by John Zakour
“You have to do better than that, Opie.”
He turned his face to the sky as an ashen jet rumbled by and shook the building. He grabbed for it clumsily and nearly lost his balance.
“I didn’t kill her,” he yelled. “I loved her.”
“Opie…”
Another plane circled past, this one in the opposite direction and closer to the building than the last. Opie reached his gray hands toward that one as well. He was slow now, dazed and disoriented.
“I loved them all. I love them all!”
“We have to stop this,” I whispered.
“Shouldn’t be long now,” HARV said. “Besides, I’m finally getting used to the black and white surroundings.”
One last plane came out of the mist, wings tipped to perfectly match the building’s angling spire and so close that the tip of the dirigible mast grazed the dull silver belly of the great bird. Gray sparks flew and Opie, arms outstretched, leapt at his winged tormenter as it passed.
“I love them all.”
The wake of the jet carried his gorilla bulk away from the building, his feet skittered on the shell, in a desperate grab for safety as he fell but it was no use. He nearly grabbed the ledge of the observatory on the eighty-sixth floor, but his hands bounced off the hard metal fence and he went completely airborne, screaming as he fell to his curbside destiny at thirty-two feet per second, per second.
“Beauty killed the beast.”
The soft thud of his body onto the floor terminated the program. The building vanished along with the planes, the mist and the entire Manhattan cityscape, and was replaced by the suddenly mundane looking décor of Opie’s habitat.
“The décor program was connected to his subconscious,” HARV said as his hologram shimmered to life beside me.
“I know,” I nodded. “King Kong, 1933. You have to hand it to him for sticking to the classic and not going with one of the remakes.”
I knelt beside Opie’s motionless form and put my hand on his great shoulder. His chest was rising and falling naturally and I found that comforting because the end of King Kong always makes me cry.
“He’s unconscious,” HARV said. “There don’t appear to be any broken bones or internal injuries. Heartbeat and respiration are normal. He’s fine, physically.”
“Yeah, but it’s his head that I’m worried about,” I said. I gave Opie one more pat on the head then stood up. “You can come in now, Tony.”
Tony and half a dozen of his men, a pair of EMT’s and a veterinarian entered the habitat. They hoisted Opie onto an industrial-strength stretcher and slowly rolled him toward the door. Tony came to me and nodded, ever-so-slightly.
“Good job, Zach. I don’t think we could have talked him down without you.”
“King Kong only ends one way, Tony. He brought himself down.”
“Maybe so. But you gave him that chance. Who knows how many scenarios we’d have gone through without you.” He patted me on the back and nudged me gently with his shoulder. “Thanks.”
I smiled ever so slightly. “You’re welcome.”
Carol, my secretary, entered the habitat and gently patted Opie as they wheeled him out the door. Then she came and stood by Tony and I.
“You scanned him?” I asked.
She nodded. “I was reading him during the entire interview,” she said. “He was telling the truth. He doesn’t remember.”
“I know.”
“He compromised the investigation by making the details public,” Tony said. “We need to hold him. At least for now.”
I nodded. It was the end of another long, confusing day. I was officially back in Ona’s employ. I had shut down Bill Gibbon’s stream of inside information and had mended my bridges with Tony, for the time being anyway. But the killer was still on the loose and that, as always, was my bottom line.
36
I got a call from Randy early the next morning. And by “early” I mean 4:30. Randy doesn’t sleep, remember. But that’s okay because I hadn’t been sleeping well that night either.
“Randy, do you know what time it is?”
“Four thirty-two,” Randy said. “Why?”
“Just checking,” I said. “You see, I took my watch off about the time that I went to bed.”
“Oh. It’s four thirty AM, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Sorry, Zach. I’m doing the sleepless regimen this week and lost track of time. And there are no windows in the lab. I find the outside world distracting.”
“I can tell.”
“Do you want to go back to sleep? I can call you back at a more polite hour if you like. But can you remind what hour is considered polite? I’ve kind of lost track of that too.”
“Forget it, Randy,” I said. “What’s up?”
“You’re sure you don’t mind? I can call back, really.”
“I’m awake now, Randy.”
“But are you fully awake? I mean, I doubt your mind is functioning at its optimum level now.”
“When is my mind ever at optimum level.”
“True,” he said. “Okay, I had the police lab send me Foraa Thompson’s jacket.”
“Her what?”
“I’m still running toxicology tests on the wine. I wanted to cross check the wine in the glasses with the wine in the bottle and on the floor and with whatever spilled on her person.”
“Got it.”
“The police, by the way, were very uncooperative today,” he said. “Which is kind of odd since I’m doing this work for them free of charge.
“That was my fault,” I said. “But I think I got it cleared up.”
“Good. It’s one thing working free of charge. It’s another thing entirely to do it among such hostility. I’m not good at social interaction under the best of circumstances.”
“We’re getting off-subject here, Randy. What about Foraa’s jacket?”
“Oh, yes. I found no wine.”
“No wine.”
“No. Apparently her glass tipped forward when she collapsed, so none of the wine contained therein actually fell on the jacket itself.”
“And that’s what you called to tell me?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?”
“No.”
“Randy, I feel I’ve asked this before but is there a point here?”
“The point is that, although I found no wine on the jacket, I did find microscopic traces of silicate-carbon dust on the inside of her collar.”
“What does that mean?”
“To most people, nothing.”
“And to you?”
“There’s a certain class of stealth weapon. An assassin-type smart-dart that, upon delivering its poisonous payload, quickly disintegrates into a untraceable silicate-carbon dust.”
“A dart?”
“A computer guided smart-dart, which can be outfitted with any of a variety of fast acting poisons.”
“And it disintegrates?”
“Very rapidly. Once fired, it turns to dust in less than a minute.”
“And it’s undetectable?”
“Nearly, yes.”
“Then how did you find it?”
“Because I invented it.”
“You what?”
“I developed the smart-dart during my weapons development period two years ago.”
“Who did you develop it for?”
“The World Council, but they only had a six month window of exclusivity. After that I opened the market up. It eventually caught in the corporate world. Go figure.”
“Yeah, go figure. I don’t suppose you can give me a list of the company’s that purchased the darts, could you?”
“That would be a breach of ethics.”
“Of course.”
“But I can tell you who purchased this particular dart?”
“You can tell that?”
“I designed the dart, Zach,” he said. “I’m smart enough to individualize and code each shipment.”
“You’re brilliant, Randy. Who purchased the dart?”
“Ona Thompson.”
“What?”
“Ona purchased this particular lot three months ago?”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense if Ona is the killer.”
“Well, yeah. But it doesn’t make sense in a good way. What would she need with smart darts?”
“Maybe she was planning to murder someone.”
“Yeah, let’s see if we can come up with any alternatives to that?” I said. “What else can the darts be used for?”
“There’s big game hunting,” Randy offered.
“Big game hunting?”
“Some sportsmen prefer using non-traditional armaments when hunting. It’s more sporting.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Then I’m out of ideas.”
HARV’s hologram appeared beside me and he stood, arms crossed and stared first at me then at Randy on the vidphone, with a bemused smirk on his face.
“Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Good morning Dr. Pool.”
“Hello HARV,” Randy said. “Have you changed your appearance?”
HARV ran his hand through his hair and turned away ever so slightly.
“Actually…I have made some…modifications.”
“He’s entered an Ellery Queen phase.
“Really? You’ve adjusted your holographic appearance to reflect a new area of interest?”
“That’s within my program parameters, isn’t it?” HARV asked.
“Actually, no,” Randy said. “But you appear to be redefining your parameters. That’s amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“And your new hair is nice too.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes, “I thought this was going to be helpful.”
HARV straightened his coat and smiled once more.
“I thought I should point out that there is a third possible purpose for Ms. Thompson to have purchased the smart-darts.”
“What’s that?”
“Security.”
I thought for a nano and HARV’s thinking began to make sense.
“That’s it,” I said. “Randy, where were the darts delivered?”
“Actually, you can’t actually deliver anything to Ona Thompson. Her residence is apparently a well-guarded secret.”
“It was until recently,” HARV snickered.
“The shipment was picked up at the factory. Signed for by someone named ‘Pfauhan.’”
“Ms. Thompson’s co-head of security.”
“Randy, can these darts be fired by bots? I mean tiny bots.”
“You mean small, spherical bots that float?” he asked.
“How did you know about those?”
“Because I invented those too. It was during my security phase three years ago. I sold nearly two thousand of them to Ona Thompson.”
“And those floating bots are capable of firing these smart-darts, right?”
“Of course they are,” he said, as his eyes went a little wide. “Say, you don’t suppose there’s some connection there, do you?”
Randy is the most brilliant designer I know. But, alas, he’s a little slow when it comes to logic of a human nature.
37
HARV and I were soon back at Ona’s compound, staring up from the ground at the Pfauhan’s floating security command center.
“It would appear that the Pfauhans are not presently available,” HARV said, his holographic eyes pointing skyward. “Do you want to port up to the floating floor?”
“I’d prefer a more stealthy approach,” I said. “Can we use a hover?”
HARV shook his head. “They’d hear the noise of the thrusters if they were actually in the room. And the sensors would register a vehicle that size.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
HARV pointed toward a rack of equipment that was attached to the outside of the ground based building beside us.
“You could use the anti-grav discs. They’re silent and small enough to be missed by the usual sensors.”
I pulled a pair of milky white discs out of the rack and held them uncomfortably in my hands.
“I don’t think so. I’m not really an anti-grav kind of guy.”
“Oh please, boss, control your techno-acrophobic nature. The center is straight up, no more than twenty-five meters. You’ll be able to look through the window and, if you want, enter through the hatch.”
“I’m going on record now,” I sighed, “I’m going to regret this.”
“Duly noted,” HARV replied. “We can still teleport.”
I looked up. “I guess it's not that high.”
“Good,” HARV said. “Now turn the disc over so that I can see the interface.”
I did as I was told. The disc’s interface was a small optic port located in the center of the underside. I held the disc steady while HARV shot a beam of red light from my eye lens into the interface.
“I’ve reprogrammed the discs to obey your mental directions,” he said. “You’re good to go.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I said, looking up.
“True. And I can say it in over three hundred languages. Would you like to hear it in Gladian?”
“No one likes a show-off, HARV.”
I set the discs on the ground and gently placed my feet on them. The discs hummed to life at my touch and I felt them electro-magnetically attach themselves to my shoes. Then they lifted me, ever-so-slightly off the ground. I stumbled for a nano before getting my balance.
“Just focus your thoughts,” HARV said. “The discs will follow your directions.”
I steadied myself and looked up at the floating room overhead. Then I felt myself slowly begin to rise. The ascent was smooth, just the way I like it. HARV’s hologram floated beside me as I rose.
“I told you it was easy,” HARV said.
“True, but you say that about everything.”
“That’s because everything is easy for me.”
“Everything but humilty.”
A few nanos later, I had my nose against the glass of the command center window. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of the many security-feed monitors. The Pfauhans were nowhere to be seen.
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“It’s a big compound, boss,” HARV replied. “They could be anywhere, doing their normal business. Their absence from the command center hardly implies anything nefarious.”
“HARV, everything about these guys implies nefarious. The fact that they’re not currently in their own command center is the most nefarious implication of all.”
“Can’t argue with logic like that,” HARV said with a shrug. “But you realize, of course, that even accepting the fact that the Pfauhans are responsible for the smart-dart, that wasn’t what killed Foraa. As you know, she’s…”
“Nigh invulnerable,” I said. “The dart wouldn’t have pierced her skin. The point is that they tried to killer her and, for all they know, they succeeded. I want to know why.”
I put my hands on the window and peered through the glass again, staring at the flashing images on the security monitors. As before the images were an odd mix: The southern perimeter, the hover-port, a large room full of sweaters. The kitchen, the media center, an even larger room full of handbags and accessories.
“Every third image is clothing related,” I said. “Why is that?”
“Boss?”
“Is Ona so caught up in her wardrobe that she requested special security for it?”
“Boss?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t put it past her but it seems odd. Even by her standards.”
“Boss, I think you’re missing the big picture here.”
And it was only then that I detected the concern in HARV’s voice.
“What?”
I
pulled my face slowly away from the window, just enough to allow me to look at the window, rather than through it, and I saw a reflection in the glass of a golfball-sized spherical bot, gently hovering behind me.
“See what I mean?” HARV said.
Of course it wasn’t the reflection of that one bot that frightened me. The real fright came when I pulled my gaze back further and saw reflections of the one hundred other bots behind it, all hovering no more than four meters behind me, silent, yet ominous.
“I knew this was a bad idea.”
38
I did my best to remain absolutely motionless (which is no easy feat when you’re standing on hover-discs twenty-five meters in the air), my eyes never wavering from the reflection of the bots behind me.
“My guess is that we’re not going to be able to talk our way out of this.”
“Agreed,” HARV said. “Unless of course you speak spherical bot.”
HARV’s hologram was beside me, also motionless and facing the glass. I could feel the gentle breeze of the compound’s air conditioners and hear the steady hum of the force bubble overhead. Other than that, the scene was silent and still.
“Contact Ona’s computer. Maybe it can help us out.”
“Good idea. Until then, I would advise against any sudden movements.”
Just then I saw a small red light on the lead bot flash. I remembered the last time I saw that happen.
“That’s no longer an option.”
“What?”
The light flashed again. HARV noticed it this time.
“Uh oh.”
It flashed a third time and all one hundred bots fired silent, thin blue lasers at me, creating a spiderweb cascade of pale blue death.
Thankfully, I was already on the move. I put my anti-grav discs into freefall and was three meters below the command center when the bots fired. Their lasers blew out the window and I had to duck the shower of glass as I fell. I popped my gun into hand and fired as I barrel-rolled and leveled off in the air. The concussive blast blew apart eight or nine of the bots before the others scattered and re-aligned themselves into combat positions.
“I’m going to need you to take control of the discs, HARV.”
“Fine,” he said. “What’s the plan?”
“I have no idea. Just keep me ahead of the enemy fire and I’ll wing it.”