So,
I’ve been away from here for quite a while. Sorry about that – life has been
getting in the way, and I keep meaning to do a catch-up post, and that job
keeps growing, because there is more every week to catch up on, and ...
So,
yes. I’m still here, I’m fine, I’m busy.
Work
has picked up the pace somewhat in this second semester: the beginners’ book
has run out – finally – which means I need to provide texts and notes and glossaries.
And that’s fine, but a glossary for, say, a handful of smutty Catullus poems
*ahem* took me a whole day to make.
And thus the blog writing suffers.
Anyway,
I’m checking in to let you know I’m still here, and I do intend to get into
posting regularly again. No, I am not going to promise anything, no timeframe,
because then I’m only going to feel guilty if I don’t make it. I have a couple
of things I want to share, and I will.
Enough
waffling: I have something for you today.
As
mentioned before, I write microstories for two monthly contests in writing
groups on LinkedIn. In February, the required elements for the sci-fi story
were:
a
crime,
a
reference to a favourite author (or several),
and
a first person narrative.
As
usual, the whole story has to fit into one comment, so the limit is 4000
characters, around 620 words.
This
is what I came up with to fit inside those parameters:
FALL
by D C Mills
‘Cause of death is obvious,’ I concluded, pulling off
my gloves. For the record, I added, ‘Severe head trauma as well as a broken
neck. Skull fractured, brain dispersed, spinal cord severed.’
The man’s body had been found lying crumpled at the
bottom of one of the steep ladders going between decks. The cause of the fall
was another matter.
It wasn’t my job to investigate this: I was the ship’s
medic, and with the autopsy, my duty was done.
But I was curious. Besides, didn’t I have some
obligation towards the general wellbeing of the crew? If the ladders were
dangerous, I was the right person to point it out to the Captain.
And if Alvarez had been pushed – well, in that case we
had a murderer onboard. Another potential health risk.
I went to my office next to the surgical theatre to
address the database of the onboard computer system. The mainframe was a model
2.21-B, which had led to the inevitable nickname.
People, particularly people placed on a ship in the
cold, dark void several light years from their home planet, have a need to give
familiar names to their surroundings. And this one was apt.
‘Sherlock,’ I said, ‘show me your surveillance images
from levels 4 and 5, by the cargo hold. Start with the time between 2100 and
0100 hours.’
‘You have calculated time of death to around 2300
hours,’ the computer said in its almost-human voice. ‘Why concern yourself with
actions taking place several hours before the fall?’
‘Alvarez was on duty in that period. I want to see who
he was talking to,’ I explained, as if to another person. ‘If he quarrelled
with anybody.’
‘You are looking for a possible murderer,’ Sherlock
said, ‘as well as a possible motive. I see.’
I knew he was filing away this information along with
the vast amounts of data he already stored: Sherlock was built to be a learning
machine, forever expanding his knowledge and understanding of humans. His
proficiency at interacting had become quite remarkable and often made one
forget that he wasn’t, after all, human.
Several images appeared on the screen, in separate
windows. Not many people were moving about, and I quickly spotted Alvarez.
I observed the man during the last hours of his life.
He chatted with one, then another, of his mates. Everything seemed calm.
‘I changed the lighting in your bathroom,’ Sherlock
broke in, ‘deducing that the uneven state of your shaving was a result of poor
light rather than a conscious choice.’
I felt my cheeks and jaw line; the left side was
significantly more stubbly than the right. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
On screen, the end of Alvarez’ life drew near. The
person who shoved him was indistinct in the dim light above the ladder; only
height and body structure were discernible.
I gave the Captain a short list of suspects matching
this information, who could have been nearby at the time. Only three: Singh,
Adams, and Percy, all midshipmen like the deceased.
They were called in for questioning and subjected to
further scrutiny: Sherlock was able to monitor them closely, as he had done
with me, to detect changes in pulse rate, breathing, skin temperature.
Singh seemed only remotely concerned.
Adams wept throughout and was barely coherent.
Percy was aggressive and rude.
After the interviews, Sherlock and I conferred: my
impressions versus his objective measurements compared against a database of
symptoms.
We agreed on the conclusion.
It turned out that Percy had attacked Alvarez out of
jealousy; this also explained Adams’ tears, as she was the object of the
quarrel, though preferring neither of the two men.
No matter how advanced human technology is, it seems
that humans remain human, with the same fears and loves and weaknesses as we
have always had.