by Gary Starta
“You sound sincere but I don’t know if I can believe you,” Aaron said. He was interrupted from further commentary as a blinding search light penetrated the building’s dark exterior.
“Quick, we’ve got to find a back door!” the stranger instructed.
As the pair negotiated their way through scattered piles of junk, the search light continued to monitor their progress.
By the time Aaron and his counterpart reached the back of the building, patrol officers crashed through the door they had intended to escape through.
“Stop where you are and lie down on the ground—face down!” a uniformed man commanded.
The stranger tried to turn tail and run when a weapon discharged and spent him sprawling into a stack of cartons.
Aaron, who was still in a state of shock from the night’s events, quickly fell to his knees as his legs felt like they turned to rubber. He then laid down as instructed while a uniformed man addressed him harshly, “Hands behind your head, Non-Organic.”
“There must be some kind of mistake here,”Aaron cried. I am as organic as you are.”
“Shut up!” the uniformed man ordered.
“Wait, let him talk. I am quite interested in hearing his excuses—it’s the only amusement I have left,” another man interrupted. Only this man’s voice could be heard in the dark surroundings which engulfed his body.
The man then proceeded to step out of the shadows until he was standing squarely in front of Aaron. “Look up,” the man said.
As Aaron lifted his head, a mixed expression of grief, bewilderment and sorrow competed for dominance on his agonized face. He was sure he had seen this man before. However, a memory loss prevented him from placing a name with the face.
In what seemed like a blink of an eye, Aaron’s clouded mind suddenly cleared up like a newly washed window pane. “This can’t be. You’re Mikola Petrovsky,” Aaron mumbled.
The man, who indeed looked like Petrovsky, wore a silver uniform which was adorned with a green-colored band on its sleeve.
“See this?” the man said pointing to his arm. “This is a symbol of my salvation—and your damnation.”
“I demand consultation with federation representatives,” Aaron cried. “What faction do you represent? Before the mysterious man could reply, Aaron stated, “Well, whomever it is. I hope they have mercy on your soul.”
The man then sighed and pulled a red cap from his jacket which he put onto his head with the visor facing backwards. “Enough of your rantings. You’ve ceased to amuse me. The federation has been defeated you dunderhead. So all that’s left to do is decide your fate. Do you want to spend the rest of your days as a slave in my army or should I fry your circuits? Either way, I think we should permanently shut your trap for you. What do you say, gentlemen?”
Three uniformed men then grabbed Aaron and slammed him down with a thunderous force upon a table.
“Use whatever means are necessary to quiet him. Cut out his tongue or disengage his vocal processor if you wish,” the Petrovsky look-alike told his officers.
One of the uniformed men than stared into Aaron’s eyes. “The window to your soul is empty my friend,” the guard continued. You’d be better off dead.”
The guard then carefully contemplated the options his superior had given him. “Forget the processor. Let’s proceed with cutting out his tongue. I’m sure it will be a lot more entertaining.”
Aaron then let out a loud scream. Fortunately, for him his sleep cycle terminated and the dream came to an end just as the soldier was about to pull a switchblade from his pocket.
Joyce reached out to comfort her agonized husband.
“I just had a dream. It was horrible. I could completely identify with its message—it seemed so real.”
“What was so real?” Joyce asked.
“The persecution of the androids. I was one of them. By the end of the dream I completely felt like I was an automaton although I had a hard time believing it.”
“You identified with their plight because you’re a true humanitarian,” Joyce said soothingly.
“I don’t know. I think I identified with it because it seemed like it was something that could happen in our future. Right here on Ceres.”
Chapter 12: Ear Candy
CSI’s Morton and Benson would have to work quickly yet thoroughly to keep the prime suspect in the space tech murders in custody. Jeff Turner’s attorney Ezekiel Horowitz appealed to crime lab boss Andrea Aikens that possession of the courier’s data net device was not sufficient evidence to warrant his client’s arrest.
Even if Turner could be placed at Schmitt’s apartment complex, it did not prove anything other than a delivery man misplaced his work equipment while making his rounds, Horowitz maintained. Despite the attorney’s objections, Aikens’ gut instinct told her Turner had no business being at the apartment. She didn’t buy into the excuse that Turner rang the elderly woman’s buzzer by mistake. She knew if her investigators could thread together some more pieces of evidence it would allow them the right to subpoena Jeff’s work and financial records. This might prove Turner was not on duty the night of the murders—it also might prove the bastard was on someone’s payroll to make the hits. But Aikens knew this still wouldn’t be enough to hold or convict Turner. She realized Morton and Benson would also have to place Turner at Paterson’s apartment as well. And beyond that, there was no DNA evidence linking Turner with the murder weapons. As her mind continued to fill with these concerns, Aikens decided it would be best if she suddenly became unavailable to the defense attorney’s repeated calls. Aikens next course of action would be to leave the crime lab and turn her data net unit off. This would hopefully buy Morton and Benson a few more hours to hunt down the damning evidence or what investigators usually referred to as “the smoking gun.” Besides, it was more than likely that Turner played dirty pool when he committed the murders. Now it was her turn to turn the tables on Turner. Andrea allowed herself a small dose of guilty pleasure as she drove away from the lab with visions of Ezekiel Horowitz cursing an unanswered data net.
Felicia Jenkins hadn’t invested the last six months of her life on Jeff Turner not to turn a profit. “I don’t know where he is,” she complained to her girlfriend. “It’s not that I even care how he is; but if he wants to blow me off, I at least want my share of his parent’s inheritance. I’ve earned it.”
Jenkin’s girlfriend, Mona Radcliffe, had questioned Felicia if the inheritance story was just a front to keep the gorgeous brunette on a string. “Honey, if he didn’t get a hold of some quick cash—he knew he couldn’t maintain a girl of your high caliber. He probably bullshitted you until he knew was going to be caught in a lie,” Radcliffe theorized.
In most cases, Stanford’s analysis would probably be correct. But Turner and Jenkins were not the normal couple. The pair had been attracted to each other by their ambition, greed and outward appearances. A thirst for money had cemented a bond between them for the last half year. Jeff would bend any law to get ahead financially while Felicia would bend anybody over to keep herself dressed in designer fashion. However, this desire for wealth did not prove they were cunning. In fact, one would be hard pressed to determine who was more ignorant. Felicia and Jeff would probably run neck and neck in this contest and that’s why Jenkins didn’t believer her boyfriend was smart enough to lie to her. She also knew that he didn’t take money lightly. “He wouldn’t lie about money, he has too much respect for it,” Jenkins thought to herself just before she contacted the local police to file a missing person’s report.
“Doc Thompson just called and he has confirmed the boot prints taken in front of Schmitt’s door and in Paterson’s apartment are identical.” Samuel Benson reported this fact to his partner Sandra Morton as the CSI’s scrambled to collect and analyze data as though they were part of some demented Easter egg hunt. The investigators had cast a mold of the prints during the initial processing of the crime scenes and their efforts were beginning to pay off.
Morton and Benson now had one tangible link that would place Turner at both scenes where they believed the murders had taken place. “We’ll be able to compare the prints to Turner’s work boots once we get back to the lab,” Sandra reminded her partner.
In the back of her mind, Morton hoped Andrea had found sufficient cause to keep Jeff in a holding cell. But that concern would have to remain in the deep in the recesses of her mind for now.“I can’t let our time restraints hinder this investigation,” the veteran investigator told herself. She then took a deep breath and focused on a new piece of evidence she had just bagged in Paterson’s waste converter. “Sam, this chewed up candy may be the same brand we found in Schmitt’s apartment. If the trace department can match it up with the wrapper we found outside Schmitt’s place, we may have another way to prove Turner was in both apartment complexes.”
“That’s great,” Benson replied. “But what can we do about placing these murder weapons in Turner’s hands? They’re the key to the whole case.”
“I say let’s go over the contents of his data net device one more time. We know the unit was activated to record activity in the stairwell of his apartment. This stairwell was located just one floor below where Turner may have subdued Schmitt. We can still hope some imaging technology may have been able to record the activity upstairs.”
The CSI’s then ran the broadcast of the recording to sync up with Schmitt’s time of death. The investigators knew from Doc Thompson’s findings that Bob Schmitt died far in advance of Chuck Paterson. Thompson’s discovery of dog hairs on Schmitt’s pants also led them to believe that the space tech had been murdered at his home and was then transported to Paterson’s. This would explain why tire tracks from a dolly were found outside Schmitt’s building. Benson maintained Turner was wheeling a body around despite his claim that he was delivering a package to a local grandmother. “The son of a bitch also took time to snack on a candy after committing the heinous murder,” Benson commented with disdain. But right now this was all just a good story. The forensic investigators would now have to rely on data net files to prove the story was indeed factual.
The CSI’s had spent half an hour reviewing the unit’s digital files when Morton focused on a background sound she heard during the playback. She commanded the unit to replay the segment three more times. “Did you hear that sound, Sam?”
“Yeah, it sounds like some sort of thumping noise.”
“I think it could be the sound of a hammer striking a skull,” Sandra pointed out. “I’ll command the unit to replay just the sound and filter out all other background noise and visual recordings.”
After the filtering process was complete, the CSI’s both clearly heard what they were looking for. They now had a sound print of the fatal hammer blow to the back of Schmitt’s skull. However, their elation was short lived when Morton realized the sound must convince a jury beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“This still isn’t conclusive enough,” Sandra complained. “We need to prove that sound is consistent with the force used to cave Schmitt’s skull in.”
“And how do we go about proving this?” Benson asked wearily.
Without wasting time to answer her partner, Sandra quickly called the crime lab. She instructed the lab’s technicians to manufacture a molding in the shape and size of Bob Schmitt’s skull.
Sandra then terminated the call and turned to her partner with a sly smile on her face. “Sam, how would you like to know what it feels like to bash someone’s skull in?”
“What?” Benson asked in disbelief.
“We’re going to prove our recording contains the sound you would hear if you took a ball pin hammer and inflicted the exact wound our vic sustained. It’s a simple matter of physics.”
“Before we get to that, I want to know why this device didn’t record any sound or visual of Turner exiting the building,” Benson interrupted.
“Maybe he didn’t take the stairs. Let’s go process the carpeting on the building’s elevator,” Sandra suggested.
Within fifteen minutes, the investigators found yet another nail to close Jeff Turner’s coffin.
“Bingo!” Samuel exclaimed. The investigator’s elation was in response to his discovery that the elevator’s carpeting not only contained dog hair but an imprint on the carpet indicating some kind of object was dragged on it.
“It’s a damn good thing the building’s owners didn’t install self cleaning carpeting on the elevator,” Sandra remarked.
“Well, when you’re a low down dirty criminal who only lives to profit on other’s misfortunes you just can’t get clean enough,” Benson replied indignantly.
Chapter 13: Over Stated
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just entered orbit around Ceres. We’ve finally reached what we’ve been waiting for!” Matt Dougherty made this historic statement from the solitary confines of the bridge. (Solitary that is if you didn’t count the AI piloting the ship.) His flesh and blood counterparts were all in their living quarters except Linda who was busy preparing the rec room for the imminent celebration.
Matt displayed the broadcast in every room of the ship. The crew’s captain beamed an uncharacteristically broad smile upon making the announcement to the surprise of his shipmates. However, the crew didn’t have time to reflect upon Matt’s good cheer as the screen then cut to a visual of the planet they would now call home. A wave of emotions ran through the civilian’s minds as they took in the breathtaking view of the blue, green and brown hues of the planet. It was one thing to think about reaching a destination for five years and quite another thing to finally arrive there.
In the Carlisle’s cabin, Steven yelled out, “It’s a lot bigger than I thought!”
In the Perez quarters, Marisa’s reaction was more pensive. “It looks a whole lot smaller than I imagined.”
The Sanderson’s reaction was almost downright indifferent. Jon Sanderson turned over quietly in his bed and casually remarked to his wife Terry, “Are we there yet?”
The White’s were in a mood to party. “Wahoo! Where’s the champagne?” Mia White screamed to her husband, Daryl.
The uproar in the quarters quickly subsided as the screen indicated a message from the planet was being up linked.
Karen Hiroshi appeared on the screen standing in front of her house. “Welcome to Ceres everybody,” she exclaimed while a camera panned the planet’s landscape. Far off in the distant a mountain range could be seen. The video then cut to pre-recorded images of one of the planet’s ocean’s located 15 miles away from the settlement. A final image broadcast the beautiful rose-filled greenhouse of Joyce Starkman.
“We’ll look forward to meeting you. I want you to know that everything is on schedule as planned. We have taken care of a ecological problem that unfortunately claimed the life of one of our colleagues, Dr. Adrian McElroy. However, our health—as well as the planet’s—has been restored completely. The only thing for you to worry about is how soon you’ll be having your babies,” Hiroshi stated with a warm smile. “Let’s honor Mr. McElroy’s sacrifice with a small toast. To the health and wealth of Ceres and its new citizens!” Karen raised a champagne glass in celebration as Linda called everybody into the rec room to join in the toast. The morale counselor wanted to deflect the crew’s attention away from the news of McElroy’s death as fast as possible. Now was not the time for her shipmates to become suspicious. Linda prayed quietly to herself that McElroy’s androids would also be able to conceal their secret. “I hope your creations can keep up a convincing human appearance. In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to keep up appearances as well.” She then drew a deep breath to convince herself the mission would turn out all right. The crew subsequently filed into the room, each grabbing a glass of pink sparkling champagne from a banquet table. Linda greeted everybody with hugs and kisses.
Over in the Petrovsky household, the welcoming committee was not quite so friendly. Mikola could have actually cared less about the personal welfare of the civilian crew. He on
ly needed them to arrive so he could grab the glory for completing the mission’s objective of colonization. “Soon, nobody will remember their names because they’ll all be paying tribute to the great Mikola. I will expose the dirty secrets of both McElroy and the space association,” he reflected while tinkering with his android mind control device. “Thank you Dr. McElroy for implementing a sleep cycle in your beloved robots. You have allowed me complete access to their minds which I will rightfully torment. So Ms. Hiroshi, I know you’ve always desired that perfect romance. Little do you know that I have the power to make you lock lips with anybody I wish—even me. But I think you’d enjoy a change of preference, if you will. After I’m through with you, you’ll be looking for love in all the wrong places.”
Petrovsky then used his transceiver to link with the brain wave frequencies matching Karen Hiroshi and Joyce Starkman. The Ceres ship models in their houses slowly came to life that night as a stream of blue light transported Petrovsky’s powers of suggestion into the subconscious minds of Karen and Joyce.
The next morning, both women experienced the same strange compulsion to go meet each other. Joyce had invited Karen over for tea while Aaron and her son prepared for the landing of Terran’s Ark. The ship was scheduled to touch down on the foreign soil that afternoon. But before that connection would take place, a more intimate embrace would occur between the two android women. Petrovsky’s hypnotic suggestion had been allowed to reach the deep recesses of the scientist’s minds as their android’s brains were powered down into a sleep mode.