science fiction noir serial

Case Files of Rolkahr Dholztra, Kuzdrohna Department of Public Safety:

[Editor’s Note: Read Episode 1, here.]

Dholztra’s first experience with the humanoid robotic unit developed by LunarOne was a disaster. As expected, it was hard to keep the carbon nanotube simulacrum upright. Worse, each time “Celia” fell over, technicians rushed to check for abrasions on her pseudo skin, an ingenious mix of silicon-based fibers, integrated with cloned organic material. All told, the robot’s natural look was an impressive achievement. Especially, that is, because Nolatrid biologists had learned almost everything they knew about the human epidermis from studying battle-scarred cadavers.

One surprising outcome of that study had been the realization that there were many more human phenotypes than they had originally thought. To simplify matters. the roboticists on LunarOne had modelled their humanoid unit on Imogen’s phenotype. That way, they reasoned, she’d find it easier to pretend that “Celia” was a relative, or merely another Red Disk from Humantown.

Fortunately, after a day of constant practice in the LunarOne robotics lab, Dholztra’s control over the unit improved dramatically. By then, Agents Grelek and Jalinoor had updated Imogen and brought her over to consult with the detective. Though she was initially enthusiastic, her confidence faded when she saw the robotic unit in action.

“You’ve never seen a human female walk, have you?” she asked.

In fact, “Celia’s” clomping steps created the impression of a pour soul of either gender with extensive nerve damage.

“We’re born to walk on two legs,” she said. “Stop trying to control every step.”

Dholztra’s thorax tightened.

“Walk for me,” he told Imogen.

The human smiled to herself, then made a complete circuit of the robotics lab. She also demonstrated walking backwards and a number of different strides: confident, hesitant, relaxed and formal.

“Be here forever,” said Dholztra.

“Maybe not,” said Imogen. “My body reacts to my emotions. Doesn’t yours?”

That flash of insight gave the wily detective the confidence to try again — with much better results.

“We’ll have to hope our boy Halfoorn isn’t such a keen observer of human kinetics,” said Grelek.

Admiral Nethrez, who’d sat silent through this entire exchange, rose to her feet.

“Whatever,” she said, “we’re officially out of time. Detective, if you’re going to make this work, it has to be now. The Belanthrese fleet is getting closer every nanoblink.”

Dholztra glanced at Imogen.

“Ready?” he asked.

Though Imogen nodded, Dholztra read profound sadness in her expression. Would the outcome of their mission, he wondered, bring her an ounce of comfort? But there was no more time for speculation, as they were now called to the LunarOne launch bay and shuttled back to Nolatre with the humanoid robotic unit.

The HCBI agents used the trip to create a counterfeit metadigital record for “Celia.” They needed to make her appear as real as possible to Halfoorn’s inevitable sensor sweep. Meanwhile, the Nolatrid detective concentrated on making “Celia” speak. At first, his biggest problem was editing his thoughts, so the robotic unit wouldn’t blurt out whatever was on his mind. Imogen suggested he practice having a real conversation. After all, even if Dholztra said as little as possible, he had to be able to improvise a response to any comment from Halfoorn or his crew.

Dholztra nodded and “Celia” spoke up. But in spite of the unit’s female voice, its speech patterns were too reminiscent of the detective himself.

“Maybe try a little acting,” said Imogen. “You know, pretend you’re a human female, like me.”

“That’s a heavy lift,” said Dholztra. “Pretending to be human is one thing, but pretending to be female … well, you know what I mean.”

“But you have a girlfriend, right?” asked Imogen. “Could you model Celia on her?”

Dholztra’s antennae drooped.

“Might work,” he said. “Except Treldraah’s not exactly a diplomat.”

“Is it true that Halfoorn’s holding her hostage?” asked Imogen. “That must be awful.”

“Yeah,” said the detective. “Don’t know what I’ll do if I find her in his compound.”

“No problem there,” said Grelek. “Halfoorn has her on house arrest in Romnexia. Sorry to say her sister’s trapped in there, too, with mercenaries guarding the door. Don’t worry, we’ll get her out.”

Dholztra took a deep breath and shrugged his four shoulders.

“Forget it,” he said. “Let’s get back to work.”

His fears shoved aside, the dedicated detective took Imogen’s suggestion and tried to imagine how Treldraah would talk. A few hours later, “Celia” was ready for casual conversation, just in time for Dholztra to feel the jolt of Grelek’s air car, as it touched down at HCBI headquarters on Nolatre. Though they could have shipped “Celia” out in a crate, The savvy detective wanted to practice controlling the unit in the real world.

As it happened, the real world wasted no time in testing him. The moment they were out of the air car, a raggedy human teenager ran up behind them and called out to “Celia.”

“Hey, Babe, why you hanging with those bug boys?” he said. “You needa get yourself a real man.”

“Where would I find one?” said Dholztra through the robotic unit. “The only humans I see are my friend here and a skinny kid who’s late for dinner.”

The human boy scowled, his eyes flashing.

“Big Brian was right about you Red Disks,” he said. “You let the ‘sectoids rip out your heart and replace it with a bag of bug juice.”

A nod from Grelek to an approaching security guard and the human teenager was hustled off the HCBI campus.

“How did that kid get in here?” asked Dholztra.

“We don’t live in a police state, Detective,” said Grelek, “not yet. The high security area is straight ahead. I don’t doubt he’s one of Halfoorn’s operatives, though. Consider yourself warned.”

Dholztra’s mandibles clenched, but he was determined not to let Imogen down. How was it, he wondered, that she seemed so brave? He had his answer soon after they’d settled into a secure, windowless conference room that was paneled in dark neo-wood and decorated with polished brass trim.

“You know,” she said. “I’ve nothing left to lose. When my father boarded his ship on Earth, he was a soldier in a proud tradition. I was born here, but at least I had my family. Now Dad’s dead and Nyles … I know I’ll never really get him back again. But you have a career and a lover to protect. What’s in it for you?”

Dholztra glanced up at her tear-stained face and shifted his gaze to the view screen on the far wall, which displayed a computer animation of the approaching Belanthrese fleet.

“The stakes are the same for me,” he told her. “If we don’t stop Halfoorn my life won’t be worth a sack of comet dust. So we have to pull ourselves together. Go wash your face, or whatever humans do. No matter what, your best defense is knowing you can win.”

Dholztra walked “Celia” across the room and made the unit take Imogen’s hands.

“Besides, Sis,” she said, “we have each other’s back, right?”

Imogen smiled, kissed “Celia” on the cheek and left the conference room. A few minutes later, when she returned, looking refreshed and calm, Dholztra wished he could say the same for himself. If they made it through this mission, he realized, it would be due to the courage they took from each other.

Agent Jalinoor poked his head into the room.

“It’s time,” he said. “We’ve located Halfoorn’s headquarters. And get this, it’s still under construction.”

“Where?” asked Dholztra.

“Ask ‘Celia’.” said Jalinoor. “LunarOne built a complete sensor array into the robotic unit, so it knows everything we do. You’ll also find a map and schematics for Halfoorn’s compound.”

Dholztra closed his eyes.

Halfoorn’s location, he thought. Almost immediately, a GPS map appeared in his mind, with Halfoorn’s headquarters marked in red.

“Got it,” he said. “So … what? We just walk in?”

“Seems like it,” said Jalinoor. “According to the intel we yanked out of a captured operative, the ‘First Citizen’ is so over-confident that he leaves the whole compound open to the public. He tells everybody he wants to be ‘transparent.’”

“Guess he succeeded,” said Dholztra, “’cause I see right through him. Just one more question. Won’t the compound’s AI pick up my signal?”

But as Jalinoor explained, “Celia’s” inner workings were encased in a chameleon field, which masked her sensor array behind the vital signs of a young human female.

“Hope you’re right,” said Dholztra. “I don’t relish getting my brain fried if his tech team finds me.”

“Just try not to stand out,” said Jalinoor. “The quieter you are, the better the chameleon circuits will work. You’re only going in to observe and be a transmitter.”

“That’s great for me,” said Dholztra. “But Imogen will actually be inside Halfoorn’s … palace.”

“We’ve done what we could.” said Jalinoor. “Imogen, how’s the microtransmitter we implanted in your arm? Giving you any trouble?”

“It tingles a lot,” said Imogen, “but it’s fine. Will you really be able to message me once we’re inside?”

“That’s the idea,” said the HCBI agent. “As soon as we’re ready to move in, we’ll send you coordinates to a safe location within the compound.”

“Safe?” asked Dholztra. “Not with that lunatic. Maybe I should go in alone.”

“No way,” said Imogen. “Halfoorn thinks he knows me. That should give ‘Celia’ better cover. Anyway, it’s like I said: I’m at the end of my rope and the one last thing I want out of life, is to see the monster who took my brother burnt to a crisp.

“No need to jump the gun,” said the detective. “I’ll make sure you get out alive.”

Imogen hung her head.

“Thanks,” said Imogen. “Not sure I care.”

Dholztra watched as Imogen left the secure conference room with Jalinoor and the humanoid robotic unit that, he hoped, would give him the opportunity to finish off Halfoorn personally.

A lot easier if they’d built a pulse pistol into that thing, he told himself. Too late, he realized his mistake and heard “Celia” repeat his thoughts remotely. Seconds later, Imogen’s remote whisper echoed in his mind.

Stop it! she said. Control yourself.

Dholztra’s first impulse was to apologize, but he thought better of it. Instead he said through the robotic unit,

“Oh, Sis, I’m glad you talked me into this. Halfoorn only wants what’s right for us.”

Through the unit’s eyes, he saw Imogen smile at him, then put a finger to her lips. Of course, she was right. The less “Celia” said, the better.

By now, Imogen and her robotic sister were within a few meters of Halfoorn’s headquarters. As predicted by the HCBI, the massive gate that faced the street swung open easily, and they stepped into the grounds of Halfoorn’s main compound unopposed. It was only when they reached the short flight of stairs leading to the main entrance that they were accosted by a reverberant female voice.

“Welcome. State the nature of your business with the First Citizen,” it said.

Dholztra’s mind exploded with sarcastic remarks, but he distracted himself by analyzing the layout of the compound, in case they had to escape in a hurry.

“We’ve seen the light,” said Imogen. “We want to spread the First Citizen’s message to all humans on Nolatre.”

“Enter,” said the voice. “You will be scanned.”

Imogen nodded at “Celia,” and Dholztra summoned every ounce of concentration to climb the stairs — the one thing he’d forgotten to practice. But luck was with him and before long, the two humanoids stood in the lobby of the compound’s main building. A purplish-red light bathed them and the entire lobby for what felt like an eternity of silence.

“Cleared,” said the same female voice. “Though it appears the human designated ‘Imogen’ has an elevated heart rate. Explain.”

“Please,” said Imogen, “this is the most exciting moment of my life. I can’t wait to learn how I can help.”

“And you?” said the voice. “The human designated ‘Celia,’ are you not excited to meet the First Citizen?”

”His plan fills me with the serenity of the just,” said Dholztra. “I know that all of history has led to this point, and I am content.”

“Poetic,” said the voice. “In time, you must learn to speak in the cadence of the common people. The First Citizen’s message is for all.”

Dholztra’s mind reeled at the prospect of keeping up this subservient patter. Fortunately, he was soon spared by Halfoorn himself, who flung open the doors to his inner sanctum.

“Extraordinary,” said Halfoorn. “But not unanticipated. The message behind a great political movement is always infectious. Come in, my children.”

Dholztra let Imogen take the lead, as he walked “Celia” into an immense office space, decorated in a bizarre mix of Nolatrid, Belanthrese and human artifacts. On the wall opposite the room’s ovoid doorway, he saw a traditional Nolatrid coat of arms. To his left, a suite of office furniture in the Belanthrese style, with its satiny upholstery and elaborate copper metal work running up and down its legs, back and arms. Not knowing what to expect, he made “Celia” look left and saw a human tea service. It was a collection of porcelain and silver objects that the detective couldn’t quite identify.

While it was doubtful that Halfoorn knew much of anything about human customs, the intent was clear. The leader of the self-described New World Order was trying to show solidarity with the roots of three contrasting civilizations. For her part, Imogen made a special point of gazing about in wonder

“Magnificent, First Citizen,” she said. “I’m more convinced than ever that yours is the one true path.”

“Please, child,” said Halfoorn. “No need to be so formal. We go back a long way, don’t we? Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Imogen looked over at “Celia” with surprising nonchalance.

“This is my sister, Celia,” she said. “Celia, the First Citizen.”

“I’m … I’m honored, Sir,” said “Celia.”         .

Halfoorn turned his multifaceted eyes to face the robotic unit.

“And have you, too,” he asked, “come to help me spread the truth to your fellow humans?”

“Yes, First Citizen,” said “Celia.”

“Superb!” said the besotted dictator. “Let’s put you two to work. I’ll introduce you to my … my head of marketing, I suppose I should say. Come along.”

A loud clang sounded and Halfoorn reached for the silvery handheld that lay prone on his oversized hardwood desk.

“What is it?” he yelled into the device. “I’m busy with important guests … What? Oh, stop babbling. No, there’s no truth to that rumor … What? … Well that’s why it’s a rumor, now isn’t it?” Dholztra’s former informant closed contact and tossed his handheld back on his desk. “Honestly, Imogen, you don’t know how glad I am to have you here. Most of my operatives are a tad too dense for their own centers of gravity, like that idiot Olithcraz. Now … this way.”

The self-described author of The New World Order pivoted on his four feet, opened a door embedded in the wall to the right of his desk and hurried off down a brightly lit corridor. Imogen glanced at “Celia” and followed. Dholztra did his best to keep up, despite being distracted by his curiosity about Halfoorn’s comlink call.

What rumor could possibly get that maniac so riled up? he wondered.

Regardless, they now entered an imposing war room, filled with computer workstations, and decked out with an interlocking array of gleaming view screens.

The screens, Dholztra noticed, were labelled with place names. While the majority of them referred to locations on his homeworld, some tracked sites on Belanthra and a few other strategically placed worlds. Trouble was, most of the work stations were unoccupied. Halfoorn stopped, spread his four arms wide and swept the air with his wiggling antennae.

“This is it,” he said. “The heart and soul of The New World Order. I can track anyone of importance from here and, of course, issue commands instantaneously to every corner of the three galaxies. Impressive, no? I’ve spared no expense to ensure our rise will be swift and permanent.”

“It’s … it’s overwhelming,” said Imogen.

“We’re still staffing up, mind you,” said Halfoorn. “Because of the resistance I’ve encountered, most of my recruiting efforts have gone to securing ground troops and air cover. Change takes time and Nolatrid society is, shall we say, complacent. In fact, I may need you as much to drum up support among my own people as yours.”

“Oh First Citizen, you’re … you’re such a visionary,” said Imogen. Though Dholztra knew the lump in her throat was from terror, he was dead certain that Halfoorn interpreted it as awe.

“Thank you, child,” said Halfoorn. “But realizing a vision takes dedication and plenty of hard work. Are you ready, both of you?”

“Yes, First Citizen,” said the two intruders in unison — though Dholztra had a tough time getting the words out. Halfoorn, eyes sparkling, headed back to the corridor they’d just exited.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll give you a private tour. It won’t give you the complete picture, because I’m afraid we’re still under construction. But I’ll bet you’ll catch the spirit of the thing right away.”

What followed was a mad scurry through all six floors of Halfoorn’s administrative complex, including the two above ground and the four subterranean levels. Like the room they’d just left, every other section of the vast compound was laughably empty, as if Halfoorn had planned a large coming out party and then forgotten to send out the invitations. True to Halfoorn’s disclaimer, there were signs of incomplete construction work everywhere, including tool belts, heavy equipment and discarded scraps of various building materials. All the while, the would-be ruler of the civilized world gave a running commentary, which Dholztra hoped “Celia’s” sensor array would pick up in full.

Finally, after two exhausting hours, Halfoorn returned them to the large open office where they started. Despite a small crew of operatives working intensively at a wide variety of tasks, the room was eerily quiet.

“Here’s where you’ll work,” said the self-styled First Citizen. “You see how it is, don’t you? I don’t tolerate fraternization. Now, where’s Epilosaah?”

Imogen and “Celia” watched as Halfoorn rushed to a wall-mounted comlink. Within seconds of Halfoorn’s petulant summons, a squat female scurried up to greet them. Dholztra was surprised to see she was one of the very few Nolatrids who wore large, rounded glasses over her multifaceted eyes.

“I leave you in good hands, my children,” said Halfoorn. “Now I must rush off: The universe beckons!”

“Welcome, humans,” said Epilosaah. “You can think of me as the First Citizen’s Chief of Staff. Though, frankly, he thinks of me as his slave. I’m afraid I’m short on human-compatible equipment, so you’ll just have to make do. This way, please.”

The bespectacled Nolatrid set off along a winding path between numerous workstations before leading the two intruders to an unoccupied module, filled with equipment that even Dholztra didn’t recognize. He could only imagine how perplexing it must be to Imogen.

“Based on the First Citizen’s somewhat abbreviated comments,” said Epilosaah, “you will be assisting Tralkilarn, our Propaganda Chief. She processes all the information that flows in and separates real news from, you know, rumor.”

Suddenly, Dholztra remembered the angry comlink conversation Halfoorn had in his office.

“What about the latest rumor?” he asked. “Think it’s true?”

“What? That an unidentified fleet is approaching?” asked Epilosaah. “Some think it’s real, some think it’s a data ghost. Who knows? Even if the fleet’s real, it’s too far out for a positive ID.”

“Well, why would a fleet come out of nowhere?” asked “Celia.” “Does Nolatre have any enemies I don’t know about?”

Epilosaah shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” she said. “But we didn’t pick up any activity in the vicinity of those ships — or ghosts — until after the First Citizen formally invited Earth to join The New World Order. But nobody seriously thinks the humans would come back here. Not after the way we trounced them. Besides, from everything I’ve heard, their ships were barely space-worthy.”

“Funny how the battle lasted as long as it did, then,” said “Celia.”

“Well, when you’re dealing with barbarians, no offence,” said Epilosaah, “anything can happen. Anyway, the boss will have my gastor if I don’t get you two settled. Take a look at the workstation and see if you can start it up with your tiny hands. I’ll be back later to check up on you. And I’ll let Director Tralkilarn know you’re here.”

Epilosaah hurried off faster than Dholztra would have thought possible.

Fear does that to you, he thought.

Imogen grabbed “Celia’s” forearm.

“You think an Earth fleet could be heading to Nolatre?” she whispered.

“Even if it arrives,” Dholztra replied through the robotic unit, “there’s no telling whose side the humans will be on. We better assume the worst. Let’s see if we dig up more intel — and stop talking. You heard that nut-job. Silence is golden.”

Imogen nodded and between them, they managed to get the workstation running. Dholztra dialed up his favorite news outlet. There on the front page was an image of Commissioner Olithcraz, surrounded by HCBI agents.

KUZDROHNA POLICE COMMISSIONER

ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF CONSPIRACY

While he found the news heartening, Dholztra now knew that Olithcraz was merely one tiny cog in Halfoorn’s mad scheme for cosmic domination. He was about to continue searching when Imogen sat bolt upright and whispered to Dholztra.

“It’s Agent Grelek,” she said, “through my transmitter implant. They’re storming this facility now. We have to get to safety.”

“Lead on,” said Dholztra. But he was keenly aware how much finesse it might take to leave their assigned seats without being stopped. Worse, he could already feel the impact of the HCBI assault even though, by his count, they were four stories below ground. Imogen, it seemed, was receiving clear instructions from Grelek; she navigated Halfoorn’s vast headquarters as if she’d been born and raised there.

“To the left, up ahead,” she was saying. Dholztra saw an entryway looming before them, and assumed the spiral ladder just inside its arched framework would lead them to a deeper, underground bunker. But no sooner had he wrapped his fingers around the top of the railing than he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

“There you are,” said Halfoorn. “I figured you wouldn’t know where our safe rooms were and then I saw you on the security cameras heading here. Good instincts. But come on, I know an area even more secure. Dholztra’s antennae stiffened as he saw, through “Celia,” that Halfoorn was pulling Imogen onto a balcony, still under construction, which looked down onto a large laboratory. Tools and small sections of pipe lay in a heap to one side of the railing.

The view from the balcony was an exact replica of the genetics lab he’d seen in Olithcraz’ warehouse, except on a larger scale.

“Down there,” said the First Citizen, “you see? That’s where I’m transforming your species so it can rise to its rightful place in the universe.”

Dholztra made “Celia” hurry over to join them and stared down at row upon row of polyglass cylinders, each one filled with a bizarre, genetically altered hybrid of human and Belanthrese traits.

“You see, my child?” said Halfoorn. “There, on the left in the second row. I believe that’s your brother, Yes, a fine lad and one of the first to join my cause. A magnificent specimen and a worthy addition.…”

Imogen rushed at Halfoorn with both hands out, grabbed at the narrowest part of his thorax and began to squeeze.

“Monster!” she shrieked. “He never signed up to be turned into that.”

Halfoorn, though initially startled, was much stronger than any human and pushed her away with all four hands. Imogen, however, was relentless and Dholztra, seeing his chance, took advantage of his intimate knowledge of Nolatrid anatomy. While Imogen continued her assault, he made “Celia” dive for Halfoorn’s legs. Thrown off balance, the terrorist leader lay splayed out on his headquarter’s polished white tiles.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “You need me. I alone can save you from.…”

“Who’ll save me from you?” yelled Imogen.

Before Dholztra could take his next breath, she picked up a large wrench from the construction site and used it to bash Halfoorn’s exoplated head. At the same time, loud sirens sounded, as the assault by the HCBI reached down to the lowest level of the compound. One blast knocked a chunk of ceiling down not three meters from where “Celia” was still on all fours, trying to hold Halfoorn still.

In no time, the First Citizen was a crumbled mess of bio-matter, but Dholztra knew it wouldn’t be long before the compound itself would be reduced to rubble.

“Let’s go,” he told Imogen.

“No,” she said. “Not while there’s a chance I can still get Nyles out of here.”

“He’s not your brother anymore,” said Dholztra. “I’m not even sure he’s alive in that tank. But breaking him out before he’s finished … developing … will kill him for sure.”

“I’m not leaving,” the fragile human female sobbed. “The least I can do is die with him.”

Back at HCBI headquarters, Dholztra’s antennae drooped as he resolved to do what, in one half of his heart, he knew he had no right to do. With one swat of “Celia’s” servo-powered arm, he knocked Imogen unconscious, flung her over the robotic unit’s right shoulder and started to run. At every step, another blast strewed debris in his path, but he pressed on. The map of the compound, which Jalinoor had transmitted before Imogen left, served him well and guided him to the surface.

At last, “Celia” raced out into the night air with Imogen still on her shoulder. But though Dholztra had hoped their escape would give him a moment of peace, he had badly underestimated the battle erupting on all sides. For now, in addition to the frontal assault by SWARM forces on Halfoorn’s mercenary army, the first wave of landers from the Belanthrese fleet began touching down in the near distance.

Experience told Dholztra that his first and only objective at this point was to find cover. With Imogen beginning to revive, he pushed “Celia’s” robotic limbs ahead, toward a huge, mobile HCBI bunker that must have touched down from LunarOne less than an hour earlier. Would he reach it before the Belanthrese advanced? It was hard to say. For despite the battle raging all around him, the only sound he could hear was the throbbing pulse of destiny, as it thundered in his ears.

(To be continued: read Episode 7, here)

Mark Laporta is the acclaimed author of the Changing Hearts of Ixdahan Daherek series and the new novel, Probability Shadow, which was published in October by Chickadee Prince Books, available now in paperback or ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or at a bookstore near you.

Design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original Image by Miguel Bruna / Unsplash