The Odd Case of Ms. Squid
Chapter Two
The Odd Case of Ms. Squid deepens as more people get involved and new perspectives are considered. Everyone has life issues to bring to the investigation, which may lead to new mysteries. Will Newearth ever be the same?
Autumn was the best time to visit Cerulean’s cabin in northern Aram County. Bala loved to see the bright red, orange, and yellow leaves cascading from trees against the backdrop of green pines, blue sky, and golden, harvested fields. He rubbed his hands together, warming them from the morning chill as he climbed the winding, steep ascent and watched his footing. Never did pave the path like Clare wanted, though the mulch is a nice touch.
A frightened gray squirrel froze on the path, then swished its tail in warning, and chittered as it dashed up a matriarchal oak tree.
His heart nearly pounding out of his chest, Bala stared at the small creature as it scurried away. It’s not—but for a second it almost looked— He shook himself. I need to get over that. A sad head shake as he realized once again that he missed the sentient animals that Clare’s son, Relevance, had bred in LEAP Laboratories—an experiment that had gone so wrong, it was now a watchword for scientists across the universe. Dear Squire’s twitching whiskers and inquisitive eyes—far too intelligent for an ordinary squirrel—had enchanted him the first time they met. Not so far from here…
Footsteps pounded down the incline, and suddenly a muscular, very human-looking android, Max, came into view. A handsome figure, Max’s awakening to his humanity only increased his attractiveness. More than one person had fallen under the spell of his mesmerizing eyes. Max skidded to a stop as sticks and pebbles rolled under his feet.
“Oh, there you are! Cerulean asked me to find you. Thought maybe you’d gotten stuck in a briar patch.”
Jutting his chin forward and realizing that he had taken a rather lackadaisical pace, Bala hurried forward. “I’m not Clare! I know how to handle myself in the wilderness.”
Max stepped aside and let Bala pound past without comment.
By the time he reached Cerulean’s porch, Bala was out of breath and a little annoyed. Max hadn’t said anything but his occasional arm tug to keep Bala going when his energy flagged reminded him all too clearly that Max had the strength and endurance of a hundred men and would probably outlive his grandchildren—if Bala ever had any grandchildren.
Then he remembered Zara, Max’s adopted daughter, her gravesite not far from the docking bay where Max and his android wife, Justine, worked. All annoyance draining away, Bala took a deep breath, plastered on a cheerful smile, and rapped on the kitchen doorframe. “Open up in the name of the law!”
Cerulean snapped open the screen door, covered a smirk with a formal bow, and swept his guests inside. “Come in, lawman.”
Despite the fact that Cerulean, as a Luxonian light being, was ageless, his human physiology had changed over the years, reflecting an inner maturing that few could comprehend. Bala twirled a finger in the vicinity of Cerulean’s hair. “Like the touch of gray and the shoulder-length hints at your OldEarth history, only adding to your mysterious image.”
His steps precise and unwearied, Max strode forward, swiveled in the middle of the kitchen, and appraised Cerulean with a critical expression. “I didn’t like to comment earlier, but I agree. Your new look rather matches early nineteenth-century literature descriptions of a heroic figure.” He tilted his head. “You might even be considered a buck, though never a dandy.”
A long stare through brilliant blue eyes, and Cerulean’s demeanor cooled. Dressed in a tan woolen sweater and heavy work pants and boots, his sixty-something physiology approximated the age he felt he would be if he had been born human. Instead, he had been “gifted” with his human nature by an extraordinary alien, Abbas, who thought he deserved as much, in consideration of the service he had rendered the human race for centuries. His Luxonian light nature still intact, though altered in unexpected ways, meant that Cerulean was the nearest thing Newearth had to a guardian angel. He flicked his hand toward his OldEarth stove and spoke in a clipped baritone. “Want some tea?”
Bala flopped down on a stool at the counter, sniffed for any hint of baked goods, and offered a hopeful smile. “Sure! Anything to recharge my batteries. That trail gets longer every time I take it.”
After a sympathetic glance at Max, Cerulean grabbed the kettle off the stovetop and filled it in the porcelain sink.
No instructions needed, Max flipped open a cabinet, found the dishes he was looking for, and carefully arranged three teacups and saucers on the counter.
His stomach starting to dance, Bala had to refrain from asking if there were any donuts around the place.
Apparently reading his mind, if not the grumbles coming from Bala’s stomach, Cerulean pulled a warm plate of muffins from the oven. “Pumpkin spice.”
Sincerely grateful, Bala clasped his hands in prayer mode. Thank you, Lord!
While trying not to burn his fingers or his lips as he partook of the generous offerings, he filled his friends in on the odd case of Ms. Squid. From the corner of his eye, he distractedly followed a spider as it spun an ornate web in the corner of the ceiling.
Max leaned against the counter, his arms folded over his chest, an impassive expression on his face, while Cerulean took a seat at the long wooden table in the open dining room and chewed thoughtfully, alternating with sips of steaming turmeric-ginger tea.
Once his explanation was complete, Bala dusted his hands free of the crumbs from three muffins, drained the dregs from his second cup of tea, and waited impatiently for a verdict.
Having mastered the eye-roll, Max was now perfecting the side-long glance. He seemed to be waiting for Cerulean to make the first move.
Cerulean wiped his mouth with a napkin and then set it aside with studious care. “Well, I haven’t a clue what this means. I was just home on Lux, as you well know, and the situation there is as grave as ever. The Supreme Council is in conflict over a planet that has every sign of a cancerous disease, which will likely destroy the native population.”
His brows furrowed to express the perfect degree of concerned perplexity; Max stared at Cerulean. “As the managers of the Newearth Docking Bay, Justine and I should have been made aware of any threats in the area.”
With a shrug, Cerulean hefted that concern from his shoulders. “They aren’t a threat to Newearth, or Lux either for that matter. They are simply a primitive civilization doomed to an early demise. It happens.”
Squinting, Bala appraised his friend. “That’s rather callous. Not like your usual sensitive—”
Slapping his hands together, Cerulean’s expression hardened. “We can’t save them all!” Regaining his composure, he met Bala’s gaze head-on. “I wish we could.” He climbed to his feet and carried his cup and plate to the sink. “So, this Ms. Squid was an artist? What else do you know about her?”
Max broke in with a new thought. “Was she even human?”
His digestive system now insisting on a nap, Bala sagged. “As far as every test we administered showed, she’s as human as—” He appraised his two companions. “Well, as I am. She just happens to be missing a brain.” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine where it went. Or how it went. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Filling the sink with sudsy water and sounding as beleaguered as Bala had ever heard him, Cerulean offered his only suggestion. “Omega might know something.”
With the sound of booted feet hitting the floor, a male figure dressed in daringly tight blue pants and a red plaid shirt appeared to fall from the ceiling—just where the spider had been—and landed in a statuesque pose with legs planted firmly apart and arms upraised. “Here I am!”
It took Bala a moment to stop screaming.
Max jumped forward, automatically in a defensive posture.
Cerulean rinsed his teacup and filled the kettle again.
Omega’s smile beamed rays of happiness. “No need to fill me in. I heard everything.”
Not sure what part of his anatomy would revolt next, Bala opted to lie down on the floral couch in the living room. “Go on and decide what to do. I’m just going to lie here and keep the muffins and tea from making a reappearance.”
It only took a couple of minutes for fresh tea to be brewed and the muffin plate nudged in Omega’s direction.
In deference to his host, Omega slurped the tea and swallowed a muffin in rapid succession and declared them very good.
Then everyone assembled in the living room so they could have a nice chat.
Hurriedly, Bala sat up and dropped his legs to the floor before Max accidentally sat on him.
With his datapad in hand, Cerulean finished sending a message, then situated himself on his favorite plush armchair.
Omega paced before the bay window overlooking the woodlands, morning light slanting across his golden hair and chiseled face. As a member of the Eternals, Omega—one of the greatest beings ever to grace Newearth with his presence—could appear in any form he wanted. Like Cerulean, he had the option of choosing his physical appearance. Unlike Cerulean, he had once been held captive and endured suffering that had changed him to the core. Regaining a semblance of his former happy-go-lucky personality was neither an option nor a desire. Though he did enjoy a surprise—when it wasn’t on him.
Omega plucked his bottom lip. “Unlike my last disturbing case, I do not believe that Ms. Squid was the victim of a malicious crime.”
Leaning back, his legs sprawled forward, and his eyes half-closed, Bala lifted a weak hand. “If having your brain taken out of your head isn’t malicious, I’m not sure what is.”
A thought bubble practically popping over his head, Omega looked every inch the man on the verge of a brilliant idea.
Interrupting, Max leaned forward. “How about if she never had a brain!”
If Omega’s eyes had been shooting lasers rather than an irate stare, Max wouldn’t have survived long enough to hear heels clicking into the kitchen.
Calling out, Max’s android-human wife, Justine, stepped into view. “I was already on my way when you messaged, Cer—” Dressed in a form-fitting black outfit that followed every curve of her body and wearing heels that would make a stork blanch, Justine’s eyes flashed as she smacked her hands on her hips. “Having a little get-together, are we?”
Max leaped across the room and exuded the chastened husband persona. “I was going to let you know as soon as I returned. I just wanted to get the facts straight. And besides”—he lowered his voice— “you know how Bala can be…”
With a warm smile, Justine locked her gaze onto Bala, who returned it with a grin of his own as he shoved himself to an upright position.
“Yes. I know how Bala can be.” Justine glanced at the teapot on the counter and the empty cups on the coffee table. “I’ll get my own, no worries.” She glanced over her shoulder at Cerulean. “Anything to eat?”
Cerulean waved to the plate with two muffins and a scattering of crumbs resting on the counter.
Once she was primly settled on the couch, forcing Bala and Max to straighten up, Justine devoured her snack and listened to an abbreviated version of the case. Then she wiped her fingers daintily and started to give orders. “Interesting case. Let’s get organized.” She eyed the human on her right. “Bala, you follow up with her family. Despite what her neighbor said, art couldn’t have been her only interest in life.” Then she landed her gaze on Cerulean. “The woman needed money to live. That part of town isn’t exactly a Bhuaci High-rise, but it’s nice enough to cost more than most artists make. What was she? A teacher?”
Bala waved his hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. “Yes, she taught at a local university. Not full time, only three days a week. But she also worked for a charity in the Ingot district.” He scowled. “Don’t see what she got out of it. The Ingots aren’t big into painting or fabrics. Those were her specialties—fabric art, like embroidering, crocheting, tapestries, and painting various kinds of cloth, including clothing.”
As if aiming a dustbuster, Justine pointed at the Luxonian. “Perfect for you, Cerulean. Look into her professional connections. You might even see if the Amens know of her. They’re the kind that would, being all OldEarth native and natural the way they are.”
His brows at their peak, Cerulean didn’t bother to argue.
Everyone knew where arguing with Justine got them.
No need to look at her husband to order him around, Justine paraded through her to-do list. “Max, you look into her church.” Justine returned an appraising stare at Bala. “I’m assuming she was spiritual…or something.”
Bala nodded empathically. “Very, in fact—”
Justine wasn’t in the mood for details. “Good. Max, you go to her church and friend gatherings—whatever—and find out what you can about her beliefs, who she spent time with. Maybe she had alien connections we don’t know about.” She squinted. “I wish Faye were here; she’d know…” Raising her hand, she erased that idea. “No. She and Taug are dealing with some things.”
Rising to her feet, Justine seemed ready to wrap up the meeting. “I’ll check into similar cases and see what I can learn. Perhaps this isn’t the only—”
Bala raised his hand again. “It isn’t. So far, I discovered eight recorded cases in the history of humanity, OldEarth and Newearth, where a person was found dead with his or her brain missing, and in each case, the matter was left unresolved. The OldEarth records are incomplete, of course. There could’ve been other cases where the authorities simply didn’t realize the cause of death or were too frightened to investigate.”
Appearing slightly downcast, Omega stood before the bay window, rubbing his chin meditatively. “Strange that I never heard of it. I like the bizarre and unusual. I would have remembered hearing about something like this.”
Justine stepped up to the alien who had created her and sent her to Newearth as an innocent in an experiment of his own, only to discover his cruelty too late. “Since you are learning wisdom faster than any of us, we will reconvene next week and share everything we’ve learned. And you, Father, shall help us understand what is happening.”
Though androids could not cry, Justine could draw forth tears from others. Omega’s eyes swam in the light of her trust. “You expect great things from me.”
Her face stoic, as a woman who had endured the loss of her only child, Justine kept her voice low and even. “As I should.”
Fighting off painful memories, Bala climbed to his feet and forced a cheerful tone. “Well, I wanted help. Now, I’ve got the best.”
Rising to his feet, Max appraised the group. “Let’s see where this case takes us. Right now, the Docking Bay needs its managers.” With that, he clasped Justine’s hand, and they marched back into the kitchen and then out the door.
Omega plopped down on a stool at the counter. “Any chance for another cup of tea, Cerulean?”
Cerulean nodded.
Flapping his arms like a flightless bird, Bala headed to the door. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. But now, I’d better get home and see if Kendra is still talking to me. I told the kids we would host a family reunion at the end of autumn.”
Cerulean tipped his head. “You forgot to ask your wife?”
“Oh, I asked, but she said no. She’s helping out at the Healing Center and doesn’t think she has time for it.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“That’s what I was trying to figure out on my morning run when I was sent to solve this case.”
“Two mysteries, eh?”
Bala sighed as he opened the screen door. “Life is one mystery after another. I’ll never get them all solved.” He stepped onto the porch and into the bright autumn day. Then, he hurried down the steps and onto the wooded path, the voices of his friends playing in his mind and rejuvenating his heart.
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