The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) (6 page)

“I contend such experience is very special,” said the Tak.

“And you’ve never seen this particular token before?” I asked.

“Is your memory lacking, customer? I have already provided an answer to said query.”

I harrumphed and turned to Carl. “This is getting us nowhere. What are we supposed to do with this stupid token if it doesn’t mean anything special?”

“Don’t despair, Rich,” said Carl. “We may simply need to pursue different avenues. Curator Keelok, is there any way to know who purchased this particular token?”

“Your obstinacy abounds,” said the Tak. “I have previously answered in the negative.”

“What I mean,” said Carl, “is if there’s any record of who’s purchased tokens from you in the recent past.”

“That is contingent,” said Keelok. “Are you Interpol? Do you possess a writ of authority?”

I think he means a warrant…
said Paige.

“No,” said Carl. “We’re private investigators.”

“What is the meaning of this term?” Keelok’s eyes flattened, which I could only assume was a display of confusion.

“I accept private commissions to crack unsolved mysteries,” I said. “Like a detective. We used to exist in droves, if old novels and vids can be believed.”

“I am unfamiliar with legacy forms of human entertainment,” said Keelok. “But if no writ is presented, I am unable to procure said list of purchasers.”

I gave Carl a double set of raised eyebrows, but he remained unfazed.

“Perhaps we’re still approaching this the wrong way,” said Carl. “You seem like the observant type, Curator Keelok. Can you tell us if there’s been anyone strange in your shop recently? Anyone who acted in a bizarre manner? Someone who also happened to purchase one of your tokens?”

“If you would deign to purchase a token, said descriptors would apply to you,” said Keelok.

“Hardy-har,” I said. “Let me ruminate on that for a moment to see if it gets funnier.”

Keelok’s nostrils flared again. “Was that choice of verbiage an attempt at retaliatory jocularity, human?”

“What? Of course not,” I lied. I’d hoped the dig would fly over his head, given his limited understanding of the English language. “Come on, friend. Surely you remember someone acting odd in your shop recently other than us.”

“Apologies,” said Keelok. “To me, all behavior of your kind and others is confusing. Only Diraxi do I readily understand. They provide me with bounteous service due to the close proximity of their refuge, and their method of communication is readily digestible.”

I glanced back toward the entrance to the Funporium. Outside its front doors, I spotted a number of the tall, insect-like Diraxi, who milled about with their glossy carapaces and tubular antennae. As Keelok had mentioned, their embassy lay a couple doors down in the spaceport, which apparently resulted in good business from the bug-like creatures, but I wasn’t surprised they frequented the arcade with regularity.

The Diraxi were unique among the sentient races in that they didn’t need a Brain to play Brain games. It had to do with the makeup of their regular, lowercase ‘b’ brains. Instead of communicating through speech or scent like most of the other aliens humanity had encountered, the Diraxi passed information to one another by what might be called telepathy—if, by telepathy, one meant organically generated electromagnetic pulses directed through antennae and decoded in a dedicated region of their craniums. Since their inborn communicative abilities worked along the same principles Brain missives did, with practice, Diraxi could communicate directly not just to each other but also to any species with a Brain implant.

Personally, I tended to avoid the Diraxi whenever possible, and not merely for aesthetic reasons. Even though discussions with them transpired via Brain, there was something unique about Diraxi communications that felt
odd
. Whenever I received one, it felt as if a presence was lurking in the back of my mind, and not a known bubbly, snarky commodity like Paige, either.

I love you, too,
said Paige.

I turned my head back to Carl. “So, do you have any other ideas about avenues we can pursue? Because we’re still at square one, here.”

Carl shrugged. “Not especially, no. That token remains our lone clue.”

I picked the coin up off the counter and inspected it. Keelok looked much more jovial in the embossed image than he did in real life.

“You mind if I use this to play a game on that vintage cabinet of yours?” I asked.

“By all means, please, enjoy,” said Keelok. “You will find it an audiovisual delight—a real sensory experience unlike the Brain, one with grabbing and pressing of sticks and buttons. But should you fail at your endeavors before your hunger is satiated, feel free to return to purchase more tokens. My starving children are depending on your ineptitude.”

“Thanks.” I walked off toward the ancient device.

Carl stopped me with a hand before I could get to the machine. “Are you sure you want to do this? That token is our only clue to the identity of the trespasser. If you put it into the arcade cabinet, we’ll lose it.”

“So? You’ve already inspected it for prints, scratches, and other identifying marks. I’m guessing you also took note of its dimensions, mass, and calculated its density. There’s nothing special about it—which made me think. Perhaps it’s not the token itself that’s the clue. Perhaps the clue is what the token unlocks. Perhaps the clue lies in the game.” I pointed at the cabinet.

Carl’s eyes widened. “Rich…that’s brilliant! It’s easily the best idea you’ve had all day.”

I tilted my head and raised a brow.

“Am I laying it on too thick?” asked Carl.

I nodded.

“Well, nonetheless, it
is
a good thought,” he said. “Let’s give it a try.”

I stepped up to the antique arcade unit and whipped out the coin. “All right, let’s see. How does this work?” I waved the token at the front of the machine, but nothing happened.

“I think you’re supposed to insert it into the coin slot—” said Carl.

“Oh, sounds kinky. I like it.” I moved to do just that.

“—but that may not be necessary.”

“What? Why not?” I paused, coin grasped tightly between my fingers.

“Look at the coin return,” said Carl.

“The what?” I asked.

The metal cup-like thing at your knees,
said Paige.
It’s where tokens would be returned to the customer if the machine encountered a problem.

I glanced down and found what Carl and Paige were talking about. In it, a dark cloth bundle protruded from the gap. “Is that a—?”

“Sock. Yes.” Carl reached down and retrieved it. “And not just any sock. It would appear to be the counterpart to one of the mismatched stockings we found in Miss Meeks’ dresser drawer.”

“Let me see that,” I said, snatching the sock from Carl. “Hmm. You’re right.” I felt the cloth with my fingers. “And it feels as if something’s in there.”

I dug my free arm into the length of the sock, wrapped my digits around a cool piece of plastic, and pulled out a thin, rectangular intruder. An abstract image that looked something like a neuron superimposed over a beaming, white-hot sun was printed on it.

“It’s a slip,” I said. “Paige, can you interface with it?”

You’re sure you want me to do that?
she said.
Based on the symbolism on the front, I’d wager that’s a Veesnu proselytization card.

“Veesnu…” I rubbed my chin. “That’s one of the Diraxi religions, right?”

Correctamundo,
Paige said.

I glanced at Carl. He shrugged.

“Give it to me anyway, Paige,” I said. “Could be important.”

Alright,
she said.
First things first, it tried to upload a Veesnu bible to your Brain. I figured you didn’t want that, so I blocked it. But this you might be interested in.

A translucent hologram filled my field of vision, one of a shiny Dirax wearing crossing teal and navy sashes over its broad carapace. The alien’s image had been transposed over a vid of a star that burned the same color as the creature’s sash, and organic neuron-like synapses floated in and around both the Dirax and the star, firing intermittently in bright flashes.

The Dirax made a pincers-out welcoming gesture, but did not speak, given its physical limitations. Instead, a voice in the back of my mind spoke in an eerily reminiscent manner to direct Diraxi communication.

Welcome, Pilgrim, and thank you for your interest in the One Knowledge, the metaphysical Truth, the conduit to the Ascension—Veesnu. As a benefit to you, we have provided you with a copy of the Veesnu charter, but—
The Dirax lifted its pincer hands to the sides as words materialized into the aether.
—feel free to use these interactive menus to give you Truth in your search for the Answer, or, visit us at the address below.

The Dirax disappeared, but a line of text remained at the bottom of the hologram: Cetie Orbital Spaceport, Concourse Gamma, Second Level, C Wing.

I instructed Paige to make the whole thing disappear.

“You get that?” I asked Carl, wondering if Paige had copied him on the Brain feed.

He nodded. “It appears our trail grew warmer. Convenient that our next stop’s also in the spaceport. Should we go?”

“Just a sec,” I said, glancing at the Funporium token still grasped in my hand.

“What is it?” said Carl. “You don’t still think there’s an additional clue in the gaming station, do you?”

“Not really,” I said. “But I’ve got this coin. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

“Very well,” said Carl as he crossed his arms. “Not like we’re in any particular rush, I suppose.”

I plunked the coin into the slot, grasped the cabinet’s knobby stick-like input, and spent three harrowing minutes maneuvering my chicken avatar to avoid electrified death eggs that rained down from the sky. Eventually, my reflexes failed me and an egg hit my character square in the face.

“I feel like that was a rip-off,” I said as the end screen flashed on the monitor.

“You didn’t even pay for the token,” said Carl.

“Yeah, but still…fifteen SEUs for three minutes of game play? And that’s not the worst part.”

“No? What is?” asked Carl.

“That I kind of want to try again. I could do better.”

Carl shook his head and grabbed my arm. “Come on. Let’s go before you blow the entire Weed family fortune one token at a time.”

6

Despite the lack of writing on the sign, the Veesnu Chapel was easy to spot. A large, projected image of the neuron and sun combination pictured on the slip I’d found in the sock hovered over it. The only confusing part was that another, separate image hovered directly next to the first, and it didn’t jive.

“Is that a…
waffle?”
I asked.

Could be,
said Paige.
This place is dually marked in the biz listings under ‘places of worship’ and ‘eateries.’ Go figure.

Carl and I ventured inside, at which point I felt as if I’d stepped into a glitchy Brain experience. On one side of the room lay all the elements I associated with organized religion: padded pews with monitors built into bench backs for the unBrained to follow along, an elevated stage where a pastor could perform, and a muted dark gray backdrop that wouldn’t interfere when Brain effects were overlaid on the real experience. I also spotted projectors and flashers and smoke machines—again to help with the experience for the folks without Brains—all hidden in the rafters under a shield of muted lighting.

The other side of the room could only be described as retro casual dining. Booths lined the walls just as barstools lined a white-topped counter at the far end, each seat padded with a glossy layer of cherry-red polymer that played beautifully off the black and white checkered polylaminate flooring. Rich, sticky smells of maple and butter tickled my nose as I perused the gaudy antiques that had been tacked onto the walls, from tires to baby carriages to a small piece of rectangular plastic Paige informed me was something called a ‘phone.’

The oddest thing about the establishment was how the two spaces fit together, as if someone had chopped two rooms in half and pasted them along an invisible line—an invisible line some inconsiderate jerk had then come along and laid a thin piece of molding over. Probably the flooring inspector.

A Dirax at the bar spotted us and marched over in its species’ signature choppy shuffle.

Watch out,
said Paige as it approached.
Another Veesnu bible tried to upload itself to your Brain the instant we walked in.

I sent Paige a mental thank you an instant before the Dirax’s communicative slithered its way into my mind.

Welcome human. Are you here in search of nourishment, Enlightenment, or possibly both?

I spoke because it felt natural to me, but Paige sent a copy of my speech to the Dirax via Brain. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m not even entirely sure where I am.”

The Dirax opened its pincer arms.
Ah. So enlightenment then.

“No, you mistake my confusion,” I said. “I meant I don’t entirely understand your choice of branding. What exactly is this place?”

What stands before you is a temple to the cosmos, a shrine of Understanding, a portal to the comprehension of the Metaphysical, a conduit by which we seek the Knowledge of the Immortals, the One Truth, Veesnu. That, and we serve waffles.

“Waffles?” I raised an eyebrow.

Indeed. We find that waffles contain sufficient carbohydrate and fat levels to make them appealing to species of numerous biological makeups. They are a perfect fuel to allow the Knowledge-hungry Pilgrim to absorb the teachings of Veesnu. Also, rents in the spaceport are high, and we must pay to keep the lights on.

“Gotcha,” I said. “Well, I’m not sure we’re particularly interested in any enlightenment at the moment, but some waffles would certainly hit the spot right about now.” My stomach growled in agreement.

I do not understand your choice of pronoun, human. Your companion does not appear to require sustenance, and if my assumptions are correct, he is not susceptible to enlightenment, as he has already cheated the cosmos.
The Dirax clacked its pincers twice.