by Gary Starta
In half an hour, the coach started to descend for a landing. “Well, do we start checking ticket records under Jeff Turner or the alias name?” Samuel asked his partner.
“Since I’m going with my gut feeling, I believe we’ll check under Turner first. I believe our suspect doesn’t really believe he’s a suspect as yet.” Sandra then commanded the coach to contact the airport’s head of security with instructions to halt all flights. She also ordered airport officials to detain all passengers within the terminal on the authority of the state’s crime lab.
The CSI’s entered the airport amidst a din of conversations. The detained passengers were all staging a mass pity party as both young and old faces expressed their disenchantment with the flight delays. “How am I supposed to work on my summer tan in this crowded hell hole?” one victimized teen complained to her parents.
Other ticket holders blatantly threw down their luggage in disgust as their appeals to airport officials fell on deaf ears.
“Sandra, if our man is here, he has heard the airport announcement. He probably will be keeping a calm demeanor so as not to attract our attention. Much unlike the law abiding citizens to my right.” Samuel had pointed out a young island bound couple who threatened to strip to their shorts if their flight demands were not met.
“Good thinking, partner. That type of profiling should help us narrow the search for our needle in the haystack.” Before Sandra started scanning the faces in the crowd, she suggested Samuel find a ticket agent to confirm if Turner had checked into the airport.
“I think I’ll start with the gate assigned for departures to island destinations. I know that’s where I would be headed if I were him,” Samuel announced.
In ten minutes time, Benson managed to cross the crowded airport and start interviewing airport personnel. Sandra continued to scan faces at the main entrance to the terminal. Fatigue was just about set in again when the veteran CSI did a double take. Morton could not believe her luck as she spotted a man fitting the exact description of Turner. If the man was hired to kill, he certainly wasn’t dressed to kill. The suspect sported bright yellow Bermuda shorts, a gray winter jacket and a cap belonging to a parcel delivery service.
Sandra quietly radioed her partner. “Sam, we’ve got him.” Before she could finish another sentence, Morton realized Turner had spotted her. Jeff then began a frantic dash across the airport in the direction of Benson. The frazzled courier traversed the entire length of the terminal without hindrance from law enforcement. Turner planned to crash through the gate’s door ways and knock down its security guard if Morton pursued him. However, Jeff breathed a sigh of relief when he turned and did not see the female officer nor any security guards. That relief was short lived when the suspect recognized Samuel’s blue and yellow forensic jacket out of the corner of his eye. Jeff then began to sprint in the same direction he had came battling a crowd of swinging arms, duffel bags and angry faces. Benson radioed Sandra to tell her to remain where she was. “I’ll chase him over to you,” Samuel gasped as he leaped over several suitcases.
The plan worked like a charm as Turner ran right back into the path of Morton. His eyes then began to widen like a deer caught in headlights. “Okay, bitch. What’s the matter—are you afraid to apprehend me? I’ll bet you’re waiting for your big tough partner to help you out.”
When Turner realized his demands were not eliciting any response from Sandra, he gained enough confidence to stride right up to her.
“Go ahead, make a move and I’ll make it your last move,” Turner threatened.
Morton then remained absolutely still for another few seconds. “Are you sure you can back up your claims?” Sandra stated in a quiet but defiant voice.
“Hell, yeah,” Turner retorted.
Before Turner could blink, Sandra connected a round house kick to the side of his head. The ex-courier dropped to the ground like a rock. Samuel Benson then pounced upon Turner, cuffed his wrists and read him his rights. The crowd paused only for a brief moment to reflect upon the arrest before resuming its protest.
Chapter 7: Only Have Eyes for You
In less than a month Terran’s Ark would be landing upon Ceres and all eyes were expected to be focused upon the civilian occupation. At least that’s what the World Aeronautics Association and about a few million of its investors had hoped for. Unfortunately, the eyes of Earth still seemed to be affixed to pin-up type holo-posters of Dana Jackson—unarguably the hottest woman in the two galaxies. The media planned to milk the Jackson temptress angle to its last conceivable drop before turning their coverage back to what might be the biggest step for humankind—the first interplanetary colonization.
The media had surely stepped into something when news of the space association murders broke. Tabloid reporters marched up to the dinner tables with knives and forks in hand to feast upon the bounty they had been given. The hottest murder case in centuries had occurred because of a little human emotion known as passion. Journalists like Kay Jennings were given cart blanche to editorialize upon the space association love triangle. Reporters of her ilk didn’t need to waste time researching the validity of their claims because love was a subjective topic. Even conservative news agencies succumbed to the shoddy practices of tabloid journalism to stay afloat in the media ratings wars.
Besides, it was a lot easier to cover a story on Earth than on another planet. Dana Jackson was willing to talk to anyone for a price. Coverage of the colonization would be a lot more difficult. A new federation law had banned all interviews with Ceres colonists thanks to W.A.A. President Kenneth Copperfield. Media giants would essentially have to run pre-recorded dialogue over the footage of the Ceres landing to compensate for the censorship.
Although space association officials were disappointed that the colonization coverage had been put on the back burner, they weren’t panicking either. The “love” murders had taken the heat off of them to explain why their employees were killing each other. Public opinion polls found nearly 82 percent of the world’s population still entrusted the space agency to supervise the colonization effort. This was a very good thing for people like Kenneth Copperfield to hear because the next civilian ship would be launching within a year. Investors needed to be assured that their funding of the space program would someday bring back a healthy return. Copperfield had financial backers believing Ceres was solely being primed to give birth to free enterprise. The humanitarian viewpoints of Linda Dougherty could only be found in the unpublished manuscript her editor was proofreading and Copperfield was dead set on keeping it that way. The unscrupulous space association president had made a deal with a federation judge to subpoena Dougherty’s writings. This court action successfully delayed the publication of the journal as Linda’s editor, Suzanne Kennedy, refused to publish a censored account of the mission. Suzanne had sent a sub space message to Dougherty assuring her that she would appeal the court’s decision. However, the message, which was still en route to Linda, would probably not arrive until Terran’s Ark was parked firmly upon Ceres soil.
On the eve of the afternoon that Virginia law enforcement arrested Jeff Turner, one broadcast journalist was preparing to offer her listeners something other than a Dana Jackson story. Brooke Lawrence vowed she would pull the hair out of her head if she heard one more account of Jackson’s shopping sprees. Lawrence, who broadcast her talk show over the Internet, was intent on conducting the first interview of the Ceres colonists upon their landing. The 26 year-old Harvard law student believed she could somehow find a loophole in the latest federation law which had banned all media contact with the colonists. The law had taken effect shortly after Dougherty’s writings had been confiscated by federation officials “in the interest of national security.” Brooke knew there had to be a story behind the censorship. “Why is the media missing this story?” she asked her purring feline companion, Sparkles. As Brooke prepared her favorite beverage, hazel nut tea, she soon came up with several reasons in a quick and cynical fashion. “First
of all, many of the media conglomerates are backing the colonization mission,” she surmised aloud to her pet. However, Sparkles—who generally remained aloof to her owner’s ramblings—wasn’t going to take her eyes off of the whistling tea kettle anytime soon. “Oh well,” Brooke complained, “the rest of the world isn’t listening either. They too are being distracted from the real story,” Lawrence complained while helping herself to a cup of tea. “Because the media has a heavy financial stake in the mission, it surely doesn’t want to print any economically damaging news…” she continued. “If a colonist were to cast any doubts upon the intent of the mission, it might cause investors to become uneasy. The World Aeronautics Association would stand to lose not only money but its right to oversee further space missions, i.e., further capitalistic space ventures…”
Brooke then paused to stroke Sparkles creamy white fur. However, her pet could not quite calm her rantings. “And another reason, is just plain greed,” she continued with a tone of disgust. Lawrence had read that Jackson had signed on to perform on a new reality show where she would become the husband of various political and show business celebrities. Jackson would then entice her spouse’s colleagues to commit murder for her. If she could convince the colleagues to kill her husband, she would be awarded huge cash prizes. The catch of the game is that the colleagues must be convinced to commit the play murders only for the sake of getting Dana into their beds. “God forbid, if a man might want some small part of Jackson for her brains,” Brooke mumbled much to the chagrin of Sparkles.
“But enough of that crap. Tell me Sparkles, how can I see below the surface?” Lawrence queried. The ambitious law student/journalist decided to take the most direct approach. “I’ll invite a space official spokesman on my show in the guise that I want to get more dirt on Dana Jackson. But then I’ll switch gears and find out why our nation’s heroes are being seen but not heard…” Brooke did not care to share these last thoughts out loud with anyone—not even her disinterested cat.
Chapter 8: A Beast Awakens
Sixty five days had passed without incident on Ceres despite Adrian McElroy’s concerns about Mikola Petrovsky. This was the amount of time Petrovsky’s engrams had been housed in an android body. Mikola, as well as his colleagues, continued to remain clueless to the fact that their bodies were now made of synthetic materials. The fact that their engrams had been pilfered from their dying organic bodies still remained a secret as well. The only being who knew of their transformation was Linda Dougherty and it would be a few more weeks before she would arrive on the planet.
On the 66th day, June 6th, 2406, all that was about to change. That day, which fell in the month of June, would not only represent the sign of the Beast (666) but a re-awakening for Mikola Petrovsky. Granted, some people would have a hard time distinguishing between the two— especially folks like Nadia Petrovsky who felt she had slept next to “the beast” for nearly two decades.
Nevertheless, the crafty engineer chose this day to restore the memories he had lost in his resurrection. Mikola had tinkered with his holographic dream machine up until the time of his body’s death. He had fine tuned the device to provide hypnotic suggestion in addition to the manufacturing of android dreams. The holographic model, which depicted the first landing upon Ceres, now sat on Petrovsky’s dresser table while his body entered its sleep state. The model would now truly symbolize conquest of the planet in the eyes of its warped inventor as Mikola planned to utilize the object for the purpose of mind control. Each of the scientists had been given an identical representation of the machine/model before their transformation. Mikola’s generous gift would soon weave a web of despair for all who possessed it.
But first, the machine would help restore his missing memories. The machine came to life one night with no warning. It just clicked on like the way old video machines used to automatically record television programs.
As the machine started its up link with Petrovsky’s brain, the engineer’s artificial body began to shift and turn like a water sprinkler. A steady stream of blue light then slowly began to encroach upon his brain. Mikola’s android body fought to in vain to ward off this intrusion. The android’s circuitry had detected the invasion but was incapable of stopping the virus-like attack. Adrian McElroy never imagined his androids would be subject to such a violation. And Mikola Petrovsky counted on that fact to begin exacting his revenge.
The start of the dream sequence was almost too much to bear even for the likes of a hate-filled mind like Petrovsky. Images of the scientists becoming ill and dying filled the engineer’s brain for the first few moments. The nightmarish vision then progressed into a horror filled scene where Mikola re-lived the surgical procedure McElroy had performed on him. In this vision, Petrovsky was a helpless bystander. He had a bird’s eye view of the process but was incapable of stopping what he termed “the unholy union.” The artificial replica of Petrovsky’s body lay still on a table while McElroy transferred a chemical solution into a gray receptacle which resembled a human brain. As the procedure continued, McElroy could feel tingling sensations in his arms and legs. Mikola soon realized that his limbs were artificial and he possessed no control over them. Petrovsky had become a puppet and a mad doctor was in control of his strings. Try as he might, he could not halt the procedure.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Petrovsky could see that his organic body was engulfed in flames as part of a cremation process. His consciousness now only existed in a device. He was no better than a radio, toaster or microwave oven, he thought.
Shortly before the holographic device severed its connection with Mikola’s brain, the angry engineer vowed someone or something would have to pay for this abomination. Adrian McElroy was no longer alive to receive his wrath—but several of his creations were. And they would do just fine. Mikola was absolutely sure of this…
Mikola awoke from his revelation with a sick feeling in his artificial gut and a renewed purpose. This purpose was not to better mankind or help those in need. His goal from this day forward would be to eradicate all artificial beings from the universe. There obviously was a small problem with this plan as Petrovsky was now made from the same cloth as the robots he loathed. However, even if his remaining bit of humanity had to die, Mikola vowed he would uphold the laws of the federation to ban all artificial creations which resembled mankind. Mikola contemplated how he would inform Earth of McElroy’s illegal doings. Mikola knew Terran’s Ark was totally piloted and controlled by an AI. The ship was capable of sending probes and sub space messages at a much quicker pace than the Gallant. “If I can’t persuade my new neighbors to see my point of view, I’ll use Terran’s Ark to notify the federation of our transformation. A transformation which was well orchestrated by a mad man. I’ll tell the governments that McElroy planned our deaths by allowing us to become exposed to the radiation poisoning. I’m sure the cowardly bastard failed to inform the civilians of our demise. But that’s all right for now. I’ll have to time it just right as to when I’ll spill the beans to them—I’ll have to fully make them sympathize with my plight before I do…But first, maybe I’ll have some fun—no—maybe a lot of fun with my colleagues before I tell them…” Mikola’s train of thought was then interrupted as his wife Nadia entered the bedroom. The engineer was overcome by a wave of disgust. He not only was an automaton but he was also married to one. Petrovsky could not believe that his wife had not figured out she was an android. “She is too clever not to realize this,” Mikola thought. “I’m sure she caught on to my many schemes over the years; but she was too smart to let me know this. I can fully believe my politically correct colleagues are too dim to figure this out on their own, however. I’ll just have to remind them in my own way,” Mikola chuckled to himself.
“Now who should I start with? And will they deserve a nice, horrific nightmare or should I start implanting some devious ambitions into their artificial minds? I know I’m as full of rage, ambition and self aggrandizement as I ever was. I have to hand it to M
cElroy, he did find a way to replicate the most despicable traits of mankind. Well, I guess it’s up to little ol’ me me to show the world why androids should remain outlawed…”
Chapter 9: Dog Gone
Bob Schmitt’s golden lab, Maxwell, had fled the scene of his master’s murder. Some part of the Labrador told him he needed to get to his favorite dog get-away so he ran for days until he reached the wooded regions of the Shenandoah National Park. Bob and Maxwell frequently visited this wooded region as a weekend retreat. The pair enjoyed walking along the Appalachian Trail which overlooked several breathtaking waterfalls. On several occasions, bear and deer traveled peacefully along with them through winding paths lined with the dense growth of hickory trees and wildflowers. Maxwell had looked forward to receiving various treats along their journeys. Bob never skimped when it came to feeding his beloved pet, or for that matter, himself.
However, the past four days had been no walk in the park for Maxwell who had to subsist on leaves and a few dead animals he came upon during his long journey. The dog’s creature comforts along with his owner had been taken from him forcefully by a maniacal killer. The gentle pet had to learn the harsh concept of survival of the fittest among these wilds. Bob would have been greatly surprised to find that his domesticated pet had acclimated himself quite quickly to this new way of life. Maxwell had even shed a pound or two during the trek and was now lean and mean.
The yellow lab was also quite unaware that he was Virginia’s most wanted dog. Hovering overhead, Virginia PD helicopters continued their search for the dog who had confiscated a piece of evidence from the Volpicelli crash site. Sophisticated radar tracking devices were being employed by the detectives but the signatures of the many animals in the area were quite hard to distinguish. A few times the chopper landed down to find that they were erroneously tracking a wild turkey.