The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) (2 page)

The woman stood just inside the doorframe, casting her sky blue eyes my way. “Excuse me, are you Mr.…Weed?”

I ran my tongue across my lips as I stood. “Um, yes. That’s right. Rich Weed, of Rich Weed’s Premium Investigative Services, at your service, Miss.”

I didn’t know her age, but that didn’t affect my choice of honorific. One of the side effects of youth-prolonging rejuvenative medical technology was its effect on grammar. Now, all men and women, regardless of age or marital status, were Mr. and Miss.

“And you’re a private investigator?” she asked.

“Correct,” I said. “But I’m not
a
private investigator. I’m a
premium
investigator.”

The lady in bioengineered breathable stretch fabric raised an eyebrow. “And what does that entail, exactly?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “An attention to detail, a focus on customer satisfaction, a money back guarantee of services rendered, and…well, that’s about it. Honestly, I added the ‘premium’ part to distinguish myself from those other hack investigators out there.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “Well, I’m not sure that’s necessary. When I queried the biz listings for private investigators, yours was the only name that appeared.”

“Really? I guess that means Fredrickson and Sons went out of business.” I glanced at Carl. “Did you know about that?”

He shrugged.

A quick check tells me Mr. Fredrickson passed away,
said Paige,
and based on their social media profiles, his sons apparently repurposed his office into a hookah lounge. So it appears you are, in fact, the only investigator left in the listings.

As I mulled over my newfound monopoly on Cetie’s investigative operations, the woman at the door motioned toward my desk and spoke. “May I?”

“Where are my manners? Yes, please, come in.” I gestured to the empty lounge across from my desk.

The stunner undulated over, setting her rock hard body—one that was even more chiseled than most—down in the plush chair. “Thank you,” she said. “You know, I have to admit, when I saw your business in the listings, I wasn’t sure what I’d find. I thought it might be a joke.”

“What? Why?” I asked as I sat back down.

“Well, is that your real name?” She jerked her thumb toward the frosted glass.

“Rich is short for Richard, but yes,” I said.

“And you’re a private
detective?”

I nodded.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t find the humor in that?”

“Don’t bother,” said Carl. “I’ve tried to break it to him gently on more than one occasion, but it doesn’t quite seem to go through. I don’t know if it’s a conscious refusal to understand or if he’s simply wired differently—figuratively speaking, of course. I’m the android, not him. I’m Carlton, but the way.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Mr. Weed’s partner—of sorts.”

“Valerie. Valerie Meeks.” The woman shook hands with Carl.

I gave them both a slit-eyed look. “I’m not entirely sure what the two of you are insinuating, but I’ll have you know I come from a long line of distinguished Weeds, all the way back to my great-grandpappy Dillinger Weed.”

“Wait, really?” asked Valerie.
“Dillinger
Weed?”

“That’s right,” I said. “He was a weed farmer—the recreational kind, not the thorns and thistles type.”

Valerie and Carl shared looks again. Carl shrugged. I cast a glance at Valerie and her skin-tight attire and felt my blood pressure rise, and not in the fun, localized way I normally experienced when impossibly attractive women showed any sort of interest in me.

Paige popped back into my thoughts before I could make a fool of myself.
You might want to revisit the words on your mind, Rich. Berating your first customer in months isn’t the best of entrepreneurial strategies.

Valerie didn’t give me a chance to show off my people skills. Before I could speak, she pointed to a bronze bust sitting on the corner of my desk, angled inward to face me. “Is that you?”

I nodded. “Yes. I commissioned it to remind myself of my successes as a kick boxer. I needed something for my desk. It’s rather barren, otherwise.”

I expected a remark about my obvious narcissism, but instead Valerie replied with a simple, “That’s cute.”

I blinked, banishing away the last remnants of my frustration. “Oh. Well…thanks, I guess. So, Miss Meeks, how can I help you today?”

“Ah, yes,” Valerie said. “Well, I have a rather interesting…
situation
I need assistance with, and I’m not sure where else to turn.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” I said. “Interesting is my middle name.”

Valerie raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. Now, something that plays humorously off your last name, on the other hand…”

I threw my hands in the air. “You got me. My parents didn’t name me Richard Interesting Weed. They gave me a far more ridiculous middle name—Stanley.”

Valerie tilted her head and peered at me askance, a smile creeping across her lips. “You’re funny, Mr. Weed.”

Her smile drew my eyes, which was probably for the best, seeing as I’d been lavishing far too much attention on her midriff and cleavage. “Tell it to my Brain. She thinks I’m a drip. And please, call me Rich. But let’s not get distracted from your query. Why don’t you tell me more about this situation of yours.”

“Very well, Rich,” said Valerie. “I’d like your help investigating a break-in.”

“A B and E, eh?” I said. “Did you contact the police?”

“I did,” said Valerie.

“And they weren’t able to help you?”

She shook her head.

I snapped my fingers as the revelation hit me. “I see. Someone busted into your place and stole something, but those buffoons at the precinct couldn’t find what was taken and now you need me to track it down. Is that it?”

“Not exactly,” said the potential client. “My apartment
was
trespassed, but nothing was taken. When I went to report the crime to the police, they told me they couldn’t file a report. Since nothing was stolen, no crime was committed. And, based on a quick pull of geopositional Brain activity from in and around my apartment over the past few days, they had no evidence a trespass had occurred at all. I tried to argue that Brain data alone isn’t enough to rule out criminal activity—some humans and many of the alien races decline to use them—but the police said their hands were tied.”

I nodded. “Ah, yes, the anti-Brain hippies. I can’t stand those guys.”

“If I might interject,” said Carl, holding up a finger. “If nothing was stolen from your apartment, what makes you certain a forcible entry occurred? Was your apartment vandalized?”

“Yes, good question, Carl,” I said. “That was on my mind as well.” Which was a lie. It wasn’t, really. I was still getting a grasp on the whole investigative process. Hunting down missing cats hadn’t exactly sharpened my wits.

Paige laughed at me somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

“No, nothing was destroyed. As a matter of fact…” Valerie munched on her lips and shook her head. Then she brushed a tuft of unruly hair back from her face and tucked it behind a soft, pink ear. “You’re going to think this is silly.”

“Are you kidding? Silly is my middle…” I paused as I realized I’d already used that line. “Um… I mean, please be frank with me. I can’t solve your problems if I’m in the dark.”

“Very well,” said Valerie. “Nothing in my apartment was out of place. Rather, things were
in
place.”

I scratched my head. “You’re going to have to elaborate a bit.”

“Someone rearranged my sock drawer,” said Valerie. “And whoever did it spot cleaned the kitchen, as well.”

“I’m starting to see why the police had a difficult time with your report,” said Carl.

Paige said something about not letting the boobs and rock-hard abs dampen my craziness detector, but I shushed her and plodded onward.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said. “A thief—who according to the police may or may not exist—broke into your pad, declined to steal anything, and instead tidied up the joint?”

Valerie sighed. “Trust me, I know how it sounds.”

I slapped my hand on the table. “Yes. It sounds absolutely
fantastic.”

“Seriously?” said Valerie.

Paige echoed her sentiments in my mind, as did Carl with a scrunched eyebrow and curled lip concoction.

“Of course,” I said, ignoring everyone. “The crazier the case, the better, I always say. And I’m a master at locating nebulous, indistinct things—“

Like your dignity?
said Paige.
Because you seem to have lost that during this conversation…

“—so I should be ideally suited to this particular enterprise. Now, if you’re interested in hiring me for my services, all that’s left to discuss is the matter of payment. I normally charge fifty SEUs per standard hour, with a five hundred SEU initial retainer. You can credit me the payment via Brain.”

Valerie shifted in her seat. “Um…yes. About that. That might be a problem.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’m in a bit of a financial bind at the moment.”

She’s angling for a free lunch,
said Paige.
Don’t give it to her.

I thought about how I’d be happy to provide Valerie with numerous services for free, but my professional services weren’t among those included.

“Ah, so you’re a haggler.” I twisted my lips. “I suppose I could go down to, say…forty SEUs an hour?”

Valerie tilted her head and widened her eyes a touch, no doubt in an effort to make herself seem more vulnerable. “Well, actually…I can’t offer you anything—”

Told you!
crowed Paige.

“—at least in terms of SEUs.” Valerie batted her eyelashes at me. “But…there is something
else
I might be able to offer you.”

I leaned forward, my palms turning sweaty and my heart starting to race. “Um…are you suggesting that—”

“—you could eat for free at my bakery,” said Valerie.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Huh? No,” said Valerie. “I run a sweet and savory bakeshop not too far from my apartment.”

“Oh.” I slumped in my chair. That wasn’t quite the answer I’d been hoping for. I hid my disappointment with a witty remark. “You, uh, don’t really seem like the baking sort.”

“Are you kidding?” She leaned forward, her face flush with passion. “The smell of yeast, the warmth of the ovens, the crackle of crust on a fresh baguette? There’s no activity I love more than baking. And the results aren’t bad either. You wouldn’t believe how many afternoons I’ve spent at home with nothing more than a bottle of wine and a warm loaf of buttered bread to keep me company. And éclairs! Oh,
éclairs…”

I glanced at her waist and silently voiced my disbelief, but her altered genetics probably included an active metabolism. I drummed my fingers on the table. “You bake bear claws?”

“Best bear claws you’ve ever tasted,” said Valerie.

“And when you say ‘eat free,’ what are we talking about? For life?”

“Depends. How old are you?”

“Eighty-five,” I said.

“Hmm. How about five years?” said Valerie.

I turned to Carl. “What do you think?”

“You realize I don’t eat, right?” he said.

“Good point.” I stroked my chin. “Alright. You drive a hard bargain, Miss Meeks, but I accept. Five years of glazed, almond-flavored delicacies in exchange for the resolution of your rather curious case of misdemeanor kitchen cleaning. So, where do we start?”

The sexpot looked at me askance. “I thought you’d know. That’s why I came to you, after all.”

“No, I meant perhaps you had some other leads we might follow,” I said. “You know, because what you’ve given us so far is rather indistinct. Maybe you have a name, or, like, a face, or—”

Valerie stared at me blankly.

I’m starting to think you got the best of that bear claw deal,
said Paige.

As I flailed around in a stew of my own unfinished thoughts, Carl hopped into the conversation to save me. “Perhaps we could start by accompanying you back to your apartment, Miss Meeks. We might be able find clues left by the intruder that you missed, and we might uncover the reason for the break-in.”

Valerie nodded. “Yes, of course. That sounds perfect.”

I sent a hasty thanks to Carl via Brain before rising from my padded chair. “Well, let’s get to it then. After you, Miss Meeks.”

I stood and held my hand out for Valerie to go first. My manners were hit or miss, but I tended to remember them when they allowed me to get a good view of a firm, Spandette-clad behind.

Valerie made it all the way to the door before I realized my eyes were still glued to her derrière. Luckily, Carl snapped at me just in time, allowing me to avert my eyes as she turned.

“Are you coming?” she said as the door blinked open.

“Yes, I’m just trying to figure out how my legs work,” I said.

I’m not sure Valerie got the joke, but Paige laughed. Her bubbly giggle finally uprooted my feet from the floor and got me moving.

3

I had Paige call for a car as we zipped down the lift from my fourth floor office to ground level. As we reached the lobby, my Brain companion informed me the cab was still a couple blocks away, so I reigned in my troops and told them to cool their heels—literally.

As much as I appreciated Valerie’s frugal attire, it wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary, and not simply because genetic engineering had gifted most people with bodies worth flaunting. Due to its substantially greater insolation than most other colonized planets, Cetie was
hot.

Nearly a millennia ago, far before my great-grandpappy had staked his claim to what would go on to be the world’s most expansive marijuana fields, Cetie had been an inhospitable wasteland—or so Paige assured me—but it wasn’t so bad as to scare away the terraformers completely. With a couple centuries’ worth of organic carbon capture and sequestration, along with a few colossal solar reflectors placed at various Lagrangian points between the planet and Tau Ceti, Cetie’s global temperature dropped to hospitable levels—if you considered 48°C to be hospitable. Luckily, concerted forestation efforts had dropped global temperatures even further since my great-grandpappy’s days, but standing outside in Tau Ceti’s bright hot rays still didn’t meet my definition of a pleasant afternoon activity. The intense solar radiation wasn’t particularly good for the skin either, though my daily moisturizing regimen helped combat that.