What Are You Made Of?

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What Are You Made Of? Page 18

by Gary Starta


  “I don’t know which is more gruesome, the masses outside or this grisly scene here,” Benson commented while scanning Paterson’s and Schmitt’s dead bodies.

  “Usually, I would say here. However, the bodies outside are still kicking and screaming,” Morton joked.

  “Gotcha,” Benson dryly agreed.

  Morton, the lead CSI of the Richmond crime lab, asked her partner if he happened to leak any information to the press on his way to the apartment.

  “You know damned well I didn’t,” Samuel protested.

  “I just had to verify, Sam. Our boss gave us strict orders on how to handle this case—which is a code red priority—I might add. I had to drop two other cases I nearly had solved to rush here.”

  “I know, Sandra. I just hope our fearless leader isn’t bending to the pressures of detective Simms. Hot case, or not, I want these murders to be solved objectively and thoroughly.”

  “Is that because your name will be in the papers?” Sandra suspiciously asked.

  “That thought did enter my mind as I rushed past the wolves out there,” Benson joked in reference to the reporters. “I just don’t want any timetables set to solve this case. I don’t want Virginia PD or the International Bureau of Investigation dogging us to reach a quick conclusion. And I especially don’t want to hear their catch phrase: the entire world is watching.” Benson used his hands to make imaginary quotation marks when finishing the last phrase of his sentence. He had witnessed detective Martin Simms using the phrase on his boss Andrea Aikens several times in the past to rush a prosecution.

  “Well, the entire world is watching, Sam. And speaking of the devil, guess who’s name is coming up on my caller ID right now?”

  “Gee, let me guess. Would it begin with the letter A?” Benson surmised.

  “You got it. Now let’s put those intuitive skills to work on our crime scene,” Sandra ordered.

  Morton then stepped from the kitchen to the apartment’s living room to take the call from her supervisor. Aikens explained that a detective hired by Phil Jackson’s wife had also turned up dead in an air coach accident. The crime lab boss informed Morton that local police could only recover the private investigator’s body as the coach had been incinerated.

  “You know I don’t trust police investigations, Sandra. I want you and Benson to comb that scene thoroughly just as soon as you’re through at the murder scene. I also probably don’t have to tell you that an investigation of Bob Schmitt’s apartment is required as well.”

  “Absolutely, Andrea. But why don’t you assign CSI’s Stanford or Wells to those locations?”

  “That’s because those two investigators are picking up the slack for you. I’m sure you still recall those two cases you got called away from. At least that’s the reason I’m going to give to Detective Simms. My real objective is to keep you and Samuel together as a unit to put all the pieces of this puzzle together. I’m sure you two have already braced yourselves for orders to expedite this investigation. But you won’t be hearing that command from me. You two take all the time you need and let me worry about taking the heat from Simms,” Andrea explained.

  “Thanks, boss,” Sandra responded. The CSI then flipped her data unit device off and pondered her next move until Benson interrupted her short-lived rest.

  “Sandra, I’ve got blood samples here. I am also detecting possible transfer between the bodies with skin located underneath the victim’s nails as well as hair follicles.”

  “Well, bag and tag, Sam. Standard procedure.”

  “I’m not so sure it’s standard procedure. I don’t detect any scratch marks on either body. So how did so much skin and hair get transferred?” Benson asked no one in particular.

  “We’ll let the trace department handle the analysis of the DNA.” For right now, I am interested in finding any tips about these murders that may not be on the bodies,” Morton then watched Benson place the suspected murder weapons into holographic bags. The use of holographic bags had just been implemented by crime officials last year to avoid tampering and contamination of trial evidence.

  “The bags are sealed. And you’re the only one with clearance to reopen them, Sandra.”

  “Okay. I appreciate your diligence for following protocol, Sam.” Benson had retrieved a kitchen carving knife from the hand of Bob Schmitt. A hammer was also found next to the body of Chuck Paterson who presumably used it on his attacker.

  “Nothing like good old-fashioned barbarianism,” Sam commented while eying the objects.

  “That’s what makes me curious,” Sandra interjected.

  Morton commanded Paterson’s computer to display the last few entries of its log. Federation police officials had been granted clearance to computer records of all individuals who were deemed to have suffered a criminal-related death. The ruling came about in the year 2349 after a judge had been found murdered in his chambers. Audio records of his chamber were accidentally accessed by a verbal command of “What happened here?” When the investigating officer uttered the phrase, computer logs played several records of threats the judge had received from his own peers. Prosecutors eventually convicted three judges of conspiring to commit the murder. The judges were sentenced shortly after but the entire investigation had taken more than a year. Police detectives had wasted months questioning dozens of prisoners the deceased judge had convicted to find that fellow judges were the culprits. The judges later confessed to other crimes including taking bribes. The murdered judge was just about to expose their crimes shortly before his death according to audio files.

  “Do you think we’ll get lucky, like in that judge case?” Benson asked Morton.

  “I can only hope. I am not finding anything unusual. Paterson’s log only reveals that he was checking scores of the Virginia Satellites’ sky ball contests. He was also investing in Ceres stock—and right now— who isn’t? Other than that, the only thing Paterson was obsessed with was reading science fiction.”

  “How about tampering with his log? Do you think anybody deleted or altered the records?” Sam pondered.

  “Off hand, I don’t see any evidence of that. However, if Paterson had a beef with someone—or some people—he may have had reason to bury those kinds of secrets a bit deeper. We need to confirm these two men didn’t harbor any grudges beyond each other. But we’ll need hard evidence, not just theories, Sam. The evidence will decide if these murders were simply the result of a heated dispute among colleagues— not the prejudices of the press, public or jury.”

  “My inner voice is having a hard time concealing an urge to connect these killings with Phil Jackson’s disappearance,” Benson confessed.

  “You may be able to. However, if there is a conspiracy involving these workers, someone may have went to a lot of trouble making it hard for us to connect the dots.”

  “Yeah, I know. The dots represent the evidence trail,” Samuel glumly concluded.

  “You catch on fast, partner,” Sandra teased.

  The two CSI’s then worked into the night scouring the apartment for those dots.

  Chapter 7: It’s the Thought that Counts

  Ruby the bug shot his antennae straight up when he heard the chime of the Starkman’s data net. As Joyce scurried to answer the transmission, Ruby lumbered to the edge of his holographic cage to get a better look at what produced the noise.

  Joyce checked her caller ID which announced the transmission was coming from Nadia Petrovsky. However, as soon as Joyce retrieved the call she almost commanded her data net to disconnect. The view screen produced the unsightly image of her shifty-eyed colleague, Mikola Petrovsky.

  “So, you have to trick me to talk to you!” Joyce barked at the screen. “That reminds me of an old rhyme: Oh what a tangled web we weave when we conspire to deceive.”

  “Speaking of webs, Joyce. What is that crawly-looking creature I see in the background?” Mikola asked in a weak effort to temper Joyce’s anger.

  “Perhaps the first sign of intelligent life
on this planet—or maybe just an overly friendly bug. In any event, he is a lovely pet that helps me forget about uninvited pests,” Joyce snapped while shooting a venomous glare at Petrovsky.

  “It’s very nice to have a live pet, Joyce.”

  “Stop your stupid insinuations about my boy immediately if you don’t want me to disconnect this transmission.”

  “I just called to say we’re on the same team here as we will literally all become just like your son. I never meant to scare you Joyce. Your boy misjudged my actions and lunged at me like a wild animal. And that’s the very reason I tread cautiously around automatons. Artificial intelligence does not properly assess human emotions creating a very dangerous environment.”

  “You created a very dangerous environment, Petrovsky. Quit wasting your breath trying to convince me otherwise. If I was Dr. McElroy, I would prohibit any means to preserve your existence. It’s people like you that test the boundaries of morality. I don’t know what makes you tick nor do I care. I have plenty of valid scientific research to conduct—so what do you really want from me?”

  “A truce, Joyce. Please give me a minute to explain. I am an engineer first and foremost. You and everybody else on the Gallant’s crew are primarily scientists. Scientists spend years on researching how to solve a problem. Engineers are usually pressured to come up with a quick fix. So that is why you see me as such an aggressive individual. I take a hands on approach to finding solutions. Nadia reminds me to step back once in a while and breathe before I act—but it’s a hard transition. Back in the day, I had many rows with fellow engineers at the space association. We probably wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t go over the head of my supervisor to create the world’s most powerful hybrid engine. I just want you to know any misunderstandings between us are just work-related. I don’t have any personal grudge to bear with you.”

  “I also know we probably wouldn’t be here right now if robots weren’t commissioned to replace you,” Joyce countered. “They were the ones who built the state of the art vessel which is currently carrying our civilian neighbors here. Robots found a way to implement a frozen sleep state as well as creatively use holographic technology to help humans bear each other in space. So forgive me if I don’t quite believe that you’re not taking this personally.”

  “I wonder if you’ll be able to forget all your hate for me once we’re existing in the bodies of androids,” Mikola pondered.

  “Adrian says we will most likely lose a portion of our short term memory. However, I don’t necessarily want to forget what you’ve done to my family, Petrovsky. I would recommend a warning label be put on your android skin.”

  “Touche’. Speaking of remembering, I want to transmit a holographic gift over to you right now. It’s a model representing the landing of the Gallant on Ceres. This model helped me through some dark days when I feared my contributions to science were at an end. Oh, and be sure to read the sentiment on the bottom of the piece,” Mikola added.

  Before Joyce could accept the gift, her computer downloaded a holographic file which automatically opened and started to erect the model.

  “I am not all bad, Joyce. Please give the model to your son as a good will gesture.”

  Mikola then disconnected the call knowing full well that Joyce would probably never give the model to her son nor read its inscription. “Well, what do you make of him?” Joyce asked her small friend. Ruby just lowered his feelers and remained black as coal.

  The next day Joyce, James and Ruby took a leisurely stroll around the flower bed.

  Joyce felt comfortable enough to let her pet loose and proposed building a large terrarium in the house so the bug could be free to roam. “What do think of giving Ruby a nice home in our home, James?”

  “I do not know much about building indoor gardens, but I suppose we could research the subject, Mom.”

  Ruby wandered a few meters in front of the Starkman’s and then briefly stopped to study a yellow rose. Within minutes the bug was brightly adorned in the beautiful pastel color.

  “I think we should also study our Earth data base to find out how many creatures can perform this color-changing feat,” James commented.

  After a minute of silence, James repeated his comment. “Mom, do you hear me?”

  “Oh. Oh, yes dear,” Joyce said immersed in thought.

  “Did something happen yesterday? I haven’t seen you this pensive since the day I had to kick Petrovsky’s butt.”

  “Well, Petrovsky contacted me via the data net. However, you don’t need to worry. I handled the situation.”

  “What did he want, Mom?”

  “He wanted me to believe our little incident was just a misunderstanding. He almost convinced me that his aggressive nature was to blame. Yet he never quite apologized.”

  “Do you believe people act in accordance to their programming?” James innocently asked.

  Joyce was taken aback by her son’s choice of words. “Don’t you mean upbringing, dear?”

  “I once heard Dad use a phrase: A leopard cannot change his spots. But I believe a person’s character goes deeper than that. A person’s nature is really based on what’s inside of them. That’s the reason why I want to meet a girl who is beautiful on the inside. A person will only be as good as their programming.”

  “Why James that is so sweet. I have never heard you philosophize like this before. I’m so glad to hear you would like to have a girlfriend.”

  “It is quite normal for a being of my age range to consider such thoughts, Mom.”

  Joyce thought to herself that she may never be able to separate the machine from her boy. However, as long as the intentions were good, why should she worry who or what was responsible for the idea?

  Her mind then flashed back to what Mikola said about remembering. “What will his true intentions be like as an android?” she wondered as her gaze met a withered rose.

  “I see you can’t stop thinking about Petrovsky, Mom,” James interrupted. “Every time you think of him you get this blank stare on your face. I wouldn’t worry about him. His programming is suspect because of his parents.

  He most likely will never be able to rid of himself of their negative influence. I’m just glad I have such good role models so I can make a positive impact in this universe.”

  Joyce then wept openly and Ruby turned the color of rain drops.

  Chapter 8: Identifying with the Victim

  “Before we begin the final scene of Playing God, I just want to thank all of you for your outstanding performances so far. I will be joining you in this trial scene in the role of superior court judge, Ava Friedman. As you know, Omar Kasmishen faces sentencing for his public display of forbidden Kiratite art.”

  Linda Dougherty paused to address Jon Sanderson personally. “I want to thank our diligent plastic surgeon for remaining so true to the character of Mr. Kasmishen. Before we begin, can I just ask your wife if this role required any kind of a stretch concerning your acting chops?”

  “Certainly not. He is stubborn by nature, Linda,” Terry Sanderson confessed before her husband could respond.

  “Motion to withdraw the prosecutor’s question,” Jon protested. The surgeon then tried to feign shock and dismay at his wife’s assessment amidst the disbelieving groans of his shipmates and a loud laugh from Linda.

  “I admire Omar because he is a traditionalist. Please don’t disparage him—or me—by labeling him as an obstinate fool,” Jon said while buttoning his coat in a covert effort to avoid eye contact.

  “Is it okay then if we just label you and your character as plain fools?” Steven Carlisle joked. “I mean I had a hard time portraying Victor Sobal. I am diametrically opposed to any character or person who resists change when the betterment of society is at stake. I wish Victor didn’t go along with Omar’s plans.”

  “Well it’s too late now. Victor is dead. So please stay in character Steve,” Jon teased.

  “I think Jon really enjoys suffering,” Marisa Per
ez pointed out. “As Shantayla, I witnessed a faint glimmer of pleasure in Jon’s eyes when he found out his demonstration was being acknowledged as a crime. I’m sorry Jon—but you’re a plastic surgeon, not an Oscar winning actor. I think maybe you’re one of those personality types who lives for these controversies.”

  “Maybe we should stop grilling Jon and leave that to the prosecutor in our play—Janice Amani,” Linda interrupted.

  “Yes, let’s begin the scene,” Lori White proposed. “I’m gonna grill you like a fish as the prosecutor, Jon—I mean, Omar.”

  “It’s so nice to see everybody is throwing themselves into their parts,” Linda commented. She commanded the cast to begin the scene which takes place at a Washington, D.C. federation court.

  Judge Friedman: We are gathered here today to commence the trial of Omar Kasmishen who is facing charges of conspiring to overthrow the Kiratite government by inciting a public riot. Mr. Kasmishen is also charged with illegal possession and display of art deemed to be dangerous by federation law. How do you plea, Mr. Kasmishen?”

  Omar: In reference to the true essence of our federation’s constitution, I plead not guilty. I am also waiving counsel as I will defend myself on these preposterous charges.

  Judge Friedman: Are you sure you want to waive representation?

  Omar: Most certainly. None of your legal counselors are over the age of forty. How can a counselor who was born after federation takeover possibly understand my reasoning or passion for traditional Kiratite culture?

  Judge Friedman: For your sake, you better hope for both understanding and the mercy of the court. I do not take the threat of national security lightly, Mr. Kasmishen. My ancestors were constantly at war in the old world. I will not allow any of us to be thrown back into the dark ages so a few men can illegally stage a Kiratite pride demonstration.

  Prosecutor Amani you may begin questioning of the accused.

 

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