Concept YUS (Cross-World Murder Cases Book 1)

by Set Wagner

  There were no seats, backrests, or even handles in the vehicle, and though the floor turned out to be surprisingly flat, I didn’t like sitting directly on it. To make matters worse, Jerry wouldn’t stop squirming in my arms, while the robot remained upright, looking like any movement would cause him to stagger and fall into my lap. The hot, humid air coming from the Yusian convinced me that his space suit ventilation system was working flawlessly, which did little to brighten my mood.

  Chuks closed the entrance to the vehicle with an abrupt snap. Reaching above my head, he thrust a limb into the wall and scooped out a piece, which stretched as if it was made out of dough, broke it, and turned it into a ball.

  “Robot to transfer right direction,” Chuks said, handing me the ball.

  I quickly shoved it into Siko’s hands. He bent over and studied it in silence, as if he were casting a spell or working black magic. I would have burst out laughing if my sense of humor hadn’t already petrified. When the robot returned the ball, I gave it to Chuks, who stuck it back into the wall. There the ball quickly transformed into a pulsating, glowing hexagon.

  As I was wondering how this wonder of Yusian technology could even move, it took off, thus striking a crushing blow to my belief in aerodynamics: the need for minimum frontal drag and stabilization and the other battles, large and small, that our aircraft designers have fought and won against their sturdy foe, wind resistance.

  Disappointed, I questioned Chuks, “Tell me how this—machine—overcomes air resistance.”

  “No resistance, because puts vacuum around self always,” Chuks explained helpfully. “Some air for us, but rest repulsed so not to disturb structural readjustments.”

  “Where does it get the energy it needs to operate? How does it work?”

  “Energy derived from vacuum, but machine operated by determination of ongoing readjustments.” Chuks either imagined or pretended that he was answering me.

  I looked down, absorbed by my thoughts, and my heart started racing wildly; the floor of our “aircraft” was thinning fast! It was melting—no more substantial than a dirty whitish fog dissipating beneath us. And through that fog, I could see the starship far below, squatting like a black beetle on a wide pink plain.

  I snuck a glance at Chuks, who didn’t seem at all worried. No, it’s not becoming thinner, just transparent! I assured myself desperately, adding a few curses to increase my resolve. In my line of work, unpleasant experiences are commonplace, but at that moment, I refused to imagine a worst-case scenario. Bouncing along on a totally transparent rubbery substance with the ground kilometers away was sufficiently worrisome and undesirable.

  We landed in about five minutes. I popped out, cradling Jerry in my arms, followed by the robot. Chuks remained in his wrinkled “aircraft.” At first I stepped away to let him take off faster but then, after a short hesitation, went back and looked through the still-open entrance. The Yusian had changed positions, now flopped over to one side and looking even more repulsive and disproportional yet somehow less horrifying. His eyes looked white in the soft diffuse light, their pupils contracting and enlarging as if responding to an insistent inner rhythm. I unintentionally waved good-bye.

  “Chuks, Chuks!” he exclaimed in a low voice. “Will remain on Eyrena so effective when you seek me.”

  Was this an offer for a new meeting? Or a hint of its inevitability?

  “I wish you all the best, Chuks,” I added insincerely and quickly walked away, stopping only where I felt safe, and then I turned around to watch the takeoff. The numerous notches on the “aircraft” deepened and opened like toothless blue mouths, grew round, and exhaled something—or more likely “nothing”—with such force that it created shimmering waves of haze all around. Liftoff looked even more rapid than it had felt from inside. Soon the machine was just a shapeless shrinking spot, then a dim dot, and then gone.

  Only now did I fully realize where I was and experience the ambivalent emotions that any human would feel stepping for the first time on another planet. I looked around at a field of peculiar pale-pink grass. Above me stretched a strange, cloudless, pale-pink sky pierced like a wound by the crimson sun, without rays or corona, as if a rough, cruel hand had cut it out.

  To one side loomed silhouettes of tall, thick-branched trees; the field in front of me ended abruptly in the distance, cut off by a darker-green strip flowing toward the hazy horizon. The air was totally still, but cool and clean, filled with unknown fragrances. And with silence—indescribable, complete silence, penetrating into all recesses of the brain, all cells of the body, absorbing even my heartbeats, and my breathing.

  I broke the spell with a whisper, feeling that my words would be locked in that silence forever, like insects preserved in amber. “Are we supposed to wait here, Siko?”

  “Yes.”

  “When are they going to come for us?”

  “In about thirty-two minutes.”

  “Who told you about the place and time of the meeting?”

  “A human told me.”

  “Who was that human? How and where did you receive the information?”

  “A human with a password gave me the information using a radio connection on the Earth,” said the robot.

  His answer shattered my romantic mood. Before we left Earth? That’s interesting! Especially if we consider how extremely rare and difficult connections with Eyrena were and that I left just a day after the message about Fowler and Stein’s deaths.

  I started fishing for more information, whatever that might be.

  “Had you ever been in a Yusian starship before, Siko?”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why? Why is it not possible?” I asked, struck by a vague guess.

  The robot waited a minute or two before answering, “I was created three hours before our departure.”

  “OK, but if you hadn’t been on a starship before, how did you know we had departed?”

  “By the change of the magnetic conditions that occurred at sixteen hundred twelve hours.”

  “And how did you know that the apartment was equipped with everything I would need for my safety?”

  “I have indicators for reading basic life parameters and detected no deviations.”

  “And did you register any deviations later?”

  “Only once.”

  “When did that happen, and what were the deviations?”

  “Nine minutes after the takeoff, the content of nitrogen in the breathing mixture decreased, and the ionization increased. I didn’t signal because neither would be harmful for you.”

  So it seemed that the deviations began when I first noticed the miniature likeness of my head. Did this mean that the effigy was created at exactly that time? Incidentally, I had brought it with me, hoping at some point to determine its meaning or at least to analyze its composition.

  I continued the interrogation: “Have you been in contact with any of the Yusians on the starship?”

  “No.”

  “So how did you find out what you were supposed to do in order to pilot the Yusian shuttle?”

  “By drawing logical conclusions.”

  “Oh.”

  I was silent for a while, petting Jerry, preoccupied with my thoughts, before I spoke again.

  “Besides the orders from that human with the password, did you receive orders from anyone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “From whom!”

  “From you,” replied the robot.

  “I see. By the way, how long did you wait for me at the launch site?”

  “Two minutes.”

  Remembering the raindrops on his shoulders, I realized that he was lying.

  “Do you have any other messages for me?”

  “No.”

  Although it was nearly impossible that my boss had contacted this robot, which no doubt had been sent by Zung, I decided to try my emergency password. I pronounced it distinctly.

  “I don’t understand you,” the robot said.
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  “OK.”

  I opened the larger suitcase, took out my bathrobe sash, and tied Jerry to the suitcase handle. Then I turned back to the robot. “You know the coordinates of the base, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what they are.”

  “Why?” Maybe the robot had guessed my intentions.

  “Just tell me!”

  This time he answered, though reluctantly. I saved them in my watch memory so that, in case those who were supposed to meet me didn’t show up, I could reach the base on my own.

  “Come with me!” I told the robot, heading in a direction opposite to the one they were supposed to come from.

  He followed me. I didn’t want him behind my back, so I waited for him to pass me. He was walking slowly on purpose, I was sure! As we distanced ourselves from him, Jerry started to whimper, afraid that I would leave him. I resisted the temptation to look back and offer some comforting words. I was concentrating on the back of the robot, keeping my right hand in my unbuttoned jacket. We walked about three hundred meters. The forest was still far away; I didn’t have time to take him there.

  “Stop!”

  The robot stopped and turned to me. He looked intensely into my eyes, though not as fixedly as he had stared at the Yusians yet with a dim red glow that, I suspected, reflected some inner suffering and a deep, nonhuman insight.

  I told him to turn around and took out my gun. Aiming at the sensor bump on the back of his head, I pulled the trigger. The massive, flawlessly made body quivered as if alive and then collapsed. I bent over, turned it on its left side, and released and lowered the molybdenum armor on the chest. It moved and stretched its arms toward me, but I was faster—removed the energy battery, isolated the reactivators to prevent an explosion, and cut the emergency switches in its backup system. I carefully disengaged the deactivated circuits, put them next to the body, and reinserted the battery. Then I stepped back.

  At first nothing hinted that steadily increasing energy was moving through the robot’s arteries, but soon its open chest started radiating a strange, almost mystical glow. That glow soon surrounded the arms, legs, shoulders, and even the pleasant face with its grotesquely simplified human features, a fatal aura wrapping the robot like a shroud. Only a moment later, the surrounding grass literally evaporated, leaving it at the center of a completely empty circle, isolated from the field. As its metal components heated to the melting point, I could hear cables hissing inside the body, the plates and condensers cracking. Then came the first rupture in its outer shell.

  When only a peculiar, shapeless mass remained, I turned and walked away. This was one of those many moments when I regretted my choice of profession.

  Jerry had climbed on the suitcase, both little front paws tucked close to his body. He looked miserably out of place: a small pet tied to a suitcase in the middle of some pink field who knows how many parsecs from Earth. I hurried toward him, calling, “Hey, Jerry!”

  He jumped down from the suitcase, pulling it frantically toward me. I rushed to untie him; the sash was tight around his neck, almost choking him. But Jerry wasn’t angry with me. He recovered quickly and began exploring the area immediately, free for maybe the first time. Yes, it was worth taking him with me. Still I felt vaguely remorseful because of him. Did I have the right to take him to the base, not knowing why or how he had ended up with the Yusians? No, I didn’t, but to leave him with them just like that, because of unproven suspicions, seemed a worse betrayal. It was time to stop being afraid of those nonhumanoids!

  I sat on one of the suitcases. The wide-open spaces gradually relaxed me, releasing my built-up tension, the continuous expectation of unwelcome surprises. Everything was peaceful, cool, and quiet. The starship was far away; I was waiting to meet humans. Humans! I whistled to Jerry, and he bounded toward me with admirable speed. He looked so good, hovering in the light grass and jumping elegantly, warm mahogany gleams dancing on his little black back. Every inch of his body radiated eagerness, thirst for play, attention, and petting.

  I jumped to my feet and began running, pretending to be afraid. When he reached me, we started roughhousing until we were both out of breath and then lay together on the grass. I talked to him quietly, my fingers buried in his soft fur, while he gazed at me with utterly faithful dog eyes, gleaming with love and excitement. It felt good to be together, and we accepted each other completely, without the slightest doubt or hesitation.

  Chapter 8

  Twenty minutes later than the time predicted by the robot, the roar of an engine came from the north, disrupting the serene surroundings. As I rose, a small, open jeep approached me, a long-haired figure behind the wheel. Jerry got up too, growling with dissatisfaction and suspicion, while I stood with my hands in the pockets of my corduroy trousers as if I were bored. If this is a woman, I thought, her late arrival makes perfect sense. Women wouldn’t even be on time for the Last Judgment.

  And a woman it was. She slammed on the brakes and rested her elbows on the steering wheel. I watched to see if she would look around for the robot, but she didn’t. She just sat there a few moments, surveying us with narrowed eyes, and then burst into a playful ringing laugh. I listened suspiciously but detected neither madness nor hysteria in her. It was just the normal laugh of a tactless young woman who obviously thought we looked ridiculous.

  “It’s a pleasant surprise to find you in such a good mood,” I said wryly.

  She stopped laughing, jumped with surprising ease—considering her tight skirt—over the jeep’s door, leaned on it and, again tactlessly, started studying my face. I knew it must look ruddy in this damned sunlight, which embarrassed me a bit. Of course her face looked the same way, but on her the glow was flattering. All in all, a very pretty woman, even stunning: tall and slender, thick brownish hair, slightly elongated light-blue eyes, straight aristocratic nose, and full sensual lips. An ideal oval face, a knockout figure, and perfect posture.

  “You must be Linda Ridgeway,” I guessed.

  “Wrong already, Inspector!” she said gaily. “I’m Elia Slade.”

  I shrugged and was preparing an appropriately cutting reply when I noticed that her attention had shifted.

  “Where did you get him?” She gestured toward Jerry with obvious affection.

  “I never abandon my friends,” I said half-jokingly.

  “Did you bring him from Earth?”

  “As far as I know, dogs are born only there—for now.”

  Elia nodded seriously, paused thoughtfully, and then crossed to us and sat on the grass next to Jerry. But he wasn’t thrilled by her closeness and showed it with his own lack of tact. He jumped backward, growled threateningly, and even bared his baby teeth with a snarl when she tenderly extended her hand.

  “Well, well!” Elia exclaimed approvingly. “Not very friendly, is he?”

  “Sometimes he’s a little hot tempered,” I said, smiling, “but—I’m sure your good influence will gradually calm him down.”

  “That’s a compliment I could only get from a total stranger!” She stood up, adding, “Well, Terry, are we going or not?”

  Her excessive familiarity not only surprised but also pleased me. Still, I decided it would be wiser not to encourage it. Taking the suitcases, I silently headed to the jeep and put them in the trunk before climbing in front. Jerry joined me, but only after plenty of coaxing, and I quickly closed the door behind him. Meanwhile Elia, who had returned to the driver’s seat, was needlessly straightening her hair and impatiently tapping on the gas pedal.

  “Everybody ready?” She turned the key in the ignition without waiting for an answer.

  I usually don’t pay attention to people’s clothing, but hers immediately confused me. Such extravagant elegance didn’t match either the battered jeep or the whole situation she had lived in, not for a day or two but for seven months now. Her tight-fitting long skirt with interwoven gold threads boasted a side slit to midthigh. It was matched by golden spiked heels that struck me as extr
emely uncomfortable. Her creamy-pink blouse irresistibly caught my eye with its plunging neckline. To top it all off, bracelets and rings adorned her hands, and a necklace accentuated the plunge. Was this outfit just for my arrival?

  “I’m still a little drunk,” she blurted, gently massaging her forehead with her long, slender, aristocratic fingers, a statement that completely startled me.

  “Is that so?” I tilted my head politely. “And what was the occasion?”

  “There are always occasions here,” she retorted sharply, “for everything.”

  I expected to hear some supporting examples, but Elia Slade just kept driving through the field. A slight smile of malicious joy suggested that she was waiting for me to ask impatient questions that she never planned to answer. I probably disappointed her by turning my attention to the surrounding scenery.

  I had examined the grass before the jeep came into view but decided to check it out again, mainly just to fill the time. I leaned out the window and, after a few misses, managed to pull out some stalks. I separated one of them and twisted it absentmindedly in my fingers. It was covered with long soft hairs, which made it look light pink and fluffy, but after removing the hairs at the base, out of which they actually grew, I could see that the stem was dark and tubular, the two edges along its length leading to a sharply bent top.

  I took out my penknife and cut the stem along its edges to reveal a hollow, smooth, and shiny interior.

  “Yusians are extremely intelligent and noble creatures,” Elia blurted out unexpectedly. “Or more correctly, they are what we imagine we are. I think that’s why they disgust us.”

  “But—why are you telling me this?”

  “Because of your curiosity.” She pointed at the cut stem in my hand.

  Puzzled, I looked at it again. When I saw it move, tickling my palm a little, I dropped it on the seat. There it kept moving, trying to grow back together. Elia picked it up and pitched it out the window.

  “What did that mean?” I mumbled.