Arrest

Buddy and Hound stood slack-jawed in a narrow alley between gray hab-stacks. Both had their eyes locked disbelievingly at the limp arm that sprouted from an ashy concrete wall to their right. Buddy flinched as the arm detached from the wall with a wet crack and thumped to the gravely ground. A circular scorch mark remained on the wall. A pinkish-red circle with two white and brown ovals remained in the center, like some horrid flesh-and-bone iris.

Scant seconds ago, the hunter and his four-legged companion had been chasing the Purist Alina out of the church and into the winding passages of the Alpine outpost. This time, although Hound’s scent tracking yet suffered from the same issue, they had managed to keep pace and a visual lock with their target.

They had managed to corner her in a dead end, but as they approached, something strange happened. Arcs of red lightning had burst from the wall, and an arm had shot out of the concrete. It grabbed the Purist and pulled her right into the wall. Alina extended an arm and screamed for help, but it all happened too fast. In an instant she sunk in, pulled under a sea of stone, and the coruscating energies ceased. Only her outstretched arm had remained.

Buddy’s systems were going haywire. The chronometer ever in his periphery was jumping and glitching like crazy, and even Gamma-XIII seemed in a state of shock. For the entire duration of their short chase she had vibrated in eager expectation, but upon witnessing the weird occurrence, she fell silent.

“Buddy,” Hound growled. “Do you see what I see?” he asked, indicating the scorched wall.

Buddy did. The darkened area wasn’t just roughly circular, it was a perfect circle. A circle with another within, and another, and another. The remnants of Alina made up the center. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Seen that before in only one place.”

Hound nodded. “The sphinx…”

Footsteps echoed from behind. Antares jogged up and around the bend. “Did you catch her?” he asked.

Buddy shook his head.

“You let her get away? I can’t believe this.” Antares thundered up to the two and loomed over them. “Both of you are useless! For the second time you let her go right from under your noses.”

“Before you go on,” Buddy said, raising a placating hand, “and before I take that as an insult, I’d like to draw your attention to the Purist Alina.” He swept his hand toward the severed arm on the ground. “Someone else got the her before us. Don’t know what kind of witchcraft or techno-magic they used, but she’s gone.”

Antares’ porcelain regard scanned across the newfound crime-scene. Then his arm rose a fraction up toward his face, as if to cover his unmoving mouth.

“And to be honest, it ain’t looking all too good for your leader,” Buddy went on, indicating the concentric circles next. “Don’t know what you Atlanteans are capable of, but I’ve heard stories that I always found hard to believe. Your great and mighty sphinx seems to be capable of more than just loafing around.”

Antares’ statuesque mask snapped toward Buddy. “Are you implying Laocoön did this?”

“I’m saying there is only one person here that has that pattern in their eyes, and its Laocoön. That Purist might have killed your guy, but whoever killed her sure wasn’t a Purist themselves.”

- - -

Lucia watched from the far wall as Buddy returned the severed arm to the Purists. Brother Misha took it reverently and almost looked sad. If that was even possible for a Purist. She had had to sit. The enhancer had started acting up too much as the three had bounded off after Alina. She heard the story as Buddy told it, and shuddered at the unfortunate woman’s fate, even though she was most likely a murderer herself.

It was then that she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw a Purist by her side. She couldn’t have named them with a gun pointed to her head, even though they had all introduced themselves.

“Yes?” Lucia said.

“I’m not sure if this is the right time, but I was hoping to tell you something after all my brothers and sisters were done with their probings. It is unfortunate that everything happened so quickly, maybe Alina would still be alive.”

“What do you mean?” Lucia asked, subconsciously sending a signal to her arm to begin recording the coming conversation.

“I noted something suspicious yesterday at dusk. She left before our evening prayers were finished. The Atlanteans were making quite the ruckus, so I thought that she was going to complain. When I followed her out I found her speaking with an Atlantean quite amicably.”

“Do you know which one? What did they talk about?”

“Sadly, I could not discern which of them it was. Neither did I hear them.”

“Do you have any proof? Do you have anything concrete to back your claim, then?”

 “Alas, only my memory.”

Lucia got up and grabbed the man’s, or woman’s, it was hard to tell with their reedy voice, hands, and asked, “is there anything else? Did she come back or—”

“She did come back, yes, but she seemed strange. Possessed almost. When I tried to speak with her she looked at me as though I was a stranger. And then there were her eyes… they looked different.”

Lucia squeezed the Purist’s hands. “What did they look like?”

“As though there were concentric circles in the whites.”

- - -

The white sun of Dead Earth shone down from a gray sky. The dusty roads of the Alpine Outpost were quiet as the mountains that loomed above the octagonal fortress town. The invisible kinetic shields hummed their subsonic murmur while the winds battered them and the tall walls, outside which a lucky guard was stationed alone. For inside, at the square before the governor’s building, a handful of outpost soldiers, the Atlanteans, the Purists, and the traveling party of the bounty hunter Buddy Limbo were gathered.

The soldiery attached to each party had remained at a respectful distance, only monitoring, never interfering, and now they were spaced around the gathered factions, penning them in. For one of the gathered was a murderer.

Laocoön lay in a regal position as his unmoving, eternal counterpart buried in the desert near the Nile, with his coterie around him, Antares included. Brother Superior Misha and his remaining six siblings in faith stood unmoving a little ways off, and Buddy, Hound, Lucia, Jean, Jaques and Rousseau completed the scene as the third point in a triangle made up of disparate groups of opposing ideals.

Buddy cleared his throat. It was completely unnecessary, but the affect was fitting for the occasion. “Thank you all for coming,” he began. He nodded in greeting to all, then continued. “Thanks to the help of the guards and the data-techs of the outpost, we have conclusive data clearing every native inhabitant of suspicion. My own traveling party has likewise been cleared, which leaves only the two of you,” he spread his arms indicating the two parties.

“There is no need for theatrics,” Laocoön rumbled.

“You’re quite right, but there is a need to get this out in the open, don’t you think?”

Laocoön shifted his paws but said nothing.

“Thought so,” Buddy said. “Before we get into what I believe happened, I shall call certain witnesses to give testimonies. My party has come across a few strange details that I’d like to open with before we get into all the accusations.” Buddy turned and shot a hand toward Jaques, the motion causing his red-and-gray poncho to flap like the cloth of an ancient matador. “Please, mister Jaques, would you kindly tell all of us about the strange patterns you’ve been seeing.”

Jaques, hands clasped before him, nervously stepped forward and said, “on our way here, to the outpost that is, I spilled a deck of cards, and they formed a pattern. Then earlier today, at the tavern, an amino-slime drop made the same pattern.”

“And what might that pattern be, mister Jaques?”

Jaques tugged on his fingers, furtively glancing up at the looming Laocoön. “Concentric circles,” he said.

“Concentric circles!” Buddy barked. “Something we too have seen. Nowhere else but where the Purist Alina was murdered in broad daylight. To the previous two examples there are also other witnesses. The first Hound can corroborate, the second, Jean.”

“Where are you going with this?” Laocoön growled.

“All in good time, good sir,” said Buddy, then, “the first victim, the Atlantean Marie-Louise the Either, was brutally murdered last night for no apparent reason. At first I too believed that it was the sole doing of a Purist, especially when we caught Alina red-handed. Or should I say blue. But her strange death, which I believe we weren’t meant to see, lends me to believe that she wasn’t even an accomplice, but rather an accessory.

“To aid this theory I begin with two points. The first is the testimony of the barkeep. He found hurried footsteps outside his establishment, and a blue smear on the railing, which we can conclusively say was Atlantean blood and came from Alina’s hand.

“My second point comes from Lucia, who holds a recording from one of the Purists that might seem interesting,” Buddy nodded to the girl, who played back her recorded conversation. When it had concluded, Buddy raised both hands to forestall the coming protest from the Atlanteans. He noted that Antares was uncommonly still.

“Hold your equines. Simple witness testimonies would normally not be enough, I know, but I do believe the Purist in question spoke truthfully. I’d like to ask them one more question that we didn’t receive a satisfying answer to yet.” Buddy indicated the gaggle in general, and the Purist in question took a step forward. “You said you saw an Atlantean, nothing more. Surely you would have specified if it were Laocoön. His stature is unique to say the least.”

The Purist nodded. “It wasn’t the sphinx.”

Buddy grinned. The probability matrix subroutines in his cognitive adjacent software had already fitted all the pieces together, but even it couldn’t reveal just who of the Atlanteans it had been. They would have to do it themselves. For that, he needed Rousseau.

“Doctor Rousseau,” Buddy turned to their brassy bot, “would you kindly step forward. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the Atlanteans.”

Rousseau, hands clasped regally before her, came forth. Her fiery hair was set up in an elaborate plait again, looking as imperious as Laocoön’s nemes. She looked to Buddy.

“Now, ain’t it true that Atlanteans keep original pieces of their biological bodies before ascending,” Buddy asked, looking at Laocoön. He could have just played back all the data Rousseau had shared with him, but he preferred to conduct this reveal in the old fashioned way. No matter what the sphinx said.

“Aye, that be the case.”

“And is it true that Laocoön said that those very eyes may grant the owner strange powers?”

“That is just a story!” Laocoön barked. “Where are you going with this, wrangler.”

Buddy raised a hand, while his other was on his hip, an inch away from Gamma-XIII. “I said, hold your equines… Rousseau, did or did not Laocoön himself say that those eyes, unique to his house, grant special abilities?”

Rousseau nodded.

“And is it true that Laocoön is able to meld his consciousness with the individuals of his coterie to scan their memories?”

Again, Rousseau nodded.

“And as many here can attest, that is seen as a severe crime in many places around the world because it opens the assenting party up to the possibility of possession. Which would mean that you, Laocoön, have the means to override control of one of your attendants whenever you wish, and those eyes allow for techno-sorcery, making you the most plausible person to murder Marie-Louise the Either.”

The guards around the three parties snapped to ready, sensing the building tension, while the Purists took cautious steps away from the towering construct and his machine statues. Even Laocoön’s own attendants glanced warily at their master.

“I believe this all started before we even got to the outpost. The pattern made by Jaques’ cards suggests that those eyes were watching us coming up the mountain. If we go by Alina’s death, we can say quite conclusively that their use leaves a mark. And if they can do what we witnessed with Hound, who’s to count out farseeing? I think you saw us coming with those spooky eyes, and once we got here, took that opportunity to isolate the victim. You knew we needed repairs and thus offered your services in the bargain. You used the Purists as an excuse, for if we’re being honest, they ain’t been harassing you to the extent you claim.

“So, once night came, you hijacked one of your attendees, and in their body went to the Purist Alina who was about to come complain about your noisy maintenance. Then you used those eyes in turn to influence her to go and murder Marie-Lousie the Either. On her way there, you scrambled the security feed, because you needed to be close to the person who you were controlling. After the murder, you either released her, or your influence came to a limit.

“At this point Hound and I came into the hangar, from which Alina escaped. She was frightened and headed to the tavern. We know she didn’t enter, but rather she realized that she would immediately be taken into custody. She no doubt found a place to wash herself clean before returning to the rest of her pilgrimage. It was also there that you far-looked when we were going around the outpost, hence the drop of amino-slime.

“I ain’t got a doubt in my mind that Alina wouldn’t have come clean if given the chance, but you, eager to lynch, sent us off to investigate. It also allowed you to get close to her once again so you could kill her and shut her up. But you didn’t plan on us seeing it.”

Laocoön stood up. “This is outrageous! Why would I kill my favorite cousin?”

“Why indeed...” Buddy shot back, but the question wasn’t directed at Laocoön. It was directed at, “...Antares!”

The Atlantean started and looked to his master, who in turn was confusedly looking down at him.

“Mr. Limbo, are you accusing me?”

Buddy grinned and turned to the bot. “Oh, didn’t I mention that Laocoön expressly stated that those eyes he has are only cloned facsimiles?”

Rousseau nodded again. “Aye, that be the case.”

“Which would mean that they would, in his own words, hold no real power if such even exists. So, I wonder. Where are the originals?”

Antares took a step forward. “Are you implying that I have those eyes?”

Buddy smiled. During his speech he had angled himself so that his left side was toward the Atlanteans, while his right was hidden behind his poncho. His hand was on Gamma-XIII’s grip. “Laocoön is heir apparent to his house. His favorite cousin is killed in a way that singles him out. It would look very bad coming home if the heir was arrested by See officials. I wonder who would take his place?”

            Laocoön scowled. “Your line of logic is admirable, Mr. Limbo, but your assumption rests on the fact that the next in line is with me now. Apollonius and Eretreius are devoted retainers from a minor house allied to ours. Antares is a servant. My younger sibling Helen is back in Atlantis.”

Buddy mimed shock. “Well, then, I do apologize, good sir. It seems that I ain’t the detective for this case…” he turned slightly as if leaving, then stopped. He’d seen this same gimmick be played on a thousand vid-chronicles, and though cliche, knew it had amazing dramatic effect. He turned back, slowly and pensively, “… is what I would say, after I see what all of your retainers have kept from their biological bodies.”

Laocoön was quick to reply, “of course. They have nothing to hide.” He nodded to all four.

Marie-Louise the Or removed her featureless mask to reveal a yellow skull akin to that of her sister’s. Apollonius had to remove the entire front of his head and neck to reveal two vertebra of withered bone, while Eretreius parted a finely crafted and filigreed breastplate to reveal four rib-bones. It left only Antares.

His hand was on his lifelike porcelain face. Everyone was looking at him. He let out a long sigh, the pressurized air puffing from his shoulders and knees. “Why couldn’t have you just kept your mouth shut about our business,” he hissed, removing his mask. Underneath was a titanium skull and a pair of burning red orbs.

Laocoön gasped. “Who are you? Why have you my eyes?”

“Don’t you recognize me? I am the bastard of our father, denied of my rightful place in the chain of succession. If it weren’t for your loose lips you’d have been accused, and my plan would have succeeded. I am Anchises of Petrie, exiled into a life of servitude for the sole crime of being born.” His eyes burned and small arcs of strange lightning shot from them.

Every weapon in the square was trained on him then. The atomizer, Jaques’ small handgun, the guards’ lucernes. The Atlanteans themselves had unsheathed hidden blades and blasters from within their bodies, and the Purists had organized into a wedge, fists out in martial-arts poses.

Antares scanned his surroundings. The light in his eyes dimmed, and slowly he raised his arms. “I am not so foolish as to try and take on all of you. I admit my guilt. I surrender.”

And with that, quite anticlimactically for all involved, especially Buddy, who had expected a shootout or some form of hectic combat, it was over. Antares was hooded, bound and gagged and led to the bowels of the Alpine outpost. Purists and Atlanteans shared tense apologies and shows of respect, and the guards, eager to escape being involved with the two parties, disappeared onto the walls or within their barracks.

From the shadows, a black Wolf watched flabbergasted. This was not at all like what had happened with his party.

 

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