front either, other than what I already had, on either of them. Sooner than I knew, my feet had brought me to Suffolk Downs, so I placed a pittance – would put more, I had a good feeling about it, but didn’t have much to spare – on some “Debussy”, and made second. The winnings weren’t exactly enough to remedy anything, so I just burned them on JD at the same bar where I met her the other week. Sat there the whole night, a minute away from laughing at my own hopes – and no, she didn’t show up.

Mr. Conscientious Dad showed up to give me some hell on Monday, and I tossed him a few crumbs, enough to talk him into advancing some cash for “investigative expenses”. He groaned like he was giving birth though, so I saw he wasn’t the sort of guy to sit around forever, well, if I wanted the greenbacks to keep coming anyway. I had to feed him some in a regular basis. Besides, this case was special – I could just keep bullshitting him about Josh, but there was still her, and she was somehow mixed up in this. Of course, this could somehow bring the whole affair to an abrupt end when I got my hands on the guy, but I just couldn’t live with the doubt.

I decided to steel myself and go asking around her place about any slick and sleazy dudes. Nobody matching Latour’s description came up recently, other than a guy asking around about rent about a month ago, who never showed up again. Corinne appeared to have no real friends or acquaintances – in fact, they said I was the only person they could really associate with her, which left me feeling all good inside, despite the uselessness of my inquiry. The thing is, she wasn’t going to surrender anything about herself – much less her man – without putting up some fight, so I decided to do something about that. She worked afternoons, so I got back next day to stake her out. No car was necessary, as she didn’t use any.

I posted myself by a hot-dog stand and tried to be as non-noticeable as possible. Normally, that would be a doozy, but she knew me, so it wasn’t enough to be just forgettable. I knew I was taking chances, especially if I got into the T together with her, but knowing which line she took would do some good already. She took all too long to leave the house (it was almost three), looking gorgeous in her light floral dress and packing a satchel, and made for the Green Line a few blocks away. I snuck up into the car next to hers, and managed to leap off when she did at Hynes, but lost her amid the shuffle. So, Back Bay it was.

My blood started to race as the whole picture was getting clearer. It was actually obvious, come to think of it, which didn’t make me any less intrigued and kicking to get to the bottom of it. She was in on the con. Maybe she scouted the area, got to know some rich girls, befriended the mark once she had a good one in sight, buttered her up for Josh. The whole thing was a lot more professional than it sounded at first – not just some sleazebag taking advantage of whatever opportunities presented themselves, but a planned-out and concerted effort. A jumble of emotions stampeded through me like a herd of angry bison. First off, I got the “that two-faced bitch” part out of the way at once. Then, the conclusion that their relationship was likely more professional than romantic brought that tingly feeling. The anxiety of losing her when the gig was up came next, followed by the anticipated pride of busting a high-quality scam like that. I realized with some disappointment that there was no way this was going anywhere even if I covered for her, and eventually settled into my good old curiosity to see the end of the case.

I did the usual scan around the area, not really holding high hopes for that. After all, I’d expect their hunting grounds to be places like South End, with Back Bay being the sort of neighborhood they went to when the hook was already firmly lodged into the victim’s cheek. This meant, of course, that she was working his next case. Those two certainly didn’t waste any time – by the timing, sounds like they were already working this mark even before closing that other girl’s file. Henry Ford-style shit, indeed.

Finding them at this point required a much more directed effort, so I decided to put myself in their shoes and hunt for families rich enough to be worth the effort, but not enough to be that tough to work, which had lonely and gullible daughters of the right age, around Hynes. I considered asking around the local college scene, but decided that might draw too much attention, so I started poking around local clubs, malls, the ICA, and so on. Of course, I was specifically looking for her, ostensibly because she’s the one I saw hanging around there, but really because I might as well have forgotten about Josh’s existence by this point. My mistake, sure, but that’s Mark for you.

Time went by like that, with my mix of elation and desperation gradually slipping into a more comfortable blend of frustration and boredom, when I was suddenly jerked back into the realm of the living by none other than my target staring me in the face. It was Thursday evening, and I was so frustrated looking for Corinne that I wasn’t prepared to actually find her, least of all somewhere I wasn’t actually looking.

“Mark? Wow, hey, what are you doing here?”

“What, can’t I stop at the local diner to grab a bite?” I smirked. “But that’s not what you’re asking, are you?”

“Uh, no.” She chuckled, opening up a bit, but still startled. “Sorry. I meant, great seeing you here!”

“Me too.” I gestured her to sit with me. “I’ve got work in the neighborhood, but it’s been slow lately. What about you? You’re not following me, are you?”

“Of course not. I work here, silly.”

“Really? Where? I’d love to pay you a visit someday, while I’m in the area.”

“Nah. I don’t think they take kindly to dirty grown men hanging around a daycare center, you know.” Her laughter was only a tiny bit too loud to be natural. Almost without thinking, I checked my watch, and she amended: “But of course, I like to walk around some and soak in the ambiance here before going back to my lonely little apartment. Y’know, get a beer and some groceries. By the way, apple?”

I had no way to refuse the green fruit that was already flying my way. So those are the famous apples, I thought. “Hey”, I said between bites, “I’m done for today, so… your place doesn’t have to be all that lonely, don’tcha think? By the way, thanks for the dessert.”

“I don’t think so, mister.” She took it relatively well. “We’re a long way from spring, so cleaning hasn’t been at the top of my priorities lately. No way.”

“Oh, come on. You just called me a dirty old man, do you think I’d mind? You gotta come up with a better excuse, lady.”

“Mark, don’t. Trust me, you don’t wanna do that.”

“Hm. I see.” I raised my voice more than I’d like it to. “So, I guess that means your apartment might not be all that lonely, is that it?”

She sighed deeply. “Yeah. Who knows. Maybe that’s the case.”

Neither of us had anything else to say, so we parted ways without goodbyes after a few extremely painful minutes. I made a note of the name on her grocery bags, but didn’t quite have the energy to check it out that evening, or do anything else but drink and smoke myself into a semblance of sleep, which is what I did as soon as I got home. Sure, that took a lot longer than I’d like, and left me feeling like shit the next day (more from the smoke than from the gin), but you work with what you’ve got.

And that’s just what I decided to do. Propped up by a toxic amount of coffee, I hit Back Bay again next morning, while Corinne was home. I started from Nora’s Convenient Store, where she got her apples, and worked my way backwards, but the trail grew cold quicker than our affair. So that left me with a single option, one that I should’ve taken back when I still had the momentum. I tried to fool myself into thinking I could patiently while away the couple spare hours I had by walking nonchalantly along the bayside. Obviously, I was wrong, and had to content myself with smoking like a chimney between cups of black coffee that just kept coming. My head was just about to explode, which at least distracted me from thinking about her. I couldn’t bear to wait further than two o’clock and change, and decided to go cringe from my headache at Hynes.

It was over a quarter to four when she showed up, a lot less cheerful than Tuesday. That was the first time I saw her in jeans – with her thin figure and short hair, she might pass for a boy at first glance, the sort of kid you see in packs around mall food courts. She was more agitated than usual too, which left me wondering if I’d hit too hard last evening. Well, not like I fucking care anymore. Let’s just wrap this thing up and forget about her, I thought. Were it only so easy. I wouldn’t have to worry about her catching me much longer anyways, as I never got to track her past the Hynes at all. Lost her around the restrooms, swept the area for almost a half-hour to no avail, and called it a day, heading straight to the bar.

Next day was Saturday, and so, more out of habit than hope, I sat at Columbus Park. Showing herself to be wiser than me, she didn’t show up. Late afternoon, I had to laugh at my own stupidity. What was I expecting? That we’d just put everything behind us and roll in the grass like teens? The thing is, that most likely would indeed happen. But it still wouldn’t change anything. No, I was chasing a dead end, just as the Josh Latour case was starting to look like as well. Sunday I hit Suffolk Downs, but saw no sign either of her, or of my horse anywhere near the finish line.

The next week opened once again with Mr. Jim coming over to ride my ass, and that regularity got a bit on my nerves. I couldn’t exactly pull off the same shit I had at my previous case – and, in any event, I needed the money – but I still got real with him and made it clear that I wasn’t getting anywhere, not unless he helped me out some. I told him it looked like Josh was on a new case in Back Bay (didn’t mention anything about his associate, obviously), so he could just as well share some of the work by asking around his own social circle, because God knows that’d do a much better job than anything I could currently pull off. His enthusiastic reaction threw me off – I was buckling up to hear him tell me to go fuck myself, but he rolled with it like a pro. I gave him a couple pointers on how to basically do my job for me, and sent him on his merry way with a promise to call me if anything came up. The whole thing was bewildering, but it had the welcome effect of bringing the focus of the investigation back into Josh – if only because I couldn’t find a way to tell him about Corinne.

Jim certainly took his sweet damn time to produce any results. Sure, that wasn’t surprising, this sort of work doesn’t exactly get done overnight. However, I guess my patience for this whole shebang was already worn wicked thin by then, because there’s little work I managed to do other than hang aimlessly around Back Bay, mostly staring into Charles River while smoking like the devil. I managed to get a hold of an old acquaintance of mine in the City Hall and get him to look this Latour character up, but got little other than a half-hearted promise to “get in touch” if anything came up. Maybe it was just obvious that I wasn’t in any condition to reward him with anything better than an “attaboy”. I also dug up a couple more vague and ultimately useless references in South End and Back Bay, but still nothing around North End or Charlestown. It was like this guy materialized out of nowhere in his hunting grounds, because he positively didn’t sound like the sort of person who actually lived there. As for her, well, it’s not like I was getting anywhere further with her without going through him. I think that should’ve been obvious for a while, I just didn’t want to admit that.

It wasn’t until Thursday evening, near the end of one of the shittiest weeks of my life (and I’ve had more than my fair share of those), that I heard from my client-turned-collaborator. I actually had to keep reminding myself to not harp on him for slacking on the job, since it was actually, y’know, my job. Thing is, Jim heard from one of his town club buddies that a certain man with the same name and description as our target had been hovering around his own sweet little darling a little too much lately. I got the man’s phone and rang him up – some arrogant bastard named Hank. I explained as much of the situation as he needed to know to open up to me (mostly some smoke and mirrors about Josh’s evil ways), and got his permission to follow his kid, just until I found my man.

Cindy was in some arts undergrad thing at Suffolk U, which made it easier for me, being in an area both more familiar to me and conveniently surrounded by bustling city life, which allowed me to stake her out come Friday afternoon without raising any eyebrows. The girl was good-looking, I’ll give her that. Maybe it was the whole week I’d been fresh out of Corinne, but it was hard keeping enough blood in my brain, as opposed to my pecker, to focus on the mission. Whether or not that’s the reason why I ended up blowing it I’ll never know, but the thing is, she met Josh at a nearby Dunkin’ Donuts and they took off on her Civic. I barely had time to get my cam out and take a couple rather fuzzy shots. I tried to follow them, but my good ol’ Buick was helpless, especially with the head start I gave them with my photographic stunts. No matter – at least I had what I was really looking for, which is, finally attaching a face to the name I had. He fit the descriptions I’d been getting – short, skinny, young-looking, especially with that stupid cap and loose jeans – but there was something I couldn’t put my finger on that ticked me about him. Maybe it was all I’d been building up in my head around and against him, maybe it was jealousy, or maybe he just looked like one of those snotty, annoying mall-rat kids. A scan around the streets and pubs in the area turned out flat, and, since the weather had been improving a lot, I went back to smoking by Charles River.

Next day, Hank was clearly annoyed by my asking about his daughter’s plans for the day, and at any rate she wasn’t saying anything more specific other than that she was going downtown. So I took my car and started wandering around, half-heartedly. Didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone – Corinne, Josh, Cindy, her car – downtown, not that I was looking particularly closely. So, when I got fed up around four, I decided to drive by Columbus Park just for kicks – not much hope of finding my girl there, not after the previous weekend – and, lo and behold, there was Cindy’s car parked on the driveway. I nearly crashed my car right there and then. I quickly found a spot to park and darted straight for the benches where I used to meet her. She wasn’t there, of course, but neither was Josh. After looking around the area for a while, I eventually found Cindy near the spring (which was running, since the weather had improved a lot), looking all stood-up. Walking by her to hear her talk on her cell, turns out Josh was telling her to meet him at her car. By the tone of the conversation, it was clear he was being mysterious about the whole thing, which of course meant only one thing – I got busted. That bastard, he knew my face before I got to know his. Or maybe Corinne was sounding the alarm – but, for some reason, I hardly paused to give that possibility any thought. Probably because I knew I could pick her out in a crowd in a second, so I was just sure she wasn’t there.

However, he did tell her to meet him at her car, which meant he didn’t think I’d catch them there. I cut through the trees and walked around the park to creep up behind the car, but Cindy got there before me. To hell with it, I thought, and just straight ran up to the passenger’s side. Luckily, the guy didn’t see me, since he was turned her way. But, when they took off, he turned back and our eyes met, for just a split-second, and it all clicked together. I could do nothing but stand there, staring dumbfounded at the rapidly moving Honda. I couldn’t believe it, but there was no fooling myself. It all made sense now. Everything, the whole story started running through my head like a flash flood, it all fit now. All this time, I thought, I was looking for this guy… and he was right in front of me.

Obviously, I had no heart to do or even think anything the whole day. It was all I could do to walk back to my car, and then sit there for a good couple hours. I couldn’t for the life of me decide how I felt. Disappointed, befuddled, hurt, fooled, astonished. Betrayed, to be sure. But also largely confused. I didn’t know what to think about her, about him, about myself. Then, I decided I’d been had, like a fool, tricked and betrayed. Nothing that happened was real. It just couldn’t be. It was all a big con, a setup, an illusion designed to trap me, make a stooge out of me. With that, I managed to drive home, not that I was in any better of a shape once I got there. I stuffed my face with gin, not as much out of regret or sorrow, as to just knock myself out and get that hell of a day over with. I just wanted everything that was going through my head to stop.

When I woke up next morning, feeling the worst I remember ever being in my life, I decided to just give her one more chance to talk. Not to explain herself – she couldn’t ever, and I wouldn’t want her to. I just wanted a chance to end this gracefully. But of course, this whole thing was too awkward to simply set up a meeting, so I never called her. I just went to Suffolk Downs. Much to my chagrin, it worked, and there was the person I knew as Corinne, looking as gorgeous as she ever could. She avoided me, but not quite enough to shut me off – it was obviously almost as awkward for her as for me. As for me, I couldn’t find it in me to just walk up to her and talk, there in the middle of the crowd, so I went on with my business.

After the race – in which she burned off a good chunk of cash, not seeming to care much about that – she just walked off to Belle Isle Marsh, and I took the hint and followed. The sun had brought school groups and families to see the little animals at the reservation, so there were kids all over the place. Took her some walking to find a more or less quiet grove, where it took us several torturous minutes of pretending we were ignoring each other until we could finally come face to face.

“So.” I summoned a considerable amount of will and broke the ice after a while. “Mr. Josh Latour, I presume.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mark.” It was all he could mumble, still keeping his Corinne voice, after some hesitation.

“Too late for that, boy.” I strained, trying to keep some cool while I looked for words. Eventually I settled on: “Why?”

“There’s no why, Mark. It just happened, alright?” He was welling up already.

“Bullshit. It doesn’t just happen like that. Especially in the circumstances.”

“Why not?! Can’t you accept that we just had something going on? Something good, something innocent?”

“Yeah, right.” I gave an exaggerated chuckle, and started pacing around. “Sure, you just happened to get something going on with the guy who was investigating you.”

“I didn’t know it, Mark! I never got to know anything about any of that, not before, before, I don’t know… when you met me near Hynes, I guess, around that time. Christ, I didn’t even know you were a detective until you told me!”

“Cut out the bullshit excuses! I don’t give a fuck.” He was bawling by that time. “I don’t care about you or what you think. Just… how could you do something like that to me? Why me? Can’t you see what you did to me?”

“I loved you, that’s what I did! Can’t you accept that you could simply fall in love with a –”

“SHUT UP!” I had to restrain myself from beating him. No, I wouldn’t give him that taste. “Enough! I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit!” I composed myself. “I’m turning you in and collecting my paycheck.”

“Mark, listen to me… it doesn’t have to be like that!”

“Yes, it does. Sorry… Josh.” I almost slipped and said Corinne. “There are just… things that a man doesn’t do.”

I left the inconsolate, sobbing, pleading wretch behind, and walked away, my own eyes burning. That wasn’t a good ending, and it was even a long way away from being a satisfactory one, but it was as good as it got. There was no graceful way to end this. After walking around for a while, I briefly closed my eyes and tried to go back to that pleasant moment. I tried to go back to Corinne and Columbus Park, but it was useless. All I had was the man from Nantucket, and tears in Belle Isle Marsh.

Sacrifices

(first layer)

by Fernando Sacchetto – mar. 2007

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Zaminsky was seasoned, the most experienced one in the medical field and one of the oldest people around, but that obviously wasn’t enough to prepare him for that sight. He turned away, retching slightly. “How… how come?”

“We, uh… still don’t know.” Mihara strived to find the composure to say anything at all, as he pulled the bloodied sheet off the body. She was mostly intact from the neck down, but the head that Zaminsky had uncovered was barely recognizable as a human body part. It would be impossible to identify the mess as Karen Higgsen if the colony wasn’t small enough for everyone to immediately know who was missing. Fragments of bone, tooth and eye could be seen amid the pool of gore and blood that formed in the caved-in head, crowned by blood-drenched blonde hair. “I guess there’s going to be a security inquest, and…”

“No, I mean… how could anyone… you know.” Vague gestures made up for the insufficiency of words.

“Yes, tell me about it. I still have a hard time believing it myself.”

Zaminsky closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Old files, medical and security reports, video and audio recordings, rushed into his mind. “I… remember the last time it happened. I mean, not so much personally, I was just a little kid and they kind of sheltered me from the whole business. Most I got to know about it was from the files.”

Mihara looked at the body, uneasily, then back at his colleague, and decided to just stand and listen. Give him his time.

“It was a big fucking scandal, of course, I guess you can figure that out. Some guy got fed up with his woman, you know how it goes, except he was a bit psycho. Carved her up with a knife. Of course, it wasn’t gory like this, not by far… but still, Mihara, I hope you understand what I’m getting at here. This stuff had never happened, and once it did, it was just disturbing. I mean, we all know each other here. It’s not like back on the ground where some random criminal you’ve never seen just happened to pick you out for a target. We all see each other day in and day out. That was… someone we knew. Hell, I know I was playing checkers with him the week before. It’s someone… real. That’s why it had never happened before, and not ever since. And that’s why most everyone agreed to change the rules around that guy and settle the matter for good.”

“Critical and irrecuperable inadequacy for communal life”, Mihara recited. “Yes, really, I can’t imagine living with a man like that anymore. Sharing lunch with him… damn, wouldn’t even be able to hold it down.”

Both of them leaned closer to the body, slowly adjusting their eyes to it. Zaminsky broke the silence. “Let’s get this over with, okay? So the boys can go and… do their business.”

“Alright.” The younger med-tech switched on the recording. “November 16th, 2186, 11:18 AM standard time. Medical technician Yasuo Mihara. Autopsy of young Caucasian female subject, found on the floor of storage room 26B, presumed identity Karen Higgsen.” He explained it with a shrug. “Frontal skull destroyed by severe and repeated impact, causing… multiple fractures to all facial bones and frontal cranium that probably killed the subject through massive damage to both frontal lobes of the cerebrum and massive bleeding. Obstruction of the larynx by blood and flesh apparently happened post-mortem. There are also signs of concussive impact in the back of the cranium, huh, several lacerations and one fracture, as well as minor lacerations on both arms, upper chest and back, and left leg. All signs indicate…” He looked up to his partner. “Causa mortis of murder through impact with a heavy blunt object, consistent with the flame extinguisher found on the site with blood and flesh fragments on it. Subject was presumably involved in a struggle with the aggressor, who struck her in the back of the head with the aforementioned flame extinguisher, knocking the victim unconscious, and…” He had to pause and catch his wind. Zaminsky nodded encouragement. “Struck the victim repeatedly in the face with the presumed murder weapon.” He hesitated a bit before opening the body’s vulva and examining her vagina, fearing what he might find. “Genitals show no sign of stress, indicating there was no sexual violence.” He looked lost as to what to do next, so his colleague drew closer to the handset. “This is medical technician Michael Zaminsky, fully confirming the analysis.”

Mihara stopped recording and slumped down in the corner of the room, sighing. Zaminsky patted a “good job” on his shoulder and went back to the body, covering it.

“Well… I guess she’s had plenty enough. Let’s just send her to reprocessing and give her the rest she deserves.”

* * *

Rogers marched down the hallway, carrying the murder weapon in front of him with careful reverence, and with a posse of curious onlookers behind him, giving the scene the look of an old-times religious procession. Zaminsky was waiting on the far end.

Suddenly, Tara burst out of a door, her tortured face and eyes weary with wiped tears enough of an indication that she heard the story already. She posted herself brazenly in Rogers’s way, faced him with an uneasy look, closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and managed to speak after a couple seconds. “I’ll do it.”

“Tara, you don’t have to.” Zaminsky’s voice was a soothing tone learned with decades of experience. “I’ve got that covered.”

“No, Zaminsky, let me do this.” Her voice was strained.

“No, listen. You’ve had enough for today. You need to pick yourself up. Tara, I know how difficult this is for you, so you don’t have to –”

“You don’t fucking know anything.” She lashed out at him. “This wasn’t your fucking cousin, Michael. She’s my family, you know nothing about what it’s like, what… you don’t…” She paused to pick up some composure. Zaminsky extended a hand that was rebuffed. “You don’t understand, Michael. I have to do this. For her.” She got up to look at him, tears welling up in desperate eyes. “I owe her this. You wouldn’t understand.”

The older physician nodded his sympathetic, question-less consent. Tara reached uneasily for the filthy canister, shaking visibly as she touched it. She momentarily dropped it, surprised by its weight, or maybe by her own weakness. Then she carried it back to her lab, even more carefully than Rogers – though showing none of his reverence, only repulse – and slammed the door on the inquisitive procession.

* * *

“I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here.” Jin looked defiantly at the security crew assembled around him.

Perelman took the lead. “Look, Jin, we’re not looking for trouble here, so cut that bullshit. We’re just asking around.”

“Yeah, and you just happen to ask around me whenever anything goes wrong. Wooo, big coincidence.”

“It’s not our fault you actually are behind almost every kind of shit that goes on ’round here,” Jackson piped up, quickly cut out by Perelman, who said: “Shut the hell up. Now, mister Shelnikov.”

“Yes, mister Perelman. What have I ever supposedly done this time?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell us? What were you doing from eight to nine this morning?”

Jin laughed loudly. “Wow, is there even an eight o’clock in the morning? Never got to see that one roll around, officer.”

Rogers stepped into the room and joined in the conversation. “Jin, this is serious business. This isn’t stolen rations, this isn’t a network virus, hell, this isn’t even July’s fire. We’re just trying to get this sorted out.”

Jin’s eyes widened. “Wait, wait, what the hell is this stuff? So this isn’t about –”

“C’mon, Jin. Don’t play dumb. This is serious stuff.”

“No, really, you gotta let me into the loop, I seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Perelman’s patience strained. “Even my bloody grandmother knows about it. That’s the stupidest excuse for a defense you’ve shown in a while.”

“Well yeah, you know what? Fuck you!” Jin snapped at him. “Your cockwhore grandmother gets to know about stuff because she’s not a fucking freeloader!”

“Shut up, Jin,” Rogers tried to intervene, “that’s not what it’s about and you know it.”

“The fuck it’s not what it’s all about! It’s always me, me, us, the goddamn freeloaders, huh? Come to your fucking station to steal your food and air rather than just suck it up and die out there like we should, huh?”

“That’s not fair!” Rogers’s finger was pointed menacingly at the young delinquent. “Have you ever seen us picking on Akira? Huh? What about Johnny?”

“Oh, so you admit you’re picking on me!”

“You’re a fucking punk, that’s what. You give us reason. What about them, why aren’t they pains in the ass like you, huh?”

“Fuck those cocksuckers.” Jin grimaced. “They’re fucking suckups, is what they are. Just ’cause they shut up and just take it all quietly doesn’t make them nice.”

“Ah, abuse, the criminal’s classic excuse,” Jackson mocked loudly while Perelman circled the room.

The head of security sat across from him. “So, you’re not going to tell us what you were doing between eight and nine AM, are you?”

“Fucking told you, douchebag.”

“You didn’t tell us shit –” Perelman intruded, stopped by Rogers’s hand.

“Fine, Jin, have it your way then. We asked you nicely and you did not cooperate.” He ignored the suspect’s middle finger as he got up, mirrored instantly by his crew. “We’ll get back to ya. Shortly, I guess.”

As the crew made their way out the door, Jackson turned back to say, “And one more thing – until we’re done with our investigation, don’t leave town.”

“Ha fucking ha.” Jin waited them out, trying not to give them the pleasure of his anger.

* * *

“I can’t believe those motherfuckers!” Jin stormed into the mess hall. The meal was already underway for most; Tara was a notable exception, quietly playing with her food.

“Tsk tsk, what a big ol’ meanie,” Christie shared with her silent aunt. “Can’t even get his lunch without saying a bad word.”

“Yeah, and fuck you too, ankle-biter. Don’t need your ‘good kid’ bullshit right now.” He sat beside the pair.

“Tara! Look, he’s bad-mouthing me again!”

Tara just ignored the whole discussion, concentrated on splitting her rations into even parts and shoveling them aside in an ascending pattern as if the survival of mankind depended on it. Christie tugged at her sleeve, wailing.

“Jin, just cut it out. You know this isn’t the time.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Tara… sucks about your cousin,” Jin mumbled, clumsily. “Just got to know about it. Since nobody tells anything to the goddamn freeloader.”

“Can we just leave your ancestors aside for a while, just for lunch?” Tara closed her eyes, not having laid them on Jin ever since his arrival.

“Yes mister, just be quiet and show some respect to poor aunt Karen!” Christie crossed her arms in righteous indignation.

The young man went quiet for a few seconds. “Hey kid. D’you know what happened to her?”

“I don’t care what you say because I’m not gonna believe it!” Tara was too absorbed to come in Christie’s defense.

“They reprocessed her. Know what that mean? They teach you that word at basic tutoring already?” Christie was plugging her ears, uselessly. “It means they chopped her up, cooked her in a big stew, and served her right back as food! That’s probably her butt you’re eating right there!”

“Enough!” Tara’s fork bounced off as she threw it on the table, causing the mess hall to grow quiet in response. She still didn’t move her eyes up. “Get the fuck out of here, Jin!”

“Yeah, like I’d want to eat around you fuckers anyway.” He got up clutching his tray, and reached for Tara’s uneaten food, pulling back as his hand was nearly stabbed by her knife. “Have a nice fucking meal, wankers.”

The crowd’s eyes followed him out, and settled on Tara after he walked out. She felt them and stood up soon after, leaving a bewildered girl behind as she left to her room.

* * *

A rivulet of whispers wound around Guzman as she made her way toward the Higgsen sector of the dorms. Her machinelike, enigmatic expression cruelly frustrated all attempts to gather any information about what was going on, which was the most sought-after resource at the moment. She stood in front of the late Karen’s room, with a well-studied measure of impatience, and the door opened not long after.

Tara gingerly came out from it and shot a steely stare at her boss. “What?”

“I was told you were headed to the Euro side of the dorms, and figured you were here.”

“Was going over some personal stuff.” She looked at the printout in her hand, a picture of the two Higgsen cousins. “I’d like to have something to keep memory of her, you know.” Her tone was far less sweet than her words would call for.

“You’re gonna have to run that through security, you know.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Guzman. I appreciate your kind condolences and understanding.” Tara kept her gaze locked as she closed the door behind her. “It’s good to know some people here have tact around those who just lost a family member.” Her voice trembled.

Guzman was unfazed. “How’s the DNA test coming along?”

“I’m working on it. Sheesh, grow some sense, my goddamn cousin just died.”

“Which is exactly the problem.” She stood still, following Tara with her eyes as she circled her. “You know, Zaminsky offered to do this, and he can still take over if –”

“I can do it just fine.”

“I’m not doubting your skills, Tara.” The head of Logistics underscored it with a cruelly sweet smile. “It’s just that your process of mourning might slow it down, and that’s the last thing we need now.”

Tara reeled, as if physically hurt by Guzman’s words. “What’s the problem now? It’s not like she’s going to get any deader, is she?”

“Not her, no. But you know how it goes. It’s murder we’re talking about here. That just doesn’t happen. People get scared, they want results, and they want them fast. There’s a murderer here, they figure, and who knows who he or she will kill next.”

“I know, Cindy. Of course I know that. And you know these things take time. I’m running the samples we’ve got on the lab, but most haven’t been collected yet, and they take time, even with the whole lab running it. If anyone whines to you about it, you can just tell them that.”

“Of course, I’m well aware of that. Just making sure… don’t want anyone to think you’re taking your time. People want this person locked up before anyone else dies, you know.”

“Yes, I do.” Tara bowed briefly, her eyes betraying her petulance. “Anything else?”

“No. Go earn your food, Higgsen.” She watched on as her subordinate hurried up the hall.

* * *

A large sun loomed over the station, beyond the deeply darkened panes of the skylight, flooding the entire lounge with the dazzling light of a Venusian afternoon, when the doors flew violently open. Jin barely had time to remove the covers from his eyes when the security guards were turning him over on the suntanning recliner to restrain him.

“You’re in deep shit now, Shelnikov.” Rogers’ voice was uneven, his outrage barely restrained. “You got busted. You’re going down, man. How could you… you… you filthy scumbag.”

Jin’s frantic and repeated protests were of no avail. The security squad silently dragged him through the hallways; even Jackson was somber the whole way. A crowd assembled around them, their mumbling steady but subdued. When they reached the containment room, the prisoner was unceremoniously tossed in, and the door was hastily slammed.

The crowd parted and silenced for Dwanwu, the colony’s director-general. “Is he safely contained there?”, he asked.

“Couldn’t leave in his whole life.” Rogers hurried to the response.

“Good. We’ll… start the proceedings as soon as possible. Probably tonight. Valenzi’s ready, the witnesses are getting ready as we speak. Just gotta find a speaker for that… guy.” He glanced around. “We’ll do this quickly. I’m sure the people can’t afford to wait around for it. We all need, we all deserve an answer. We need to know if he really did it – yes, I know the tests point that way, but let’s not forget the regulations – and then find a solution that will let us sleep at night, certain that we’ve got our safety back. A definitive solution.”

There was no applause. However, the crowd’s hushed words of consent spoke volumes. They most definitely wanted that man dead.

* * *

“Hey, Tara! I was looking all over for you!” A young man stopped on his tracks and called out to her.

“Wen? Wh-what are you doing here?” Her look was one of genuine surprise.

“Well, they were looking for you. For the trial and stuff. So I thought, hey, maybe she’s by the Higgsen quarters, and voila, here you are.”

“I was asking around, nobody can give me a straight answer, what’s going on, what next… wait, why do they want me for the trial?”

“Hey, you know, you did the test. So, between you, Zaminsky and Mihara, that’s pretty much all they have in terms of witnesses.” His uneasy smile faded as he drew closer. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m… well, it’s not easy at all. This… disaster, and then all this work on top of it. I thought the work would be good for me, but then it just made me kinda on the edge. Have you seen Sacha?”

“Whoa, slow down there. Yeah, edge, indeed.” The comment made her slightly embarrassed. “Take it easy there, just letting you know you’ve gotta get there, but no hurry. Go and get a shower or something.”

“Thanks, Wen.” She smiled, looking down. “Yeah, maybe I gotta catch my breath a bit. Find my pace.”

“You can say that again.” Wen’s smile was one of satisfaction. “Been waiting a while for you to say that, actually.”

“Hey, not that same old talk again.” Her smile waned. “It wasn’t about my job, and you know it.”

“Yeah, right… you expect me to believe you weren’t ready to deal with my responsibilities? C’mon, spacewalkers work like what, once a month, tops?”

“Oh, and it’s not like there’s only two of you in the whole freaking colony, are there? That’s not a responsibility?”

“C’mon, that just means both of us are replaceable. And that’s beside the point. I’m not the one working overtime like a maniac to save the colony from total annihilation.”

“Oh, so I’m a maniac, now?” Her tone of voice was rising dangerously.

“No… sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know, I know I said that, it was stupid. Tara, listen to me. We can still make this work.”

She leaned against a wall and pinched her eyes. “Wen, this is a really bad time to discuss this.”

“Okay, Tara… Sorry, I’ll just…”

“Just go. I’ll go have my shower and be there in a minute.”

She didn’t look at him as he slowly walked away, but still listened for the door.

* * *

The desperately curious crowd was exiled to the corridor outside Valenzi’s office, isolated from the proceedings by a closed and sound-proofed door, so it set its eyes on Jackson with understandable eagerness when he appeared, and even more eagerly on the woman following him. Tara Higgsen, who apparently had to be fetched in her quarters for the proceedings to go on, and whose hair was still wet, was led into the door at the center of all attentions.

Inside, the waiting participants all turned to face her, some with less than amiable stares. Jackson handed her to Rogers, who led her to a vacant chair in front of Valenzi. She caught a glimpse of Jin, who looked as if, regardless of whether or not he bashed Karen’s face in, he would love to do the same with Tara right then.

Valenzi spoke, impassibly. “Tara Higgsen, born of Lars Higgsen and Wei Li Shung on July 15th, 2160. Called as witness to the dispute between the security board and Jin Shelnikov, regarding Karen Higgsen’s demise. Do you agree to provide your testimony to this board?”

“Yes.” Her tone was calm.

“Very well then, let’s get this over quickly.” The serious middle-aged man looked over the paperwork on his desk terminal once more, simply out of habit, while his understudy prepared herself to access anything on the records, and the rest of the commitee looked at the witness with mild disinterest. To them, this was just a boring technicality.

“You have performed tests on the human tissue material found on the flame extinguisher that has already been established by this board as the weapon used to end Karen Higgsen’s life. Is this correct?”

“Yes. I performed DNA sampling tests as required by security.”

The referee frowned slightly. “It would be sufficient to reply with a simple yes or no for the sake of expediency, if you will.” She didn’t react, and he went on. “And those tests can determine the identity of the person who that tissue came from. Correct?”

She blinked, as if she would argue that, but said only a “Yes”. The young man beside Jin stirred, but didn’t say anything.

“And, according to these tests –” he looked at his screen, obviously unnecessarily – “the human tissues found on said extinguisher were found to belong to both Karen Higgsen and Jin Shelnikov.” Jin stood up and screamed: “Bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” He was held down by Perelman and the man beside him, who was his own speaker. Judging by the lack of reaction from everyone else but Tara, this had happened a few times already. The referee continued. “Correct?”

“Yes, correct.”

“And this fact establishes Jin Shelnikov as the person apparently responsible for Karen Higgsen’s demise, correct?”

She glanced at the defendant, who started struggling some more with that question. “Well, my expertise isn’t security or anything of the sort, but…”

“According to your best knowledge.” Valenzi frowned again. “Correct or not?”

“Correct, I think.”

Jin’s speaker raised his hand, and was stopped by Valenzi’s gesture. “And the technique applied on these tests has been shown to have over 99.8% accuracy, correct?”

“Yes, sir, I think it’s even more than that. By now it’s pretty much certain.”

He did not frown. “And is it possible that anything could interfere with this test and lead to a false result?”

“It just matches the DNA on two samples, so as long as both of them are real, I don’t see what could go wrong.”

“And were the samples utilized on these tests the correct ones?”

She smiled. “Yes. I’ve triple-checked.”

“Thank you, that is all for now, but please remain seated.” He turned toward Jin’s speaker. “Akira Hitomi, if you please.”

“Yes, thank you.” He turned toward Tara. “Have you checked it with the DNA of everyone in the colony?”

“Doctor Higgsen?” Valenzi turned toward her.

She turned to look briefly at Rogers before turning back to Akira. “No, I didn’t have time, they took the canister when –” Valenzi interrupted her with a gesture and waved a hand to Hitomi.

“And don’t you think that everyone should be tested before Jin’s convicted?”, he asked.

“Well, that’s not up to me, it’s a…” She looked at Valenzi for help.

“This is not the time or place for speculation,” the referee said with a frown. “Concrete questions and answers only please.”

The speaker started talking again, but froze before anything came out, gathering his thoughts, and started again after several seconds. “Could you possibly find a match with anyone else, that would incriminate anyone else, if more tests were made?”

“Not likely at all,” she said in a slightly apologetic tone, “since a person’s DNA is unique, and as I said, the test is accurate enough to…” She noticed Valenzi’s frown. “Uh, that would be a no.”

“Any further questions?” The authority at the table was looking at Akira with conscious civility.

He strained himself for a while before conceding. “No, that’s all, thank you.” Jin grabbed him and whispered nervously, but was held back by the security guard’s hands and his speaker’s nod.

“Now, if Tara Higgsen has no further comments…” He waited for her nod. “Then your participation as a witness is over for now.” He gestured her toward a chair on the side. “Any more witnesses?”

Rogers just waved a “no, thanks” while Hitomi held his head between his hands for a while, and then shook it. He was obviously grasping at straws. One of the commitee members was twirling a pen.

Valenzi stood up, stirring the rest of the board. “With all known facts duly noted and recorded, the commitee shall convene and reach a decision.” He stood and waited silently for everyone not sitting at his table to leave.

The wait outside his office was strained. The onlookers nervously stared at the participants, and especially Jin, who was restrained and surrounded by the security crew. The participants themselves avoided each other’s gaze, and, finding too many questions in the crowd’s eyes, avoided them as well. Only Jin burned holes into Tara with his stare.

A torturing seventeen minutes later, the door opened, and Valenzi’s understudy walked out, making way for the commitee, who appeared and positioned themselves in a wall-like formation outside the door, and then Valenzi himself, who stood in front of them.

“This commitee has reached a decision.” He paused for a few seconds, basking in the expectation. “After studying the facts of the matter, as presented by all available witnesses, this board has come to the conclusion that Jin Shelnikov is responsible –” the crowd started bustling with commentary, and Jin with protests – “for the demise of Karen Higgsen, as claimed by Station Kepler III’s security crew. Therefore, in accordance to Kepler III’s disciplinary regulations, he shall be subjected to the appropriate punishment, which in this case is a minimum of eight months in disciplinary confinement with aggravated disciplinary regime, followed by a minimum of sixteen months in monitoring and moderate disciplinary regime.” The crowd started to roar, muffling Jin in their own protestations, until the referee silenced them to a hum with his raised hands.

“However,” he said, “since Mr. Shelnikov has been found responsible for malignant removal of human life, also according to our regulations, this board has put forth a motion to have his case examined by the plenary board.” The crowd’s mumbling turned to a positive tone. “It shall then determine whether Jin Shelnikov can be considered as critically and irrecuperably inadequate for communal life, and put up for permanent removal.” A “Damn straight!” could be heard.

Dwanwu walked up to Valenzi’s spot and took his place. “And since the director-general is responsible for presiding the plenary board, I, Jim Dwanwu, call every able adult in the colony, and especially all of the witnesses and Mr. Jin Shelnikov, to take part in a plenary board to decide Mr. Shelnikov’s fate tomorrow. It will be held in the main communal room at 9:30 AM, with Jacopo Valenzi serving as my understudy. We will then do our best to decide in the fairest way possible and bring some justice to the Kepler III Space Station.”

A salvo of applause echoed through the station’s hallways, as hadn’t been heard in a long time.

* * *

The mess hall was livelier than it had been since anyone could remember. The kitchen started serving breakfast earlier than usual, and there were more than enough people already waiting there to justify it. Their excitement simply couldn’t be contained by something as trivial as regular meal schedules.

A small node of activity stood out among the general bustle, in a central table occupied by the medical team. Zaminsky and Mihara were obviously at the center of all attentions, though their heroics were being temporarily interrupted by something that brought nostalgic comments and shaking heads.

When Tara entered the room, they quickly dropped their conversation to wave her toward their table, which she finally accepted after a few protests. A middle-aged woman welcomed her to the table with the bad news.

“Did you hear it about Radzinsky? Was found dead last night when Sacha went to check on him after the Jin proceedings.” The nonchalant way she said that indicated the name had caught on.

“Really? Oh, my god!” The news seemed to affect Tara very strongly. “How… how did that happen?”

“Heart failure.” That was Zaminsky. “Seems that bypass didn’t hold up after all. Well, wasn’t unexpected.”

Mihara shook his head. “Like they say, disgrace comes in rolls. And it can’t even be because he heard about Karen, nobody visited him that day.”

“And by the way…” Chandra, the other female med-tech, looked up. “There comes your cousin, Tara.”

She looked back, in reflexive horror, and the initial visage of a blonde woman with that familiar gait made her jump. However, she quickly recognized the woman, sooner from her vacant eyes than from her facial features.

“Helge…” She sighed deeply. “You startled me there for a while.”

The other Higgsen woman had an orderly by her side, who spoke on her behalf. “She’s been looking for you. Asking about Christie.”

“Oh, thanks, Sacha.” Her speech was rushed. “What happened? Did-didn’t she come visit today? I don’t know, is she sick or something, haven’t seen –”

“Christie didn’t come.” Helge’s voice was disturbingly high-pitched and throaty. “She always comes. She didn’t come today. They don’t know where she is… do you know where she is?”

Sacha rushed to her aid. “See, we’ve been looking all over for the girl, and nobody’s seen her since yesterday. So, we were wondering.”

“I, uh, haven’t… well, since lunch anyway, haven’t seen her.” Tara sat down and closed her eyes.

“Karen…” The blonde reached out toward her, and was held back by the orderly. “Please, Karen, you’re my mom, help me… tell me where my baby is…” She started raising her voice, and her aide began pulling her away. “Come on, Karen! Help me! Help your daughter, Karen! You gotta help me find your daughter! Your… sister, my daughter, my granddaughter, Christie! Where is she?!”

Nobody spoke a word as Sacha dragged the screaming woman out of the room. Tara sat, numb, with her head down.

* * *

Gossip ran furiously throughout the communal room as the colony prepared for the plenary board. He killed another one. – No, two. – Isn’t it too big a coincidence that the Higgsen girl goes missing right after her aunt dies? – And I hear old Saul died too. – No, that was natural causes. – What was the second then? – See, Christie’s the second. – She’s dead? – I think they found her body.

The man at the eye of the storm, Jin naturally arrived last, escorted by the security team, when the board was already otherwise complete. The noise around him was so intense that Dwanwu’s calls and rapping weren’t enough to contain it, and he had an alarm be sounded over the intercom.

“Thank you for your attention.” He stood and spoke with a resounding voice once the room was silent enough. “Ladies and gentlemen of this station… we have not gathered like this, every able citizen together in plenary, for a very long time. And, while on the one hand that is good, since it indicates that our colony has lived in peace and stability for all this time, with no issues grave enough that they require everyone’s attention… on the other hand, I feel that we run the risk of losing our sense of community.” A soft, dissatisfied mumble echoed through the populace. “Our human history teaches us that people grow together in adversity. And, one hundred and twelve years ago, the greatest tragedy that has ever happened, or that could even be imagined, destroyed the only home of not only our own species, but also every other living species we have ever met.” The public’s faces turned generally distraught. “I know, I know this is the most unpleasant of all subjects, and I promise I won’t extend it. But what I mean is that this tragedy brought all the remainder of mankind together in a way that was previously inconceivable. Even…” He eyed his spectators, a bit unsure. “Even when fellow human brothers from a surviving space shuttle approached us, we extended a helping hand, and took them in as part of our colony.” A new wave of grumbling confirmed the reasons for his insecurity. “And such was our sense of brotherhood, that we needed only the lightest of regulation to keep the colony peaceful. Because, unlike the warring states during the ground days, now we all know each other in person. As fellows. And this fellowship is all the incentive we need for peace.”

He paused, took a deep breath, and glanced briefly at Jin before looking ahead once again. “But, sometimes, our relationship will grow cold. There are divisions here – yes, there are, let’s not ignore reality – and we let them get in the way of this sense of community. Sometimes we stop seeing each other as fellows, as friends, and let resentment seep into our hearts. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a disease that spreads silently, and slowly corrupts the body of our colony to the core. And, as with all diseases… sometimes, you go on for years with an illness weakening you, destroying you on the inside, and you do not notice it at all, unless there is some sort of symptom. And, as grievous as the loss of one of the most beloved members of our community may be, it can actually serve a purpose. That of a symptom that warns us of our disease. It has happened before, my fellows – that was fifty-eight years ago, I wasn’t even born. It was a shock, a revealing shock to realize that one of us, one member of our own fellowship, was capable of something like this. And we found a solution. We decided that this person was a taint, and as long as he remained among us, we would remain tainted. That the deep mutual trust that allows our community to function would not exist until we removed the one person who became irrevocably untrustworthy.”

He opened his arms toward the crowd. “This morning, ladies and gentlemen, my friends, we will decide whether one person is a taint or not. We will decide whether or not our tacit pact of trust has been broken. Let us decide with justice in mind, and reach the fairest conclusion. And as such… I, Jim Dwanwu, director-general of Space Station Kepler III, at 9:42 AM on November 17th, 2186, open the plenary disciplinary board to decide, on the case of Jin Shelnikov, whether the clause of critical and irrecuperable inadequacy for communal life applies, and as such, whether or not he is to be subjected to permanent removal.” He had to hold himself from smiling at the public’s approval. “Let the proceedings begin.”

* * *

Once again, Tara was the last witness to testify in what was simply a rushed verson of the previous evening’s ritual. Jin was surprisingly tame, which allowed it to run much more smoothly, and his speaker sounded like he gave up and was just going through the motions.

She was leaving the witness chair toward her place in the audience, to take part in the final sentence, when she noticed Perelman, who had just arrived on the room, holding a whispered conversation with Rogers and then whispering in Dwanwu’s ear. When the director-general looked in her direction, she realized that she had stopped in the middle of the way to look at them, and then looked back at Rogers, the other security guards, the crowd, and Dwanwu again. She uncrossed her arms, realizing she wasn’t actually naked.

“Miss Higgsen, could you please return to the witness’s chair?” The head of the board was serious. “A new matter has come up, and you’re a witness.”

She looked once more at the public and at the security crew, and walked hesitatingly back to the chair, sitting silently.

“Miss Higgsen.” He looked up, conjuring something from memory. “Is it true that, yesterday, during lunch, Jin Shelnikov verbally harrassed your late niece, Christie Higgsen?”

She blinked and took a while before responding. “Yes. Yes, he did.”

“And what was the nature of this harrassment?”

“Well, he not only used strong language to… wait, did you say my late niece?”

He paused, hanging his head. “I am afraid that your niece’s body has been found by the security crew.” The audience burst with commentary.

“But… how? Where? What happened?” She could barely be heard among the noise.

Dwanwu pounded his table for silence before continuing. “In the reprocessing furnace.” He consulted with Perelman in whispers. “They didn’t actually find her body, of course, but they found a thread of cloth in the tracks that had no reason to be there, and DNA sampling on residue found there confirmed she was there.”

“But… but… that doesn’t mean she’s dead! You haven’t found her body, have you?” She was frantic.

Perelman briefly consulted with the present authority, and spoke up. “Lady, we’ve put on a special team of five combing the colony for her while this board was going on. She’s absolutely nowhere. I don’t see any other possibility.”

The director-general stood up, held the surging noise from the crowd with his extended arms, and rose his voice to speak to it. “If there is anyone in this room who is aware of Christie Higgsen’s current whereabouts, please speak up.” The call was met with only an expecting and gruelingly long silence.

He sat back down, despondent. “Well, we have no other choice but to treat this as yet another tragedy to compound on the troubles already assaulting us. Now, Miss Higgsen, back to our proceedings. What was that harrassment about?”

Tara was genuinely confused. “He, uh, swore at her repeatedly, and harrassed her about Karen’s, uh, reprocessing, like he was trying to disturb her…”

“And have you noticed any sort of hostility on his part toward her, on any occasion?”

Akira stood up violently. “Hold on right there, Mr. Director!” He briefly turned toward everyone’s surprised stares and then back to the head of the table. “Don’t you think we should have another, independent inquest on Christie, and if – and that’s a big if, I honestly don’t see that happening – Jin is found to be behind it, we hold yet another dis board on that, and if that other board finds he’s responsible, only then we can talk about it in plenary?” The public booed.

“Mr. Hitomi, will you please sit down!” Dwanwu’s face was reddening. “This is a very grave situation we’ve got here. If this doesn’t count as a crisis, I don’t know what does. We just can’t afford to sit here and wait for all of that process to roll around while a potentially dangerous person is on the loose!”

“Then judge him on Karen and get done with it!” He was on the edge of his seat. “Don’t convict him for something you’re not sure of! Leave that part out of this!”

The president of the board paused for some time, still dissatisfied. Then he turned to the audience and spoke up. “Who is in favor of adding the matter of Christie Higgsen to this proceeding?”

A show of hands was held, and only a handful of people were in favor. Lunch time was getting close.

“Okay, very well.” He grudgingly addressed the crowd again. “Having heard all the available facts on the matter of Karen Higgsen’s demise, and considering that the disciplinary board has agreed that Jin Shelnikov is responsible for the fact, and in respect to his acceptability in this colony…” He inhaled deeply. “Those which consider Mr. Jin Shelnikov to be critically and irrecuperably inadequate for communal life, show your hands.”

A surprisingly considerable minority disagreed.

“Then,” he continued, “according to the regulations, Jin Shelnikov is eligible for permanent removal. Those who agree to that measure, show your hands.”

Jin’s fate, which had already been decided, was finally sealed.

“Very well then. Mr. Shelnikov is entitled to have one session with a spiritual consultant of his choice, if he wishes. Then he will be rendered unconscious, and sent to reprocessing.” He looked down and mumbled under his breath. “Like little Christie.”

“This board is over. Lunch will be served at the mess hall.” He simply walked away, with a sense of relief.

* * *

Tara returned to her room from a rushed lunch and shut the door behind her, cupping her face with her hands and then rubbing them off. Over. It’s all finally fucking over. I can’t believe it.

She pulled down and propped up her bunk and threw herself on it. She was tired, much more tired than she’d normally be by about one PM of course, and in fact, much more than she’d be if she had just dismantled and then reassembled the whole station with a rusty screwdriver. This wasn’t exertion, it was tension, the tension of uncertainty, of not knowing her own fate, and most of all, Zhao’s fate.

She turned toward her own womb and caressed it. “How’s it going there, my little noodle? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? Of course you did. People were angry all over. But now they’re not.” She looked up, vacantly. “They got all the blood they wanted. Their goddamn sacrifice. And now you’re safe, Zhao, you’re going to live, not only that but you’re going to be healthy and strong. And happy.” Little tears started streaming down toward her ears. “I know it’s going to be hard, Zhao, but we’re gonna fight. I’ll fight and make you happy. I don’t know if you’ll get to have a real father… oh, he’s gonna be there alright, but you know Wen. He’s there and not there. I both know and don’t know him. Or maybe I don’t know myself. Either way, my girl, we’ve been trying and trying and I don’t see it working.”

She looked at the door. “And all those people out there. We’re all supposed to be one big family, but hell knows that’s not the way it works. What are we supposed to be, Zhao? Higgsen? Oh please. They’re all genial and welcoming on the surface, but don’t think I can’t see the way they look at me. A stranger. The asian one. They look at me and see what they think of as Lars’s mistake. Fuck them, I don’t need those hypocrites. But what, are we Shung then? I don’t know how much better off we’re with them. I’ve tried, Zhao, I swear I’ve done my best to learn their Chinese and their hanzi, but it’s like Mom broke some sort of ancient honor pact when she got with an Euro.” She chuckled. “As if China and Europe even existed right now. Well, maybe they do. Borders changed all the time back on the ground, didn’t they? I guess they just moved to a different place. No, Zhao, we’re on our own here. They won’t understand… they wouldn’t be capable of understanding what we’ve done. What I’ve done. Why it was the only choice. Why I have decided to make this deal… and carry the price with me. Even though…”

A practical, urgent matter was summoned by her stream of thoughts. Wait, did I delete it here? I deleted it at Karen’s, but what about here? She rushed to her terminal and quickly started it, nervously drumming her desk while it went through the motions of waking up. She opened her mail, and there it was. A couple keystrokes later, and it wasn’t there anymore. Whew. That was close. She opened her drawer, and pulled a syringe. She still had to take it to the lab and toss it on the deep sterilization bath, do away with the last DNA traces, and only then she would be done. Only then she would finally be at peace.

Or so she tried to convince herself.