The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) (20 page)

I stepped out and continued along the hallway. Under different circumstances, I might’ve partaken in more serious digging, but I was operating under time constraints, and I didn’t think rifling through one of the Veesnu disciples’ living quarters would provide many clues for my investigation.

“How are we doing, Paige?” I whispered.

Not bad,
she said.
Carl’s fast, and those Diraxi aren’t. I don’t think they expected anyone to bust in and run an eight hundred meter dash in their basement.

The next room I tried mimicked the first, but the third room contained something the other two hadn’t—a man, sitting on his bed, wearing khaki trousers and a pleated white shirt with a single buttoned front pocket. He looked up at the sound of the door and blinked a few times. I took a step back, but I was too slow.

“Royce? Hey.” He stood and approached. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

It was the moment of truth—the time to channel my inner monk. I clasped my hands and responded with a shrug, a slightly tilted head, and a couple of raised thumbs.

“Hm. Yeah. Me, too,” said the man. “I’ve got to admit, it’s been difficult these past few weeks. More difficult than I expected. The sermons. The reading materials. The flow of information. It’s overwhelming at times. I have trouble remembering it all. Sometimes… Sometimes I think I have trouble remembering other things, too. Did you ever feel that way when you started?”

I shook my head.

“No? I suppose not. You’re a natural, from everything I’ve heard. Speaking of which, I’ve heard you’re on the short list for ascension. Are they that close?”

I wondered what that last part meant, but I nodded.

The mystery man raised his brows and nodded. “Wow. Well…you’ve earned it. Any advice for the rest of us?”

I took a moment to think that one through, then I brought my arm out and held it toward the sofa chair and projector combo.

“A deeper understand of Veesnu. Yes, of course. Thanks, Royce. Your advice is always impeccable.”

I jerked a thumb at the hallway.

“You have things to do. I understand. Well, thanks for stopping by. And good luck.”

I nodded and moved on.

Nicely done,
said Paige.
Makes me think you should shut up and listen more often.

I thought of a snappy retort but kept it to myself as the crux of Paige’s statement dawned on me.

I knew you could learn,
Paige said, reading my thoughts.
Now hurry. Carl can’t keep those Diraxi busy forever.

I found a staircase and headed up, taking the steps two at a time. Lady Luck was with me. The corridor I popped into was completely empty. The first door I tried led to a supply closet, but in a twist of serendipity, the second door I tested led me straight to the jackpot.

I stood in a rectangular, whitewashed room that looked like a cross between an oncologist’s office and a military command center. In front of me, two parallel rows of translucent, acrylic desks faced the wall, each fitted with a trio of displays and ringed from behind by a bay of holoprojectors. Behind each desk was a padded, high-backed chair—for Diraxi use, based on the tucks in the seat backs. The holoprojectors hung, quiet and lifeless, and all the displays gleamed with a dull, matte off-black.

A huge, toroidal machine with white plastic walls and a bed in the middle dominated the other half of the room. It reminded me of a magnetic resonance scanner, but this one was decidedly home-brewed. An additional display—no holoprojector this time—sprouted from a gap in the plastic, and thick, multicolored cables bundled with zip-ties trailed out the gap, along the floor, and up into the ceiling. Next to the cylindrical monstrosity sat a plush recliner chair surrounded by holoprojectors and speakers. A compact integrated medical scanner for measuring vitals stood next to it, and an unopened bag of saline, electrolytes, and nutrients hung from a pole atop it.

As I absorbed my surroundings, I knew I’d found what I searched for while simultaneously having no idea
what,
exactly, I’d found.

“Paige, can you fill me in on what I’m looking at?”

Sorry, champ,
she said.
I’m not sure I can add much to what you’ve already surmised. Though I’ll add that whatever you plan on doing here, you need to speed it up. Carl’s on his way out.

“Did he find anything?” I asked as I walked over to the medical equipment.

Nothing quite like this, if that’s what you mean.

I poked at the display on the big, cloud-colored machine, then moved my finger to the multicolored cables.

How’s that method working out for you?
asked Paige.

“Don’t knock it,” I said. “Poking things with fingers is a time-honored detective tradition. I’m sure many a case has been solved this way.”

Seriously, Rich. Move it,
Paige said.
We don’t have much time.

I hopped to the display stations. There weren’t any manual inputs—at least not any I was familiar with. Below the screens, a couple tong-like protrusions stuck out from the work stations, each with an oblong metal loop attached to the end.

Clawsticks,
said Paige.
Like joysticks, but for use with pincers.

I grabbed one and wiggled it back and forth. The matte dark gray display blossomed to life with a static sun image. A line of text in a language I wasn’t familiar with scrolled across the bottom.

“What does that say?” I asked.

It says to sign in for access,
said Paige.

“Well? Can you?”

I heard crickets, then,
No. It’s Brain-specific. Or Diraxi mind-specific, most likely.

“Come on. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

I jumped as a booming voice—not Paige’s—filled the void in my head.
What are you doing here?

I turned. A Dirax with a pale, blotchy discoloration on the lower left of its jaw filled the doorframe, its eyes and antenna turned directly toward me.

24

I tensed as I spotted the Dirax. My mind raced. Should I play it cool, pretend to be lost, and hope for the best? Rehash the mime routine I’d successfully pulled off downstairs? Or bum rush the tall insectoid, drive a flying heel kick into its solar plexus, and haul tail out of there?

I wet my lips as I stood, words forming on my mouth of their own accord. “I…uh…”

Run!
urged Paige.

I took a step forward, ready to follow her advice, but an omnipresent Diraxi voice halted me.

Wait…you are not Royce.
The Dirax clacked its pincers, but not menacingly. Almost casually.
Oh, by the nine suns of Contega… You are that idiot the others have mentioned. Weed, correct?

In my neck of the woods, calling someone an idiot could be considered fighting words, but rather than crouching, pincers out, as the sash-clad Veesnu priest had while accosting me in the race dome bathroom, this Dirax simply stood there, observing me, its pincer arms hanging loosely at its sides. I took advantage of the opening. I hunched and stepped forward, planting my weight on my left foot and preparing a strike.

You do not understand the magnitude of situation into which you have stumbled, do you?
the Dirax’s voice came.
You will ruin everything if left unattended. But luck, if such a concept is real, is with you. I retained the closest presence to this room after you sounded the alarm.

The Dirax’s words slowed my attack to an imperceptible crawl. “Wait, what? Alarm?”

The silent alarm present on the workstations. They activate when a foreign mind interfaces with them. They will know it was you. There is no way around it. You must come with me. The others must surely approach now that your friend has completed whatever escapade you tasked him with.

The Dirax turned and walked off down the hall, leaving me standing there, wobbling with my weight on one leg and nothing to kick. The last time I’d followed a Dirax’s instructions to follow along, I’d ended up accosted in a public restroom, but something about this particular Dirax’s request felt different—probably his references to ‘they’ and ‘the others.’

Don’t ask me,
said Paige.
Last time I told you to trust one of these guys you nearly got a claw to the face.

Time pressured my decision. The Dirax booked it down the hallway, and I followed in kind. We passed several rooms, some containing more banks of workstations and medical equipment, others that radiated warmth and hummed with electricity and the sound of cooling pumps for server arrays.

The blotchy-faced Dirax hooked a right, swiveled through a series of interconnected passages, and popped open the door to a stairwell, all at a speed somewhere between a jog and a canter.

I tried to make conversation as we took to the steps. “Hey, do you mind telling me—”

No. Stay quiet. Stay close. Time is short.

We descended to the ground floor and stopped in front of an emergency exit—the old school kind, sporting a push bar and lacking a motion sensor. The Dirax’s antennae flickered, and a lock clacked in its socket. My escort shoved the door open, and, before I could protest, he’d wrapped a spindly arm around me and given me a none-too-gentle nudge toward the exit.

“Hey, wait a second,” I said as I stumbled into an alley behind the Veesnu chapel. “What the hell’s going on here? Who are you? What—”

Be quiet. Leave. And…what is the human expression? Keep your head low. You will be contacted if necessary.

“Hey! I—”

The door slammed in my face, the questions on my tongue left to dry in the balmy Cetie night air.

I rubbed a hand across my face, the tips of my fingers slipping as they passed over the unnaturally smooth surface of the mask. Sweat oozed from my pores and wicked the synthetic material to my face. I loosened the collar of my robe, dug a hand under the edge of the mask, and tugged. It slipped from my head with a slurping pop.

“I don’t suppose you have any theories about what the hell’s going on?” I asked Paige.

Oh, I always have theories,
she responded.
But none of them have much evidence to support them. Certainly not enough to believe in them beyond a measure of reasonable doubt.

I ran a hand across my sweat-slicked hair before moving it down to my chin, where my fingers met resistance as they passed over the stubby bristles sprouting from the tip of my jaw. In my unplanned morning scramble, I’d forgotten to use the autoshaver. “Perfect. You’re like my own personal attorney.” I sighed. “Where’s Carl?”

He’s biding his time in the same alley we found you earlier in the day—the one behind the falafel and burrito shop. He figured the Diraxi wouldn’t think to look for him there. It would be too obvious of a spot. He’s on his way over now.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air mercifully free of any hints of garbage or urine—or apples and rain, for that matter. I studied the emergency exit—its scratches and gouges, its battered steel and nicked paint—and wondered if I’d exited through it once or twice today. It bothered me that I couldn’t remember any of what happened after I sat down at the Veesnu sermon. How had I made it from this alley to the other? Had the blotchy-faced Dirax played a hand in that as well?

You know, it strikes me that perhaps we should follow the pale-jawed Dirax’s advice,
said Paige.

“Specifically?” I asked.

We need to leave. Who knows when someone else is going to drop by here and have a negative reaction to our presence.

I didn’t argue. One alien initiated beating at the hands of exoskeleton-clad cultists per day was enough for me.

25

I sat in a padded, tan-colored booth at Katoh’s, my elbows resting on a polished bamboo table. Carl sat across from me. At my right, miniature plates packed with four to six pieces of norimaki, fukomaki, and temaki snaked around the side of the booth, the spin of the conveyor belt’s wheels inaudible underneath the low roar of the early-evening dinner crowd. I snagged a plate of spicy tuna and another of sea urchin roe, doused them with a pour of the house soy, and dove in.

Carl rubbed his hands together and cast hungry eyes my way. When he licked his lips, I broke my dam of silence.

“You want one?” I asked.

Carl hesitated, but only for a moment. “Yes. Screw the catch chamber. I’ll empty it while you sleep tonight.”

“Tuna or roe?”

“Both.”

Carl grabbed a plate and I deposited a pair of the seaweed and rice wrapped delicacies in front of him. He popped the roe boat in his mouth and smiled as he chewed.

“Good, right?” I said.

Carl responded with a mixture of moans and nodding. “Mmm. Yes. Get one of those carp narezushis while you’re at it.” He pointed at the conveyer to a covered bowl with delicate scrollwork on the side.

I grabbed the plate in question. “Wait…is this one of those fermented fish ones? Gross. Keep this one of your side of the table, will you?”

Carl opened the bowl, inhaling the aroma before popping a couple of the foul-smelling rolls into his mouth. His moans became indecent.

I shook my head. “Seriously? You finally decide to eat something and
that’s
what you go for?”

Carl swallowed before answering. “I understand your trepidation. Your biology is attuned to certain smells you associate with decay. It’s a survival mechanism to keep you from eating spoiled food. But, boy, are you missing out! The fermentation adds incredible layers of flavor and texture to the dish. The chemical detectors in my mouth just went into overdrive to keep up.”

I snorted. “Yeah, mine don’t do that. And I wouldn’t be caught dead eating those things—no pun intended.”

Carl smiled as he wolfed down another bite. “Guess you’re right. We each have abilities the other could conceivably be envious of. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to put the enjoyment of fermented sushi on par with fully-realized free will, but it’s a start.”