by Gary Starta
“You didn’t tell me I had to lie,” Jackson complained. “And you didn’t think one hundred million dollars was just going to fall into your promiscuous lap?” Hoyt countered with just a few minutes remaining before airtime. “Come now, girlfriend—I know this isn’t the first time you lied when the subject came to men. Just look at your hot little body. I bet you’ve utilized your physique to negotiate deals ever since you hit puberty, Dana. And if you don’t know what to “make up”- we have a teleprompter which describes how you cast your physical spell over Schmitt and Paterson. Don’t worry about lying—the space techs are dead and can’t sue either of us.”
Hoyt then straightened her suit jacket and fluffed her hair as if Dana was not in the room. In another minute, an interview with the hottest woman on the planet commenced. However, Dana did not feel like a big star. Seated next to Hoyt, Jackson was made to feel as if she were a grain of sand on the beach.
After the interview, Dana received her payment and a few amorous stares from the broadcast crew. “Nothing like a little sex and cash to overcome low self-esteem,” Jackson told her conscious. She then embarked on a shopping mission in her shiny new air coach.
While her coach navigated air space, Jackson’s attention remained glued to the recording of her “media” image. “I’ve still got what men want,” Dana convinced herself after watching the interview for the third straight time. “If I have to lie to receive a lifetime of free massages and manicures, so be it.” Jackson drifted off to sleep as the red-colored vehicle piloted itself to Saks Fifth Avenue.
It took the press less than 72 hours to convince the world it had solved the murders of the century. The only people who hadn’t theorized an explanation for the murders were a small group of law enforcement scientists at the Richmond crime lab. Here, the scientists were just beginning to examine the first containers of evidence taken from the Paterson apartment complex. Hair follicles and skin samples had been bagged and tagged by CSI’s Sandra Morton and Samuel Benson who clocked a double shift to process the crime scene. The alleged murder weapons along with several video diskettes were also awaiting further analysis by crime lab technicians. However, the largest pieces of evidence—Schmitt and Paterson’s dead bodies— were the first priority of coroner Will Thompson. The fifty-ish gray haired medical examiner promised he would provide Morton and Benson initial details of the autopsy in four hours. The weary CSI’s took the opportunity to take a nap before they would head out to the Volpicelli crash scene. The pair were then scheduled to process Schmitt’s apartment.
The investigators slept soundly on the lab’s couches until a chime awakened them from their deep sleep. As Morton and Benson fought to shake off the groggy after effect of their naps, the lab’s answering service informed them Detective Martin Simms had left a message for them. Sandra fought in vain to stifle a loud yawn. “I bet they could hear that one in Reston,” Samuel joked with his partner. “But I know the feeling. It seems like we were out for only four minutes.”
Morton cautiously commanded the service unit to play Simm’s message which contained only two sentences: “Come on guys, haven’t you got these cases solved yet? The world’s press certainly has.”
After the CSI’s heard the message, Sandra noticed Samuel had clenched his fist to control his anger. “Come on Sam, stay cool.
Remember, Andrea said she would keep Simms at bay for us.” Benson shrugged his shoulders to relieve his tension.
“Let’s see what “Doc” Thompson has for us, Sandra.”
“Right after we get a cup of coffee,” Morton protested.
After a fifteen minute coffee break, the CSI’s collected their composure and met with Thompson who confirmed Paterson and Schmitt had died as a result of their wounds. “Paterson died from several stab wounds to the abdomen and Schmitt died from blunt trauma sustained to the back of his head. Schmitt’s head injury is consistent with the type of force a hammer would have exerted on his cranium. However, I am puzzled as to how Paterson would have been positioned to strike a blow from behind.”
Benson removed his eye glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Something wrong, Samuel?” Thompson asked.
“Nah. Just another detail to ponder,” Benson replied.
“Let not worry about the how’s at the moment, Doc,” Sandra interrupted. “We still need to match DNA samples on the weapons and bodies before we can report anything conclusive. Then we can worry about how the murders happened.”
“You two may be able to learn more about Schmitt when you process his apartment,” interrupted Detective George Valentino who strode into the room unannounced. “I am curious to find how Schmitt arrived at Paterson’s complex,” Valentino continued. I don’t show that he owns a vehicle and there is no record of him contacting any air cab services.”
Samuel addressed George with a tone drenched in sarcasm. “Yeah, well maybe his girlfriend, Dana Jackson, gave him a ride. Isn’t that what you’ve already told the media, George?”
“I didn’t officially tell them that. I just suggested the crimes may have resulted from jealously. You know the press, they quoted me out of context.”
“That’s why we don’t talk to the press, rookie,” Sandra remarked shooting a scornful glance at Valentino.
“Let’s not waste any more time with him, Sam. We’ve got to find out how Don Volpicelli died. And the clues are not posted on an Internet site despite popular belief.” The two CSI’s dashed out of the coroner’s office like greyhounds released from a cage.
Chapter 13: Love to Hate
Mikola Petrovsky tinkered with a tiny transceiver at his kitchen table in silence while his wife Nadia prepared two cups of raspberry tea. The Ukraine scientist frequently called upon his pent up anger to fuel his passion for invention. Nadia usually knew better than to approach her husband at these times. Mikola usually possessed a strange glint in his eye during these moments and this circumstance was no exception. Nadia summoned her courage to ask her husband what he was up to while she placed tea bags into two cups. She gingerly started the conversation by asking Mikola if he was ready for his beverage. “What? Oh, yeah. Leave it on the table. I can’t afford to be interrupted during this sequencing procedure,” he replied. The transceiver was being programmed to emit holographic images to specific radio waves. However, Mikola did not fully trust his wife with this information. When Nadia pressed for an explanation regarding his project, Mikola responded flatly—“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”
For nearly twenty five years, Nadia chose to endure her husband’s tales of conspiracy and paranoia. She had always been totally faithful and supportive of Mikola despite the nagging doubts she had tucked away in the back of her mind. Her mother questioned why she put up with his standoffish behavior. But Nadia always cited Mikola’s work ethic. “He put me through school, Mom,” she would say time and time again. “He sacrificed years he could have spent pursuing his engineering dream for my benefit. So you see he really has a deep love for me.”
Nadia’s mother, Natasha Pavlos, felt like her daughter was studying to be a dramatic actress every time she heard “the speech.” “Did you rehearse those lines in front of a mirror, dear?”Natasha often asked.
During the first years of their marriage, Nadia frequently visited her parents on holidays without the company of her husband. When her relatives asked where Mikola was, she always replied, “He’s out with the boys celebrating Russian Christmas. You know, they like to go out drinking for a few weeks.” However, Mikola was actually home alone in the apartment brooding over what he termed his “misfortune.” Nadia could not understand her husband’s dislike of people. “Someone’s always getting in my way and holding me back,” Mikola would rant after drinking a few shots of vodka. Petrovsky often blamed his parents for his bitter outlook on life both before and after partaking in drink.
However, Nadia could not fathom why Mikola felt so slighted by his parents. Every time they had visited Anna and Nikolai Petrovsk
y, Nadia felt nothing but warmth radiating from their hearts. She felt Mikola’s parents concealed a great wealth of pride and respect for their son despite his unsocial behavior. “He obviously didn’t get his manners from his parents,” Nadia silently thought to herself over more than a few dinners. The elder Petrovsky’s would often hold back flattering comments about Mikola in front of company based upon their son’s reactions in the past. One time Nikolai was out sitting on the house’s porch when he boasted to a neighbor that his son wanted to be an engineer. When Mikola overheard his father’s comment, the angry teen came rushing out of the house to confront his father. “I heard your tone. He wants to be an engineer. You don’t really believe I can do it, do you? Well, you’ll quit your mocking when I become a top space technician—with or without your help.” Nadia spent the rest of the visit with her eyes on the floor as she could not bear to look upon his parent’s faces after the embarrassing display. The visits to Anna and Nikolai’s house became less and less frequent over the course of the next year especially after Nadia confronted Mikola about showing proper respect to his elders. Mikola eventually discontinued any contact with his parents for nearly a decade in order to prevent his wife from becoming sympathetic to what he termed “their assessment of me.”
Over the years, Nadia reasoned to herself that her husband’s antisocial outbursts were all part of the bargain when you married a genius. When the couple re-located to the federation’s northern sector, Mikola continued to berate his space association colleagues. “They are threatened by me. They don’t want ingenuity. I am a threat to their intelligence,” Mikola would often rant on a nightly basis. Nadia was again forced to take her husband’s evaluations on face value as their was no evidence of mistreatment by the association employees. On several occasions, Nadia found her husband had sent data net replies to his coworker’s families declining invitations to parties and dinners. “They seem to want to include him in their lives. Why does he want to remain so distant?” Nadia asked her closest girlfriend.
After a few more years, Nadia finally gave up asking why. She unconsciously found herself reacting like her husband from the constant exposure to his negativity. Mikola’s hate eventually found itself a new companion in the form of his wife. However, this type of bonding was about as desirable as wet paint on a new suit. Mikola filled his wife up with prejudices against artificial intelligence and anybody who created it. But for the life of her, Nadia could not tell you why she came to hate robots.
The one life experience Mikola Petrovsky truly had reason to become bitter about occurred long before he lost his job to robots. He never told anyone the details of the ordeal in accordance to his life long suspicion that everyone was out to get him. One day when Nadia was at work, Mikola received a transmission from his mother explaining that his father was suffering from a heart condition. The engineer distinctly recalls to this day how his mother assured him there was nothing to worry about. Somehow, Anna Petrovsky knew some part of her son cared deeply for his father. Mikola sent secret transmissions to his mother everyday for a month to receive an update on Nikolai’s condition.
As the heart condition worsened, Anna informed her son that surgery was necessary. She had consented to a new innovative procedure for the surgery without consulting Mikola. “How could you agree to have robots work on Dad?” he angrily corresponded to his mother upon learning the news. “This has never been done before. I suggest you seek legal counsel to stop the surgery.”
However, Anna did not transmit any further messages until the day of the surgery. “Don’t worry, son. Your father’s life is in the best pair of hands money can buy. I’m sure you can understand better than anyone that this procedure will only serve to further technical advancements.”
Six hours later, Mikola received another message that his father had died in the surgery. The robot performing the procedure had improperly re-connected a valve creating a fatal loss of blood pressure.
Mikola wrote only two sentences in his reply to his mother. “They told you there would be no mistakes. They told you a lie.”
To this day, Nadia Petrovsky remained unaware of how her husband’s father had died. If Nadia knew, she could have reasoned that her husband’s loss of employment to a robot was like ripping into an old wound. She may even have had a legitimate reason to have behaved so rudely to Adrian McElroy.
As Nadia’s mind focused back into the present, she dissolved a packet of artificial honey into Mikola’s tea.
“I’m sorry I can’t be more informative about what I am creating, Nadia. Suffice to say, if someone’s going to be manipulated on this planet—I want to make sure it’s not going to be us. Mikola then twisted his red cap so it’s visor was positioned towards the back of his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to deliver some presents to the Hiroshi’s and Ciprelli’s. The Starkman’s loved my Ceres model so much I felt compelled to create holographic replicas for all our scientist friends.”
Mikola then proceeded to transmit his holographic dream machine to his Ceres neighbors.
Chapter 14: Take My Word
Linda Dougherty awoke from a restless sleep the morning after she and her friends frequented the holo bar. Dougherty could not shake the strange feeling from her head that something important was going to happen. The self-appointed acting captain of Terran’s Ark tried to chalk up the feeling to too much drinking or perhaps a bout of separation anxiety from her husband, Matt. But deep down, Linda attributed the feeling to gut instinct. “Maybe I was really cut out to be ship’s captain after all,” she mused to herself. She then promenaded in front of her holo mirror striking several command-like poses.
However, the trim brunette abruptly stopped her posturing when she realized the AI cameras were watching her. Linda did her best to curb her annoyance as she reminded herself that the AI technology was there to help them and probably deserved some respect and appreciation just like anybody else.
The conversation in her mind reminded Linda that she needed to send some more chapters to her NYC editor Suzanne Kennedy. The high strung editor had sent several sub space messages urging Linda to finish her book before landing. “I’d like to coincide the release of your journal the day you step foot on Ceres,” Kennedy emphasized in her letter.
Linda splashed some cold water onto her face and then got down to the task of transmitting three more chapters to the publisher.
Two months later, Dougherty’s writings completed their electronic travel across the galaxy and landed upon Suzanne’s desk. The lanky red-headed editor let out a small chuckle as she proudly perused her author’s creation. However, her enjoyment was cut short when her secretary reported an incoming data net transmission from the World Aeronautics Association. The verbal ID system identified the caller as space association president Kenneth Copperfield.
Kennedy patched the transmission through and removed her reading glasses before addressing the space association’s top banana. “How can I help you Mr. Copperfield?”
“Why don’t you just call me Ken,” Copperfield began diplomatically. “I must say I find all your publications fascinating. My wife lost twenty pounds thanks to your new fad diet book. But before I digress; the purpose of my call is to demand possession of all writings pertaining to the crew of Terran’s Ark. And before you ask—I found you planned to publish the journal from a trade tele-zine.”
“That was not the first question that came to mind, Mr. Copperfield,” Kennedy reprimanded her caller. “How dare you demand anything and on what grounds?”
“I consulted the federation’s laws on censorship in the interest of national security and I believe my association has a right to review anything you plan to print regarding the Ceres mission. Now Suzanne, I could do this formally and have a court subpoena the records, but I’m sure you don’t need the bad publicity. And if everything is deemed satisfactory with the book’s content, we will allow you to claim the publication is authorized and endorsed by World Aeronautics Association. That should he
lp sell a few million units in itself.”
“You flatter yourself with your endorsement, not me. The public is in love with its space faring couples. Readers don’t really care about the workings of the association, they are interested in what makes the couples tick. Go ahead and issue a subpoena. Where is your grounds for violation of national security interests?”
“Truth be told, I have been made aware that your author Linda Dougherty was actively speaking to college students before her departure. The message the students seemed to get from her speeches was that a new form of government is needed on Ceres. She openly criticized federation governments for not recognizing the rights of AI’s, for example. I’m concerned there will be a breakdown of our system—the system that is responsible for sending her on a colonizing mission I might add—if she continues to criticize our government.”
“Maybe our government needs criticizing. Can you tell me why we don’t treat AI’s as sentient beings? You must admit they were also responsible for sending Ms. Dougherty and her crew mates to Ceres. They also fought as soldiers in the wars that helped democracy take a foothold on the entire world. I could go on with their contributions to society, but I won’t Mr. Copperfield, because I can see you are a close minded individual.”
“I am not on a crusade against robots, Suzanne. I praise their efforts everyday. The stockholders love what they’ve accomplished for us. I simply can’t have a beloved space hero influence her adoring public. If Dougherty suggests we make changes to Earth’s constitution—or worse—propose a new leadership system for Ceres, I fear we’ll have a public frothing to become dissenters.”