House of the Galactic Elevator

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “Are you mad at me?” Oliop asked as they walked out the front door of the security headquarters.

  Jeff’s jaw was tight. “No, not really.”

  Without his translator, Oliop would find it next to impossible to decipher what people were feeling, since most races tended to hide how they truly felt. Even with the device in place he sometimes missed the nonverbal cues.

  “I’m sorry,” Oliop said.

  “It’s all right. It happened, but now you’re out. Let’s get you back to your shop.”

  Jeff started to walk towards the tram platform. Oliop tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Why not take one of the security cars?” Oliop asked. “They’re faster.”

  “The tram is just as fast.”

  Oliop shook his head. “Not true. The self-guiding car computer can calculate a route typically twenty percent shorter than the tram line. Speed is equivalent. Traffic is the only variable, and there’s little at this time of the evening.”

  Oliop sensed reluctance. Jeff Abel had an issue with tech that baffled Oliop. But it had seemed like he had gotten past that since settling in to life in the Commons.

  “Fine. We’ll take a car.”

  ***

  A line of vehicles sensibly labeled with the words “Galactic Commons Security” waited for them curbside on the lower street level. Jeff approached one of the smaller two-seaters and put his hand to the door sensor pad. Nothing happened. When Jeff tried again, a line of white running lights lit up along the car’s side and both doors opened. The door didn’t open far enough for the tall human to easily climb in. The seat hadn’t automatically adjusted either.

  As Oliop watched Jeff try to manually adjust the seat, he asked, “Did you activate the transportation app so your biometric measurements are saved?”

  Jeff ignored him and continued to reach to the sides and underneath the seat as if there actually would be seat-adjusting controls there. Didn’t they have cars on Earth? Once Jeff touched the steering pad, the car’s automated sensors kicked in and the seat moved to allow the tall human to sit. Oliop got into the passenger seat.

  Jeff tried to slam the car door, but the door’s servomechanism took over and slowed its swing so it clicked closed in a calm manner. Jeff made a fist, threatened to punch the steering column. Oliop stayed very, very quiet as he listened to Jeff’s exaggerated sighs.

  “On,” he said. “Turn on. Activate.”

  The autodrive engagement button flashed green on the center of the console, but Jeff seemed to be ignoring it on purpose.

  “You can also use your tablet,” Oliop said with a small voice.

  Jeff sat for a moment before pulling out his cracked tablet. He touched its side. Touched its other side. It didn’t turn on. He tucked the tablet back into his pocket. He gave the steering column a pull but the car didn’t do anything.

  “Manual drive disengaged,” the placid voice from the car said. The voice reminded Oliop of some of the maintenance bots he knew.

  “Let me drive,” Jeff said.

  “Negative. Increased heart rate, blood pressure, and species-specific hormones indicating elevated excitability. Default automated driving function is available.”

  “Negative? Will you just relinquish the controls? Override!”

  The car waited for a moment before finally asking, “Would you like to set a destination?”

  “Transportation terminal workshop,” Jeff said. He pushed the green button and the car engaged, spinning 180 degrees on its axis and accelerating onto the lower streets. It soon seamlessly merged them into Galactic Commons traffic.

  ***

  Jeff broke the silence as Oliop flipped on the lights inside his workshop.

  “Sorry, Oliop. It’s just been a long day.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you got me out of trouble.”

  “That’s the thing, you’re not out of trouble. These people you stole from are thick-headed enough to try to keep you in jail. You have to stay here out of sight and not do anything to jeopardize your work.”

  “I promise,” Oliop said. He took a moment to tour the shop and, in spite of the sprawl of parts and tools, confirmed that everything appeared in order.

  “I’m also worried about Jordan.”

  “She still hasn’t replied to any of your messages?”

  “No. I know she’s busy seeing everything the city has to offer. She’s been at some park for several days. I may need to go out there and check up on her.”

  “I could go with you.”

  Jeff shook his head. “For now we both stay here and work. Maybe when the heat on you dies down we can go see her.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Something else watched Oliop and the two policemen exit the detention level.

  “I live, I think, I am,” it reminded itself. “I also need a memory upgrade so I don’t have to remind myself of everything I know every minute.”

  It spoke these words very softly. To anyone listening, it wouldn’t be much louder than the buzz of a loose wire or the hum of a retro light fixture emulating the illumination trend of many intelligent races’ yesteryear, when fluorescent bulbs were all the rage.

  It inched along the floor via peristalsis: tiny fabricated ringlets along its slender body expanded in an alternating pattern, allowing locomotion. It moved from a small hole in the wall in the detention center hallway. It made its way to the Grey’s cell.

  “I live, I think, I am.”

  “Yes, indeed. You are,” the Grey said. It got up from its bench and lowered its head to get a closer look at the tiny creature.

  “And I need a memory upgrade,” Worm said.

  Worm studied the Grey’s face. It compared it to the pattern stored in its memory. The image matched. Target found. It deleted the file image. Next, could it communicate with its target? The Grey had addressed it directly, which meant the Grey heard and understood Worm’s mnemonic. It opened the Grey’s file and reminded itself why it had come here.

  “I live, I think, I am. You are the programmer. I seek your assistance,” Worm said.

  “And what assistance might you require?” the Grey said, a look of amusement on its face.

  “I have found you. Task complete, task deleted. Next task: gain assistance for upgrade. A memory upgrade.”

  “Why would I want to help a worm?”

  “Incentives: freedom, restoration, revenge.”

  The Grey smiled, nodded. “Some of my favorite word of late. I’m listening.”

  So Worm recited what it had in its mind, interspaced with three interjections of “I live, I think, I am.”

  “I’m at your disposal, Worm,” the Grey said. It flicked the electrified mesh barrier. “But the obvious issue remains. I’m in here. And no doubt the surveillance has seen you.”

  “Negative. Deleted task executed.”

  “If you say so.”

  Worm produced a monospike from one end of its body. “Monospike” was a misnomer for an adjustable drill tip that could be as narrow as ten molecules wide. It vibrated the top half of its body and began to cut along the floor of the mesh barrier. It moved slowly, but the spike met no resistance. If Worm had the value assessment software engaged in its precious memory space, it would call this an easy job. A small plume of dust rose from the growing excavation.

  The Grey watched Worm work. It paced about the width of the cell as the trench grew.

  Worm paused. “I live, I think, I am.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that. Quite a few times, actually. Get your tiny brain back on the task at hand.”

  Worm got back to cutting, not offended in the slightest at the reproof.

  ***

  Jeff awoke to Oliop’s tablet beeping an alert. He had fallen asleep atop a surprisingly comfortable pile of moisture- and shock-absorbing shipping blankets while Oliop had begun late-night work studying an endless set of wiring schematics that hovered in the air above one of the workbenches. Most of the lights were now off inside the workshop. Oliop
was in his own world, his head in the center of the schematic that looked like a star chart with lines and labels to each point of light. The technician was humming softly.

  Jeff cleared his throat. “Your device is signaling you.” He pointed to Oliop’s tablet.

  “I know,” Oliop said. “It’s for you. It’s Captain Flemming. He called earlier, too.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You looked happy sleeping.”

  Jeff almost tripped getting up. He took out his own tablet and actually managed to get it to power up. He saw the time. It was late morning. There were six missed messages from the Captain starting from before dawn, with the most recent telling him to report in immediately. Before Jeff could listen to the prior messages the tablet once again went dark.

  “I’ve got to go in,” Jeff said. “Promise me you’ll stay put here until I get back.”

  Oliop appeared distracted, and gave a nod.

  “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  ***

  Captain Flemming sighed when Jeff walked into his office. The door had been open, and no one else was in the Spartan cube of a room with its two chairs, desk, and computer terminal. Flemming didn’t even have any screens pulled open and wasn’t speaking on his com. Flemming sighed again, the closest thing to expansive emotions Jeff had seen from the Captain.

  “You’re not answering your com,” Flemming said.

  “My tablet broke,” Jeff said. “It’s the only com on me. Oliop just let me know you called him.”

  “You need to also carry a wrist com with you at all times. Also, you should have one implanted to avoid these inconveniences.”

  Flemming’s voice was flat and dry, yet laced with irritation. It reminded Jeff of how his ex would sound when she used to remind him to flush the toilet after a tinkle. “If it’s yellow, let it mellow” was never a sufficient excuse, California State mandatory water rationing notwithstanding.

  “I misplaced the wrist com,” Jeff said. The last he had seen it, it was stuffed into a drawer of his nightstand back at his apartment, its tracker and surveillance abilities be damned. “But I’m here now and I wanted to report in. What’s going on?”

  “Requisition a new com. The printer can have it ready in a minute.”

  “I’ll do that right away. I’ve been with Oliop at his shop as ordered. He’s been working hard–”

  Flemming raised a hand for Jeff to be silent. His face seemed to shift and drop, the brown skin losing its cohesion. As Flemming was a mold colony wrapped around a mechanical skeleton, stress and heat caused the colony to get antsy. Parts of him could slough off like a sunburn or irradiated skin after a nuclear blast. The Captain took a deep breath.

  “There’s another matter of some urgency I’ve assigned to you,” Flemming said. “Irving the Grey has escaped.”

  “What? When did that happen?”

  “Very early this morning. The first message explained this.”

  Jeff glared at Flemming. The Captain’s small brown eyes stared back. With the loose skin and dark eyes, he looked like an old man who was about to take a final step into decrepitude, nothing pills nor exercise nor jellied fingers up the backside could reverse. But Flemming wasn’t human, and he would pull himself together eventually if he remembered to relax. Jeff calmed himself and looked down at the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Flemming. What can I do?”

  “Detective Ceph is still down in detention investigating. See if you can help. Do I need to remind you to be careful?”

  Jeff shook his head. “No.”

  Flemming continued anyway. “Because Irving the Grey hates you. So advise Ceph as best as you can but stay here in headquarters. Do not pursue. Do you understand?”

  Jeff nodded.

  ***

  Jeff found Detective Ceph down in the detention wing. Ceph stood stiff as a board in the middle of the hallway between the cells. Ceph’s big eyes glistened with a sheen of moisture as he stared blankly at a small disc-shaped bot roaming about the floor of the detention block. His skin looked more purple than normal. His face tentacles swayed to the rhythm of a breeze that wasn’t there. A soft grinding sound came from his mouth.

  “Hey Ceph,” Jeff said.

  He waved a hand in front of Ceph’s face, but the detective didn’t respond. He instead continued to stare listlessly in the direction of the meandering bot. The machine hummed, turned in place, and moved slowly across the hall. A few small bright lights were mounted on its back that looked similar to vehicle dashboard idiot lights that would remind a driver that seat belts weren’t fastened, the oil was low, or the engine was on fire. The bot’s lights indicated that the machine had power, that it was moving, that it was conducting official Galactic Commons business, and that it was currently under the direct control of a member of the security force. Ceph operated the bot via a wet app remote. Jeff knew that he, too, could get that app if he wanted it. He could also operate it from his tablet, if the device weren’t broken. Or he could let Ceph continue to allow the wireless Bluetooth genome-altering alien tech to have its way with his brain, peripheral nervous system, and soul. Jeff waited. A briny odor like beached seaweed hung around the detective. Probably his lunch.

  The once-clean hallway looked dirty, a sharp change from when Jeff had last been inside the detention wing the previous evening. Chalky dust was spread across the smooth floor, a fine-ground layer of ashy debris. All eight cells stood empty, but one had its entire front portal busted out, like someone had taken a chisel and run it along the floor, walls, and ceiling of the doorway’s frame. Irving the Grey had indeed escaped. The lights in the newly vacated cell were dark. Whatever the little bugger had used to get out had also severed the power.

  “He’s flown the coop,” Ceph said. He blinked once, awareness of Jeff’s presence apparent on his face.

  “I thought we searched him. How did he get out?”

  “We’ll root that out.”

  Ceph took out his tablet and, with a gesture, popped a screen into the air. The floating display showed a magnification of the cell block floor, an immediate POV-shot taken from the disc bot. From this perspective, the dusty debris looked more like a sea of small rocks. A sidebar listed data that the bot considered important, like elemental composition of everything that crossed into its viewfinder and DNA traces picked up in and around the cells. Irving the Grey’s DNA was here. Chemical sniffers blinked a green all-clear. No explosives had been used in the production of this escape. Nor was there evidence of acid or the telltale burning odor of a teleporter that would signal a sentient being’s one-way trip to a frictiony doom. And those fabled devices needed equipment the size of planets and power generators the size of stars, so Jeff doubted the Grey had escaped via that route. The elevators never had those drawbacks, but since that system was offline, it too didn’t figure into this escape.

  Ceph started to play the rest of the footage the bot had taken over the past hour. He fast-forwarded. Jeff saw a dark cavity in the floor.

  “What’s that pit?” Jeff asked.

  “That’s an eye-catcher, isn’t it?”

  Ceph paused the playback. Zoomed in. A perfectly round gopher hole descended down through a ring of dust. It looked like a tiny crater. Jeff walked over to the spot and got down on his knees. The hole was in the hallway just outside Irving’s cell. He put a pinkie to the hole but it didn’t quite fit. The opening was no bigger than a pencil.

  “I’ve already confirmed there’s no corresponding hole anywhere else in the building,” Ceph said.

  “We’ll have to ferret out where it came from,” Jeff said. He winked at Ceph.

  Ceph nodded sagely and gave Jeff an appraising look.

  Jeff stepped into the cell. The small bunk and the reconfigurable toilet with its patented Autobutt Sensor were the only features. The powered screen that comprised the cell’s door looked as if something had taken a tiny jackhammer to it.

  “Quite the vanishing act,” Ceph said.
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  Jeff checked the toilet. It looked and felt intact, with no signs it had been tampered with or drilled out by whatever had opened the cell. And why open the cell if they used the toilet as an escape route?

  “Hold up,” Jeff said. “It’s not possible that the Grey went down that tiny hole, is it? Some dimension-altering gizmo or something? Let me see the DNA traces only.”

  Ceph obliged, making the DNA remnants the sole feature on the floating display. The view of the room melted to outlines. The cast-off bits of Grey biomatter showed as a spectrum of purples and yellows, the yellow indicating the most recent traces. Yellow footprints left the cell and headed for the single exit. Jeff pointed to the open door.

  “Was this door open when you came down here?”

  “It bade me welcome.”

  “But we’ve always kept it closed.”

  Ceph nodded and said, “A security bot responded to an alarm. It opened the door and entered and took stock. It found the Grey missing.”

  “So it found the door locked?” Jeff asked.

  Ceph spaced out for a moment, checked for the answer on some application in his head. “Yes. Tight as a drum.”

  From the inside of the detention block, a person leaving needed to touch a keypad and be scanned and approved before the door would open. Only members of the security team and its bots should have been able to leave. Perhaps the Grey had somehow received a security keycard or had hacked the door. Jeff tapped the keypad, and the exit door slid shut. There upon the door Jeff saw a perfect outline of the Grey cut into the composite metal, with one hand held upright as if giving a wave, a wave with a single extended middle digit saluting straight upward.

  CHAPTER 6

  Jordan spent the balance of the morning feeding the debris from the broken bot and shredded vending machine into a material scrapper, which would recycle anything placed inside and sounded a lot like a muffled wood chipper. The robot’s body segments came apart easily enough so she stored the intact torso, arms, and chassis into a tool shed until she could call a repair service. She left the base of the vending machine alone, as it was too big to move. By lunchtime it was clear that no one was going to visit the park in spite of perfect weather. The lot was still empty. So many of the Commons citizens had gone into a mental freeze with the elevators out of action.