Read Cretaceous Clay and The Black Dwarf Page 12

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  “My lord, you have summoned me!” He bowed low before the Dragon Lord.

  The Dragon Lord bellowed, “Nimrod, my friend, now is your time!”

  “Enter the vessel,” the dragon gestured to the black dwarf lying prone on the altar. “The vessel is strong! Its innocence and purity will shield you from spiritual attack! Its form will allow you to use magic in this realm! Use it to serve your master! Use it for my glory!”

  Madness danced in the dragons eyes. His fangs worked and his whiskers jiggled and the spines of his mane flexed.

  Nimrod swallowed hard, and willed his spirit to obey. “As you command!” Diving into the black spot on the dwarf’s forehead, he filled the dwarf as water fills a vessel. Flames of white fire cascaded over the body as his spirit passed through the forehead.

  As the last of his spirit entered the dwarf, the body seized. His chest and flesh tightened over the bone drawn by a powerful vacuum. The force of his spirit drove the dwarf’s blood out of the vessel. The skin turned white. The dwarf shook, and arched his back and shot his appendages rigid. The body’s Kirlian aura flared as the soul within was driven out.

  The whirlwind beat his guardians and Amazons. The dwarves hunkered behind the columns and wept.

  Sucking in air, he breathed again, and tasted the sweet air of Earth.

  “Rise my friend!” Fire surged from the Dragon’s hands. “Rise and live again!”

  The black dwarf’s eyes flitted and opened. Swaying, the black dwarf rose from the altar, wan and pale, and bowed, “Lord, your servant awaits your command.”

  “You’re alive!” The Dragon Lord gently tapped the altar with his forepaw. “Behold Nimrod, the Black Dwarf.”

  The Dragon Lord dismissed the riders with a word. The portal closed and the roar of the tornado stopped, though it left a ringing in his new body’s ears.

  “Welcome home Nimrod! Welcome back to Earth.”

  Gumshoe

  Clay awoke. Sweat beaded his forehead. His bed was twisted in knots. Struggling to extricate himself from the linens, he carefully unwound the sheets to free his feet. Staggering to his lavatory, he slapped water on his face. Three nights had passed since he had seen Phaedra. But he had dreamed of her every night since.

  Sunlight beamed through his patio door. A gentle breeze fluttered his curtains. He searched his bedroom, and found nothing amiss. All seemed normal in the morning light. Cautiously, he entered his hall, and looked down it to his living room. Nothing was out of place. Sighing, he tried to let the dream go.

  No signs of dinner remained in the kitchen. He overrode the coffee pot’s program, and started the coffee. Shotgun must have cleaned up everything. Standing there, trying to clear his head, the coffee pot beeped softly. Filling a latte cup, he stepped out onto his patio.

  Clutching his mug of steaming brew, he relaxed, and nursed his coffee. Musing about the biot condition – his condition, he contemplated the grandeur of the mountains. Snowcaps caught the spring sunrise, and a golden fire burned on Nodlon’s southern spires. Cotton-candy clouds adorned a dawn sky painted midnight blue. Phaedra had left him three years before, cut down in her prime by a heart condition. She had been an elf of splendid, delicate beauty, and he was her only son. He had loved her as best he could.

  From the kitchen, he heard someone fumbling with the coffee pot.

  “Morning boss,” Shotgun said and took a spot beside him, sharing the view.

  Shotgun stirred his coffee with a spoon. Nodlon glowed in the golden sunshine of dawn. He sipped his coffee.

  “Good morning, Shotgun.” He considered his man-servant. Shotgun wore a tuxedo jacket, tunic, and pleated trousers. Once, Jack had suggested the dwarf wear street clothes, but his man-servant had laughed. The dwarf pointed out that his uniforms were free, but he paid for his own street clothes. A microchip on his forehead identified him as a black dwarf. Chips came in many colors and some employers used custom designs. After nearly a year, he was more like family. It occurred to him to just buy Shotgun’s contract and forgive his debt.

  “What’s on your mind, boss?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking.”

  “No apologies, please, I just noticed the lights were on, but you weren’t home. I just wondered. Did Phaedra appear again the way she did the last time?”

  “No, it was just another dream. A lucid dream in livid color, but it was just a dream nonetheless. It’s not the same thing, though I can’t explain it.”

  “Naturally, you miss your mother.”

  A pang of guilt swept over Clay. Shotgun had been raised in a nursery. After reaching the age of reason, he completed his education at Tollmerak. Jack was fortunate. He was half-biot, but he was naturally-born. He had had a mother to lose, but Shotgun probably had no mother.

  “Yes, but it wasn’t just that. She was there, in my room, I’d swear to it.”

  “You saw a ghost, boss. Whether or not she was a real ghost or an imaginary ghost, she was real to you. Don’t over think it.” The dwarf stirred his coffee and took a sip. “What did she say again?”

  “‘Don’t be afraid,’ she said, ‘childhood ends.’ I will battle black dwarves and dragons, and save Nodlon. Afterwards, I get a three-day vacation package thrown in for good measure.”

  “If the Crown gives you a three-day vacation for saving Nodlon, Baron Voltaire must be in charge.” They both chuckled. Everyone in Nodlon knew the Baron was a man rich in power and poor in humility. “Maybe, if you take it in the Caribbean, you’ll need a butler.”

  “Don’t worry, if I take a vacation, I’ll take Jazz. You and Goldie and the girls can have the run of the apartment.”

  “When did you last take a vacation, boss? That’s what the dream means. Your subconscious is telling you to stop fighting illusions and take a few days off.”

  “Whatever it means,” Jack said, “I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

  “If I were a witch doctor, I would say your pending marriage to the lovely Jasmine has sparked a conflict between Jasmine and Phaedra. You need to let go of your mother’s apron strings.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Freud.”

  “On a different note, I watched Fritz Lang’s new documentary, Cretaceous Clay and the Spirits of Mars, on Goldie’s vid. How the famous magician and amateur sleuth discovered alien life on Mars.” Shaking his head, Shotgun smiled. “You never told me you discovered aliens on Mars.”

  “Dr. Clarke at the University of Port Schiaparelli invited me to investigate the sightings of ghosts, and he offered to pay for my trip. How could I say no? He suspected a hoax, and so did I. But when I spoke to the witnesses, something about their stories rang true. So, I convinced Governor Tertullian to give us the permission we needed to do some field work. With the help of an old rock hound, and several prospectors, we located the mines of Tharsis. After that, the archeologists did all the work. Dr. Clarke actually discovered the alien computer. It had sensed intelligent life and called for help.”

  “You discovered the first evidence of aliens in the solar system, and you just blow it off?”

  “It was not the first evidence anyone found. Soon Ti-Lee discovered the foundations of a city in the Tharsis region a hundred years ago. It was a great gig. They paid for my trip, and I only went along to watch. The archeologists solved the mystery, and I had a chance to rub shoulders with archeology students and retired volunteers.”

  Shotgun saluted him with his coffee mug. “Fine, be that way! Most celebrities would take credit for finding aliens. You won’t even take credit for discovering alien artifacts.” He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plate of raspberry tarts and fresh coffee.

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “It’s what you pay me for, bon appetite.” Assured everything he wanted was on the table, the dwarf sat down again.

  “Did you hear about the missing dwarf girl on the news?”

  “With Mercury News carrying it, how can I miss it? You’d have
to be living under a rock.”

  “They’re spreading a rumor the police are going to call you. They need an expert on the occult and magic, and they’re thinking of calling a consultant. Off-hand, I’d say that description fits you.”

  “What they need is a forensic profiler to catch whoever kidnapped her. If they want to find the runaways, they need an undercover officer. And they can get experts on the occult in Nodlon’s Blues District. They’re in the caster book under astrology, palmistry, and tarot readings.”

  “But if they call you, you’ll go?”

  Clay huffed, “Of course, I just don’t think I can help.”

  “Don’t you know a police detective over there?”

  “Yes, I know a few actually. If anyone calls though, it will be Inspector Jacques Lestrayed, senior homicide detective, and policeman extraordinaire. All his friends call him Gumshoe.” Picking up a tart, he munched on it.

  “Shotgun, that’s delicious.” Picking up his coffee, he swept in the view of Nodlon from his patio.

  “Anytime, boss. I strive to please. That’s what you pay me for.” The dwarf cleared the table and scurried off to the kitchen. Compliments pleased him, though he was too proud to say so.

  A ringing in the kitchen interrupted them. Setting down his coffee, the dwarf hurried off to the kitchen. He heard the ringing stop, and susurruses. His manservant reappeared and held out a large caster shaped in the form of an antique phone.

  “Boss, it’s Inspector Lestrayed.”

  Raising an eyebrow, he lifted the antique receiver, “Clay here.”

  “Jack, it’s Gumshoe, we’ve had a bit of trouble. A dwarf maid went missing last night.”

  “The Zodiac case I presume? We heard about it on the vid.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m downstairs, may I come up?”

  “Anything for His Majesty’s law enforcement officers, old boy, I am available at your convenience. Come on up and take some breakfast.”

  Clay closed the connection and handed the caster back to his butler. “Gumshoe’s here and he’ll be up in a minute. He wants my help on the Zodiac case.”

  “Now that Lang’s documentary is on the vid, the police will think every investigation involves supernatural elements requiring your services.”

  “Right you are, Shotgun. Our intrepid Gumshoe may hope Lang will immortalize him on late-night vid. But knowing Gumshoe, he’s more concerned right now about rescuing the missing dwarf and catching the villain.”

  “Very probably, boss.”

  Zodiac

  The doorbell rang. The homicide detective wore a serviceable, if well-worn, trench coat, a tweed jacket, gray trousers, and tired wingtips. He fidgeted with his fedora.

  “Hi Shotgun, I didn’t know you worked for Jack.” He let Shotgun take his fedora, and hang it on the coat rack.

  “Mr. Clay’s fiancée hired me. After my misstep last year, it’s a good break for me. I was lucky to get a contract anywhere above the sewers.”

  “Jack’s keeping you busy, is he?”

  “He’s not a slave driver if that’s what you mean. I miss the geeky business though. It’s difficult keeping up to speed with the information systems world when you’re not in it. Now I understand how housewives feel.”

  “Gumshoe, good to see you, old-timer!” said Jack. “Would you like coffee? Shotgun brews an excellent potion and it’s fresh.”

  “Old-timer yourself, Jack,” Gumshoe’s jowls sagged, and he had an uncanny resemblance to a bloodhound. “But yes, thanks, I’d like some coffee. Sorry to bother you, it’s a bad business as they say, but I need some help.” Shotgun brought out a tray with a mug of steaming coffee, cream and sugar. The inspector took the mug, and waved Shotgun away, “Long stakeouts taught me to avoid additives, bad for the digestion.”

  “Would you like a raspberry tart?” offered Shotgun. “Made them myself this morning.”

  “Oh, yes, please. Always have to uphold the dignity of the profession.” Gumshoe sipped his coffee and patted his bulge. “Jack, a dwarf is missing.”

  “Many dwarves, right?” Jack asked. “They’re running away?”

  “Hope so. If they’re running away, they’re alive. I’m not here about the runaways. This is a different case. This time there’s evidence of an unsavory nature, and I don’t think the victim ran.”

  Shotgun returned with a plate of warm tarts. Gumshoe’s eyebrows rose, and a brief smile interrupted his explanation as he plucked a pastry from the stack. Gumshoe took a bite and mumbled his appreciation. “Delicious.”

  “For his next performance, Shotgun will build a manna reactor in the kitchen just to show off.” Clay sipped his coffee. “Mercury News predicted you would call me looking for an expert on the occult and magic.”

  Gumshoe stuffed a tart in his mouth and admired the mountain panorama. “Sorry about that. Captain Barfly suggested we bring you in as a consultant. Someone must have overheard, and told that snoop, Chesterton.”

  “Glad to help, Gumshoe, but I’m no expert on the occult or magic, much less on forensics or homicide investigations. I’ve studied witchcraft, ghost stories, extraterrestrials, unidentified flying objects, demon possession, and many other phenomena. I tried finding the source of my magic. What I’ve discovered is that most cases are inexplicable. There are incredible supernatural phenomena, but to study the supernatural you have to debunk all the cases of hysteria, confusion, and hoaxes first.”

  “Jack, there are elements of this case pointing to a possible unnatural origin. The sort of thing one might think was magic. And I don’t mean fancy illusions. There’s an air of supernatural magic. Call it a hunch.” Gumshoe swallowed his tart, and washed it down with hot coffee.

  “Supernatural magic or advanced technology? I’m the only supernatural magician in the solar system as far as I know.”

  “Peace, Jack, you’re not under suspicion. Not yet anyway. Where there is one magical biot, there could be another no matter how improbable.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a half-breed mutation. The chances of the same mutation appearing at the same time are statistically impossible.”

  “You may be right, but your performance as a consultant in these cases makes you an asset, even if it’s to rule out supernatural or paranormal activity. Remember the case of the Abominable Snowman? You were instrumental in ruling out false leads, and keeping this flatfoot’s feet on solid ground.”

  “All right, Gumshoe, I’m willing to play amateur sleuth, as long as it’s understood I’m no expert.”

  “Good, then I take it you’ll help?”

  “My services are at your disposal.”

  “Good, I’m glad you chose to enlist voluntarily. Your cooperation saves me from having to conscript you. Trust me this goes to the highest levels. Your name came down from the Crown or I’m not a detective. Someone with pull wants you on this case.” Shotgun appeared and took the plate and offered the inspector a moist towel.

  “Fantastic raspberry tarts, Shotgun. You could open a bakery, and become a celebrity chef with your own infomercials on late-night vids. Bet, if you asked, Jack would bankroll you.”

  “Forgive my manners,” said Jack, “but you two seem to know each other.”

  “Patrick Morgan,” said Gumshoe, “alias Shotgun, cracked into the personnel files of the Ministry of Manna, and downloaded a database with the genetic code of all the biots employed by the Ministry. It was a brilliant move. The Ministry employs so many biots, Shotgun was able to get the genetic code of a third of Nodlon’s biots in one fell blow. Would have gotten away with it too, but he set up a fake account. The accounting system charged his download for the price of some spare change, and a compulsive pinhead in the accounting department demanded an investigation.”

  “I was only technically violating the law, not the spirit,” complained Shotgun. “Biot’s gene codes are available to an
yone working in the Crown, or the Octagon, any agency, all the hospitals, and anyone with connections, but if you want the codes for genealogical research, forget it. Either I stole them or I had to give up.”

  “Peace laddie, I’ve got no quarrel with you there. No one was hurt, but our office got involved because we handle all the odd cases including rogue biots.” Gumshoe looked at Jack. “The big shots in their infinite wisdom thought Shotgun here might be trying to sabotage the manna generators, or cause the military’s computers to crash, but we cleared him of any malicious intent and spared him from prosecution.”

  “Yes, and I’m very grateful Inspector. I wouldn’t want to spend the next thirty years on the Moon.”

  “You’re welcome, Shotgun. The law is the law, but the spirit of the law is justice. No decent Nodlon wants to put anyone in jail for over-zealous genealogy.”

  “Genealogy?” asked Jack. “How would the genetic codes of one-third of Nodlon’s biots help with genealogy?”

  “Well, if Shotgun hasn’t told you, it’s none of my affair.”

  “Back to the case then,” said Jack, trying not to feel excluded. “What can you tell us?”

  “Anna McCarthy is our missing dwarf. Nodlon Biots holds her contract. They assigned Anna to the Ministry of Manna, and her dorm is in the Crown.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Jack said.

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, but I’ve got a feeling of déjà vu.”

  “Let me know if anything rings any bells.”

  “Will do, if I hear any bells.”

  “Good enough,” Gumshoe winked. “Shotgun, would you mind joining the case as a computer consultant? Your help would be appreciated, and your name would feature favorably in my report. The highest levels may make their appreciation known as well.”

  “Yes, Inspector, that is, if my employer consents. I‘m under contract, too, and I’m not sure if sleuthing falls within the range of my duties.”

  “Hey, I’m not some prim and proper Daughter of the Crown,” said Jack. “If you’re willing to help, I’ll not play the Scrooge.”

  “Excellent,” said Gumshoe, “a detective, a mage and a geek; together we should be able to crack this case.”

  “Done then,” said Jack, “You’ve got two consultants for the price of one. We are both in your service, Gumshoe. When shall we start?”

  “Immediately, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll have some more coffee while you get your trousers.” All eyes turned to Jack’s bare knees and his bunny slippers. Clay tightened the sash on his robe, mustered his dignity and sauntered off to the master suite.

  “Thank you again, Inspector,” said Shotgun, “you’re an officer and a gentleman.”

  “Think nothing of it. Biots are people, too, Shotgun. No one should have to hack databases to find out who they are.”

  Clay returned in his cloak, vest and suede boots. “Where are we going, Inspector?”

  “To the Crown, to the dorms of Nodlon Biots, that’s where we’re going.”

  “Lead on Macduff.”

  The Sign of the Capricorn

  The Crown was a seven story office complex that jutted from the Matterhorn. The building crowned the artificial mountain from whence it took its name. Gumshoe led them across the commons within the Crown. The commons teemed with biots of all descriptions hurrying about on their errands. They followed Gumshoe past a sign welcoming them to the Nodlon Biot dorms.

  Up and down the corridor, dwarfs, elves, and a few goblins went about their errands, ignoring them. Self-consciousness once again reminded Clay of his fortune. He had lived in very similar dorms as a child. Biots’ dorms were clean, and even comfortable, but they were hardly homes. He thought of Phaedra. At least he had a mother.

  Gumshoe took a short cut, and soon they faced the entrance to McCarthy’s dorm. Gumshoe identified himself, and the door beeped softly and opened. Inside, they found a small foyer with two chairs and a round table.

  An elderly elf appeared from a little office beyond the foyer.

  “Oh my, Inspector, Mr. Clay, I never expected you to come by.” She gushed, “Oh, sir, it’s like meeting royalty.”

  “Ma’am, flattery will get you everywhere.” Jack smiled and put a hand on Shotgun’s shoulder. “And this is our computer consultant, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Oh my, we welcome geeks here too. Many of our resident dwarves study information technologies, and we wish all of them well.” She took Shotgun’s hand.

  Gumshoe registered his impatience, clearing his throat, “Miss Middles?”

  “Tilly, Inspector, call me Tilly.” The elf smiled. “I’m the resident in Dorm Forty-two. I’m the matron if you will. And I’m matronly too.” She giggled and patted her ample hips.

  “Tilly, ma’am, would you tell us again what you told me last night?”

  “Oh, yes, Anna was on a furlough over the weekend. She’s a good girl, and I would not have given it a second thought. But, oh, I do hope you’ll find her, gentlemen.”

  “We’ll do our best, Tilly, but if you’d be so kind to repeat your story so we can all hear it.”

  “Oh, oh, well, she didn’t clock in last night on time. I was worried, what with all those dwarves missing, so I decided to check on her. When I opened up her room, it was terrible,” she sniffled, “terrible, that’s what it was.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and daubed her eyes. “So I called the police.”

  Gumshoe sighed. “Perhaps, you can show us to the girl’s room, Tilly?”

  The matron nodded, still daubing her face with the tissue. The dorm was a labyrinth. Tilly led them through a byzantine maze of corridors. They followed her around corners, and up and down stairs until Clay fairly lost his way. In the dash, he glimpsed a common room, laundry, kitchen, then they were in the residential halls.

  Turning a corner, Jack saw a pair of uniformed officers sitting beside a door marked with a strand of yellow tape.

  Tilly stopped suddenly and caught her wind. “Oh, Inspector,” she huffed after the exertion. “I do hope you will find Anna soon. We’re so worried.”

  “We’re trying Tilly. If there’s a way to bring her back to you, we will.”

  Tilly nodded, mumbled goodbye, and left just as quickly. She wept as she turned away.

  Anna’s door was the same as the others, except for the policemen guarding it. The officers rose to attention as they approached. One of the officers parted the tape to let them enter the room.

  “Any news, sir?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, Riley.” Gumshoe motioned for Jack and Shotgun to go in. Anna’s studio was typical. She had a bath, a bedroom, and an entertainment center. Clay surveyed the space. It was larger than the ones he had grown up in, but not by much.

  “I’ve had a crime scene investigation team all over her room,” said Gumshoe. “And the uniforms have guarded it since we were called in. I interviewed everyone in this hall last night, and no one saw anything suspicious.”

  Posters of flowers, kittens, and puppy dogs added color to the drab walls. A spray of Cretaceous Clay posters with tickets and programs were decoratively arranged over her computer desk.

  “See, she’s a fan, boss.”

  “That hurts,” said Jack, looking at the posters. “I haven’t met her, and I’ve feel I’ve lost my best friend.” Her bed was unmade, and a book was on the floor near her end table. Facing the bed was a large vid screen covered with splatter. He hoped it was not what it looked like, and he turned away.

  “Jack, here begins the mystery,” said Gumshoe, pointing to the security box. “Security logged her in after her shift on Friday. She’s on the cameras in the kitchen, and in the halls. No one saw her after that. Worse, there’s nothing on the security cameras either. Not at the front door, the fire exits, or in the halls. When Tilly checked her room, she found it like this.”

  “Are there any other exits?” On the wall next to the door was the security alarm. Clay scrolled through the
menu, but the options were password protected. “Any exits without surveillance?”

  “All exits are under vid surveillance,” said Gumshoe. “Not only did Anna never check in, she never checked out.”

  “Never checked out? You mean she left without letting the matron know?”

  “An electronic monitor tracks the dwarves’ chips. The system records when the biots come and go,” Gumshoe shrugged. “And before you ask, her chip was not recorded in or out over the weekend. She entered the dorm Friday, and she never left the building.”

  “If an illusion was used to get into the building, an illusion may have been used to leave. A professional illusionist might fool one camera or all the cameras, but it’s hard to fathom fooling the entire security system without tampering with the system directly.”

  Gumshoe pulled off his fedora. “Our computer forensic team is going over the security system’s code now. It’ll take days to analyze all the lines in that code.”

  “And there are no other ways for anyone to leave the building?”

  “None, Jack.”

  “Shotgun, can you find the architectural plans for this place?” Jack asked. “Look for an alternative exit, if there are any. During the Retrogressive Wars, they built quite a few hidden passages to help people escape.”

  Shotgun unslung his satchel and pulled out his tablet. “Sure thing, boss.”

  “We’ve thought of that,” said Gumshoe. “But we found nothing. It’s not a dungeon and there are no priest holes. Which makes sense, this dorm was rebuilt only forty years ago as part of the Crown’s renovation of the Matterhorn’s basement. If there were any unauthorized passages, they would have been closed off and converted to utility corridors.”

  “Already ahead of you, gentlemen,” said Shotgun, “I’m on it.”

  Gumshoe took Jack’s shoulder. The magician swallowed. They studied the splatter on the girl’s vid screen. It ran over the vid’s screen and overspray covered the wall.

  “It looks like a paint ball attack,” Jack said. “There must be dozens of splash marks.”

  “Forty to be exact, Jack. It’s not paintballs, and it’s not paint. It’s blood. The splatter distribution shows the stars were created at the same time. If a water pistol or a paintball gun was used, each drop would have struck one after the other. The blood splatter analytics would have picked it up. All the stars in the pattern hit the screen at once. Could magic do that?”

  “Maybe, though I admit I’ve never tried. Why would anyone create a constellation with forty drops of blood? It makes no sense to me. I can levitate liquids, but manipulating physical objects is much harder than creating illusions. My guess is some sort of advanced technology. Maybe a robotic paintball gun used for sport.”

  Gumshoe noted the observation on his tablet. “Thanks, Jack, that’s an idea. There are no scratch marks on the vid, though, and no casings on the floor. But maybe there’s something new out there.”

  “Take a look at this,” Shotgun held out his tablet. “That’s where we are right now.” The screen displayed a schematic of the dorm. “As you can see, there are no hidden passages. There’s nothing on the plans, but the record show many passages were converted to utilities. Have your techs searched for unauthorized access holes? Maybe they used a utility corridor to bypass the entrances, and cut a hole.”

  “Good idea, Shotgun,” said Gumshoe. “I’m sure they checked the access hatches, but I’m not so sure they looked for unauthorized holes. Send me the map, and I’ll have my officers check.”

  Gumshoe turned to the door and called the officers. “Adam, Riley, search the dorm. We’re looking for any unauthorized holes inside the security perimeter big enough for a dwarf. Use the map I’m sending you. If there is any hole, it’s probably disguised or someone would have noticed it by now.”

  “Got it,” said Adam.

  “We’re on it,” said Riley. The elves took off.

  Shotgun pointed to the cats playing on Anna’s computer screen. “Was Anna’s computer on?”

  “Yes, and before you ask, the forensics boys found no activity on it after 6:01 Friday.”

  Shotgun sat at the computer. “Just wondering if someone else might have used it, do you mind if I check?”

  “Please, go for it.”

  “I’ll see if I can tell what it was last up to.” Soon, he was downloading the system’s logs and archives.

  “Who needs a password with him around?” whispered Gumshoe.

  Jack shrugged, “He’s special.” Jerking his thumb at the vid, he asked, “Is it Anna’s blood?”

  “The lab boys are testing it now to find out if it’s hers. See how the blood is splattered only on the screen. The studio is clean except on the vid and the overspray on the wall. It’s not much blood. Whoever did it used no more blood than you give a doctor.”

  “Who realized it was a Zodiac sign? You’d have to be blind to miss the pattern, but most of us wouldn’t recognize the constellation of Capricorn. It’s not that obvious. In a city where two thirds of the population only visits the surface a few times a year, only the star buffs know the difference.”

  “The splatter analysis identified it as Capricorn,” Gumshoe shrugged. “Wonders of technology never cease.”

  “What if Anna just ran away? Are you sure the girl didn’t put it there before she left? Maybe she wanted to throw you off the trail.”

  “She was well liked, but no one knew her well.” said Gumshoe. “She had few friends, but that’s no reason to run. She might not have won the Grand Tour, but she was comfortable.”

  “Maybe it’s not connected then. If her disappearance is unrelated to the missing dwarves, it might throw us off the trail. If she was kidnapped by a psychotic, he might think this was the best time to kidnap a girl.”

  “Copycats who want to conceal their crimes don’t add clues. Leaving a constellation on the victim’s vid in blood screams foul play. That’s why I wanted to keep the Zodiac sign under wraps. The sign is the first break I’ve had in the rash of missing dwarves. Of all the missing dwarves, this is the one case I’ve got with a clue.”

  “The sign of the Capricorn leaked to the media pretty darned quick.”

  “I suspect the housekeeper. She thought she was warning the other dwarves.”

  “A warning of what? If the perpetrator is a maniac, there’s no telling who he will strike next. Maybe he left the constellation as a threat to sow fear and panic. Another possibility is a nut who believes in black magic.”

  “Black magic?” asked Gumshoe. “Does that mean there are two kinds?”

  “I don’t know. I was not referring to real magic. I was just referring to magical thinking. Other than myself, I don’t believe in magic.”

  “Jack, you’re living proof magic is real.”

  “My magic is genetic, Gumshoe. I don’t know the explanation, but I’m sure there is one for my magic. I’m thinking of someone with dangerous, violent beliefs who thinks they can summon demons or talk to the dead using bizarre rituals.”

  “Can you explain the sign of Capricorn?” Gumshoe asked. “I know it’s the tenth sign of the Zodiac. I’ve looked it up on the Nodlon Planetarium website. They had a long list of stars, azimuths, declinations, and magnitudes. Nothing explains why it’s on this girl’s vid.”

  “So you called me,” muttered Clay.

  “That’s the gist of it. If the perpetrator believed in astrology or has a passion for astronomy, the constellation might indicate a motive, and identify possible targets.”

  “And I suppose you expect me to know which of the astrological meanings of Capricorn the perpetrator intended? You don’t need a magician, Gumshoe, you need a mind-reader.”

  “Your magical powers and your experience in paranormal investigations make you uniquely qualified, Jack. Virtually all of the references on cults and black magic are fictional; except you. We need to know if she may be a victim of a cult-like ritual. Officially I’m skeptical. Unofficially, I’m d
esperate. I want a break in this case before I have to start burying these kids. What can you tell me?”

  “Zodiac signs are used by modern astrologers and fortune tellers for divination,” said Jack. “Each of the constellations had different meanings in astrology and divination. Not that I can recall all of them. Stroll through Deep Nodlon and you’ll find one or another kind of spiritualist on every block. Usually they only give a vague reading that might apply to anyone.

  “In times past, astrologers of Babylon, Assyria, and Persia believed the signs governed people’s destinies. Some thought stars were gods, and others thought gods lived on the stars.”

  “What’s the difference, Jack? Other than the garb and the mumbo jumbo?”

  “There are many differences, Gumshoe. The most significant though is the difference between knowing one’s fate and using magic to control the world around you.”

  “Sounds like a distinction more than a difference.”

  “Today, we don’t sacrifice maidens to the sun to ensure the dawn keeps coming. It may not seem like much to us, but I’m sure those who were sacrificed thought it made a big difference.”

  “Maybe our perp is a follower of some long lost cult?”

  “Don’t know,” Jack shrugged. “Capricorn is one of the original Zodiac constellations. Across the world, there were twelve signs, more or less. Probably the signs correspond to the division of the lunar months into the solar year. Of course, the myths and interpretations of the Zodiac’s signs vary.

  “What is usually overlooked is the consistency of the descriptions across time and distance. Capricorn was always a goat or half goat-fish. In ancient times, it was associated with the winter solstice in the Bronze Age. That’s a possible clue, as many cults believed in human sacrifice at the winter solstice. But if someone is using it for that reason, they are confused.”

  “Confused?” asked Gumshoe.

  “Yeah, the astrological sign of Capricorn used to mark the cusp of the solstice in ancient times. But the solstice begins in Sagittarius today due to the planet’s precession. One thing strikes me though. The spring equinox is in just a few days. We’re starting our spring show next weekend.”

  Jack thought a moment. “When did the disappearances begin?” he asked.

  “We’ve had more cases than usual for months,” said Gumshoe, “but about six weeks ago we started losing dwarves daily. Why?”

  “Maybe we’re looking for something bigger than just one missing girl. Maybe the disappearances are linked. Can you find out when the first biot went missing?”

  A worried expression crossed Gumshoe’s face. “Spit it out, Jack.”

  “Maybe the kidnapper is planning something this weekend. Perhaps he needs a dwarf girl for some type of ritual. I wouldn’t rule out some psychotic who believes he can gain magical power through astrology or necromancy, but he has to have some means of fooling security and making blood splatter in pre-defined patterns.”

  “Jack, I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

  “Anyone practicing black magic, satanic rituals, or any archaic or modern cults with violent beliefs is not likely to be in the directory,” said Jack. “We’re looking for someone whose beliefs might cause him to engage in violent ritual practices.” Clay stepped away from the vid screen. “You’re looking for a needle in a haystack. Nodlon is jammed with cults and palmists, Tarot card readers of all sorts. None that I know of are violent, and they don’t have any real magic.”

  “So, we’re not dealing with the common ordinary psychopath who just destroys someone’s life for his jollies?” asked Gumshoe.

  “Just speculation, Gumshoe,” said Jack, “Don’t go off half-cocked. My research on witchcraft was not out of an interest in ghosts, or paranormal activity. I never wanted to summon demons or use black magic.”

  “So why did you study the occult?”

  “After I discovered my magic, an old woman told my mother I was the spawn of the devil. Am I unique? Am I a freak or special? Why do I have magic? How can I use my power for good and not hurt anyone? Am I evil?

  “If anyone else had ever had magic, I thought I could prove I was just like everyone else. And I wanted to prove my magic had the power to do good, so I could believe I was as good as anyone else.”

  “Why not have your genes analyzed?”

  “Who hasn’t tried? The Army inducted me a year early, and subjected me to every test they could think of. I’d still be a guinea pig now, except King Justin told them to let me go after my mother sent him an appeal.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that. Caused quite a stir.”

  “So, science couldn’t explain it. Science doesn’t explain it. The doctors all agreed I had real magic, but they couldn’t explain it. They said it was a mutation. They called it a congenital disorder with beneficial side effects. I’m not so sure, but it’s easier to agree and move on than to argue with them.”

  “Yeah, I know the type.”

  “So I studied the paranormal. From astrology to crypto-zoology, and from ancient Zoroastrian myths to the palm readers in the Blues District, I investigated everything. I found cults that practiced necromancy, and zombie mastery. I found myths and fairy tales of lycanthropes and vampires. Most of the cases are either frauds, or questionable. The truth was lost in the fog of myth or legend. All of the evidence is anecdotal.”

  “And you found nothing?” asked Gumshoe. “The supernatural and paranormal are all fantasies or hoaxes?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Since my focus was personal, and I found nothing to answer my questions, I was disappointed. Remember, almost all of my research involved crimes, so my sample is biased. All of the people I have investigated though have either been frauds or quacks. There are many frauds and hoaxes, but usually you can find the answer by following the money.”

  “So you believe there is something out there.”

  “Yes,” Jack grinned. “Me, for example. The words paranormal or supernatural just refer to activity outside our experience. Stuff we can’t explain. I’ve discovered many stories that will raise your hair from many credible eyewitnesses. And I’ve had my own experiences of the unexplained. So I’m not saying I can explain it away. No one can disprove someone else’s experience. The supernatural is inexplicable by its very nature. You might say the supernatural is simply what we don’t understand.”

  “But you’re real.”

  “Yes, I’m real, and I still don’t know the extent of what I can do, and I learn things every day. Nothing explains me, and I still have no idea how my magic works. That’s my point.”

  “Jack, have you found anyone else who can do magic; anyone at all, living or dead, or off-world?”

  “No,” said Jack, “I’m the one and only, that I know of. If there’s another one, he’s keeping a mighty low profile.”

  “Jack, how easy would it be for a magician to use magic without being noticed?”

  “Easy enough, we live in an age of techno-wizardry. Our techno-priests perform techno-miracles every day. There are plenty of tricks and technology or substitutes for magic. When I designed my shows, I found out how difficult it is to display the reality of my magical powers when the technology is indistinguishable.”

  Gumshoe absorbed Jack’s comments, and made a few notes.

  Jack’s brow wrinkled. “Have you checked for missing persons who may have disappeared at the time of the murder?”

  “Any boyfriends? We’re working all the missing dwarf cases looking for a connection.”

  “Are you looking for boyfriends?” asked Jack. “Someone outside her regular circle.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Gumshoe. “A psychotic might befriend a lonely girl. He tells her to keep it quiet and gives her an excuse. He can’t be seen fraternizing with a dwarf, or he’ll lose his job. It would be an easy lie, and might even be true in some parts of Nodlon. You think he might have disappeared. With all the other missing dwarves, who would suspect him of being the
killer?”

  “Yeah, that’s my idea.”

  “It’s possible,” said Gumshoe, “especially if he flipped out and didn’t mean to hurt her. If he planned it, he thinks he’s smart and all he has to do is lie low until the heat blows over. I’m not going to rule it out. So far we haven’t discovered any boyfriend. Apparently, she never dated. She was pretty, but she never went out.”

  “Dwarves are shy,” said Jack. “Her friends may not know if she was dating. They’re not invisible though. Has she been seen with anyone recently?”

  “Good thinking, Jack. If you ever get tired of magic, the Yard could use you. I have the uniforms checking out recent leads. Escape is one possibility, but I’m more concerned about saving lives. We don’t know the situation yet, but I don’t think this is a case of biot boyfriend madness.”

  “I just think we should focus on the most recent disappearances,” said Jack. “If Anna’s attacker ran, he’s been gone only three or four days. Someone must have noticed his disappearance by now. If there is any hope of catching him before he escapes, his trail will be hot.”

  “Yes, I understand Inspector, but a biological entity designed to behave like a young man may suffer the same mental breakdown.”

  “None have.”

  “Just the same, will you check again and see if she dated? If she had a boyfriend, he’s the most likely culprit.”

  “Now, Jack, that’s all we need. First we have the vid suggesting dwarves are running away. Now, you suggest a dwarf might murder another dwarf. We can’t have people thinking biots could run amok slaughtering each other in bizarre rituals with runes and macabre accoutrements. There’d be panic. Can’t have that now can we? Biots don’t go psychopathic. They commit an occasional crime, but it’s always rational. I’ve never seen a biot commit an intentional homicide since I was a greenhorn.”

  “Gumshoe, did I hear you right?” Jack asked. “Have biots committed murder before?”

  “Sort of. Thirty years ago, there was one case. I didn’t work on it. A young dwarf murdered a woman in some bizarre ritual. Rumor has it he was innocent. According to the gossip, he was hypnotized, and he remembered nothing when he woke up. Obviously, the rumor could be a lie. If people thought biots might be capable of murder, the consequences are unimaginable.”

  “What really happened?”

  “Don’t know,” said Gumshoe, “it wasn’t my job, and I was a greenhorn in uniform back then. Officially the case is still open, which is odd because the record is sealed.”

  Jack glanced at Shotgun, and his butler shrugged.

  “Another idea came to me. Rumors abound of biot slavers operating in the bowels of Deep Nodlon and using the mines to get in and out of the city. If they exist they would love to kidnap a pretty dwarf.”

  “True, they exist, Jack,” said Gumshoe. “But we can probably rule out kidnappers. We’ve intercepted a few, but they’re penny-ante criminals.”

  “Maybe there’s a new gang afoot. A gang leader with a leader who uses hypnosis and hurts his victims in bizarre rituals.”

  “Into the twilight zone?” asked Gumshoe. “Too many biots willingly surrender to organized criminals in exchange for a little money. There’s no substantial market for unwilling victims. If someone wanted a victim, he could con them into it easily enough. Either way, he wouldn’t leave a clue.”

  “Just check on it old man will you? If someone is into bizarre rituals, his fantasies may not make sense to us.”

  “Sure Jack, I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

  Witches Brew

  One of the officers replaced the tape as they left. Jack felt a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry boss, we’ll find a way to help her.”

  “I’m afraid it may be too late,” whispered Clay.

  The Inspector led the way. “Well, if that’s the case, we’ll find justice for her if I have anything to do with it.”

  Rounding a corner, Gumshoe veered around a custodian’s cart parked in their way.

  An aging crone wielding a broom stepped out from behind her barrels of trash and dirty linens, and blocked Jack’s path. Barging in front of him, she thrust her broom in his face, and forced him to stop. He grabbed her cart to avoid throwing her to the floor.

  “Who else would it be passes like to thee? A top of yellow, cloak of green, boon of sorcery, make the fellow. Free a thought, lure a sot, slay a dwarf,” her gravelly voice lowered, “face a dragon.”

  “And who are you ma’am?” With wrinkles, and a hooked nose, the crone gave him the feeling she was sent by his casting agency for an audition.

  “Molly’s my name.”

  Gumshoe retraced his steps to extract Clay from the impromptu conversation. “Woman, we’re busy.”

  Molly leered at the inspector, “Aye, I’ve information, but it’ll cost ye.” She flashed him a toothy grin.

  “Woman, if you have anything to contribute spit it out. It’s unlawful for you to withhold information in the course of an investigation into a possible crime. I can charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  She sniffed. “What ye gonna do tough guy?” She stuck her chin in the air, and stared down her nose at Gumshoe. “Think ye I’ve naught to lose?”

  Clay drew his wallet from his cloak, hoping to stave off a confrontation. “If you would like a reward, I’m happy to pay any reasonable price.”

  “No ye fool, do ye live under a rock?” she snapped, and tapped his shoulder with her broom for emphasis. “Anyone above room temperature recognizes Jack Clay from his advertising. Hold your tongue, I know your mind. Ye think the crone’s gone and lost her mind! Ha!” She slapped him with her broom again. “I’m a Clay-net subscriber, and I’m saner than ye.”

  Quickly, Clay stowed his wallet. “Ma’am, as you’re a fan, I’ll pay your price if you’ll only name it!” Smiling, he beamed at the old woman as if she were a fashion model and hoped to appease her.

  Instantly, her composure melted, and she could have been anyone’s granny. “Aye, you’re a gentleman – unlike this uncouth commoner.” She shot a sour glance at Gumshoe.

  The Inspector backed away a half step, and bit his lip, suppressing a snort.

  Molly reached into her bag of rags hanging from the cart. From this she pulled a sack of aluminum cans, and continued rummaging. Forthwith, she drew a few colorful tee-shirts bearing Jack’s likeness and emblazoned with his logo. She handed him the shirts as if she were handing him a blueberry pie. “I want your autograph.”

  Clay stifled a guffaw, and pulled a marker from his cloak. With Shotgun’s help he stretched each shirt taught and signed them with dramatic flourish. Shotgun refolded the shirts for Molly, and handed them back to her. Not to be outdone, Clay drew a few of his cards, and placed them on top of the shirts.

  Molly’s eyes brightened when she read the back of the cards. “Free admission, a free tee-shirt, or a back stage pass. Oh, my. May I have a few more for my boy?” Jack smiled and handed her a few more cards for good measure.

  Gumshoe tried to disguise his growing impatience. “Must you continue assailing us with riddles and demands?”

  Molly shot a deadly gaze at the Inspector. “So I warned her, see, I warned her not to go.”

  Another custodian passed by and chastised her. “Molly, you old witch leave the gentlemen alone. Can’t you see they’re trying to find her?”

  Ignoring the reproach, Molly spoke with a conspiratorial air. “She told me to cover for her. She said she had an appointment with a doctor. A witch doctor more like, if you ask me. She was a beauty, but she wanted to be prettier. Aye, none of the boys asked her out, but not ‘cause she wasn’t pretty. Afraid they were that she’d reject ‘em. It’s hard that way for a boy.”

  Gumshoe tipped his hat, and strode off.

  “Right you are Molly,” said Jack. “Thank you for that information. Got to go, now.” Clay doffed his cap, and scrambled to follow the Inspector. Shotgun was already ahead of him.

  “
She fulfilled her end of the bargain,” said Jack, catching up to Gumshoe.

  “Balderdash,” muttered Gumshoe.

  “Anna saw a doctor who could make her prettier.”

  “A gene therapist, maybe,” said Gumshoe, “but what am I supposed to do with that? Accuse literally hundreds of doctors of being involved in a kidnapping ring?”

  Jazz Calls

  Quietly, they rode in Gumshoe’s cruiser. The autopilot drove while the detective updated his endless paperwork.

  In the back, Shotgun investigated stories of missing dwarves on the net. “Friends and relatives seeking missing loved ones are posting all over the net. I had no idea it was this bad.”

  “Yeah,” said Gumshoe. “They’ve inundated the Yard with information requests. Hate to answer with a ‘no comment’ but what else can I say?”

  “Even the employment agencies are involved. Since they heard about the bloody Capricorn this morning, they’ve gone to the Crown to demand something be done.”

  “Nice to know they’re concerned. From my inbox, I would’ve thought they were just irritated by the fear of contract default.”

  “Maybe they are worried about contract defaults,” Jack interjected. “Missing employees and missing deadlines adds up to pretty much the same thing.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Voltaire cares,” said Shotgun with a sneer, “but there’s more sincerity than I expected out of the agency staffs. I can almost feel my cynicism melting.”

  “I’m touched, Shotgun,” said Gumshoe. “Co-workers might have feelings?”

  “Biots are people, too,” said Jack. “Even if we deny it. We can’t work with someone who laughs and cries, and tells you their hopes and dreams without coming away knowing the truth.” Watching the mile markers pass, Clay fidgeted with nothing to do for the moment. As if answering his anxieties, his caster burst into a heavy-metal riff. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gumshoe cringe.

  “Hi, what’s up?” Jack said.

  “What are you guys doing? You weren’t home.” Jasmine’s scrubs were stained, and she had retied her hair in a loose bun. Stray hair sprayed from her brow, and purple bags sagged under her bloodshot eyes.

  “I’m riding with Gumshoe. Shotgun and I volunteered to help him with the Zodiac case. You don’t look so good. How are you holding up?”

  “Any news on that missing girl? It’s all over the news. People are already afraid the missing dwarves are dead. Worse, there’s some freak saying the dwarves are planning a revolt and are going to kill the humans in their sleep.”

  “Yeah, there’s news, but I can’t share much over a caster. I’m not authorized to leak anything, and I don’t want to be the one to start a panic.”

  “They’re already panicking,” she put a hand over her face, and sniffled. “I’m panicking. We’re on an orange alert. They’ve put us all on twenty-four hour duty, and I can’t leave the hospital until I can get a pass. I won’t make rehearsals this afternoon.”

  “Now, now, babe, it’s not so bad. Don’t worry about rehearsal. You’re needed at the hospital, and that’s what’s important. This is what you’ve trained for. They need you working and functional. You’ll get a break as soon as they can let you go.”

  Jasmine began sobbing. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she trembled.

  “Jazz,” he cooed, “Babe, I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”

  “It’s not you Jack. A hospital ship arrived from the Moon a couple of hours ago. The Martians attacked them this morning. They’re just civilians; young and old, women and children, boys and girls.” She trailed off. She regained her composure. “They weren’t expecting it. It was a senseless attack against an unarmed station on the far side. There were very few survivors.”

  Jazz slumped.

  “Why would anyone do that?” Jack asked.

  “We don’t know anything yet, just clues we’ve heard from the survivors, but they didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

  “Babe, hang in there. The Lunan’s need you. I’m proud of you, and Shotgun and I will be by as soon as possible.”

  “Can you come by this evening? Any sooner will be a waste of time. I’m not going to get a break until after dinner. And we aren’t going home until everyone has been stabilized and the emergency is dropped to yellow. I may have to work very late, perhaps all night.”

  “Dinner it is,” said Jack, “see you then. Love you.”

  “Love you too sweetie, got to go, bye.” Waving goodbye, she cut the connection.

  “Making people laugh is important too,” he muttered. What use was magic against war and sheer hate? “In your dreams, Jack,” he scolded himself.

  “Pardon me for eavesdropping,” said Gumshoe, “the cruiser’s a bit small, and it’s difficult to not overhear.”

  “No problem, it just wasn’t what I expected. Why would Mars attack the Moon? What did the Moon do?”

  “No one deserves an act of war,” Gumshoe said. “Politicians start wars for their own reasons. They only need excuses to silence the reasonable before the war, and to excuse their conduct after the war starts due to their bumbling. When they attack others for no good reason, they’ll use any handy fig leaf to cover their intentions, or make up a lie out of whole cloth. Some refuse to accept the fact.”

  “Will the Reserve be mobilized?” Shotgun asked.

  “Maybe, if we go to war,” said Gumshoe. “There’s a news blackout now, or we would have heard of their attack this morning. The rumor will be all over Nodlon by nightfall, but it’s what’s not being said that tells the story. Nodlon’s in big trouble.”

  “Did you serve, boss?”

  “Two years,” said Jack. “Mutant half-breed’s privilege. No one said life was fair. The Nodlon Defense Force drafted me at seventeen to study my magic, remember. When my first year was up, they kept me another for study. Mum had to get the King to spring me. A wag would say it builds character. I’ve got no love for the military pinheads in the Crown, but I’m glad I served anyway. Those who serve are Nodlon’s best people, and many are still friends.”

  “Did you serve, Shotgun?” Gumshoe glanced at Shotgun in his mirror.

  “Yes, Inspector, one year got me out of the dorm. But if they make me a citizen, I’ll volunteer for another year. And if Nodlon goes to war, I’ll fight the Martian War Machine to my last breath. The Martians aren’t going to separate the citizens from the biots. My kids bleed just like humans.”

  “They do, Shotgun,” said Gumshoe. “The sooner parliament emancipates the biots, the sooner we can all acknowledge the obvious.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Shotgun. “When Parliament emancipates biots, life will be harder for decent working humans competing with genetically perfect biots.

  “Meanwhile, back at the Crown, biots will never have the wealth and power like Baron Voltaire. Those who are driven by envy will never be satisfied. Those who’ve suffered injustice will never be compensated. The innocent will be punished, and the guilty rewarded.”

  “Yes, you got it,” said Gumshoe. “Are you reading my mind, or just a tad cynical?”

  “No sir, I’m just being practical,” Shotgun replied. “What about the shields? They’ll hold, won’t they?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gumshoe, “it’s been nearly thirty years since I served. The shields may hold, but there’s nothing to stop the kinetics. No shield I know of will stop shield piercing weapons.”

  “Yeah,” said Jack, “unless they have something new. It’s been twelve years since I served, and I haven’t heard of anything to stop the kinetics unless you shoot it down. But, changing the subject, gentleman, remember what the witch said?”

  “Yes, she wanted tee-shirts and free tickets,” said Shotgun.

  “No,” said Gumshoe. “McCarthy wanted to be prettier, and she had an appointment with a doctor for the little good that did her. Probably a gene therapist, though it could have been a plastic surgeon. There are hundreds in the city though. We
can rule out the therapists a secretary cannot afford, but that leaves many offices to check.”

  “Sounds like a job for Nodlon Yard,” said Jack.

  “Yeah,” said Gumshoe, “and we’re already checking up on the missing dwarves and searching for McCarthy’s boyfriends. We’ll need some luck or maybe some magic to find a lead before another girl goes missing.”

  Gumshoe’s cruiser caster rang, and a red-headed elf in a Nodlon Yard uniform appeared on his console.

  “What’s up Riley?”

  “Sir, you’re not gonna like this, but we’ve found another Capricorn. I’m texting you the address. It’s on the Bio-Soft campus.”

  “Be right there, Riley.” He closed the connection, and reprogrammed the cruiser’s destination. “Well gentlemen, looks like we have our next clue.”

  Evan Labe

  Piling into the Inspector’s cruiser, Gumshoe reprogrammed the cruiser’s destination. The machine hummed, and they headed off to the Bio-Soft campus.

  “The missing dwarf is Evan Labe,” said Gumshoe. “Kid’s hardly more than a boy. He graduated from Nodlon Tech a few years ago. Writes code for the Ministry of Manna, and makes good money at it. The uniforms were double-checking all of the missing persons over the last two weeks.

  “They were passing around the McCarthy girl’s picture and asking if anyone had seen her with any of the missing boys. This morning a dorm resident approached one of my officers and asked if we had checked Labe’s apartment.

  “We had overlooked the possibility of him having an apartment. We interviewed the assistant supervisor the first time and either we forgot to ask, or she didn’t mention it. I can’t tell from the transcript. The uniforms checked it out this morning, and we found the Zodiac sign.

  “We’ll talk to Evan’s dorm resident first. The crime scene team is still working on Evan’s apartment. I sent a couple of my boys by after we found the Zodiac, but he won’t talk to the uniforms. He clammed up and refused to answer any questions. He insisted on seeing you and me. He must have heard of us on the vid.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Shotgun. “We’re all over both Mercury News and Radiophone. If they can’t talk about the rumors of war or Voltaire’s peace talks, they talk about Inspector Lestrayed and the Zodiac case.”

  “Speculation is all they have. There’s no leak in my department.”

  “Are you kidding?” Shotgun snorted and closed his tablet. “With all due respect, Inspector, they don’t need leaks. The media is tracking us. The Yard calls in Jack Clay, the amateur sleuth who cracked the case of the Spirits of Mars, and teams up with the Manna Ministry hacker. Mercury News is running our life story. Even vid’s of Jazz and Goldie are all over the news feeds.”

  “Guess you’re right, Shotgun. The fishbowl is the price of fame boys. Some nut threw a pie at the missus a few years back. I don’t mind the photographers, but it scares me when the nuts follow my wife.”

  The cruiser covered the blocks from the police station to the Bio-Soft campus in minutes. It bypassed the level-ways, and navigated the distance through the tunnels of Under Nodlon.

  The campus surrounded an open square with a yellow sun lamp rather than Nodlon’s blue clouds.

  “Looks the same as it did a year ago,” muttered Shotgun.

  Following little paths weaving across a manicured turf they passed dwarves working on mobiles, or simply eating lunch. Nearing the main entrance they passed a swimming pool and a bevy of small children taking swimming lessons. Inside the entrance, they found dwarves and a few elves sitting in an atrium with a shallow fountain in the middle of a sunken lounge bordered by a garden of petunias and marigolds. Tucked away under the mezzanine was a credit union with a short line of fidgeting customers. Faint sounds of children playing drifted through the atrium from a day care on the opposite side.

  Riding the escalator up to the mezzanine, the smells of grilled hamburger, and chocolate chip cookies wafted over them as they passed the food court overlooking the atrium.

  They passed the amusements and entered a hall of glass windows overlooking large offices separated into cubicles. Pictures of Rocky Mountain streams adorned the halls, and alternated with paintings of butterflies, frogs, and quiet ponds full of lilies. Signs on the windows identified the staff, their titles and their projects. Timelines, achievements, awards, and graphics decorated the glass and leavened the work space with a hint of humanity.

  Gumshoe marched stolidly past the work areas through a common hub. Hardly slowing, they followed him through a gaggle of off-duty elven girls and swung down a hall to a residence dorm.

  Clay overheard the elves arguing the merits of a pair of boys, and the best means of currying their favors.

  “We’re here,” said Gumshoe, stopping at a dorm office.

  Inside, a goblin sat at a little desk facing the door. He did not look up. He was absorbed by filling out forms on his workstation. They squeezed into the office, and hovered over the goblin’s desk.

  “Be right with you. Have a seat, if you want.” One straight backed chair offered a seat beside a stack of trays holding forms and instructions. Behind him was a short filing cabinet which forced him to work at an angle to the desk.

  Glancing at the trays of forms, Jack saw such interesting titles as “Saving Your Vacation Time,” and “Rules for the Laundromat.”

  Looking up, the goblin saw them and a look of alarm fluttered across his face. He smiled meekly, and stopped working. He stood up, and looked down on them all. He was taller than Clay.

  “Inspector, gentlemen, excuse me. I’m Goldman, the dorm supervisor,” he was agitated. “I’m expecting a new dwarf from Tollmerak. We picked him up as a candidate. I’m working on his contract now because of the excitement this morning. Bright kid, but very young, we’ll send him to Nodlon Tech to get him up to speed. He’s late. Not unusual, the kids often take a wrong turn in this place and wind up lost. I’m worried these days. Who knows? I hope the boy hasn’t been kidnapped.”

  Despite the goblin’s athletic build, he spoke softly, “Sorry, that’s not what you came for.” He gulped hard. “What with dwarves missing, I’m a bundle of nerves. I hope you can find Evan.”

  “I’m sure we can find Evan,” said Gumshoe. “We have no time to waste though if we want to find him in one piece. Can you briefly tell me what you know?”

  “As I told your officers, I’m Evan’s dorm supervisor. I’m also his contract officer, and he’s responsible to me when he’s not working. I just came back from vacation, and I wasn’t aware of any trouble until this morning.

  “My fill-in gave Evan a medical pass last Friday. He hasn’t been seen since. The pass was good for the Sunday swing shift, but he failed to check in Monday morning.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t worry too much if a good employee misses the day after a medical. The dwarves often forget they may need to sleep off a powerful medication if the doctor gives them one.

  “When I heard he had not checked in, I thought of the missing girl and the bloody Capricorn. I was alarmed and called the police.” The goblin shifted on his feet nervously, and gazed at his shoes. “I hope it’s not too late.” He hung his head.

  “Why did you let him have an apartment?” asked Gumshoe. “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “He’s a bit young, but he’s earned it,” said the goblin, sagging slightly. “We even have family quarters, and half of our human staff lives on-site. The dorms are free, but the rooms are small. He took a starter studio. We usually reserve those for couples. That may seem unusual, but this is Bio-Soft. We are the largest biot manufacturer in the solar system. Bio-Soft is the premium manufacturer of highly skilled biots specializing in business analytics, code writing and software development.”

  “So, he wanted a bigger apartment?” Gumshoe asked.

  “Yes, Inspector, we’re not just your typical meat market. We try harder at Bio-Soft to make our biots feel wanted. We care about each other. We treat everyone alike whe
ther they’re synthetic or human. We don’t have any Skinner boxes, and I would dare anyone to tell me the difference between our nurseries and any human daycare.

  “Boys will be boys, though. When a single boy is lonely and tired, there’s not much we can do. If the company paid every dwarf boy an allowance to set up a family, biots would cost the same as humans.”

  “Nothing can make up for mom and dad, or hide the fact that Bio-Soft just creates synthetic people for money,” said Shotgun. “Biot’s are born with a mortgage on our lives. In exchange for absolute obedience, seventy-two hours of work each week, and little hope of ever having a home, Bio-Soft provides for a biot’s needs and rudimentary wants. They let us have just enough free-time to dream of all the possibilities beyond his reach.”

  “To dream is human,” Jack blurted. “Biots dream even though we are synthetic, so we must be human.”

  Shotgun nodded in agreement, “Yeah, boss, that’s right.”

  Goldman looked downcast. “Can’t argue with you gentlemen there, it afflicts us all.”

  “Can we see his pass?” asked Gumshoe. “See if there’s any doctor or clinic listed.”

  Nodding the goblin bent over and tapped on his workstation. “Here it is. See for yourself, there’s nothing but his name, and the ‘medical’ excuse box is checked. I’m sorry we didn’t get any of that information, but it’s not unusual. Evan’s a great kid, and I can’t imagine him running away or falling in with the wrong crowd.”

  “Sure, Goldman. Before we speak to his dorm resident, what kind of employee was Evan? Any history? Anything unusual at all? This is no time to protect the boy. His life is in danger, and anything might be a clue.”

  “Nothing Inspector, Evan was a model employee. He was obedient. He worked the evening shifts, and like all of our dwarves, he worked twelve hours per shift, and six shifts a week. He was exceptionally talented. He was a brilliant code writer, and he poured all of his creativity into his work. Who knows what he might be.” The goblin flopped in his chair, and sniffed. “I miss him, and I hope you gentlemen can find him alive and well.”

  “We do too,” said Gumshoe, “we do too.”

  Goldman collected himself. “The dorm resident is waiting in the recreation room with your officers.”

  Goldman led them on a short trip. Around a bend, a couple of new turns, they walked to a recreation center. A large vid screen overlooked a kitchenette, oversized tables, and video gaming stations. Next to the recreation room was a small gymnasium where several dwarves, elves, and a goblin exercised in time to loud music which occasionally rumbled through the room.

  Two elves and a goblin played cards to while away the time. The elves set down their cards, and stood to attention.

  “Inspector, may I go now?” Goldman fretted. “I have to finish my contract before that kid arrives. Festus can show you around, if you need an escort.”

  “Oh yes, Mr. Goldman, I’m sure we can find our own way now.”

  “Inspector,” said the red-headed sergeant. “We were just waiting for you.”

  “At ease, Riley,” said Gumshoe. “Anything to report?”

  “Yes sir, this is Festus McGillicutt,” said Riley. The dorm resident was an elderly goblin dressed in teal overalls with Bio-Soft patches. His overalls were rumpled as if he had put them on without pressing. His hair flew in all directions. Riley looked uncomfortable and shot a glance at his partner, searching for support.

  “It’s all right Riley,” said Gumshoe. “The super explained the mistake. To err is human. We just have to pick up where we left off and keep on going.”

  “Mr. McGillicutt may have been the last one to see Evan before his disappearance. This morning we were talking to Evan’s friends and the residents on his hall and showing them the McCarthy girl’s picture. Mr. McGillicutt asked us if we had spoken to everyone at Evan’s new apartment, and that’s when we realized the mistake. When we got a look at the victim’s apartment we found the sign and called in the crime scene crew. Mr. McGillicutt here says he has a statement, but he won’t tell us. That’s all, sir.”

  “If that’s all, you’re dismissed. Go get yourselves some lunch, if you haven’t already. Then meet us at Evan’s apartment.”

  “Yes sir,” said Riley, “thank you, sir.”

  While the two elves collected their packs, Gumshoe took off his trench coat and hung it on the back of a chair. Pulling the chair out from under the table he turned it around and sat on it.

  “Mr. McGillicutt,” said Gumshoe, “Now we’ll get to your statement. I may have a few questions.”

  The old goblin guffawed, pleased with himself for no obvious reason. “Quite right, Inspector, quite right.” Muttering, the goblin slowly sank back into his chair. “You call me Festus, Inspector, all my friends do.”

  “Why didn’t you say something to the officers, Festus?” asked Gumshoe.

  “I did, you heard ‘em, at how they’s learned he don’t live here no more. I’s the one at told ‘ems to try his new apartment. Course they could have figured that out from his old room, if they’d had a brain. When they saw his apartment, I knows somethin’s afoot. They don’t says nuthin’ but they don’ts have to. I knows it’s got to do with the Zodiac.

  “So I says to myself, I says, I won’t talk to those buffoons. Festus will only talk to the head cheese, the balding Inspector with snow on his mountain,” he paused for dramatic effect. He half rose out of his seat and swept the air in front of Gumshoe. “The top enchilada,” he said.

  “Festus, you cut me to the quick, I’ve only got a touch of grey.” Gumshoe’s lips curled into a smile, and he bit his lip to avoid laughing.

  “Ain’t nothing Inspector,” said Festus. “It’s only my way o’ sayin’ the lead dog.” He thrust out his eye again, studying the Inspector.

  “Sure Festus,” said Gumshoe. He mollified the fickle goblin. “I was just wondering why you wouldn’t speak to the uniforms. If you have anything to say, please spit it out.”

  “I’d a talked to ‘em, as I said. Just those two ain’t the sharpest tools in the shed, better at bein’ a doorstop than a dust mop, if you get my drift. I just figures if you wants somethin’ done right, you’s gots to do it yourself.”

  “Festus, I understand now. Very sensible. What was it you wanted us to know?”

  “Why you bet cha, Inspector, sir,” said Festus, rising from his seat again. “I knew somethin’ was wrong when your boys come a callin’ with a picture o’ that purty young thing in the Zodiac case.” Slowly sinking back to his seat, he grumbled, “Should’ve axed ‘round.” Illustrating his point, he thrust one bug eye at the Inspector, and swiveled slowly around to Jack and Shotgun letting them look into his eye.

  “I would a told ‘em before, soon as they axed me. I’m his dorm resident ‘en I should know. That fill-in that Goldman’s got ain’t got all her marbles. Don’t know nuthin’ she don’t and she ain’t all fired up to learn. Ignorance and apathy, I always says it’s the bane of us all.”

  Festus stood up, and turned his chair around and sat down again with his arms folded facing Gumshoe. “Down to business, then is it? Evan’s a good boy, or was, if my guts tell me straight. He was one of our best, but a bit dreamy. He had everythin’ here you could want if all you wanted was to keep on living. He wanted a girlfriend, and none o’ the girls here’d have anythin’ to do with him. They’re all Bio-Soft right? Never mind they’re on contract and ain’t no better’n nobody else. But they strut around ‘specting to meet a prince to carry ‘em off to the palace. And they’s lookin’ for trouble, says I.

  “So Evan, he’s a bright boy he is. Yeah, but he’s impatient, and gets hisself permission to move to a bigger apartment cause he’s not thinkin’ right. He’s won’t listen to Festus. Festus has crossed the plain, and been everywhar’ from the Finger Lake Kingdom to the Swampland, but he won’t listen to ol’ Festus. He’s know he can’t land him no tarts here, but what he don’t know’s is he’s already livin
’ in the best place to lands him a good tart at ain’t from around’s here. You follow me?”

  “Festus, that makes good sense. Many a wench in Nodlon would be very proud to say their boyfriend was contracted at Bio-soft.”

  Festus jabbed a finger at Gumshoe. “You’re right smart, that’s why’s you’s the detective.”

  “Hey, I agree,” said Shotgun. “That’s how I landed Goldie.”

  “So I knows it ain’t be workin’ out for him none, cause he’s done gone and played it backwards. And then I see’s him last Friday and he’s comin’ out o’ the super’s office with a pass.” Festus narrowed his eyes, and said conspiratorially, “says he got a doctor’s appointment or somethin’ but he won’t says what it’s for, or who it’s with.

  “Now, I knows what’s your thinkin,’” said Festus, waving a finger at all of them. “You’re thinkin’ he ain’t got no brain.

  “I knows how a boy thinks though. He’s thinkin’ if he’s just a mite more handsome, and more athletic, he can score with a good girl. There wasn’t anything wrong to look at ‘em, but when no girl’d have him, what’s he to think. He just wants to fall in love, but who’s gonna fall in love with a dwarf boy under a contract makin’ him no more’n a machine?

  “Evan thought he’d find hisself a secret weapon, and get himself a gene makeover like them popular people on the vid.” Festus shifted his gaze to Jack, and said, “No offense to you, o’ course, Mr. Clay.”

  “None taken, Festus.”

  “So I says, he’s gone and done it, goin’ to one o’ them gene witch doctors. Voodoo they practice, black magic, witchcraft, playing god with people’s lives and tamperin’ with what’s they ain’t gots no right to meddle with. And now, I’s thinkin’ ‘at maybe’s they’s all gone ‘at away.”

  “Who Festus?” asked Gumshoe.

  “The missin’ dwarves, Inspector, the missin’ dwarves, all of ‘em.”

  “It’s a good idea, Festus. Don’t let anyone tell you, you don’t have a brain. From what you just told me, your brain works as well as any others and maybe better than most.”

  “Comin’ from you’s sir, that’s a right fine compliment! Oh, but wait, there’s one more thin’ I’ve to tell you.” He leaned forward, and signed for them to huddle. Acceding to his wish, they huddled and he whispered, “I knows you cannot use this, but I’ve got a premonition. I feel it in my bones. Somethin’ out there’s after you. Thou art doomed! And when it’s through with you, it’s gonna be after us.”

  “Is that all, Festus?” Jack asked. The old goblin nodded. “You haven’t had any strange dreams have you?”

  Festus stared at Jack. “You’ve had a premonition too, ain’t cha, Mr. Clay? I wish I knew more, but that’s all. Festus can’t put his finger on it. Maybe it’s a hunch, but I think Evan’s fallen in with bad company. It’s far worse than just runnin’ away.”

  “Thank you, Festus,” said Gumshoe. “Can I call you if I have any more questions?”

  “You do that Inspector, Festus will be here.” The old goblin rose from the table reluctantly. He slowly shuffled away.

  Festus stopped and looked back forlorn before he drifted out of the recreation room.

  The music from the gym rumbled. Gumshoe gazed into space thinking of the old goblin’s story.

  “Do you think he’s right?” asked Jack.

  “It makes sense,” said Gumshoe. “Gene therapists have an awesome amount of power over their patients. After all they’re changing your underlying gene code. Plus, who would suspect a gene therapist. They’re among the most respected members of the community, and everyone implicitly trusts them. Suspecting a gene therapist is scary, really. Everything is built on it now. Once in the therapist’s hands, they have absolute power over their patients. The patient has no way to stop whatever transformation the doctor may invoke.”

  “What next?” asked Shotgun.

  “Good old fashioned police work,” said Gumshoe. “We’ll check out Evan’s apartment, and see if we can find something that eluded the fancy technology and the state of the art techniques.”

  Down a hall, around a bend and past a laundry room and they were out of the dorm. They crossed the Bio-Soft campus and entered an apartment complex. Soon, they stopped at an apartment like any other except for a strap of yellow tape stretched across the door.

  Two uniformed elves stood guard. Crime scene techs worked quietly and performed their duties.

  Riley greeted them at Evan Labe’s door. “Hello, Inspector, gentlemen, the crime scene guys are almost done. They said just a little longer.” Riley peeled back the tape and Gumshoe ducked into the apartment.

  Waiting outside, Jack and Shotgun backed into a corner of the hall waiting for the crime scene technicians to finish their business. The techs buzzed around Gumshoe as he collected their reports. Eventually, they packed their sample cases and stowed their instruments in carrying cases. One by one the specialists reported to Gumshoe and left.

  Gumshoe waved a come hither inviting them into Evan’s apartment.

  “They have to be thorough,” said Gumshoe. “I’m treating the scene as a homicide.” The crime scene team had laid plastic runners around the studio and taped off furniture and sections with yellow tape and warnings not to touch.

  The apartment was neat, almost immaculate. It was tastefully appointed for a dwarf on a limited budget. A saloon door separated the bedroom from the kitchen. A stylish black leather couch and sofa faced a wall sized vid screen, contrasting rustic end tables finished in walnut. A glass coffee table hewn from the stump of a tree faced the vid.

  On the screen was the Capricorn. A splash of scarlet marked each star. “As you saw,” said Gumshoe, “Prepping the scene takes hours and it costs.”

  An end table with a lamp sat next to a neatly made bed. An anime hero in a spacesuit rocketed across his bedspread. A heroine chased him on her own jetpack. A towel and pajamas lay forlorn atop a hamper of dirty laundry in his closet. Jack felt the weight of the missing dwarf in the lonely apartment.

  “Is it the same as the one we found in McCarthy’s apartment?” asked Jack, pointing to the vid.

  “It’s blood,” said Gumshoe. “The splatter analysis is the same as in McCarthy’s room.”

  Jack turned away from the vid screen and followed the plastic runners. He studied the little apartment.

  By moving out of the dorm, Evan had gained twice the space. A case of sparkling water and a short stack of pizzas barely filled a shelf in his fridge. Through the saloon door was a sizeable bedroom with a walk-in closet and a bath with a Jacuzzi built for two. The back wall of the bedroom opened to a small deck overlooking an alley.

  Shotgun examined a homemade bookcase holding an eclectic collection of video games, movies and book disks.

  “Anything interesting?” Jack asked.

  “I like him already,” said Shotgun, “he has all my favorite games, books, and movies. We might be friends if he hasn’t gotten himself clocked.”

  Suppressing his melancholy, Jack hoped they would find Evan alive and well, but in his gut he knew the hour was late for Evan Labe. Turning away from Shotgun, he circled the bed and peeked in the closet. The closet was a testimony to dwarfish compulsions. Evan’s uniforms and casual clothes were organized, and neatly hung with the collars facing the same direction. He had sandals, sneakers, loafers, and a pair of fluffy bear claws.

  “Gumshoe?”

  “Yes, Jack?”

  “Maybe this is nothing,” said Jack, “but Evan’s got no boots. A dwarf on the prowl in Nodlon has to have a set of boots. My costume designer says a man needs three sets, one for work life, one for wildlife, and one for the nightlife. He might have worn his good boots out.”

  “Thanks,” said Gumshoe. “I’ll make a note. Let me know if anything else seems to be missing.”

  “Sure.” Jack moved on to the bathroom. A shelf supported shampoo, conditioners, body washes, ordered by size. The medicine cabinet was
open, revealing an assortment of basic supplies. He had two toothbrushes.

  Jack squinted at the brush handles, and a bulbous version of Noddie the mythical dragon smiled back at him. Sucking in a deep breath, he studied the medicines. An old bottle of antibiotic pills and a bottle of iron supplement sat in one corner, separated by a little space from a few bottles of over the counter medications.

  “Got a glove I can use?”

  “Just a second.” Gumshoe appeared at the bathroom door, holding a pair of latex gloves. “Here use these. What have you found?”

  “He’s got some meds in here with recent dates,” said Jack. He picked up each bottle and perused the labels. “These are vitamins and herbal medications used by athletes and body builders to enhance physical performance.”

  “Read those off please, my eyes are getting old.”

  Rattling off the unfamiliar names of the ingredients, Clay read the labels and Gumshoe updated his notes. The Inspector tapped on his computer. “Yeah, got it.” He smiled wryly, “This is why I believe in detective work. My techs catalogued the meds, but they didn’t flag them. They just listed them with almost eight thousand other items. Are there any prescription meds?”

  “No, just over the counter stuff to buff up,” said Jack. “Body builders use these supplements.”

  “Thanks Jack, that’s thinking out of the box.” Jack set the medicines back and followed the Inspector. “I may have recognized the significance about three years from now.”

  “Inspector,” interrupted Shotgun. The dwarf pointed to a slip of paper tucked between a drawer and the chest. “I think I’ve found something.”

  “What?” Gumshoe knelt by Evan’s bed.

  “The paper popped out when I opened the drawer.”

  “Now this is old school.” Gumshoe drew a toolkit from his trench coat, and took out a set of tweezers. He drew the paper out of the drawer. Holding it up with tweezers, he took it in his gloves.

  “It’s a brochure for a gene therapy clinic,” Gumshoe said. “New Genes, New Gem.” A cartoon nymph beamed from the cover. She struck an alluring pose on the brochure’s face. She beamed with a smile. Gumshoe turned the brochure over and read the back, “Don’t be blue! All your dreams come true!” Gumshoe flipped it open. “Hey, gentlemen, a handwritten note with time, date and an address. Would that mean anything to you?”

  “An appointment,” said Jack and Shotgun in unison.

  “Good, I’ll have you two trained in no time.” Gumshoe winked. “We’ve got a clue. It’s getting late. We can’t make it by closing in this traffic. We’ll pay New Gem a visit tomorrow if I can get a warrant.” Gumshoe waved at the door. “For now, I’ve got to go back to the Yard. It’ll be a late night. I’ll drop you off at Babel Tower if that works.”

  A Suicide Pact

  Nodlon Memorial was busier than Jack had ever seen it. The sixth-floor nurse’s station was a study in mauve and organized chaos. Never before had he seen as many nurses at the station. Usually, only a few were on duty during the evening, keeping watch over sleeping patients. As for a physician, normally there were none to be found when Jasmine was on duty.

  Tonight was no ordinary night. Jasmine’s office was behind the station sandwiched between the linen’s and the nurse’s break room. A horde of doctors, nurses, technicians, lab assistants, and volunteers boiled in and around the station and up and down the halls. He heard moaning and complaints from many rooms, and he thought of what he might do to help.

  “Hi, Jack,” called a familiar voice.

  Searching the crowd, he saw a dwarf waving at him. “Hi, Brenda, I’m just here to visit Jazz, if she’s available.”

  “No,” said Brenda, “one of the surgeons is in her office, and he doesn’t look happy.” She wore yellow scrubs with white and pink flowers.

  “What’s his problem? Should I straighten him out for you guys?”

  “No, thanks,” Brenda answered. “The doc’s not mad, just upset. A patient’s in trouble. Jazz is straightening out the mess. Anyway, she’s a pro. She isn’t going to take any guff off an overpriced butcher if it’s undeserved.”

  “Guess I’ll have to wait then.”

  Brenda turned away.

  Jack remembered Jazz had asked him to visit a patient. After working on the Zodiac case, he had nearly forgotten. “Wait, Brenda.”

  “Yes, Jack?”

  “Jazz mentioned a teenager she wanted me to visit. She committed suicide, and Jazz asked me to visit her.”

  “I know the one, follow me.” Hurrying around a technician hustling off with a tray of samples, Brenda led the way past the crowd. Darting and dodging, he worked to keep pace with the agile dwarf.

  Passing the break room, he thought of coffee. As if reading his mind, Brenda veered into the break room.

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “You’re busy. I can help myself.”

  “It’s no trouble, Jack.” Popping a disposable cup under the pot’s dispenser, she poured him a cup, and handed it to him. “Smells good, the kitchen has been working overtime. I’ll have to come back if I have a chance.”

  Leading him on, she left the room and tore down the hall in quick time, forcing him to walk fast despite the advantage of his long legs. Halting before a door near the end of the wing, she stopped. “She’s on a suicide watch. She swallowed a bottle of pills and flat lined four days ago. They pumped her out downstairs, shot her up with Afterlife, and then sent her up here.”

  “Did she have a near death experience?”

  “She won’t say, but I’m guessing she did.”

  The room was burgundy and mauve with two beds. A partition with a white curtain separated the beds, and a small boy slept under a tent on the bed near the door. A stack of machines on a gurney beeped and hummed beside him, and an intravenous feed gurgled as the pump purred.

  The nurse pointed at the boy. “Marty came in on a transport from the Moon. He’ll recover. I know it looks bad, but he’s out of the woods for now.”

  The nurse pushed aside the partition and stepped up to the next bed. “Are you awake, Melissa?” Brenda asked.

  A girl called out of the gloom. “Yes.”

  “You have a visitor,” Brenda said.

  On the bed was a goblin girl, hardly more than a child, gray featured and bony. She stared out the window with a dour look and crossed arms.

  Jack followed her gaze over the medical complex, across the eastern mall, and up to the mountains. Melissa sat up and the springs squeaked. “A visitor?”

  “Yes, will you see him?”

  “If I have to, I don’t want to see any more nut doctors. I’m not crazy.”

  Jack ventured near the bed, hoping the waif would accept his presence. “Hello, Melissa.”

  She waved without breaking her stare. “Hi.”

  “A friend asked me to pay you a visit.” He wondered how long it would take before she ordered him to go away. “I’ll just sit down.” He sat on the counter next to her wardrobe.

  Melissa pursed her lips, and sat taciturn. She stoically endured his presence. Then she glared at him, and said, “You don’t have to stay. What are your questions? I’ll answer them and you can go.”

  “I don’t have any questions. And I have to wait, so I might as well wait with you.”

  “What are you waiting for?” she snapped, “A Martian attack?”

  “I’m waiting on my fiancée. She’s a nurse.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Somebody cares about you.” She crossed her arms. “Beats waiting on someone dying to leave you a fortune.”

  He wondered what to say. For all he knew, she had a good reason to be angry.

  “Anger is good when it’s directed at the source of a problem, Melissa. But being angry with the world is counter-productive. It gets in the way of solving problems, and it makes mountains out of mole hills. You spend so much time being angry at the wrong people.”

  If he wanted her attention, he had it.
She pushed herself up and yelled, “What do you know about it?!”

  Clay held a finger to his lips, hushing her. “Melissa, please! Marty’s sleeping.” The boy laid as still as a corpse under his tent.

  She fell flat on her bed, and moaned, “He’s a zombie. If he ever wakes up out of that coma, he’ll probably want to play jacks or dominoes or something stupid.”

  “What’s wrong with games? I like games.”

  “Go on, now you’re asking questions and you want to play kid games? You shrinks are all alike! Ugh!”

  “Sorry, I’m not a shrink. I’m an entertainer. I like making people laugh by doing tricks and stuff. You might like it too.”

  “You’re kidding me. What kind of tricks? You don’t prank kids do you? Some of the bullies pull tricks on the little kids, and it ain’t nice!”

  “Look, I’ll show you an illusion, if you’ll watch.”

  “Sure, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

  He waved his hands for melodramatic effect, hamming up his performance. A wisp of fog rose from his palm. A ballerina stepped out of the mist, and pirouetted. He added music to keep time with the ballerina.

  Mollified, Melissa sat up and crossed her legs, staring at the ballerina.

  “Do you like dragons?” He created a little dragon which flew around the ballerina.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Magic. Watch this.” He added a ribbon floating around the room, and thinking of each illusion, he added a parade. A train led the way, followed by toy soldiers, a teddy bear, and a troupe of dolls, a spaceman and an alien, and finally Santa Claus.

  “How’d you really do that?”

  “I told you, I’m a magician.” He wondered how he could prove himself. At a loss, he reached into his pocket for a card, and stopped. She had not recognized him. The room was dark, but not that dark. Where had she been living if she had missed his advertising?

  “Melissa, have you ever been to a show?”

  “A show? Like a movie? I’ve been to a movie.”

  Wondering where anyone would find a movie theatre in Nodlon, Jack tried to be casual. “Where did you see a movie?”

  “In Deep Nodlon. I live in a dorm behind a warehouse two blocks from the last tunnel at the edge of the Pale. Down the street is a theatre and I can sneak in.”

  “I see, you are far out.”

  “Probably never been there have you? Not that I blame you, most of the tunnels are abandoned.”

  “No, Melissa. I grew up in a dorm, and one of my first gigs was in Deep Nodlon.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “I’m sorry for being rude. I thought you were a nut doctor or something. It seems like there’s been a hundred in here poking me and telling me what to do.”

  He played it safe. He did not want to irritate her now. “The doctors and nurses just want to help.”

  “No, they just want to cover themselves. If I hurt myself, it’ll be their fault, and that’s why I’m not doing anything here. I don’t want to cause more problems.”

  “Doing away with yourself causes a lot of problems, especially for you.”

  “No, it don’t, if I’m gone, it ain’t my problem no more.”

  “I guess that’s not what I meant, if you do away with yourself, you’re hurting others. Everyone is a part of life, and we all have something to contribute, and we all have something to gain. If we break the chain, we’ll never know what.”

  “We’re just here to collect the trash. Everyone in my dorm works for the sanitation department. That’s their contribution. The agency doesn’t care about me and I don’t care about the agency. I don’t care if they never get their money back feeding me. I didn’t ask to be born, and I’m not paying for someone else’s mistakes.”

  He sat still, watching her and listening. Depression was common for biots, but it was the normal depression of living a life of quiet desperation. They enjoyed the fortitude learned by endurance. A rustle told him they were no longer alone.

  “Jack,” said Jasmine.

  “Oh, hi, Jazz. Melissa and I were talking.”

  “Good. Melissa, has Jack showed you any tricks?”

  “Yeah, he’s good. He should be in show business or something.”

  Jasmine started to say something, but Clay waved her down.

  “Melissa, would you do me a favor?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “A friend of mine gave me some cards to pass around, would you take some?”

  “I guess, what are they?”

  “These are passes to his show. It’s a promotion to drum up business, create buzz, and get interest going.”

  “Yeah, fine, I’ll take some. What do ya’ want me to do with ‘em?”

  “Please, use them. Go to the show, take a friend.” He handed her a wad of his cards.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Remember, take a friend.”

  “Ain’t got no friends,” she complained.

  “Then go alone. And I want you to remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “Don’t let the dogs win. If you give up, they win.”

  “Who’re they?”

  “You know, they’re the people who want you to lose.”

  “Oh.”

  “Promise me, don’t give up, and use those cards. My friend’s counting on me to promote his shows.”

  “Sure, tell him I’ll go.”

  “Melissa, we have to go now,” Jasmine interrupted.

  Exchanging goodbyes, they backed out of the room into the corridor. Jasmine dragged him to the end of the hall, and they stood under a window.

  “Difficult child,” said Jasmine, “but you got her to promise to use the passes you gave her.”

  “Yes. Her spirit’s broken, and for what? It’s not like she’s a horse. Is she crazy?”

  “I don’t know.” Jasmine shook her head. “The psychiatrist says she’s normal. No signs of trauma. She’s under stress though, and there’s no relief in sight. They told me it’s an immature reaction to her situation.”

  “What’s immature about being depressed in a depressing situation?” asked Jack.

  “Suicide is immature. She should be trying to better herself. She has options. She has school. We all know the situation sucks, but she’s not special or unique. Everybody has the same problems. I hoped you could cheer her up.”

  “I tried, but she’s never heard of me. And I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t want to boast, and I’m not sure how she would take it. For some reason, I won the lottery, and she didn’t. I don’t think her lot is as bad as she’s making it out to be, but I’m not sure I’m the one to explain it.”

  Jasmine held his arm. She stood on her toes, and pecked him on the cheek. “Good elf, I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  “I wouldn’t either, except I remember when I was eight, I had the same thoughts. Not about doing away with myself of course, but I wondered how I would live. Luckily I had a mother, who loved me more than the world, but many didn’t.”

  “Speaking of living, did you find out anything new about the Zodiac case?”

  “Yes, and it’s all confidential, so I suppose I’ll have to tell you sooner or later.”

  “Never give up hope.” Jasmine hugged him. “I’ve got to get back to work, if I’m ever going to get off tonight. By the way, where’s Shotgun?”

  “He’s waiting for me in the Andromeda,” said Jack. “He’s on his caster. Goldie called him in a fright. Biot Staffing is moving to Iron Mountain. They’re afraid Mars will attack. They released all non-essential biots for two-weeks.

  “Anyway, Goldie’s scared stiff. Naturally, I suggested they stay with me. We’re short on beds, but I’ve got plenty of room. Shotgun and I can sleep on the couches tonight. Goldie can stay with us as long as she needs to. She and the girls can go to Iron Mountain with us.”

  “I’m scared too. I’ll join you, if I
can get out of here.” She hugged him and grinned. “Nothing’s going to happen with the Morgan family camped in your penthouse.”

  He scoffed, “Yeah, you do that.” He gazed out the window at Nodlon. “If something happens, take your roadster. It won’t hold us all, but you can throw Goldie’s kids in the back.”

  “I like that idea.” She squeezed his hand, “What about you boys?”

  “Shotgun and I can take my Andromeda once we solve the case.”

  “Will you solve the case?”

  “Be positive,” he said. “It’s my blood type. We’re going to solve this case or my name isn’t Jack Clay.”

  “You get him, honey bear.” Self-consciously, she glanced down the hall at the milling stew of nurses and techs. She gave him a quick kiss and a hug again. “Bye,” she whispered.

  “Bye,” he said, watching her go. He felt a pit in his gut.

  The Blue Lights of Nodlon

  Clay clambered into the Andromeda. “Thanks for waiting.”

  Shotgun closed his caster. “The Morgan family has taken over the Clay pad. Hope you don’t mind. Faith and Hope are on your bed, and Goldie is on mine again. If Jazz comes home from the hospital, the girls will move Hope.”

  “Looks like we’re both sleeping in the living room again.”

  “Yeah, thank you for letting Goldie and the girls stay with you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? No,” Jack winked. “What can go wrong?” He gave his butler a thumbs up.

  “Jazz may want to sleep alone. She’s going to be bushed.” Shotgun fidgeted on the flyer’s scream bar.

  “If Jazz comes home, she doesn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not with all the casualties in the hospital. And she loves Faith and Hope. I dare say she’s pining for her own babies.”

  Jack slipped into flight mode, and lifted the Andromeda into the low altitude lanes. He circled the hospital and headed his flyer towards Babel Tower.

  “I just hope we look back on these days and see an overblown diplomatic incident and not the beginning of a new round of wars.”

  Shotgun shrugged. “I want to go back to normal. And I want my girls to grow up and marry a nice boy.”

  “A son-in-law you can play vid games with?”

  “No, I’d rather gain a son than lose a daughter, but I don’t want to limit her choices. Who cares if they come home with a goblin, a moleman, or a dwarf?” Shotgun grinned, “or even an elf.”

  Jack looked at the ring on his finger. “With Princess Virginia’s favor, we can stop chipping, and they will have plenty of choices.”

  “Just between us girls, boss, I hate the chip. I don’t want an agency chipping my grandchildren. And I don’t want them cutting my daughters open and taking their babies.”

  “That’s not going to happen to Faith and Hope. I promise, Shotgun, we’re going to stop the war, defeat the cartels, and free the biots long before Faith and Hope start looking for Prince charming.”

  The blue lights of Nodlon flickered below.

  “Do you and Jazz want a family?” Shotgun asked.

  “Ha, if only chivalry required sleeping on the couch. Jazz wants a dozen children. I’m supposed to grow up and be a father. I want to be a father, but what if I make a mess of things. It’s a big responsibility.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Ha, touché, my humble man-servant, but you’re a good father Shotgun. Anyone with eyes can see that.”