Escape Pod, page 12
On the fourth night of this, I was sleeping when I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my abdomen; it was the male, beginning to unhook himself from me. Then I heard the growling. I snapped on a light, looked down, and saw Fred attacking the male; he had managed to get a bite in between two of the male’s ring segments and punctured an artery. The male was bleeding all over my bed. If the male managed to completely detach himself, it would be disastrous—my impregnation cycle was not yet complete, and it would be highly unlikely after a noble male was attacked in my bed that I would be entrusted with another ever again. So with one arm I lodged the male back onto me and struggled to keep him in place, with another I reached for the phone to call my doctor, and with the third I scooped up Fred and tossed him off the bed. He landed up on the floor with a yelp and limped away, winding up a perfectly charming incident for all three of us.
I was rushed to the embassy infirmary, where the male’s injuries were sutured and he was sedated to the point where he would again willingly reattach himself to me. By some miracle, the fertilization process was uninterrupted; I was confined to an infirmary bed for the rest of the process while doctors made sure everything went as it was supposed to. The ambassador came to visit afterwards and I expressed my shame at the incident and offered my resignation; she declined it, and told me that no one blamed me for what happened, but that it would probably be a good idea to get rid of Fred.
I did, giving him to a retired human diplomat I had worked with for many years. I visit them both frequently, and Fred is always happy to see me. He’s also always happy to see my daughter. Who is also named Fred. As I said, I like the name.
* * *
Dr. Elliot Morgenthal, Doctor, Stamford:
Oh, God. I worked the ER as an intern right around the time of that stupid fungdu craze. Here’s the thing about fungdu: they’re furry, they’re friendly, they vibrate when they’re happy, and they have unusually large toothless mouths. You can see where this is going. About two or three times a month we’d get some poor bastard coming in with a fungdu on his Johnson.
What people apparently don’t know about fungdu is that if they think that what they’ve got in their mouths is live prey, these little backward-pointing quills emerge out of their gums to keep whatever they’re trying to eat from escaping. These dumbasses get it into their heads to get a hummer from their fungdu, and then are understandably surprised to discover that their pet thinks it’s being fed a live hot dog. Out come the quills, and the next thing you know, there’s some asshole in the emergency room trying to explain how his erect penis just happened to fall into the fungdu’s mouth. He tripped, you see. How inconvenient.
Here’s the truly disgusting thing about this: all the time this is going on, the fungdu is usually desperately trying to swallow. And that animal has some truly amazing peristaltic motion. Again, you can see where this is going. The nurses wouldn’t touch any of these guys. They told them to clean up after their own damn selves. Who can blame them.
* * *
Bill and Sue Dukes, Plumbing Supplies, Queens:
BILL: There was this one time I was driving through Texas, and I saw the weirdest fuckin’ thing on the side of the road. It looked like an armor-plated rabbit or something. It was just lying there, though. I think it was dead.
SUE: You idiot. That’s an armadillo. They’re from Earth.
BILL: No, you must be thinking of some other animal. This thing was totally not Earth-like at all. It had, like, scales and shit.
SUE: That’s an armadillo. They’re all over Texas. They’re like the state animal or something. Everybody knows that.
BILL: Well, what the fuck do I know about Texas? I’m from Queens. And we sure as hell don’t got any armadillos in Queens.
SUE (rolling eyes): Oh, yeah, if it’s not from Queens, it ain’t shit, right?
BILL: You got that right. Fuckin’ Texas. Hey, what about those things, you know, that got the duck bill?
SUE: You mean ducks?
BILL: No, smartass, they don’t look like a duck, they just got a duck bill.
SUE: What, a platypus?
BILL: Yeah, a platypus! Where are those things from?
SUE: They’re from Earth too.
BILL: No shit? Man, Earth is a weird-ass planet sometimes.
We sometimes like to blur the lines of genre fiction at Escape Pod, and “A Consideration of Trees,” from Beth Cato, is a great example of this. Part space-based science fiction, part old-world magic, this story charms you while also delivering a sharply pointed critique of current attitudes toward the environment. Beth has a knack for weaving social commentary with historical and futuristic settings. She’s an award-nominated author of multiple novels and short stories, and she’s probably best known for her steampunk aesthetic. She also loves baking and furry friends, both of which you’ll find in this story.
DIVYA
A CONSIDERATION OF TREES
BETH CATO
As a xenoarbitrator, I was accustomed to working with concepts and situations deemed peculiar by most of humanity. Often, though, my own species confounded me most of all.
“I fear you misunderstood my advertisement.” I stood in Mari Kane’s miniscule parlor on Bradbury Orbital Station. My felizard partner, Petey, twitched in his nest atop my silvering crown braids. “I usually mediate between different species. You need a private investigator to look into a suspicious death—”
“Rainbow Charm Corporation owns the local investigators. Madam Alameda, you’re from off station. I couldn’t find any corporate affiliations in your history. You’re the independent investigator I want to hire.” A pleading note crept into her voice.
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but—”
“Bradbury Orbital is property of Rainbow Charm.” Petey spoke directly into my mind via our neural bond, his four-inch-long body flexing as he hummed in thought. “That’s a Thrassi-owned firm. This could be a cultural misunderstanding.”
“—this still isn’t my purview,” I finished, speaking aloud to both of them at once. “I study stories, new and old, and use them to bridge misunderstandings between different kinds of lifeforms. If you had a Murkle as your neighbor, for instance, who began screaming nonstop if rain lasted for more than a day, I could explain why and advise the Murkle on more appropriate responses.”
Honestly, I would have preferred to work with a screaming Murkle about then. Humans had been decisively immoral in every one of my recent jobs—cruel to fellow humans, and other kinds of life, too. Jaded as I felt, I had to wonder what crime her husband had committed to end up dead.
“Listen, madam, please.” Mari took a deep breath. “Cameron was found dead yesterday. I don’t know how or where. He wasn’t on duty. A station exec delivered the news. His guards handed me Cameron’s remains.” Her voice cracked as she motioned to a small box. “The exec deposited ten thou credits into my account, saying they’d appreciate my silence or—”
“What?” I broke in. Mega-corporations snared citizens in litigation that extended beyond victims’ lifespans. They did not hand out payoffs. “Was the exec human or Thrassi?”
“Thrassi.”
Petey spoke via our link. “Thrassi are usually cautious about how they handle human dead because of their own beliefs in the afterlife.” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “This case’d make for an interesting paycheck, Alameda.”
Yeah, money, food, and decent beds were nice and all, but this was another human case, and one with a dead—possibly criminal—man and grieving widow. That meant messy family emotions. Ugh. My own family—well, far as I was concerned, my blood relations could wallow in a radioactive fallout zone.
I paced along a wall with animated photographs. Cameron and Mari looked at each other with genuine love. I averted my gaze, finding a shelf of small carved wooden animals. Beautiful work, unusual for a working-class home on an orbital above Earth.
I shouldn’t take this case, I thought. I’d just end up feeling even more disillusioned about my own kind, and yet…
We finalized the contract. I headed back through the station with Petey.
“This case is fishier than a barrel of fish,” I said to him.
“I took the liberty of pinging Aamir since you hoped to meet up, anyway,” he said.
“Thanks, Petey.” I couldn’t ask for a better partner.
Felizards didn’t usually brain-bond with humans. We’re too aggro, the bullies of the universe, as my recent cases had reaffirmed. I often teased Petey that he just liked to lounge on my head all day. He resembled a cat melded with a gecko, slickly furred in blue, and favored laziness in warm places.
“Aamir will be baffled by this bizarrely philanthropic behavior, too,” I said.
“I can guess the corporation’s motivation already. Money. A lot more than ten thou.”
“Well, obviously. The question is, how much more?”
* * *
The likely answer: 1.3 mill credits.
“If this Refuge Bio Park isn’t somehow connected to Cameron’s mysterious death, I’ll eat a h’dar egg,” I said to Petey.
Neither of us had to do a big data dive to find that number. Upon entering Bradbury’s central hub, advertisements and newsfeed marquees bombarded my visual overlay. Buzz focused on the station’s massive, and very expensive, new park with salvaged terrain from the warming planet below.
“Let’s assume Cameron is an innocent in all of this, for now,” I said. “See if he worked on the park or if coworkers have come down ill. His death spooked the execs for some reason.”
“Mmm. Could be a slow-acting neurotoxin like that incident at Rawn Station.”
“Thanks for going to the worst-case scenario, Petey.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said in a chirpy tone.
Text bloomed on my overlay. “You’re back!”
Good. A fast reply from Aamir. I promptly responded: “For a few days. Need some help on a case. Meet us?”
“All work no play, huh?”
I ignored my twist of yearning. “Hoped to meet you anyway. Brought you brioche from that bakery on Herriot.”
I could imagine their whoop of delight. “Meet in fifteen? The usual spot?”
* * *
“Hey, you two.” Aamir established a private channel for the three of us to chat. The soft clink of dishware provided background noise. Most everyone in the cofftea shop spoke via mental links. “I took the liberty of ordering horchata for you, Alameda. New on the menu. Hope you find it decent.”
I took a sip. Definitely not like the rice milk of my youth—better, actually. Everything from my childhood tasted sour in hindsight. “And here you are.” I set the opaque bread bag before Aamir. They caressed it as if calming a scared bird.
“Who do I need to kill?” they asked.
“A dead body is the dilemma here,” I said, and filled them in.
I studied Aamir as I spoke. They were the rare sort who became a cop because they wanted to help people, and had wearily accepted that sometimes breaking the law was the morally right thing to do. That took its toll. They looked more haggard each time we met. But then, I probably looked the same.
“Yeah. That payoff, timed with the big opening of the park—something’s up. Gimme a few to probe the station database. Searches go slow for us peons without a felizard.” Aamir shot me a fond smile then gazed off into space with a muffled yawn.
“You two should meet up later,” Petey murmured. “No work involved.”
I confirmed our private channel before I replied. “We need more jobs while we’re here. We’re barely—”
“Yeah, funds are tight, but a day—or night—to relax won’t break us. I say that as your accountant.”
“You say that because you’re a meddlesome—”
“Huh.” Aamir was surprised enough to say that aloud, then switched to our channel. “Cameron was found in Northumberland Forest in the new park, dead of natural causes.”
I motioned impatience. “Natural, meaning…?”
“In archaic terms, ‘dead of old age.’ Complete organ failure, and his appearance…”
The image that flashed onto my overlay made me gape. The man was recognizable as Cameron—same dark skin, thick brows, side-parted hair—but aged a hundred years rather than thirty.
Dead of old age, indeed.
* * *
Our discussion bounced back and forth. Could this be an experimental rejuv gone wrong? No, such an extreme didn’t even make sense.
“Found in the woods. This sounds so Rip Van Winkle,” I muttered.
“What?” asked Aamir, covering another yawn. “Is that one of your sorts of stories?”
By my “sorts,” they meant tales mystical or supernatural. They didn’t know the personal reason why such tales attracted me so—or why I shunned my family back on Earth. Or that the two things were linked.
“Well, yes. It’s an old Earth story. A man played a game with spirits in the woods, then fell asleep. When he awakened, two decades had passed. He was an old man.”
“But here, virtually no time passed, yet Cameron aged decades. Is Rip Van Winkle based on reality?” Petey phrased the question lightly, but he asked for a reason. He knew my full past.
“Rip Van Winkle was written as fiction, far as I know.” Unlike other tales I’d researched over the years.
“Could the trees be contaminated somehow?” Aamir asked, then immediately shook their head. “Sorry, stupid question. Fouled-up as Earth is, everything gets scanned in detail.”
“This reminds me of another story.” I paused. “Yes, go ahead and groan both of you. Another fiction piece, but from the cusp of the twentieth century, called War of the Worlds.”
“What, did the trees rise up and attack?” Aamir’s expression was of fond amusement.
“No, this featured a Martian invasion that almost destroyed humanity. The aliens abruptly died. Turned out they weren’t immune to earthly pathogens. And you really need to get to sleep, Aamir.” I frowned. “You should’ve told me I caught you right after a shift.”
“No, because then you would’ve put off meeting. You’re right, though. I do need to hit the bunk. I work again in ten.” They covered another yawn. “Promise me you won’t become an old corpse in the park.”
“I’ll ping you later to verify I’m among the living.”
They stood, cradling the bread like a baby. “I hope you get answers. If weird things keep happening in the woods, Rainbow Charm will toast that zone. Be careful.”
“You, too. A mugger might try to nab that brioche.”
“Let ’em try.” They winked as they strolled out. We soon followed.
Ubiquitous directions made the park easy to find. As I crossed the threshold, a domed sky opened above me, the effect stunning in its realism. Sunlight warmed my face. Birds—real, actual birds—swooped and cawed above. Text bloomed on my overlay to identify creatures and plants within a limited range.
“Wow.” Petey’s voice was small in awe. “This is like Earth, huh?”
“Parts of it, yeah.” I took in a deep breath. This didn’t remotely resemble the high-elevation scrubby desert of my Santa Fe childhood, but it still felt and smelled like Earth. Like home.
We crossed a Northumberland moorland, forest visible ahead. A cluster of obvious tourists directed bot-cameras closer to blooming heather. Two women with infants in hovers ambled by, followed by a Thrassi jogger.
A strange pall fell over me as we entered the woods, the shadows deep and mustiness real. This place embodied ancientness. Despite the well-beaten dirt path, I suddenly felt two hundred miles from civilization.
Aamir’s info had included where the body was found. A grove of particularly grandiose oaks guarded the spot amid thick vegetation. The leaves and mud looked undisturbed.
“No signs of a formal police investigation.” I shook my head. “This was a panicked cover-up from the time they found Cameron.”
“Time to find a nosey local?” Petey asked as we headed toward the periphery of the woods.
“Yes indeed.” No matter the nature of my cases, no matter the species involved, someone in the vicinity always spied on proceedings and was happy to blab about everything they’d witnessed.
A few minutes of study led me toward an older human on a bench, her feet jutted out to boldly expose a silver prosthetic leg. She eyed us with blatant curiosity.
“I’ve never seen a felizard on station before. Welcome, both of you.” She shared her ID via overlay: Loulou Okeezie. “I used to pilot a transport to Mrr. It’s a lovely place.”
“Did you?” Petey spoke aloud, voice rusty with disuse but full of delight. “Few humans visit my homeworld.”
“Good. Keeps it decent.” Loulou grunted. “Now, your kind don’t explore for no reason. What brings you here?”
“We’re curious about an incident nearby,” I said.
“Which one?” Loulou arched a silvery brow.
“There’s more than one?” Petey perked up in curiosity, claws grazing my scalp.
“Someone was hurt in the woods yesterday. I watched them get evacuated.” She clicked her teeth. “Then there’s the poor girl dragged out here every evening.”
“What girl?” I asked.
“Oh, she’s maybe seven and screams bloody murder when her nan-bot drags her by the woods. At least, she used to. She stays quiet now, but clearly hates the place. Claimed the forest stole her baby brother. Sounds downright medieval, don’t it?” She laughed.
“What?” Her words doused me like cold water.
“Of course, her brother’s in a hover right there, which makes the whole thing even sillier.”
“You said they come by in the evening. Has that happened already today?” Petey asked.
“Not yet!”
Via private channel, Petey said, “Take deep breaths, Alameda. I’ll chat our way out of here.”
He knew her words had gotten to me, bless him. I stood with a pasted-on smile as he kept talking.
