Serial - Part 7 (OC)

Serial (Part 7 – Strike Two)

It had been two days since Jackson’s induction into the order, three since the Theolisian interpreter and his mate were butchered. In that time Jackson had seldom left the cramped cell they had given him as a work space, lodged in the far corner of the second sub-basement of the Citadel. In front of him the Live Mind analyses of the two murder scenes was projected on the tilted glass surface of his desk. His eyes were burning and he had a powerful urge to smoke despite the fact that the last cigarettes in the galaxy had been used up when he was still a child. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone home to sleep. Maybe last night, or the night before, but it was hard to tell when the nearest window to the outside world was sixty feet above his head.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes, taking an internal stock. He was tired and hungry, worse, he was stuck. He had poured over every inch of the available data and come up with precisely dick. No useful forensic data, no murder weapon and no suspects. Vigari had interviewed more than thirty of Jal’s co-workers at the Monument complex and by all reports Jal had been amiable. Maybe a little quiet, but that was usual for Theolisian’s. The fact that the murderer had chosen to abduct Jal before execution implied he was the primary target, Girol just collateral. So why him? Not for the first time Jackson found himself wishing Vigari was here. There was a thought lodged somewhere in his head, something he had yet to be able to name. He needed to talk to someone, to shake it loose. Back on the ship he had had Miller to bounce ideas off of but now all he had was Vigari, who was off dealing with an Em smuggler who had been caught in low orbit near Limera, and the damn Live Mind.

Jackson minimized the analytics with a wave of his hand and opened the Live Mind interface. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for but when he saw an option labeled, “Voice Interface” he hit it. When nothing happened he hit it again, “What the hell?” he whispered.

“Hello Inquisitor Lawrence,” a voice boomed, loud enough to damn near startle him out of his seat. He found the volume toggle and slid it down, one pinkie jammed in his ear as if it would stop the ringing.

“Hello?” he called, almost shouting. “Who is this?”

The voice returned, “This is the Live Mind voice interface.” The voice was without gender or inflection, speaking in a flat, toneless Kelesh.

“What is this for?” he asked.

There was a pause and then, “The Live Mind voice interface provides a mode of access to Live Mind systems for member species lacking in traditional visual apparatuses. How may I be of assistance, Inquisitor Lawrence?”

Jackson frowned. It was just a seeing eye dog. He moved to turn it off but paused. It wasn’t Miller or Vigari, sure, but it was a voice. And that voice was hooked into the most powerful analytical engine in the known universe. He brought the case files back up to their normal size and leaned back in the chair.

“Work through this with me,” he said. “So we know someone broke into the victim’s home at some point the night of the murders. They kill drug Jal and kill Girol or kill Girol then drug Jal. One blow, precisely aimed to hit an auxiliary brain stem about as big as my thumb and buried under a foot and a half of flesh and bone.”

“Correct,” the Live Mind responded, “Wound analysis concludes the no hesitation marks or auxiliary wounds consistent with multiple jabs or a prolonged insertion effort.”

Jackson closed his eyes, picturing the headless corpse of Mrs. Dinosaur as he had discovered her. “Right. And to do that the killer would have had to punch through half an inch of tough hide, muscles and a two inch thick plate of bone. How much force does that take?”

“Variable. Depending on the weapon used and the means of propulsion, please clarify.”

“By hand,” he said, thinking back on the rust flakes in the wound.

“With a controlled stab the attacker would need to exert 6,000 to 12,000 newton’s of force, depending on conditions.” It used the word newton’s, uttered in a passable Humana. No doubt, the word had been picked up from the data banks aboard the Hermes.

Jackson let out a long breath, “So it isn’t impossible. Boxers can generate about five thousand with a closed fist. With a long enough piece of pipe as a spear they might be able to get those numbers. Ok, so. Killer comes in, kills the wife and pumps Jal full of a plant extract.”

“Sentak Root,” the Live Mind provided, “Native to the Theolisian home world. Interaction with Theolisian physiology can trigger a temporary fugue state. Commonly sold in illegal markets as a sleep aid or prophylactic.”

And, Jackson added mentally, those who were on it were incredibly suggestable. “So he marches Jal out of there. Risks moving him three hundred miles away to a ruin in the Zerha district where he ties him up and waits for the drug to pass before they cut him to pieces with some kind of rough edged blade.”

“Toxicological analysis of the victim’s blood supports this assessment. Blood spray patterns also concluded that the murder weapon was likely mechanized. Wounds further indicate the victim was most likely alive for the first seventeen cuts.” The Live Mind provided.

“So… why? Why risk bringing him all that way. Why kidnap him and let the drug pass just to kill him slow?”

“Perhaps it was a political killing,” The Live Mind said, “The proximity to the Zerha residential zone indicates the killer wished to send a message to its human residents. The victim’s work within the Consortium lends credence to this assessment.”

Jackson had to admit it was possible, likely even. The location, the message on the wall, the choice in victim, it added up. Maybe it was even a call to action by Kyle Creed and his little gang, but Jackson doubted it. Creed was violent but he was also a coward. But, he considered, maybe a member of his flock wasn’t. Maybe a member of his flock bought into Creed’s bullshit and was crazy enough to act on it.

Jackson chewed on the tip of his tongue. “No,” he said, “No let’s hold onto that idea. We don’t think of anything else I’ll pull Kyle and talk to him.”

“Do you have a divergent theory, Inquisitor Lawrence?” The Live Mind asked.

Jackson sighed, “Nope. Just a gut feeling.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you in medical distress?” the Live Mind asked, but Jackson ignored it.

“The killer left a message and he waited until he was in Zerha to do it. He chose his victim carefully, traveled hundreds of miles to fetch him. Blood on the ground… what the fuck does that mean? I think that the message might have been to cover something else up. It was too neat, too well presented in just the right spot. Maybe he cut slow to delay death, question the victim.”

“There is no evidence to support this assessment. The victim’s personality profile does not indicate that such measures would have been necessary to extract information from him. Sufficient threat of violence would have likely yielded the same results.”

“No,” he said, “but maybe that part was just for fun.” Jackson felt his heart rate pick up. He was onto something, he could feel it even if he didn’t know what it was, yet. He may have even found it had the door to his little stone cell not flown open. A red coated Inquisitor of a species Jackson didn’t know stood on the other side, its wide gold eyes brimming with something like panic.

“Inquisitor Lawrence,” she said, huffing, “You are needed.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, already rising to his feet and reaching for his coat.

She looked at him, double mouths opening and closing like a drowning fish, “Another murder,” she finally said. “We think it’s your killer.”

The other Inquisitor, whom he learned was a Carg named Feen, drove the shuttle that delivered Jackson to the murder scene. The moment Feen punched in the coordinated he knew where they were going.

“Zerha?” he asked.

Feen nodded, “Y-yes sir. Live Mind’s preliminary analysis of the…” she swallowed, goat like eyes dilating until they were paper thin slits set deep into spotted purple flesh, “Of the victim shows that they were killed with the same mechanized tool as the Theolisian. Footprint patterns also match your killer.”

Jackson had never met a Carg before but he didn’t have to in order to hear the fear in her voice. “You alright?” he asked.

She shot him a wide, desperate look then nodded. “I just… I’ve never seen something like… it’s just so…”

Jackson reached out and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “Don’t think about it. Just drive.”

---

They set down in farm country, on the edge of a wheat field that stretched near to the horizon. When the Hermes had arrived in Keleshian orbit it had contained seed stocks ample enough to feed a city of twenty thousand and grow from there. Of course that was only if the colony world had soil enough like Earths to allow for agriculture. Keleshia’s soil, as it turned out, was too acidic for most earth life. There were plans to genetically modify the seed stock to survive but thus far they had only managed to get a few growing. There was modified wheat, okra, corn, and maybe a few fruit trees growing in private greenhouses but otherwise the great bounty of humanity was locked away in a temperature controlled vault at Monument.

Vigari, himself looking a bit travel worn himself, greeted Jackson the moment he stepped off the shuttle.

“You look like shit,” Jackson said, straining his voice to be heard over the dying whine of the shuttles engine.

Vigari regarded him with narrowed, glassy black eyes and scoffed, “You’re one to talk. You ready to work or just snipe at me?”

“Work,” Jackson agreed. “What we got?”

“Victim’s name was Walash of house Deridian. Kelesh, noble but low, some third cousin of a third cousin. Went missing last night after leaving her job in the Grulon Financial district,” he said. “Farm hands found her body about six hours ago and called it in.”

Jackson paused, “Six hours?” he asked. “Why weren’t we called in sooner?” In any murder time was critical, especially when the body was outdoors. All it would take would be a passing animal or a stray wind and critical evidence could be lost.

Vigari shrugged and started to lead Jackson into the field, the ten foot tall stalks swallowing them entirely. “Inquistors Feen and Kzirr did a preliminary Live Mind sweep then locked the location down. They waited to call you in until I got back on world,” he explained, “and before you complain its standard procedure.”

Jackson wanted to argue but of course Vigari was right. All inquisitors had a senior supervisor on all field operations during their first cycle, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Unconsciously he picked up the pace, eager for the chance to find a new lead.

They had to present their badges to the ring of Keleshi peace keepers that had established a perimeter around the scene, a few giving Jackson looks that might have been curious but bordered on suspicious. Then they crossed into a circular clearing, the wheat in it folded down to make a dense matt on the ground. Jackson felt the breath go out of him.

The victim was at the center of the little crop circle, mounted on a wooden post. Her metallic silver body was smeared with trails of black and pea green viscera, her eyes still wide in her final moments of pain and terror. Her belly had been opened in a ragged tear, from which organs and torn sinew hung in jagged clumps, twisting in the breeze like wind chimes. Worse was her neck and arms, both bound in razor wire, the arms propped open.

“She’s a scarecrow,” Jackson whispered.

“I’m not familiar with the term,” Vigari replied, his own voice a drained and thin.

“It’s a… it doesn’t matter,” Jackson pulled the electronic eye from his tablet and attached it to his temple, giving the Live Mind a view of the scene. “Come on,” he said, swallowing his own shock. “Let’s see if we find this guy.”

The footprints Feen had mentioned were still there, worn deep into the dark mud that surrounded the base of the pole. The killer had been bare foot, just like last time and just like last time the Live Mind didn’t identify anything like toe prints. Intermingled with the familiar human prints there were a few prints matching the sharp, three-toed Keleshi foot. “Victim was standing when they arrived,” he called.

“Think they abducted her?” Vigari asked, himself sweeping the outer edges of the crop circle.

“Looks like. Lends credence to your strength enhancement theory if they managed to overpower a Kelesh.” Jackson began to run his eyes up and down the corpse, forcing himself to see everything. When he had been a kid he had been terrified of corpses, ever since he saw his first at the tender age of five. He been playing in the cargo hold with a few of the other kids when he stumbled across it, hidden away in some back storage room. The dead boy had been in his early teens when he had taken it upon himself to wrap an electrical cord around his neck and go for a swing. Of course, suicides were common enough on the ship, one or two a year but at that age Jackson understood them the same way he understood his own mortality. The boy’s face had been the color of plums. Since then Jackson had had to learn to repress the surge of adrenaline that was now winding up his heart rate. He took a few deep breaths and circled around to the back of the corpse. It was there he saw it.

“There are cuts on her back,” he called. Vigari quit what he was doing and joined Lawrence.

“Looks like a pattern,” he said and Jackson nodded in agreement. Most of the wounds were concealed by the pole but they could see the start of a few jagged lines that might have been letters. “We will let the Keleshi peace keepers do their run at the scene and then examine it once she has been cut down. Until then- hey!”

Jackson was already moving. Pulling his multi-tool from his belt and extending the wire cutters he walked to the pole and reached up for the wire holding the victim’s neck. Vigari grabbed his other arm.

“This is a crime scene,” he snapped, “You can’t just-“

“I’m aware of that,” Jackson cut him off. It was one thing to follow protocol and another to let it get in the way of stopping a killer. Sure, maybe he needed to be baby-sat and maybe he was green as could be but the fact remained that Keleshi peace keepers would take hours, maybe days processing the scene meanwhile the killer could be drifting further from their grasp. “People are dying Vigari. You really keen to wait?”

Vigari tossed a nervous glance towards the distant Keleshi peace keepers and then, his jaw shifting in agitation, released Jackson’s arm. “Do it quick. We’ll share the Live Mind readout with them once it’s done.”

Jackson snipped the wire and the body sagged. Then, he cut the ones holding her arms and she fell forward, Vigari doing what he could to slow her fall and lay her out on the dense mat of trampled wheat. The pattern on her back turned out to be words, carved in her silver flesh in jagged, weeping cuts. At first there was too much blood to read but Vigari knelt and, pulling a cloth from his coat, wiped the blood away enough to see. Jackson cursed under his breath as he read.

‘Blood in the Skies’

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Link to Part 8 - Accomplice

Link to Part 6 - Exodus

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