The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) (7 page)

I started to formulate a question in my mind, but Paige stopped me halfway.
Don’t ask. It’s complicated. Suffice it to say the Veesnu religion has some pretty strong thoughts about artificial intelligence.

“Right, waffles for one, then,” I said. “I take them with extra butter and syrup. My partner here will have to sustain himself off the negative energies of prejudice.”

I don’t think the Dirax got the joke.
We only have room at the bar. Given your anatomy, I assume this is acceptable?

“Of course.” Normally, I would’ve preferred a booth, but given our need to question the Dirax about Valerie’s case, a spot at the bar would serve us swimmingly. We followed the big insect and plopped ourselves onto a pair of the puffy, lipstick-colored stools.

The Dirax disappeared behind an alcove, and within a minute, it returned with a steaming plate of golden-brown cross-hatched carb bombs drenched in cow fats and a slurry of lab-perfected complex sugars designed to evoke flavors of maple, honey, fruit, and the warmest memories of my childhood.

I sawed off a piece and plunged it into my mouth, the flavor molecules exploding as they contacted my tongue.

Carl looked at me longingly. “See, there’s another experience I sometimes envy you.”

“What are you talking about?” I said around a mouthful of hot buttered bliss. “You can taste things.”

“Yes, but then I’d either have to suffer the indignity of spitting out my food or empty my catch container, which is a pain to service. Either way I’d have to clean my mouth afterwards.”

“You sure are surly today,” I said.

“Maybe that firmware upgrade I got is malfunctioning, after all,” said Carl.

I tilted my head as I stuffed another slice of waffle in my mouth. “Won’t work this time, old pal. Now I know you’re joshing me.”

The Dirax loomed over us on the other side of the counter.
Is there anything else I can provide you with? Perhaps a lecture on the interwoven nature of organic and cosmic systems, and how an acceptance of Veesnu can bring peace to the neural systems that dictate your actions?

I swallowed and lifted a finger. “Not that, no, but we do have a couple questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

The Dirax twitched its antennae.
Such as?

“We’re looking for someone.”

Who?

“I don’t know.”

Can you provide a description?

“Not really.”

What about a digital imprint of their neural pathways?

“Huh? No, definitely not.”

The Dirax clacked its pincers again.
I am confused.

I sighed. “You’re not the only one, brother. We don’t know exactly who we’re looking for, but they left us a clue leading back to your establishment. A slip.” I pulled out the card we’d liberated from the sock at Keelok’s and showed it to the Dirax.

Ah. Yes. We give these to all individuals who enter our doors. I was going to provide you with one at the conclusion of your meal.

“Could you take a closer look at this one in particular?” I asked. “Maybe there’s something special about it.”

I do not understand your query. What could be more special than the One Knowledge, the metaphysical Truth, the combined teachings of Veesnu, concentrated onto a small, portable slip?

I frowned as I glanced at Carl. “Why is it aliens have issues understanding the meaning of that word? No, that’s not what I meant, Mr….?”

Names are not a convention of our species.

“Um…right then,” I said. “What I was wondering was if you noticed any features that distinguished this particular slip from others you’ve distributed.”

The Dirax’s antennae twitched.
I do not know who I provided this slip to, if that is the crux of your query.

I rapped the knuckles of my right hand onto the palm of my left. “Argh. How are we supposed to track someone down when we have no name, physical description, or identifying qualities whatsoever?”

“Patience, Rich,” said Carl. “This is the sort of work your profession entails. It’s par for the course, I believe.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “All the old P.I. novels I read that got me interested in this gig had a lot more action and a lot less head scratching—though roughly the same number of attractive women. I guess I should be glad we haven’t encountered any cats yet, right?”

Carl nodded before turning to the Dirax, who apparently didn’t possess the same facial agility we did otherwise it would’ve looked extremely confused. “One more question for you, if you don’t mind. Did a patron of yours happen to lose a sock here in the past couple days, by chance?”

Socks are the tubular coverings your species places over its extremities for warmth?

“Correct,” said Carl.

I am unsure. Perhaps. We do have a small lost and found in back. You should check with my broodmate.
The Dirax pointed to a slim door behind the pulpit in the chapel half of the room.

“Good thinking, Carl,” I said. “And thanks for the help, bud.”

It is my pleasure to assist all Pilgrims, human. But I would be remiss not to express again the wonders of the One Truth, the ultimate Knowledge, Veesnu. The wonders of the cosmos await. Verily—

I crammed the last of the waffles in my mouth and stood, pointing at my full mouth and making hand gestures I hoped would translate somewhere along the lines of ‘can’t talk, busy eating,’ neglecting the obvious fact that I could communicate with the Dirax solely via Brain instead of speaking. It might’ve been a crude exit, but it got me to the back door without having to endure any more of the restaurateur’s pushy sermons.

7

We found the second Dirax at a standing desk in the back, surrounded by sacks of flour, stacks of empty egg cartons, and boxes upon boxes full of Veesnu proselytization slips. I almost did a double take when I saw the guy. I thought my buddy the waffle artist from in front had scurried around and beat us to the punch, but Paige quickly quashed my theory that the guy was a closet schizophrenic.

Just because you can’t tell the differences between them doesn’t mean they’re the same individual,
she said.
This one’s scutellum is markedly more pronounced than that of the Dirax you previously met, as is its petiole, and the funiculi on its antennae are more bumpy and textured to boot.

I kindly informed Paige that I had no clue what the hell she was talking about.

Bah,
she said.
You couldn’t tell the difference between a piebald mare and a tan gelding.

Not wanting to admit that I didn’t know what those were either, I cleared my throat as we approached the Dirax and its hard, glossy shell. The large, insectoid creature declined to turn to greet us.

You appear to be lost,
the Dirax voice sounded in my mind.
The restroom is located in the front.

“What? No, I’m not here for that.” I glanced at Carl. “Why does everyone assume I’m looking for a bathroom?”

The Dirax turned.
Pardon, human, but from my knowledge of the physiology of your kind, I was led to believe a harsh expelling of gas such as you exhibited was a sign of gastrointestinal distress.

“Huh?” I said. “Oh, no, I was clearing my throat. It’s an expression we use to attract attention. The action you’re thinking of comes from a…different orifice.”

Ah. My apologies.
The Dirax crossed its pincer arms.
Nonetheless, the spiritual and gustatory experiences we offer take place in the front of our establishment.

“I know,” I said. “But we’re here looking for something. Your boy toy in front told us you had a lost and found.”

Boy toy?

“Friend? Acquaintance? Confidant? Broodmate? The guy selling waffles.”

I see. You were using a human term of endearment. I will have to remember this one for future reference. But my thinking has veered tangentially. Yes, we have a lost and found. What have you displaced?

“A sock,” I said. “Do you have it?”

It would depend. Can you describe it?

“I don’t know. It’s a sock. We think a friend of ours lost it here.”

The Dirax clicked its pincers, a tic I was starting to think could express any number of emotions from disapproval to annoyance.
You are here to retrieve an article of clothing that does not belong to you? I am unfamiliar with many human customs, but this seems unethical to me.

“No, it’s not like that. This woman, Valerie Meeks, she hired us to investigate—”

The Dirax stuck a pincer in the air.
No. I cannot allow it. Apologies and best wishes to you.

I gritted my teeth. Dealing with aliens could be a test of composure and patience—two personality traits I wasn’t particularly adept at. Back in my kickboxing days, I’d succeeded in most of my bouts mainly by adopting a devil-may-care attitude, intimidating my competition, and attacking like crazy. I’d mellowed in my early-middle age, but I still didn’t do well with curtness. Thankfully, Carl rescued me from my own temper before it boiled over.

“We
can
describe the article in question if it makes a difference,” he said. “We’re looking for a sock of roughly this length—” He measured it out with his hands. “—and white in color, with a blue stripe across the toes.”

“How do you know any of that?” I asked.

“That’s the match to the other mismatched sock from Miss Meeks’ dresser,” said Carl. “It only makes sense the other sock was misplaced here.”

I tried to figure out how I hadn’t made that connection while the Dirax contained to act as if whatever organ inside of its body that performed the actions of a heart was made of stone.
No. I cannot let you have it. It is not appropriate.

“We don’t actually need the sock,” continued Carl. “We just need to look at it.”

The Dirax waggled its antennae as it considered our request.
Very well. I do not see how a visual inspection of the article would violate any social conventions of ownership. I will show you what we have.

The large insect creature turned and shuffled toward a wall-mounted shelf from which it pulled a small box about the same size as two loaves of bread pressed side to side.

“This is your lost and found?” I asked.

Yes.
The Dirax opened the box and held it forward.

I snorted as I took stock of the contents. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The creature leaned forward.
Do you now require the restroom?

“No. That snort was another expressive mechanism,” I said. “And please stop asking me about that. It’s weird. But I’m starting to wonder if this is all some big joke between you, your friend, and me.”

I don’t understand.

I reached into the box and pulled out a length of white cotton. “This sock is the only bloody thing in the box! Of course this is what we’re looking for!”

Please be gentle,
intoned the Dirax.
We agreed to a visual inspection only.

I sighed and let Carl and his delicate hands take over. He poked at the bottom of the sock, then reached in and pulled out another slip, similar to the one for the Veesnu chapel we’d found at the Funporium except this one exhibited a much more businesslike aura, with a name, an address, and an insignia printed upon it in a bold typeface.

You cannot retain that,
the Dirax’s voice instructed.
By being within the sock, it is considered property of the rightful owner. At least I believe that is how proprietorship would be applied in this case. Sort of a chicken and egg scenario, no?

“I think you’re mixing metaphors,” I said. “But it’s all right. We’re not going to take the slip. We only want to look at it.”

Carl handed it over so I could get a closer look. The slip listed a Dr. Francis Castaneva, Professor of Exoneurobiology at Cetie University in Pylon Alpha. An address was listed underneath the name.

“Anything I’m not seeing here, Paige?” I asked.

There’s a bunch of promotional research vids on the slip,
she said.
Fun stuff. You can watch them on the climber trip back to Cetie.

Fun. Right,
I thought.

I handed the card back to the Dirax, who accepted it with a surprisingly gentle claw. After giving the creature a somewhat insincere thanks and suffering through another misinformed lecture on human property law, I ushered Carl back into the spaceport hallway, managing to escape before the waffle vendor tried to sell us on any more Veesnu mumbo-jumbo.

I stuck my hands in my pockets as we walked back toward the climber, a frown working its way onto my face despite my best efforts to the contrary.

Carl noticed. “You’re rather surly for a guy who had the next clue to his case delivered to him on a silver platter.”

“Yes,” I said. “And that’s precisely why I’m surly.”

Carl raised an eyebrow.

I tried to elaborate. “Doesn’t this seem odd to you?”

“Many aspects of this case seem odd,” he said. “To what in particular were you referring?”

“Everything,” I said. “I mean, we already established how strange it is that someone broke into Valerie’s apartment and instead of stealing anything, other than a pair of socks apparently, they organized the joint and left behind a mystery token. That behavior’s odd enough, but everything we’ve found since? It’s as if the perpetrator intentionally left a trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow. What kind of thief—or not-a-thief, if you will—wants to get caught? And if they want to get caught, there are easier ways to go about it. They could’ve sent Valerie a ping or showed up at her doorstep and confessed.”

Carl nodded. “It would appear we’re being intentionally strung along. The question is why, and to what end?”

“Exactly.” I snapped my fingers a few times, but no revelations spontaneously popped into my head. “Oh well. We should probably tell Valerie what we have and haven’t found. Paige, can you connect us?”