Distant Worlds Volume 1 Read online

  The arresting officer explained to him that the suspect was found cowering in the closet of his uptown apartment, but Rees was so tired that he didn’t hear most of the details. He allowed himself to be led through the corridors of the station to the interrogation room where Vandum was being held.

  For a man who was supposed to be one of Sircotin’s big shots, George Vandum didn’t inspire much confidence in the corporation’s brain trust. He looked more strung out than Rees felt.

  “No lawyer, Mr. Vandum?”

  He said nothing as Rees sat down.

  “You are aware that you’ve been charged with murder, right?”

  No response.

  “Mister Vandum, I’m Detective Rees, I conducted–”

  “Rees?” Vandum asked, looking at him for the first time. “Detective Nicholas Rees?”

  Rees reminded himself again that he wasn’t going to be surprised by anything.

  “Yeah, do we know each other?”

  “No. I’ve heard your name once or twice.”

  Rees wasn’t sure how that was possible, seeing as how he’d been lucky enough to keep his name out of the media spotlight.

  “So,” Vandum said, “I guess you’re the one who found it?”

  “Found what?”

  “Come on, Detective. You know what I mean.”

  Rees nodded.

  “Yeah, I was first on the scene after it was reported.”

  “Quite a mess, wasn’t it? I never thought there could be so much blood.”

  “So you’re not denying anything, then?”

  “Why would I? I’m the one who reported it.”

  Rees chuckled.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Vandum shook his head.

  “Now why the hell would you do that?”

  No answer.

  “Look, if there’s more to this story, you need to help me out here, because all I’ve got to go on is a dead body and bullets that identify you as the shooter. This is an open and close case as far as I’m concerned unless you’ve got a damned good explanation for why things aren’t as they appear.”

  “You said I’m being charged with murder, correct?” Vandum asked.

  “Yes. In the first degree, I might add.”

  “Humor me, then, Detective. What is your definition of murder?”

  “The killing of another human being.”

  “Exactly,” Vandum said. “Knowing that, how can you possibly hope to convict me of murder?”

  “Look, we have the data proving that you fired eight bullets into… ”

  Rees recalled the particulars of Morgan’s analysis of the victim’s body.

  “Ah,” Vandum said, “so you saw the DNA scan, didn’t you?”

  “It was inconclusive,” Rees said. “Toxins in the bloodstream probably distorted the scan. I’m sure it’s been sorted out by now.”

  “Come on, Detective, you don’t buy that, do you?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Rees said. “Why did you feel the need to put eight bullets into this guy?”

  “Because I didn’t think one would be enough,” Vandum said, chuckling.

  “Cute. Just answer the damn question.”

  “I’m being serious, I didn’t know what would happen when I shot that thing.”

  “Who was this guy to you, anyway?” Rees asked.

  “You want to know who it really is or who it claimed to be?”

  “This is your story,” Rees said, “tell me what you think I need to know.”

  Vandum leaned back in his chair.

  “I first met it a year ago when we were planning to put up the new building downtown. We called in a bunch of architects, looking for designs we liked. There was this guy nobody had ever heard of, we don’t even know how his name got on the list of candidates. He was weird; the sort that made you feel like he was never telling the whole truth when he told you something, you know?”

  “Sure, I guess I know the type,” Rees said. “He have a name, this guy?”

  Vandum nibbled on his lip briefly before he answered.

  “Kurush,” he said. “Name was Aran Kurush.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, strange as he was, he seemed to have a way with people. His proposal blew everybody away; it was like nothing we’d seen before, really cutting edge stuff. Nobody was surprised when he got the contract. We broke ground a few months later.

  “Everything went along fine until they started construction of the top floor a few months ago. For some reason, it kept lagging behind schedule. Kurush was having a hard time with the contractor, said they couldn’t follow his plans properly. That’s when they called me in to help.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rees said, “what the hell do you know about architectural design? You’re the VP of optics research, not a construction foreman.”

  Vandum smiled.

  “You’re a good listener, Detective. I like that. Yes, I handle most of Sircotin’s optics research, development, and marketing. Believe me, I was as surprised as anyone to be called in to help.”

  “So what does optics have to do with this?”

  “Kurush insisted that the workers needed to have their vision corrected, said his plans required such precision that their eyes weren’t up to the task. We’d gone through three or four contractors by that point and the board of directors was getting tired of the delays, so they were willing to let him try anything. Kurush even offered to pay for the procedures himself; had every worker outfitted with our latest DeepSight cyberoptic implants.

  “After that, construction started moving along again. I went up there one day to follow up with Kurush and make sure none of workers were having problems. Everything seemed okay at first, but the more I watched what the workers were doing, the more something seemed… off.”

  Rees leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He needed a cigarette.

  “What do you mean by ‘off’?”

  Vandum shook his head.

  “I didn’t quite know,” he said. “Just a hunch more than anything. It was almost like the workers were seeing things that I couldn’t see, if that makes sense.”

  Rees shrugged, remembering the odd angles and poorly finished surfaces of the building’s top floor.

  Vandum leaned over the table and stared at him.

  “What?” Rees asked.

  “Your eyes. You don’t have implants, do you?”

  Rees shook his head.

  “Tell me, Detective, what did you see up there?”

  “Shitty workmanship,” he said. “Looked like nobody on the work crew owned a damn level.”

  Vandum smiled.

  “Strange, don’t you think?”

  It was strange; Rees couldn’t deny that. He had a hard time squaring how a multi-billion dollar corporation would settle for anything less than perfection from its contractors.

  “Sure, I guess so. What does that have to do with you pumping eight bullets into the guy on a slab downstairs?”

  Vandum’s smile vanished and his eyes widened.

  “Downstairs? You mean you’re keeping it here?”

  “Morgue’s here at the precinct, Mr. Vandum. No secret there. You think they’re going to do an autopsy at the crime scene?”

  “Detective, listen to me,” Vandum said, his voice trembling. “You have to destroy it. Burn it, shred it, recycle it, I don’t know what will work, but you’ve got to get rid of it as soon as you can.”

  Rees was ready to laugh, to hit Vandum with some snide remark about the half-melted corpse strolling upstairs to greet him, but something in the perp’s eyes made him stop.

  There was a spark there, a glimmer of knowledge that still weighed heavily upon him.

  “You saw something up there, didn’t you?” Rees asked.

  Vandum nodded.

  “Did you go to church when you were a kid, Detective?

  “Sure, a few times, I guess.”

  “My parents were Catholic. Every so often they’d ta
ke me to a service at this old church in our town. Place must have been two hundred years old; it had a stained glass window depicting the book of Genesis that stretched across the back wall. It was beautiful. I’d keep turning around during the service to look at it, always thinking that it was like a snapshot of who we are, where we came from, why we’re here.”

  Vandum smiled again, but there was no trace of humor in his expression.

  “It was wrong.”

  Rees waited a moment for him to elaborate, but Vandum fell silent. His eyes scanned the room furtively, lingering overlong in the shadowed corners.

  “Listen,” Rees said, “let’s start over. Why don’t you go back to earlier this evening and tell me what you were doing in that building?”

  Vandum shook his head.

  “You’re persistent, Detective, I’ll give you that. You really think anything I’ve got to tell you is going to make sense of what you found up there?”

  “I’ve been told I’m a sensible type,” Rees said. “Try me.”

  Before Vandum could respond, the door opened and a tall man in an expensive suit walked into the room. Standing in the doorway behind him was the chief of police, who usually only left the comfort of his office to accommodate very influential visitors.

  “Detective Rees,” the man said, “my name is Brian Nallick. I’m Mr. Vandum’s legal representative.”

  “What’s going on here, sir?” Rees asked. “I was under the impression that the suspect had waived his right to counsel.”

  The chief just shrugged. He clearly wasn’t there to get involved.

  “Yes, so it would seem,” Nallick said, “but, as you are obviously unaware, as an employee of the Sircotin Technologies Corporation, Mr. Vandum’s person is under the legal jurisdiction of his employer.”

  “Fine,” Rees said. “Take a seat, Mr. Nallick, we’re just getting started.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary, Detective Rees,” the chief said. “Mr. Vandum is being released into corporate custody until his hearing.”

  That wasn’t the sort of involvement Rees was hoping for.

  “What?”

  “Surely, Detective Rees,” Nallick said, “you must remember the provisions of the Corporate Crime Law of 2064, which was reaffirmed by the Supreme Court’s Altron Technologies v. Illinois ruling in 2087?”

  Rees was quite familiar with the law that protected employees of Class 1 corporations from much of the criminal justice system and he hated it.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I remember.”

  “Then I expect you also remember that any statements you’ve taken from Mr. Vandum at this point will be inadmissible as evidence in any pending trial?”

  Rees nodded.

  “Excellent. Mr. Vandum, if you’ll please accompany me?”

  Vandum’s face was pale and his eyes unfocused. His eyebrows, cheeks, and lips twitched occasionally, but otherwise his face was expressionless. Nallick stepped forward to help him up and then led him to the door.

  Before Vandum stepped out of the room, he glanced at Rees.

  “Trust those eyes of yours, Detective.”

  Nallick pushed Vandum through the door before Rees could reply.

  “That’s quite enough, Mr. Vandum,” he said. Once his client was out of the room, Nallick smiled and nodded at the officers. “I trust I don’t need to remind you to forget that last remark, Detective.”

  “Course not,” Rees said, mustering his most sardonic tone.

  “Good,” Nallick said. “Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen.”

  Rees thought about complaining to the chief as the lawyer walked his client down the hallway, but he suspected it would be waste of his time. Sircatin would keep Vandum close now. Even for a Class I corporation, having an executive arrested for murder made for bad publicity, the type that didn’t just go away with a few well-placed bribes or a prolonged media silence.

  He doubted he would ever see George Vandum again.

  Dr. Morgan never met with an officer in person. Like many other heavily-cybered city personnel, his multitasking brain couldn’t bother being tied down to the hassle of a face-to-face conversation. The only time Rees actually saw Morgan anymore was when they happened to be at the same crime scene so it was quite a surprise when he received a message from Morgan asking to see him.

  “Thank you for coming, Detective Rees. I have something here you should see.”

  Morgan led Rees through his lab into the main examining room. A single corpse covered by a bloody sheet lay on one of the tables. Morgan pulled the sheet back, revealing a familiar lump of melted flesh. Heavy polymer bands were strapped across the body.

  “I have conducted a full examination of the body and confirmed the results of my preliminary analysis.”

  “So it really isn’t human, then?”

  “Correct. Apart from the DNA scan, the unidentified toxins in the victim’s bloodstream are a natural aspect of its biochemical makeup. As of yet, I am unsure of their purpose.”

  “I talked to Vandum a few minutes ago,” Rees said. “He seemed to know that what he shot wasn’t human. Is there any way he could know that from a glance?”

  Morgan shook his head.

  “A thorough DNA scan would come back negative, though the victim’s DNA would likely pass as human when subjected to a consumer grade scanner. There are no physical differences that would indicate it was anything other than human. Perhaps he had some association with the victim that would expose its true nature?

  “Maybe,” Rees said. “What about the melted flesh?”

  “It appears to be a result of trauma. When the victim received the final bullet to the skull, its body became unstable at a molecular level.”

  “So why didn’t the whole thing melt?”

  “The deterioration was halted when cellular activity ceased.”

  Rees looked at the body again.

  “Why is it strapped down?” he asked.

  “Because I am not convinced the victim is dead.”

  “What?”

  “The initial nano-scan detected no cellular activity, which normally indicates death, but upon further examination, its cells have gone into an extreme state of hibernation.”

  “So you mean that this thing could wake up at any time?”

  “That is possible,” Morgan said.

  “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No.”

  “Well, a lawyer from Sircotin just made off with our shooter so you might be getting a message from upstairs to destroy the evidence from this case.”

  “It appears I already have. I received a message before I contacted you that I was far too preoccupied to open until just now. Detective Rees, I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave and to forget everything you have seen here as it is no longer admissible as evidence.”

  “Right,” Rees said. He wanted to thank Morgan, but the doctor was already going to be in enough trouble with the department for ignoring a priority message for so long. Still, given the particulars of the case, Morgan could probably claim that what was left of his human curiosity got in the way of regulations.

  As he walked out of the examining room, Rees noticed a small plastic chip on the table by the door and he picked it up.

  Case #4563367-6638, Addendum. Dr. L. S. Morgan.

  Rees glanced back at Morgan, who was still busy tending to the corpse and ignoring him.

  He put the chip in his pocket.

  “Hey, I don’t suppose the identity scans for this stiff ever came up with anything, did they? Vandum put a name to him; Aran Kurush, he said. But I don’t–”

  Morgan stopped what he was doing and looked up at Rees.

  “I am sorry, Detective, but I really must insist that you discontinue this line of questioning as any information obtained through my analysis or your invalidated questioning of Mr. Vandum is no longer considered admissible evidence in the investigation.”

  Rees put his hands up and nodded. He should hav
e known better than to try to squeeze another drop of info out of Morgan.

  “Right,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Morgan turned to go back to his work, but he stopped short as if some thought had just occurred to him.

  “However,” he said, “from a purely procedural standpoint, it would be a simple matter to cross reference the victim’s autopsy data with any suspected aliases to produce a more complete picture of the victim’s identity, provided one had access to and could thereby cross-reference municipal, state, federal, and corporate records. Such multi-faceted data analysis carries substantial liability risks, however, which is why several cyberanalysts were dismissed from the police force in recent years.”

  He looked at Rees again. His mouth twisted oddly and it took Rees a moment to realize that he was trying to form a smile.

  “Again, this is only a hypothetical estimation of how one might procedurally continue with such a unique case under the circumstances.”

  “Hypothetical,” Rees said. “Sure.”

  Once the Sircatin lawyers got involved, the entire case fell apart. First Vandum was off limits, then some obscure legal code nobody at the department had ever heard of before rendered Morgan’s examinations inadmissible as evidence. Sircotin even wanted the body returned so their security personnel could conduct an internal investigation, but Morgan managed to head that off by citing a few of the city’s health regulations. If they were cagey enough about it, they could keep the body in custody for at least another week or two before Sircotin could bribe a judge to rule in their favor.

  Rees hoped it would be long enough to get some answers.

  When he left the precinct an hour before noon, he took the el-train over to Sizzle Street, which was on the west end of downtown. At one point, the place had been a hot nightspot, home to some of the best clubs and bars in the city. Like most of downtown, though, it had gone to shit once the arcologies went up a few decades back. As more and more citizens moved into self-contained living spaces, the street started catering to a different kind of customer. The street still “sizzled,” but that had little to do with the nightlife.