Serial - Part 4 (OC)

Serial (Part 4 – The Lesson)

The sky shuttle slid from the ground soundlessly as Vigari maneuvered it into a clear lane and punched in the course for the home of the victim. Or rather, he corrected, victims. He had run the second head’s face through the Live Mind’s identification algorithms and gotten a name. Her name had been Girol, the male’s name had been Jal, a mated paid living in the Cozo block. Setting the shuttle into auto-pilot he removed his tablet and brought up the images he had taken from the scene, the last one displaying the grotesque stitch job that had forever bound the two Theolisian’s together. The image was enough to make Vigari shudder. Inter-species homicide wasn’t as rare as the Consortium would have its populace believe. Vigari had seen it before, worked with it, been up to his elbows in it. But there was something… off about this one. Usually when one got up to kill another it was all fire and blood. A clear line of reason from cause to effect, even if the cause was simply that a Renjaw happened to not like the look of a Norviegi’s face and tore them to pieces. This, however, spoke of intent and a black, seething malice.

“Why stitch them together like this?” he asked, glancing sidelong at Jackson.

The human Inquisitor was busy at work on his own tablet, familiarizing himself with the Live Mind interfaces. When he didn’t immediately respond Vigari frowned, “Is it a human custom?”

At that Jackson did perk up although he didn’t lift his eyes from the tablet, “If,” he said, “If the killer is human. And no, not really.” Jackson tapped something then grinned as his screen flooded with the analytic data the Live Mind had assembled of the murder scene.

For half a moment Vigari was tempted to slap the tablet away from Jackson. How could it not be a human? Even without the toe-prints, if such a thing even existed, the indentations in the dirt had been compared to those left by every member species and only returned a single match. Then there was also the message to consider. Lawrence was right, the human tongue was available to every member of the Consortium but why would anyone go to the trouble of leaving a message on their murder victim which was in a language that was exceedingly obscure as far as the galactic community went. The only viable motive would be to frame a human but then for what purpose? Humanity was small, a refugee species that had just barely escaped total annihilation. They had no valuable lands, no great wealth and hadn’t done much in their two years on Keleshia but breed and build. But, Vigari thought, it was likely best not to press the issue. Jackson was just defending his own. He had spent most of his life acting as shepherd to a flock that had now been unleashed into an unfamiliar forest. He was scared, even if he wouldn’t show it behind that smart ass grin. Jackson would come around, Vigari knew, he was smarter than he looked.

“Alright,” Vigari began again, “So if a human did this, why?”

Jackson looked up from the data pad, “Are you asking me why humans murder? Well shit, not sure where to begin.”

The Em were, by nature, not an aggressive species. Aggression could be taught, as it had been so for Vigari, but they took their sustenance from water and light. Such was not the case for humanity. Vigari was passingly familiar with humanity’s history. It had been stored on the refugee ship that had brought them through the endless dark to Keleshia and since translated and uploaded into Consortium data banks. Humanity, it seemed to Vigari, had a long history of murder for a great number of reasons. For duty, for country, even for love but those were wars. This was something different. “No,” he said, tapping his finger onto his tablet from which Jal’s dead eyes and morbid grin leered, “Why kill like this? Why stage them?”

Jackson let out a long sigh and set his data pad down. He stared out the front window for a long moment, watching the dark fields bleed into a glimmering urban sprawl on the ground below. “I think there are three basic types of killers,” he finally said. “The first commit crimes of passion. Tempers get too hot, mistakes are made and someone ends up dead. These ones are easy. Hell half the time the killer surrenders moment you get to talking to them, so twisted up by what they’ve done or just too crazy to cover their tracks. Second, kills out of necessity. The killer needs something from the victim or needs to silence them. The murders clinical, detached, just part of a larger goal. These ones are harder to solve because the killer is thinking, planning, trying to work against us. The third...” he trailed off, looking between his data pad and the world outside.

“The third?” Vigari pressed.

Jackson sighed and gave Vigari a halfhearted shrug, “The third is rare. I’ve never seen it and neither did my dad. The third kind is a serial killer. They might kill because of passion or because of necessity but those are just justifications to enable something… broken. Some come from bad backgrounds, sure, but not as many as you would think. Some are like normal people, going about their lives until something inside them twists the wrong way and they carve up a teenager with a steak knife. They kill because they want to, need to. Like it’s the only way they can feel a connection, ya know? Most are smart too, which makes finding them next to impossible until they kill long enough to establish a pattern or make a mistake. See, to this third kind its more than murder, its… art.”

A shadow passed over Jackson’s face and it felt to Vigari as if a chill had entered the cabin. He shivered, his sinuous flesh rippling constricting nervously. “And these third killers… Is that what did this?” Despite himself Vigari found he dreaded Jackson’s answer. It was clearly a myth, his rational brain demanded. Some human boogie-man created to scare their children. What species could possibly survive long enough to reach the stars with so many horrors lurking in their subconscious? He wanted the human to laugh, to be leading Vigari on but instead Jackson just shrugged and held up two fingers.

“Two murders. One crime scene. Serial killers are defined by repeated acts. So I figure, get a few more bodies and we will talk.”

---

The home of the victims was built in traditional Theolisian style. Located on the western edge of the Caza block it appeared to be made of a black stone, smooth as glass and arranged in three inter-connected black, thirty-five foot spires. As a rule Theolisian’s built up rather than out and Vigari couldn’t help but feel dwarfed as they passed through the entry portal and into the cavernous foyer of the central spire.

The Keleshi peace keepers peered in behind them, chattering to each other too low for Vigari to hear. Likely speaking they were talking crap about the Inquisitors, or rather, Inquisitor. Jackson, while he may have the badge, had yet to receive his official indoctrination and hence didn’t wear the red coat. On most Consortium worlds the coat meant a hell of a lot more than the badge. Vigari could only imagine the complaint letters that would be streaming into his tablet by dawn from do good peace keepers who thought he was bringing a civilian to a crime scene even they weren’t allowed to touch.

Vigari tapped his tablet and brought up the schematics of the home. Three towers, two floors per tower. “We should split up,” he concluded, signaling towards the steep black rock staircase which curved around the bowl shape of the room. “You check upstairs, I’ll check down here. Make sure you record everything on your tablet and upload it to the Live Mind.”

As if to demonstrate Vigari tapped a small button on the side of his own tablet to produce a thin black stick, its end capped with a glossy eyed lens. He then tapped the stick to his temple and felt it adhere. On his screen a live feed from the camera displayed.

Jackson groaned, “Yes, mother,” he said, removing and attaching his own camera. “You sure you don’t want the upstairs?”

Vigari eyed the stairs, each as tall as his chest, and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to give Jackson the delightful sight of him struggling to maneuver up the steep Theolisian staircase on his stunted legs. “You go ahead. Have fun. Be home by sun up,”

The human went, vaulting up the large steps with alarming alacrity. Now alone in the foyer Vigari let out a long breath. It was hard not showing how unnerving this all was. If the murder scene hadn’t been enough the fact that it had scared high command enough into instating Jackson had spun this night into the long and dreadful territory. That was by no fault of Jackson’s of course. The kid, a man by human standards, had good instincts. Vigari had wanted him to be an Inquisitor the moment they met but there was something wrong here. Here he was, sickened and Jackson seemed almost buoyant, happy even. Was this the natural human response to carnage? Vigari shook the feeling off. There would be time for that later. Once he had had a chance to process the evening’s events. Likely speaking Jackson was just happy to be in the field, nothing more.

The first room seemed to be combination kitchen and dining area although the bulk of the Theolisian’s diet was raw vegetation, which grew in abundance from wall mounted hydroponic gardens. He spent a time sweeping every corner with the Live Mind’s black eye before moving along. The next chamber was bare tile save for a circular inset in the floor which appeared to be filled with a dark black mud although Vigari could only guess at its use. The area surrounding the pit was scuffed by mud streaks left from several pairs of feet, a few which looked a bit human in Vigari’s opinion. He documented everything, moving with practiced precision from mark to mark. He was just about to move along to the final chamber when a heavy hand clasped down on his shoulder.

Vigari reacted on instinct, twisting his body and tucking down into a roll. He rose as he drew out the black metal Hound, his finger coiled around the trigger as it thrummed to life.

Jackson held his hands up, eyes wide with an increasingly nervous smile frozen on his face. “Whoa,” he said, “You can really move. Don’t shoot man, I’m unarmed.”

Vigari took a deep breath, then another before slowly lowering the Hound and tucking it back into the holster in the small of his back. “You snuck up on me,” he said.

“No I walked up behind you. You alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” Vigari lied, “Did you find anything?

The human hitched a thumb up over his shoulder, “Found the rest of Mrs. Dinosaur, if you wanna see.”

---

The corpse had been discarded where she died, atop the bed of living ferns that her and her husband had slept in. Her corpse was intact save for the missing head and a single stab wound in her lower abdomen.

“She died quick,” Vigari supplied, circling the corpse to ensure full coverage for the Live Mind’s eye. “Puncture mark lines up with the tertiary brain stem. She would have entered a coma and suffocated almost immediately.”

Jackson had knelt beside the dead Theolisian. Donning a pair of gloves he reached forward and pried open the wound, ignoring Vigari’s small cry of protest. “Means she wasn't the primary target. Wound is deep,” he said, “Clean too. Live Mind match the wound to a weapon?”

Ignoring the black disgust that was welling up inside his chest Vigari pulled out his tablet and opened the Live Mind interface as his screen began to populate with its analysis of the late Mrs. Dinosaur. “Live Mind states the weapon was something metal and thin. Not matching anything in its data-banks so likely something improvised. Maybe a pipe?”

“There are rust flakes in the wound,” Jackson reported, his own feed of the wounds interior updating the Live Mind’s analysis before he could even say the words. “Pipe could be on the money but…” he touched the dead Theolisian’s skin. “How the hell did the killer get through this?”

“Through what?” Vigari asked.

“The skin,” Jackson turned to face him, “Her hide is at least half an inch thick and tough. No human could have planted it that deep on one stroke. The wound is one clean stab so he couldn’t have spent time working it in there and even if he had why didn’t the husband wake up and save her?”

Vigari furrowed his brow, again glancing at the screen, “It may have been launched?” he suggested, “Maybe compressed air?”

“Then why the rust?” Jackson said, “That doesn’t equate. What gun is shooting rusty poles?”

Vigari watched as the Live Mind began to run diagnostics on the homes internal computer, searching for any missing piping. “Then maybe they were on some kind of strength enhancer. Also,” he said, turning the tablet to face Lawrence with a perhaps slightly smug grin, “analysis is done of the mud room downstairs. Human footprints of the same size and weight distribution as those found at the first murder scene. Human had to be the killer.”

Jackson rose, shaking his head, “No, no that doesn’t make sense. How the hell could he have done it. And for that matter, where is the murder weapon? There is no blood spray. Had he pulled it out she would have bled everywhere but look,” he gestured to the room around him, “Nothing. Maybe it’s wrong,” he said, gesturing to the tablet in Vigari’s hand.

“It’s not wrong,” Vigari said, a scowl mounting to replace his grin. “The killer likely cleaned the scene. We should wait for the analysis to be completed. Jackson, maybe you had best begin to accept that this was one of your people.”

“Why?” Jackson asked, “Because the cyber nanny says so? Vigari look at the evidence.”

Vigari scowled. It was one thing to have good instincts and an entirely different matter to assume that one knew better than the combined intellect of five hundred thousand sentient minds. Vigari held the tablet up, like a talisman, “The Live Mind’s evidence is concrete and absolute. Maybe the perpetrator was on some kind of drug to enhance his physical capabilities and if so we will find out. But we will get nowhere if you insist on contradicting the Live Mind every chance you get. It is the backbone of our work and the heart of our order. That is, if you still plan on joining our order. Because if so you would do well to trust our tools a little more, don’t you think?” Vigari was surprised to hear how much venom had crept into his voice. Long night, he reasoned as he tried to temper himself, “Jackson. I know you have been out of it for a while. Rust is… inevitable. But the order needs you at your best. This is the first inter-species crime involving humanity since your induction into the Consortium and your people will need to see you at the head of this. There is no need to show off. We will catch whoever did this and we will do it with the tools that have been given to us, not wild speculation. Clear?”

For half a heartbeat Vigari was sure Jackson would argue but he didn’t. Instead he stared sidelong at the second corpse of the evening, hands tucked into his pockets with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, sure,” he said, “But I still say this isn’t making sense.”

Vigari strode forward and clasped Jackson on the small of the back, “It’s been a long night for you. Why don’t we let the Keleshi have the scene. The Live Mind will be processing all of this for a few hours anyways and come morning we can look at this with fresh eyes. Besides,” he reached up and tapped Jackson on his new, bronze badge, “I think we need to see about getting you a matching coat.”

---

Link to Part 3

Link to Part 5