Murder in New Eden
by Charles C. Cole
Welcome to New Eden, an isolated city floating in space, whose founders believed the start of the 20th century was as good as it would ever get. Gun-free police supervise from atop their penny-farthings, carrying only batons. Aggression has been chemically suppressed for years. But then violence erupts. In response, the chief of police weighs the prospect of thawing secret soldiers. In the middle of it all, two bright young women push for equality and recognition.
Chapter 7: Flushed Out Into Space
Lucy Nakamura and Eartha Wayne sit at the far end of the white-marble counter in The Vintage Soda Fountain. They are both shaking their heads furiously while taking an ultra-extended, breath-free sip from their tall drinks through long paper straws.
Wayne comes up for air first. “Uncle! Uncle!”
Nakamura smacks the counter as she tries for a personal endurance record.
“Stop already!” Wayne says. “You proved your point.”
“You ladies, all right?” asks the silver-haired pharmacist looking up from an order.
“Yes, Mr. Hallahan,” says Wayne. “Thank you for your concern.”
Nakamura slams the empty drink on the counter and gasps for air. “Wonderful!”
Mr. Hallahan shakes his head.
“You’re crazy!” says Wayne. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before! You better be careful or you’re going to end up on one of your own surveillance cameras, staggering down the sidewalk.” Pretending to be drunk. “’You wanted to see me, Chief? Yep, that’s me all right. It was a science experiment.’”
“Eartha Wayne’s idea, actually,” adds Nakamura. “Only, she succumbed to her womanly inhibitions, but not me.”
“Well, Chief, apparently you can overdose on a fountain drink. Who knew? We’ve proven it, definitively.”
Nakamura pretends to hiccup.
“What was that all about?” Wayne asks.
“Washing away the image of Toby Pelkey doing very bad things.”
“I’m glad I don’t have your job.”
“I’m glad I don’t have your job. I think you saw a little more of Bernie Ketchum than anyone should.”
“By the time I get them, it’s just a body. Bernie’s already a memory. It’s tissues and organs and cells, but the spark’s gone. I talk to them sometimes, apologize for doing things to them, to work through the awkwardness but, fortunately, they never talk back.”
Nakamura jokes: “Not yet.”
“While, on the other hand, you are watching real people doing real things in real time. Imagine if it was the little old man across the hall. Or the mayor! I wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with anyone ever again.”
“You’re not far off. There’s a reason I work alone.”
“Ditto.”
“What’s up with Valdez? Where’s he been?”
“He only does house calls. I’m not kidding.”
“Then skip out. Who’d know? You should stop by sometime.”
“City Operations?”
“Of course. I won’t show you everything. Nothing tawdry. The boys are supposed to be training tonight. Might be fun to watch the gladiators in action.”
“Maybe. After I check on the kittens.”
“Priorities, right?”
“What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?”
“I can’t. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Come on. It’s me.”
“No names?”
“No names, but feel free to drop big fat hints.”
“I’ve lost count of the number of men who urinate in alleyways or bushes, thinking nobody’s watching.”
“Oh my God!”
“I know, right? I saw somebody chase a dog once. They were so furious. The dog hadn’t done anything, just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I try to be sympathetic and figure something must have provoked them. You know: terrible news. And they found a, sort of, safe cathartic way to vent out those ugly feelings and get on with life. No judgment.”
“Do we issue citations?”
“I don’t think so. I think the mayor and Toby want to keep up the illusion that we live in a near-perfect world.”
“And the chief?”
“We don’t tell him.”
“That’s awful!”
“I know, but I do what I’m told.”
“Then why all the cameras? If you don’t want to see imperfection, don’t look.”
“I think they started out, genuinely, as some sort of deterrent, but people got used to them. I worry that the mayor is creating dossiers on everyone, for leverage, but I don’t know for sure.”
“The worst thing you’ve seen and can’t unsee? Or should I order you another fountain drink first?”
“There are some images you can’t wash away, no matter how tall the glass.”
“Lucy, you can’t keep this stuff bottled up; you’ll get ulcers. Nightmares! You’ll break out in hives. Spontaneously combust! I think I see smoke coming out of your ears.”
“Okay. Okay. You didn’t hear it from me, the worst was a recent jumper off New Eden Towers.”
“I didn’t hear anything about it. You told the chief, of course?”
“Oh, yeah, and I got in deep trouble with the big boy downtown.”
“Toby.”
“He hushed it up. What’s the point? You can’t leverage somebody who’s already dead.”
“I never saw a body.”
“Nope. Nobody did. Flushed out into space. The chief was not happy about that, let me tell you.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Me, too.”
“With all of the cameras, how did you happen to catch your fly-boy in action?”
“The mayor lives there. Same building. Toby got wind through third-hand information that someone might be stalking him, so he asked me to keep an eye out.”
“Of course, you don’t have to touch them, smell them, peel their skin back, take their organs out.”
“You don’t hear me complaining.”
“You’re nothing but a professional peeping Tom.”
“You haven’t asked what I have on you?”
“Nothing, because I’m perfectly boring or I’m in the lab where there aren’t any cameras.”
Nakamura clears her throat. “Look at the time!”
“Or are there cameras in my lab?!”
Nakamura shrugs, then winks. “I can neither confirm nor deny, but I can tell you there’s no audio, so your conversations with dead people is strictly off the record. But I’m starting to read lips, so watch out!”
* * *
Chief Schiavelli and Sergeant Cody sit on the edge of the empty stage of the Victorian bandstand, taking in the sights. Nearby, on the banks of a small pond, trimmed with a wide paved walking path, children gather to buy helium-filled balloons and cotton candy. A man in a white straw hat with a blue and red grosgrain ribbon slowly paddles a canoe while a smiling woman sits facing him, drawing a gentle finger along the surface of the otherwise still water.
“Welcome to the Village Green at Millennial Park.”
“It’s so beautiful, like a mirage! It shouldn’t be here, but it is.”
“You can see why we feel protective.”
“This is where your people gather?”
“For concerts, for plays, for graduation, for weddings. For inspiration. There’s nothing else like it. This is where we come together as a community.”
“May I ask a question?”
“Your funeral.”
Cody flinches at the unexpected response, then promptly ignores it. “Where are the engines of enterprise?”
“The what?”
“Where are the turbines and the giant gears that must grind and groan round the clock to manifest this vision?”
“Don’t think of that. Why would you think of that?”
“Because while we’re sitting idle and the children are dancing, somewhere far down below, black-smudged men toil in greasy overalls, attending to the demanding maintenance schedules of the life-granting machines. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t. But I can tell you they’re generously remunerated and that we have incorporated as much automation as our science will allow.”
A young girl, about five years old, with straight black hair and brown almond-shaped eyes walks over and joins the two men on the stage. She wears a knee-length, sleeveless dress decorated with orange poppies. She is fearless. A small white-haired woman, talking with one of the salesmen, waves. It’s Lois.
“Hi, Chief,” Lois calls.
The chief waves back. He does not seem surprised.
“Excuse me. Are you waiting for the show to start?” asks the girl. “Because I think the orchestra took the day off to rest.”
“Hello, Tabitha,” says the chief. “Are you on your own today?”
“Mommy and Daddy are in the hospital. Grammy Lois said we have to make our own fun for a few days. And I told her I couldn’t think of anything more fun than dancing on this stage in the middle of the park, can you?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
Tabitha looks up at Cody and gazes deep into his face. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”
“That’s because he’s just visiting,” Schiavelli explains.
Tabitha giggles. “That’s funny. Nobody ever visits here; we all live here. I know everybody in New Eden, but I don’t know you.”
“Tabitha,” says the chief, “this is Sergeant Cody. I’ve asked him to help us make sure that what happened the other day with Mr. Ketchum, and your mom and your dad, never happens again.”
“Can you do that? That would be wonderful! Grammy Lois said it was pretty scary. We were having a sleepover when it happened. She was shaking when she told me about it, like that time New Eden went through the meteor shower and everybody was whispering.”
“We’ll do what we can,” offers Cody.
“And then you’ll go away again?”
“I hope not.”
Copyright © 2018 by Charles C. Cole
