Showing posts with label suspect. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suspect. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

Microstory 1977: Deflection

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Reese: No. No. You’re not going anywhere. I want everyone in this room right now.
Sachs: This isn’t everyone. Where’s the paroler, and his partner? And where did the agent just run off to?
Reese: I sent Agent Altimari to the rendezvous point to find the other two you mentioned. She’s the only one here who I trust. The three of you, however, have some explaining to do. Let’s start with you, Sergeant. Why did you fire your weapon?
Sachs: You ordered me to.
Reese: No, I did not.
Sachs: Yes, you did. My spotter told me that I had a shot, and then you said to shoot. I distinctly remember it.
Reese: I told you to only shoot upon my order. If I had wanted you to actually shoot, I would have said fire. That’s why we use two different words; for contextual clarity.
Sachs: Well, that’s not how  I was trained. Something must have gone wrong with the comms. *scowls at Micro* That’s not my department.
Micro: There was nothing wrong with the equipment. I heard his orders just fine. He said, and I quote, shoot only on my command.
Sachs: I’m telling you, I didn’t hear that part. I thought he was telling me to shoot.
Reese: Mr. Dreyer?
Sasho: *looks over at Sachs*
Reese: No, don’t look at him. I’m your superior, you answer to me. Did you hear my complete sentence?
Sasho: *relenting with a sigh* Yes, I heard it. He told you to wait.
Sachs: This is bullshit. I don’t understand why you’re interrogating me when it’s obvious that your buddy and the ex-con are the problem here. They were headed up the stairs, probably to rescue their friend, and now all three of them are gone. They didn’t reach out to you. They didn’t leave a note.
Reese: They’re probably at the rendezvous spot, like I said.
Sachs: And if they aren’t? Are you going to keep trusting them, or are you going to start listening to reason?
*a mug on the table suddenly explodes*
Reese: *sidearm in hand* We’re under attack. Defensive positions!
Sachs: *stands up, and turns around* I told you! *stiffens up, and falls to the floor*
Micro: Tell me, Agent Parsons, do they have psychology in your universe? *turns Sachs to his stomach* And did your psychologists ever come up with the idea of deflection?
Reese: *pointing the gun at her* Explain yourself.
Anaïs: *coming in from the back* He’s the traitor. We have proof. *holds the tranquilizer gun at Sasho* We don’t know anything about this guy, though.
Sasho: I didn’t do anything. *drops his own gun*
Reese: Everyone, drop your weapon. Micro, once you’re done tying him up, do the same to your partner, then Dreyer, and then yourself. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I detected your private channel during the stakeout. What did you say to Leonard?
Micro: I’ll explain everything, but only in a whisper...and you have to be naked.

Monday, September 18, 2023

Microstory 1976: Nuts or Chips

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Leonard: Did anyone follow you?
Ophelia: Yes. The Mississippian Militia is right behind me, as are all of this guy’s friends, and my sixth grade math teacher.
Leonard: Okay, good.
Ophelia: I know how to lose a tail...which I didn’t have. Nobody is looking for us.
Leonard: Yeah, I’m not seeing anything on the news, but I don’t know enough about this territory to say if that’s typical. This feels a bit like a police state.
Ophelia: Not really. It’s just that, as far as anyone is concerned, nothing happened in that apartment hallway yesterday. There’s a hole in the brick, but I doubt anyone’s gonna notice. Our team may have even literally covered it up by now.
Leonard: We have to get the hell out of this place, and back to the U.S.
Vogel: I can get us all someplace safe, and smuggle us out of the city.
Leonard and Ophelia: *simultaneously* Shut up.
Vogel: Look, you’re gonna have to trust me at some point. I know Mississippi, and I know Memphis. You both are obviously highly capable, but still untrained. Let me help.
Leonard: We can’t trust you. We weren’t in that hallway accidentally. We’ve been looking for you for over a week.
Vogel: I’m not surprised, but you haven’t asked me any questions, except for who shot at us, and why, so whatever you think I did, you’re obviously not certain I’m guilty.
Leonard: We’re certain enough. *to Ophelia* What did you get?
Ophelia: Mostly nuts and chips. There wasn’t a great selection at the inconvenience store. All of the sandwiches looked bad.
Leonard: *tosses Vogel a bag* I prefer nuts. Eat your chips in the bathtub. Turn on the sink faucet. My partner and I need to have a private conversation.
Vogel: *reluctantly heads for the bathroom*
Ophelia: The window?
Leonard: Doesn’t exist. *turns on the TV, and raises the volume*
Ophelia: What the hell are we gonna do?
Leonard: I may have an idea, but it’s risky. I can find us a guy.
Ophelia: You know someone? Aren’t you from, like, another planet, or something?
Leonard: Agent Altimari has contacts here. *points to the bathroom* She found him when the rest of us couldn’t, which made Reese suspicious, so she had to explain where she got the information. I have the name of her supplier here. It’s no guarantee. The last we heard, he was trying to get out of the state himself, so he may already be gone.
Ophelia: Worth a shot, I guess. We don’t have a lot of options. Who is this supplier, and do you have his phone number, or something?
Leonard: I have a dead drop location. Someone is gonna have to stay with our detainee while the other goes out. You got the burner phones too, right?
Ophelia: *tosses him one of them* You sure we can’t reach out to anyone else on the team? Not even Agent Parsons?
Leonard: It’s not that we can’t trust him. We can’t be sure he hasn’t been compromised in some other way, like a tapped phone. Now, how do you work this thing?

Friday, September 15, 2023

Microstory 1975: Team Head

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Investigator Blass: Sir, do you have a minute?
Myka: Sure. Agent Blass, right? What can I do for you?
Blass: Investigator, but just call me Blass. I have some sensitive information, and I’m not sure who I should share it with. I’m hopeful that you’re that person, but...
Myka: You need me to prove myself, which you never expected to ask of a superior.
Blass: Sir.
Myka: I’m not your superior, Agent. I’m just in charge of the building until Agent Parsons returns from assignment. Unfortunately, we have some bad timing, so I’ve had to cover, but I’m mostly only qualified to make sure there’s enough soap in the bathrooms, and pickles in the fridge.
Blass: I don’t like pickles sir, and we can’t wait for Subdirector Parsons.
Myka: Subdirector? Is that his new title?
Blass: He leads the subdepartment of a major government department, so yes.
Myka: I see. Go ahead and tell me what you need to get off your chest. If it turns out you can’t trust me, you probably wouldn’t have had much luck finding someone better. I’m not at the top, but I’m also an outsider, which means I don’t have any interest or experience in internal organizational politics.
Blass: That’s some interesting logic there. *hesitates still* We’ve been training for months. As soon as that first alien showed up in our world, the government started preparing for the second one, and a possible oncoming invasion. We were pulled from all relevant walks of life. We’ve got people with military backgrounds, law enforcement; we even have our own former parole officer, if you can believe it. She’s anxious to meet Supervisory Agent Miazga. As far as I know, I was the only one relocated from the ICC.
Myka: I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that one.
Blass: Internal Compliance Commission.
Myka: Oh.
Blass: While the others were training to fight, I was there to spy on them.
Myka: Did you find something?
Blass: I found someone. Only one, I believe, but it’s a big deal. He has ties to Russia, North Korea...and Mississippi.
Myka: *shaking her head* Don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.
Blass: I didn’t realize before, because we’ve been arriving at these headquarters in waves, but now that everyone else is accounted for, I was able to jump to two possible conclusions. Either the mole was caught by someone else, and extracted, or... 
Myka: Or he was already here. And now he’s out there.
Blass: Yes, there were rumors that someone was put on assignment early.
Myka: Thank you, Blass. I need to make a call. *dials on the computer*
Blass: Sir. *leaves*
Reese: *on the video screen* I can’t talk right now, Mykey. We’re operational. *into the radio* Shoot only on my command!
Myka: Don’t let him shoot anyone, Reese! He’s dirty!
Sachs: *fires rifle*

Thursday, September 14, 2023

Microstory 1974: Team Alpha

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
Micro: What do you think of these names? Team One? Team Prime? Team Alpha?
Anaïs: Not the most common practice. They usually just use colors, but I’ve heard of this technique before, to prevent anyone from feeling subordinate or inferior.
Micro: I think we all know who the B-team is here. We’re stuck at the second location.
Anaïs: I’m stuck at the second location. Parsons is still mad at me for being cagey about my past. You’re here, because I need a babysitter.
Micro: I would have been at the computer either way, poring over all this data, looking for anything that might help us catch this guy, and whoever he may be working for.
Anaïs: Do you want to be in the field?
Micro: It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I just think these equality names are funny. Being part of a group doesn’t mean that everyone is the same, and being equal doesn’t mean that either. It’s okay to just call it like it is. Someone ought to always be in charge.
Anaïs: Well, many would agree with you. Hold up, what is this?
Micro: What? *looking over at Anaïs’ screen* Let me check what it says here.
Anaïs: [...] Does that mean what I think it means?
Ophelia: *through the radio* Team Lead, this is Team One. We have eyes on the target. He’s heading upstairs.
Reese: *through the radio* Team One, this is Team Lead. Hold fast. [...] Team Prime, do you have a visual?
Sasho: *through the radio* Negative, Team Lead. We can’t see the front.
Reese: *through the radio* Okay, Team Alpha, go, go, go. Take him down at his door.
Anaïs: What do we do? We don’t have time to verify any of this?
Micro: Better safe than sorry. If we’re wrong, we have a better image of this guy now, so if he gets away today, we’ll get him again. Make the call.
Anaïs: You do it. Parsons may have told everyone not to trust me.
Micro: *into the radio* Team One, if you can hear me, male, clear your throat, and female, smack your lips. *the sounds come through* I’ve switched us to a private channel. When I give the word, tackle the suspect, and pull him to the floor. All three of you need to get to your stomachs, but not too soon.
Anaïs: Is this going to work?
Sasho: *through the radio* You’re clear, Prime A. You’re pointed right at ‘im.
Reese: *through the radio* Shoot only on my command.
Micro: *into the radio* Team One, DROP! NOW!
Sachs: *fires rifle*
Sasho: *through the radio* I lost visual! There’s too much dust!
Micro: *into the radio* Team One, we’re still on private. Please respond.
Ophelia: *through the radio* We’re here. We’re okay.
Micro: *into the radio* Apprehend the suspect, and run. Lose all trackable tech. Do not proceed to the agreed upon rendezvous point.
Leonard: *through the radio* What’s this about?
Anaïs: Are you gonna tell them?
Micro: That Sachs is a traitor? *into the radio* Wait for me at the Salmon Civic Center.

Friday, August 12, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 9, 2398

As planned, the six of them spend the entire day together, though Leona and Angela each have to take a few minutes every once in a while to confer with their employers. The latter is doing well in her new position. She expected at least one person from the office to sense that something was up, but everybody treats her like Marie, which is to say that some of them are nice and respectful, while others are misogynistic and hateful jerks. Leona is doing okay. She’s delivering her work on time, and the people at the top are pleased with it. They’re not asking questions, which is in everyone’s best interests. She’s trying not to be too preoccupied with her secret suspicions of Heath. She has a plan to drop tidbits of information to him to see whether outsiders catch wind of it. Then she’ll know that he can’t be trusted. That’s for later, though. For now, she just wants to think about the travelers. This won’t be the longest she’s ever parted from Mateo, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be easy.
At the end of the day, they retire to their respective rooms, the other four knowing full well that the Matics are about to spend one last night together. “What’s up?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me what’s going on with you. What are you feeling?”
She looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. “Give me your phone.” She takes it from him, and places it in the EMB bag, along with her own. Then she pulls out a bug scanner, and begins to wave it around the room.
Mateo sits on the bed, and waits patiently for her to finish. Once she does, he steps into the bathroom, and begins to fill the tub. He turns the water on high enough to make a lot of noise, but low enough to make it last. They sit on the edge of the tub to talk, and he drops into a whisper. “You can’t speak freely around the others?”
“Not around Heath,” she answers in an even lower whisper, “and by extension, not Marie either.”
“Yeah, I’m sensing a pattern. All the people we’ve met who have been given some information about us either aren’t too surprised by what they learn, or they have a connection to Heath. He’s even the one who first met Alyssa McIver. I mean, you and I both know that she’ll be a friend of ours in the future, but it’s still odd.”
“Yeah,” Leona agrees. “Plus, how did that forger know what I was planning? She was all ready with my new secret agent paraphernalia; it was just too perfect. I don’t know. He’s been so good to Marie, but maybe he’s been playing the long game.”
“I assume you have a plan?” Mateo figures.
“I have...the notion of the plan.”
“A baby plan. That’s what my father, Randall used to call it when we had something big to do, but didn’t really know how we were gonna do it. Sometimes we would plan something to the last minute, and sometimes we just sort of winged it. That worked out for us about half the time, I’d say.”
She smiles. “You don’t talk about your parents anymore.”
“You don’t either.”
She nods. “I guess it’s complicated. I have five parents, you share two of them with me, and then you have two more. Can anyone else relate to our bonkers family tree?”
“Yeah, but not in the same way, sis.”
“Oh, gross!” She’s laughing, though.
Mateo looks behind them at the rising water, which is about to start spilling into the drain. “I know we started this for the white noise, but we might as well take advantage. Wadya say?”
“We can’t do that, though,” she says in a cutesy voice. “You’re my adopted brother.”
He double palms his forehead, and tries to stifle the laughter. “Jesus! Now I see how weird it is, being on the other side of the joke.”
She pulls him into the water with her, clothes and all, like a romcom couple in the second act. “You don’t wanna roleplay?”

Thursday, March 12, 2020

Microstory 1319: Perfect

Homicide Detective: I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, Madam Grieving Mother. These questions are going to be really hard to hear, and even harder to answer. They are important, though. Please understand that I mean no disrespect to your daughter. I have to ask these to get a clear picture of who she was. I don’t care what mistakes she made in the past, or what things she was caught up in. I only care about catching the person who did this. Does that make sense?
Grieving Mother: I get it. And I know you’re expecting to find out she wasn’t as great of a person as people thought she was. She secretly did drugs, or she had a gambling problem, or a boyfriend convinced her to break into that museum. That wasn’t her, though. I know a lot of parents are delusional when it comes to their children, but she really was perfect. It was actually kind of annoying sometimes. Kids are supposed to mess up, and disappoint their parents, so when the parents mess up, they retain the moral high ground. She never gave us that luxury, though. When we screwed up, the whole family felt it, because she put forth a standard that no one else could have reached.
Homicide Detective: Okay. Well, that answers a lot of the questions I normally ask, but it doesn’t answer all of them. You’re right, TV shows like to depict flawed victims, because it makes for compelling storytelling. It often, though, detracts from the fact that the perpetrator is the one at fault here. Unless it was an assisted suicide, your daughter could never truly be at fault anyway, because everyone knows murder is wrong. So, I’ll focus our efforts on criminology for now. Can you think of anyone who had a problem with her.
Grieving Mother: No, everyone loved her, like I said.
Homicide Detective: You also said it could be annoying. Perhaps there’s someone out there who took unreasonable offense to her, not despite how good she was, but because of it. Maybe someone at work didn’t like all the praise or attention she got?
Grieving Mother: I see what you’re saying, but I can’t think of anyone. Though, I probably wouldn’t have heard about it if there was someone. You would have to speak with her colleagues about it, because she never would have complained to others. Not only was she a little too perfect, but she also thought everyone else was perfect. That was also a little annoying. I guess that was her one flaw; she could only see the good in people, which is, of course, unrealistic.
Homicide Detective: So, maybe she did associate with the wrong person, but she didn’t realize it until it was too late.
Grieving Mother: It’s possible.
Homicide Detective: Tell me about this break-in at the museum. What was stolen?
Grieving Mother: Oh, I don’t really know. It was a lot of different stuff, and I don’t think any single item was all that valuable. The police thought it was—not quite a crime of opportunity—but also not extremely well planned out. They missed some big ticket items, so they think the thieves were just grabbing what they could, and hoping to get lucky.
Homicide Detective: Did the detectives on that case have any reason to believe it was an inside job, or that your daughter knew anything she wasn’t saying?
Grieving Mother: Why would my daughter have covered up a crime?
Homicide Detective: If she knew who the thieves were, she might have been protecting them; urging them to do the right thing, and turn themselves in, but protecting them nonetheless.
Grieving Mother: That’s a fancy story you’re weaving. It assumes a lot that you can’t possibly know.
Homicide Detective: I’m just gathering a suspect list right now. I only need to prove what happened, not what didn’t.
Grieving Mother: Just...be careful with your accusations, okay?
Homicide Detective: I will. Say, that’s an interesting little elephant ornament you got there. My grandmother used to have just one like it. Funny enough, I think she found out it was worth something, and ended up donating it to the museum. They weren’t on display yet, though. They’ve just been sitting in storage for a couple years.
Grieving Mother: Oh, that’s interesting.
Homicide Detective: Yeah, she actually donated a few...other...umm. Where did you get that little wooden teapot? And those glass insulators? Wait.
Grieving Mother: Your grandmother was the thief! My mother spent years curating this collection! It belongs to us!
Homicide Detective: All right, turn around.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

The Advancement of Leona Matic: August 29, 2175

Paige agreed to let the two of them reenter the pocket dimensions, searching for Annora’s killer. Her only condition was that they start with pocket four, so they could check on Étude, and her parents. They were wanting to do that anyway, so it all worked out. Leona had to warn them that, though they were doing their best to recreate the conditions that led Leona to pocket three, there were no guarantees. In The Langoliers, the only reason the survivors survived was because they were all asleep when their plane flew through a time rift, as was Leona when she fell through hers. That was an unlikely requirement, but not outside the realm of possibility. What had happened to her could also have been nothing more than a fluke, and they were just wasting their time. Even so, it was worth try, so just before midnight, they squeezed into what was once the entrance to pocket four, and waiting for launch, knowing it might not work.
It worked. They suddenly found themselves on the lawn of pocket four. While solar cycles were generally considered irrelevant when flying on an interstellar ship, they were arbitrarily programmed into Annora’s worlds, in order to better simulate people’s circadian rhythms. And since everything in the world of salmon and choosers revolved around Kansas, it was also based on the central time zone, meaning it should have been nighttime. But like before, the sun was up, prompting people to start filing out of the housing units, looking for answers. The others were hesitant to approach. Even though they all recognized Leona and Serif, they must have been worried their arrival came with bad news. Of course, Saga and Camden had no such fears. They came right up, with six-year-old Étude in tow.
“We’ve guessed that Annora is dead,” Saga said, spot on.
“She is.”
“How did it happen?” Camden asked.
“Murder. We’re going around to the other dimensions, trying to find out who.”
Camden nodded. “The entrances were sealed off, but if you’ve found a way through, I would like to join you. I have quite a bit of experience with these kinds of things.”
“We would love that. Unfortunately, it’s not possible. We only have one emergency teleporter to get up back to the ship proper, and only we can travel to other pockets.”
He stood up straighter, not in disbelief, but deep in thought for a workaround to their problem. There wasn’t one, though.”
“At least take Étude with you,” Saga requested. “If there’s a killer somewhere, and you know they’re not on the ship itself, then that’s the safest place for her.”
“We both need to go back,” Serif said. “If one of us takes Étude, the other will have to stay behind.”
“That’s not the problem,” Leona said. “The teleporter could probably handle the mass of two smallish adults and one child. The problem is Hokusai has been trying to figure out how to reopen the entrances for years now.” She looked up and gestured towards the microworld in general. “Obviously she hasn’t yet. We don’t know when you would be able to see Étude again.”
“But she’ll be safe,” Camden argued.
Leona shook her head. “I can’t take another child from her parents,” Leona said, recalling the events surrounding Brooke’s life.
“But she’ll be safe,” Saga echoed Camden.
“If the killer’s here,” Serif assured them, “we’ll find them. We’ll take them back to the ship, and you’ll be safe. If they’re not, then you have nothing to worry about.”
“And what if there’s more than one killer, or there’s a secret army amongst this group?” Camden suggested. “What if not one of these people can be trusted, and they all just managed to lie their way onto this ship. If you’ll remember, they started out by taking our people hostage.”
“That was the leadership. Each and every one of these passengers has been vetted.”
“Lotta good that did,” Camden retorted. “Somebody here got past your research. At least one person is a killer.”
I conducted that research,” Saga turned the argument. “And I used every resource on Durus to do it. There’s no way we could have known this would happen.”
“And why not?” Camden oppugned. “Didn’t you ask any seers whether something like this would happen?”
“I did,” Saga said. “But the future is always changing. No one told me this would happen, or I wouldn’t have let it.” Now she turned the argument back, “please. I wanna raise my daughter, but not if it means watching her die.”
All this time, Étude remained speechless, and unmoved. As with every child Leona had met after all this began, she was precocious and jaded. Xearea, Brooke, Dar’cy, and now Étude; they all had to grow up too fast, and had complicated family situations. What struck her about this family was their openness. She probably would have sheltered her own daughter from this conversation, but it looked like these two were keeping nothing from Étude. Though she never spoke, she did have other ways of expressing her opinion, in particular her disapproval of a decision, which reportedly happened often. She didn’t seem bothered by this argument, though, and appeared on board with whatever they chose.
“I’ll tell you what,” Leona began. “Camden, there’s no reason you can’t help us with the investigation while we’re in this pocket. Your skills, and my Serif’s love of mystery novels combined means there’s no way we leave here without being certain the murderer is either not here now, or won’t be after the teleporter is next activated. Once we’re done talking with everyone, we’ll revisit the question of what to do with Étude. I don’t think we can reach a reasonable consensus until then. Deal?”
Camden and Saga conferred telepathically. “Agreed.”
“All right,” Leona said. “I’m with you, Agent Voss. Saga, you’ll go with Serif. Each pair should question each individual. Then we’ll compare notes; look for inconsistencies, and such.
After being told what had happened, the rest of the residents were in full agreement that they should get to turn the sun back off, and get the rest of the night’s sleep before answering any questions. Camden told his fellow investigators that the were better off interviewing them now. It’s harder to tell a lie when you’re tired, and didn’t expect to have to. He gave them a few other pointers, most of which were designed to exploit their subject’s weakness. Though every person was different, there were a few universal weaknesses. Everybody needed to eat, everybody needed to sleep, and everybody hated repeating themselves. He instructed them to ask the same question multiple times, under the guise of just trying to get a clear picture of what they remembered from that night, to see if their story changed. He also did warn them that it had now been two years since the murder. While the fact that the incident had resulted in the pockets being sealed off—which made the day a memorable one—worked in their favor, the time that passed since then increasingly muddied memories. The last pocket’s alibis will be the least reliable.
The three inexperienced and untrained interrogators came out of the interviews feeling good about what they had learned, which was nothing. There seemed to be no indication that anyone here had killed Annora, or felt any ill will towards anyone here. Camden, on the other hand, was not convinced, and appeared more stressed out than ever. While the resident technician was working on turning the midnight sun off, and getting back on schedule, the five of them huddled on the edge of the pocket world, to discuss their observations.
“It’s worse than I thought,” Camden said, mostly to Saga.
“I’ve not found that,” Saga said.
“No, you wouldn’t. It was subtle, but it was there. People are fine with the pocket being sealed off. They’re happy here, they have everything they need, and they’ve no interest in going anywhere else. Few of them had planned on leaving at all throughout the whole trip. Those that had are still cool with what’s happened, and are just happy no one else can come here.”
“Okay, that sounds good,” Serif said.
“It sounds good; it’s not good. There are some paramounts here, the combination of which puts this place in danger.”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Saga disputed. “We ran predictive combination models.”
“Yes, but you didn’t calculate children. Two have been born since we got here, and one got on board last minute. The latter can diagnose time powers.”
“Yeah, I remember him,” Saga said, “so what?”
“Well, he diagnosed the other two,” Camden replied. “One has the potential to expand the pocket’s scope. It could be infinitely large, once she’s old enough to learn how to use her power. The other goes hand in hand with that. He can create scions.” He looked at them like they were supposed to know what that meant in this context.
“He can have children?” Leona put forth. “So can a lot of people.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Camden continued. “He can take any two individuals—of any sex—and artificial generate offspring from them. And he can accelerate that offspring’s development. So as the girl is expanding the universe, the boy is adding people to it.”
“That sounds strange,” Serif agreed. “But bad? I dunno.”
“It could have serious repercussions for our universe,” Leona explained. “It could be kind of a this town ain’t big enough for the two of us thing. One could consume the other, likely the one that’s expanding the fastest, so goodbye us. They could both make each other pop. Or they could form a culture bent on our destruction, and ultimately cross back over to make war with us. We can’t just, like, let a whole new universe be created.”
“We also can’t stop them,” Serif pointed out.
“Maybe not,” Saga said, “but you can make good on your word, and get my daughter out of here.”
“Saga...” Leona started, having been dreading saying no to this request again, but believing strongly that she needed to.
“You said we would revisit the issue,” Saga reminded her. “That’s what we’re doing, and I think recent events have made the right choice quite clear.”
Leona was about to argue the point, but Serif stopped her. “We’ll do it.”
“Serif,” Leona scolded.
“We’re doing it,” Serif said to Leona. “Our job is to protect the Last Savior. This is how we do that.”
“We don’t know they have plans to make a new universe. They’re just babies.”
“That’s true,” Camden acknowledged, “but the whispers suggest it’s going to come to that. These people are trying to leave Durus, not go to Earth. They can build paradise here, and maybe a Savior would be a nice feature to have around in that paradise. We need to get her out now.”
“Very well,” Leona finally capitulated. “Well, if we’re gonna go, we should go now.”
“Great, I have her bag right here.”
“We’ll give you some time to say goodbye,” Serif told Étude’s parents.
“Are you sure about this?” Leona asked Serif once they had stepped off to the side.
“You said we could take a child with us.”
“I’m never a hundred percent sure of anything.”
“If it doesn’t work, I’ll stay.”
“Serif...”
“But it’ll work,” she said with confidence.
It didn’t work.
The three ladies held hands, trying to emergency teleport back to the cockpit of The Warren together. It felt like they were in a mosh pit, being pushed and shoved in a chaotic crowd of strangers. The teleporter wanted to take them away, but wasn’t able to, yet it kept trying. Serif gave her love one last look, then let go. Before Leona could do anything about it, she and Étude were gone.

Sunday, April 8, 2018

The Advancement of Leona Matic: August 28, 2174

The entire crew of The Warren was still in the ship proper when Annora Ubiña died, which acted to seal off all access to her pocket dimensions. Étude and Saga were expected to be have been in pocket four, which was where they lived, along with Camden Voss, and a group of passengers who posed the least amount of threat to them. Serif had gone into pocket three to explore, but everyone else was capable of still doing their jobs. They were heavy one of the passengers, though. A man named Thando Kovar requested special permission to work dirty jobs on the vessel, saying that he felt uncomfortable being taken back to Earth for free. They agreed to this, but at the moment, he was prime suspect for Annora’s murder, which they confirmed as such after Paige used her cybernetic upgrades to perform a brief autopsy. He was happy to remain locked in one of the cabins, realizing he was the only one they could not fully trust. Unfortunately, the culprit could be anyone. According to as much information as Paige could gather, it was fully possible that Annora was fatally wounded, but remained alive long enough for the killer to escape through one of the pocket entrances before they were closed. There would be no way for them to know, or so they thought.
Hokusai and Leona worked tirelessly for the rest of the day, trying to get back into the pockets, but they were impenetrable. No, it was more like they didn’t exist at all. They could be 99 percent sure that they were still open, and the residents inside were living fairly normal lives. Except for maybe the one that held the murderer. That one could be bad. And it could also be the one Serif was in, or the one where Camden, Saga, and their daughter were in. They absolutely needed to get in, but it was looking impossible. With a defeatist attitude, and a familiar feeling of fatigue that she long ago learned was an occupational hazard, Leona slumped at the once-entrance to pocket three, and fell asleep. Dimensional mechanics being what they were, she was not really closer to Serif than she would be on any other part of the ship, but it was as good as she was going to get. She dreamt of the future, several days from now, when the ship would land. Only then might they find a way to reopen the pocket dimensions, with the help of some salmon or choosing one.
Not long after midnight central hit, she was being woken up by a stranger. She struggled to open her eyes, blinded by the sunlight. She was lying on a beautiful green lawn, but could see buildings in the middle distance. “Are we there already?” she asked.
“No. You’re in pocket three. Have you been here this whole time?”
Wobbly Leona struggled to stand up. “No, I was in the ship. The pockets were sealed off. Hokusai must have figured out how to reopen them.”
“I don’t think that’s what happened,” the man said. “We’ve been stuck here for a year. And still are.”
“No, that’s impossible. I was out there. There’s no way to get in. We tried the whole day.”
“Just a day?” He tilted his lizard brain. “You’re that jumper. The one who only lives one day per year.”
“Yes. I’m sure the rest of the crew kept working on it since I left. Wait, you said this is pocket three?”
“Yeah?”
“I was at the entrance when I jumped. Is Serif here?”
At first, he didn’t seem to know who that was, but then remembered. “Oh yeah, the crew rep who was here. Well, she disappeared a year ago. Just like you. There are two of you, I didn’t know that.”
“Where exactly was she when she disappeared?” Leona asked.
“Leona!” she heard Serif’s voice call out to her from the direction of one of the housing units. She was already running towards her.
“Yeah, this isn’t a huge place,” the man said. “It doesn’t take long to find anyone.”
“Serif, you’re here!” Leona said happily.
“I am, what happened?”
“There was—” Leona hesitated, and looked over the man who had found her. This was not for his ears.
“Right...I’m gonna go fix the daytime simulator. I only found you because I came out to investigate why the sun turned on in the middle of the night.”
“What happened?” Serif repeated herself once the man was out of earshot.
“Annora’s dead. Murdered. The suspect is either our custodian, or someone in one of these pockets.”
“Oh my God. I guess that would explain how we got trapped.”
“Yes, but if I can get in, you can get out,” Leona said.
“What about the others?”
“It only works during our timejumps, and only when we’re close to the entrance. So we’ll camp out here for the day, and before midnight, we’ll go to the exit, and wait for it to happen again. We can’t save the others. They won’t fit, and I don’t know if that would work anyway.”
“Leona, you misunderstand. The exit isn’t blocked, or locked. It’s gone. It likely vanished at the same moment Annora died. There’s nowhere to go.” She pointed behind Leona. “You’re looking at a Mario Bros. wrap around. Walk in one direction for long enough, and you end up on the exact opposite side of the dimension. There is no escape.”
This was not good news, but then Leona reached for the gadget on her wrist. “My emergency teleporter. That might take us back to the bridge. Do you still have yours?”
“No,” Serif said. “I didn’t think I would need it here.”
“Well, they can take the mass of two standard adults. So that’s what we’ll do. Here, take my hand.”
Serif stepped back like she had seen a spider. “No, we can’t go.”
“I assure you, we can try.”
Serif balked. “If someone’s been murdered, someone is a murderer. Possibly more than one. That person—or those people—could be walking around free right now, ready to do it again. We have to stay here until we determine who it is.” She was unwavering.
“Serif, we’re not detectives. What’re we gonna do, interrogate people?”
“Damn right,” she replied. “We’re the only ones who can go to the other pockets. We have to exhaust all our options here before we do that.”
“The investigation could take six years.”
“A regrettable side effect,” Serif said of this dismissively.
Leona scoffed.
“Better six years than never. Will you be able to sleep at night, knowing we let a killer keep on killing, somewhere here. And what happens when we arrive on Earth? Will we let all the passengers go, thereby also letting said killer do what they want with a whole planet of victims?”
“Well, it’s nearly impossible to get away with murder on Earth these days.”
“You think that’s my point?” she cried. She calmed herself down without prompting. “We have one day to interview every one of the twenty-four people here. I say we get it done by eleven o’clock, try your emergency teleporter, and report back to the crew. Before midnight, we get to the next pocket entrance, and do it all over again. Then we do it as many times as it takes to solve this mystery.”
“Serif, I don’t care about these people. I only care about our people. We get back to the ship, grab a few extra teleporter bands, and go retrieve Étude and her family. That’s the best I can do.”
Serif was shaking her head. “That’s not good enough. There are children here.”
“Oh, don’t guilt trip me.”
“We have to help them,” Serif said, still steadfast. “It’s what we do, when we can. Right now, we can.”
The sun turned back off, and stars appeared, simulating the nighttime. Leona sighed. “If these people are half as tired as I am, they could do with some more sleep anyway. Did they give you a guestroom, or something?”
“They did. There are a few extra beds in each pocket. We’ll start talking to people in the morning.” She used airquotes for the final word.
Once morning came, Serif called everyone to the main common area, and explained the situation. There were a few gripes about privacy and this being a waste of time, but most of them were okay with being interrogated if it meant figuring out who was responsible for this. Overall, they were a fairly accommodating group, though they did express dissatisfaction with this means of investigation. It was rather difficult to explain that there was no other way. Only two people on the ship could travel to the pockets, and only at certain times, on certain days. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but as Serif was saying, it was the best they could do.
No one seemed particularly suspicious, and they couldn’t find any clear motive for any one of them to have committed this crime. Everyone could be accounted for during the time range for Annora’s death. The fact that all their suspects were being quarantined was a pretty nice feature for this situation. The killer likely believed that they got away with it, especially since so much time will have passed before anyone can show up to ask them about it. They will never see Leona and Serif coming, and will have hopefully let their guard down by the time they do. Yes, they could kill again by then; or worse, Leona and Serif could show up to the last pocket they investigate to find everybody massacred. So that wasn’t a great prospect. Perhaps when they went back to the ship, the rest of the crew would have some idea of how they could better handle this.
With an hour to spare before midnight, they entered into a tight embrace, and activated Leona’s teleporter. It worked. They were both back on the ship, much to Brooke’s surprise. “You two are late. Serif, I thought you were in one of the pockets.”
“I was,” Serif answered. “She was too. There’s a way for us to get in them. But only us, and we’re gonna need a few extra transporters.”
“Ouch,” Brooke said apologetically. “No can dosville, baby doll. Hokusai tore them apart, trying to get into the pockets. Apparently, they got real forked up. I don’t think they work anymore.”
“Dammit,” Leona said. “We were gonna use them to get Saga, Étude, and Camden out.”
“And to extradite whoever killed Annora, when we find them,” Serif added.
“Wait, you’re going back in to, what, investigate?”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Leona said with betrayal.
“You got a better idea?”
“Eh, you do you, sister.” She turned back to her controls. “My only job is to run this ship. If you wanna go back in, you best have a talk with the captain.”
“A talk about what?” Paige asked, demonstrating her almost irritating knack for showing up in doorways, acting as if she hadn’t heard the whole conversation with her enhanced ears.
Serif sighed. “About the safety of our passengers.”