《What Happened to the Mouse?》 Prologue: Seven Years Ago Disappearance can be far crueler than death, and at the age of thirteen, Maria Park had little experience with either. She ran her nails along the metal arm of the office chair,click-click-click, back and forth. Noelle, her older sister, clutched Maria''s other hand protectively. She wanted to go home, but home was wherever their mother was, and nobody knew that. Seated on the floor beside them, Vincent Stein stared down the hallway at the investigation team, his knees drawn up to his chest. The investigators were talking about his brother, Henry. Pointed questions echoed off the cold tile and bare walls of the Saturn Technologies building. Vincent''s presence, as welcome as it was, did little to reassure Maria. If anything, her best friend''s nervousness amplified her own fears. "Are they going to be done soon?" she asked. She hoped Henry wasn''t still angry at Mom; they certainly shouted a lot that morning. Maria had told one of the federal agents about this earlier, and he''d smiled in a way that made her wish she hadn''t mentioned it. "Any minute now," said Noelle, maintaining the same stoic front that had allowed her to survive at the police academy. "You''re making Vince nervous." To unsettle Vincent was not difficult; he was a fidgety young man, one year Maria''s senior, whose nails were gnawed to the quick. "They think Henry did something to her," he said. "They really think so." "Let''s not jump to conclusions, all right?" said Noelle. From what she understood, only a few people had accessed this floor of the building when their mother vanished. Five, specifically: her, her mother, her sister, and the Stein brothers, Henry and Vincent. Few people came to work on the weekend. If the worst had happened, Henry seemed like the most plausible culprit, but... But the worstcouldn''thave happened. There was no body. Henry couldn''t simply have erased their mother from existence. She had to be alivesomewhere, but then, why didn''t she respond to their texts? "No," said Noelle, as much to reassure herself as to placate Maria, "they''re not going to arrest Henry today. They might have more questions later." "You think?" asked Maria. "To help us find Mom." Reassured somewhat by her sister''s expert opinion, Maria ruminated quietly until Henry Stein''s office door swung open. The federal agent who had been introduced to them as Ms. Singh stepped out, followed by Henry, who was downcast but not handcuffed. "If you think of anything," said Singh, "tell us. The longer she stays missing, the harder this gets. Forensics will take your prints and DNA while we talk with her brother. They worked together, I assume?" Henry nodded and forced a crooked smile at Vincent and Maria before a lab tech led him away. Maria waved back, but Vincent only sighed. Recognizing their low spirits, Ms. Singh knelt down on one knee and addressed them both as Noelle watched. "You''ve been very patient. I just need to talk to your Uncle Johann, and then you can all go home." She rummaged through her briefcase and produced two lollipops, which she gravely presented to Vincent and Maria. The gesture might have been received with more gratitude if they''d been a few years younger. As it stood, Maria glumly fiddled with the wrapper, but didn''t open it, while Vincent rubbed and twirled the stick between his fingers. "Um, what if you can''t find her? What do we do?" asked Maria. A slow shake of the head. A brittle smile. "That shouldn''t concern you right now. That''s what professionals are for." "There were professionals on theHindenburg," muttered Vincent, with an uncharacteristic bite of teenage sarcasm. "Listen," said Ms. Singh. "I''m going to give you all my card. If you learn anything, let me know. I''ve got to go now." Vincent nodded glumly and pocketed the card as Singh rose to full height, handed two more cards to Maria and Noelle, and walked away.
INTERACTION TUTORIAL: Five characters have been introduced in a short span: Maria and Noelle Park, their friends Vincent and Henry Stein, and Ms. Singh. In addition, Maria and Noelle''s mother, Alice, has been mentioned. Using the comment thread below labeled Character Intro Questions, try asking questionsabout any of these characters and I''ll provide background details or clarifying information, as far as I can without spoiling the mystery
"It looks like they''ve finished with the scene," said Noelle. "I think we can get in, but stay quiet and don''t draw unnecessary attention." Her two charges nodded and rose to their feet. When they reached the machining room, Noelle inspected the broken door and thought back on the disappearance. A few hours before, all four of them - Maria, Noelle, Henry, and Vincent - had seen her mother enter the machining room and lock the door behind her. At that point, she, Maria, and Vincent had decided to hang out in her mother and Uncle Johann''s shared office across the hall. Meanwhile, Henry went to his own office to rewrite a paper. Then, about an hour ago, Vincent smelled the smoke pouring out from from under the machining room door and frantically shouted for Henry. "We all thought Mom was trapped in there," mused Noelle aloud. "But when Henry grabbed a crowbar and broke in, she wasn''t there. If she left, I don''t know how all three of us missed her. We kept our door open." That was unsettling, but it was nothing compared to the second problem. Noelle and Maria had overheard the agents talking about the elevator records. The only ways to access the third floor of the building were the elevators and the emergency stairs, which had an alarm. Every time someone used the elevator, they needed to swipe their keycard.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. And the keycard records were clear: nobody had used the elevator between the time Dr. Park entered the machining room and the time the police arrived. Furthermore, the cameras at the front desk captured no evidence of her leaving. "It''s a hard problem," said Noelle. Yes, that''s what it was. Once they solved the problem, they''d find their mother, and all would be well. She just had to keep the kids calm, and put on a strong face. "Why don''t we look around and see what we learn?" She opened the machining room door and was greeted by the lingering aroma of smoke. The machining room held a hodgepodge of equipment and reagents. Cabinets of chemicals with obvious spill-marks lined the walls nearest the door, and a fabricator suite took up the entire back half of the room. Between the clutter, the fabricator, and the central table covered in power tools, there was little room to maneuver. Something faintly blue was splashed over the table and floor. There were no doors but the one they entered by, and the window was closed tight. This was the room their mother had vanished from. Okay, thought Noelle.I just need to consider every possibility, and investigate things closely.
TUTORIAL: This is aninteractive segment. Comment with suggestions for our sleuths. What should they inspect in the room?Once a reader has suggested an action, I will reply in the comments and, if relevant, willunlocksome of the locked narration below.
?A Simple Answer? (unlocked by David F. Weisman) A few possibilities flitted through Noelle''s mind, but the first, and simplest, was the window. Upon examination, it was closed and latched from the inside, and opened over a straight drop to the ground below. No handholds were evident on the wall, and the ground itself was sloped steeply, making it difficult or impossible to set up a ladder. Not only that, the loose garden soil at the base of the wall would have held obvious footprints. Unless someone pulled her mother up to the roof, and somehow closed and locked the window as well, it was hard to see how she could have left this way. ?The Source of the Smoke(unlocked by Melanthe) A little exploration and sniffing quickly revealed where the smoke had come from: the opening of one of the big fabricators was covered in ash. A warning on the display read "Emergency shutdown: overheat." Inside, there were the remains of what may have been a flat wooden panel, badly charred. The lasers would certainly need a thorough cleaning, if they were recoverable at all. Noelle squinted at the panel more closely, and recognized it. "I think it was supposed to be your birthday present," she said to Maria. "Don''t worry... she can make another one when she comes back." Maria didn''t respond; as sad as it may have been, the destruction of a present was the least of her concerns. Maria and Noelle had amassed a sizable collection of laser-cut designs in wood, gifts from their mother. Sometimes, she would download pictures, turn up the contrast, and scan them. But when she felt a more personal touch was necessary, she used a stylus and tablet to guide the cutter manually, regularly checking her handiwork to get just the right depth and sharpness of line. Noelle mused over this. Could the cutter have been left on, then overheated and set the wood on fire? "But that means," said Noelle, "that she started to make this, but in the middle of her work..." "What?" asked Vincent. "I don''t know. But something must have pulled her away from the station." ? A Belt? (Unlocked by strand VV) Maria searched around for signs of a struggle. Was anything out of place? The cabinets were messy, but they''d always been that way. Uncle Johann was a clutterer, and her mother had long given up on doing anything about it. If anything, the table in the middle of the room was slightly neater than usual. A metal belt occupied pride of place. Though it was still incomplete, with an open panel exposing its tangled innards, the attached clips and suspenders made it clear that it was meant to be worn. Three LEDs were visible in the front. The absence of evidence of a fight had probably inflamed suspicions against Henry further. The culprit, the investigators had probably reasoned, must be someone whom the victim knew. "But if they''re going to accuse Henry," mused Noelle. "They need to explain how..." Vincent and Maria looked at her quizzically, but she didn''t finish the sentence aloud. Shutting her eyes, she inspected the floor. "They might have tested with luminol. Maria, lights off, please." Maria flicked the light switch. With the window shades down, the room was dark enough now to see a faint blue glow spread across several wide areas of the floor. "Why''s it glowing?" asked Maria, concerned. "Is it radioactive or something?" "No. It''s a test for blood." Seeing Maria''s alarm, Noelle hurriedly added, "But it also gives wrong answers, too. Maybe a reagent in the lab set it off, or some cleaning agent." Vincent bit his lip. "If it was blood, there was a lot of it." A series of unwanted ideas flashed through Noelle''s mind. There were power tools here. There was carbon cleaner, too, a big bucket of it. Acids for etching. And the fire could have been set by overloading the laser cutter deliberately, to cover up the smell. And the loud machining station could have covered up the sound of - NO. Noelle''s voice quaked a little as she tried to drive the thoughts away: "No, no, it would take too long. Even with that sink, there''s no way." "What would take too long?" asked Vincent. "Nothing." Collecting herself, Noelle shook her head fiercely. ?A Less Messy Explanation (unlocked by strand VV) She followed the spill marks along the cabinets, and soon found the culprit: bottles of antifreeze, at least some of which had been improperly capped. She then checked around the machining equipment, and saw the telltalle discoloration of leaked and spilled coolant. And if someone had mopped up these coolant spills and spread it all over the floor... "The antifreeze has a glowing additive. Could''ve interfered with the luminol test." She rose back to her feet. "Mom''s still alive," she said. "She must be." Having finished investigating to the best of their ability, the three were preparing to leave when Maria snapped to attention. "Hey! A mouse!" said Maria. "What?" Sometimes, Noelle wondered if her sister had some sort of attentional disorder. She never sought a diagnosis, but... Maria pointed to the hulking fabricator. "A mouse just ran behind there. It was wearing something... shiny? I don''t know what." Brow furrowing, Noelle crouched to peer under the machine. It was too dark to see and too loud to hear, but something was moving there. But why would a mouse be wearing anything? Was it some kind of lab specimen? "Henry said they test devices on the mice," said Vincent, then added, noting Maria''s look of worry, "It doesn''t hurt them. But they don''t do it in here. They test in the animal testing -" The door swung open, interrupting these murine speculations, and Uncle Johann entered. "There you are. Er, you all shouldn''t be in here." He didn''t meet their gaze. "Let''s get you somewhere safer. There''s - well - there''s - there''s something I need to tell you." It was then that Uncle Johann relayed the bad news. A thorough search of the surrounding area, including hospitals, buses, taxis, traffic cameras, and the morgue, had turned up not the slightest trace of Dr. Alice Palmstroem Park. It was as if she had vanished off the face of the earth. Chapter 1: Animal Testing On the night Uncle Johann died, it had been Maria''s job to protect him. She shone her flashlight down the gloomy hallway, sweeping the beam over walls painted a morose, institutional blue. Seven years ago, her mother had disappeared at Saturn Technologies, and now it was Maria''s workplace. A glance at her cell phone showed the time to be 10:02 PM. No reception, as usual, and two hours remaining in her shift. These lonely vigils had a way of messing with her sense of time. What was she even doing here? Working security and doing odd tasks for Uncle Johann had seemed like a good deal a few months ago. But she hadn''t expected the nights to draw on so long and dark, or the memories to crowd in so oppressively. On her left was the cluttered office that her mother used to share with her uncle. A little further down was the office that once belonged to Henry, but now belonged to Vincent. And on her right was the door to the machining room. It hurt to be reminded like this, especially when Unce Johann clearly knew more about the disappearance than he let on. And when Vincent, with his haunted eyes and prodigious mind, joined the research team to carry on in his brother''s stead, she¡¯d hoped he might help her break through the shell of secrecy. But he, too, divulged nothing. Whatever Vincent''s reasons for secrecy were, Maria''s relations with her oldest friend soon grew chilly ¡ª as chilly as this awful hallway. She wished she''d brought a jacket. For that matter, she wished she hadn''t let her shift partner borrow her revolver. Come to think of it, I''d better check in with her. She pulled out her walkie-talkie. "Hey, Felicity. How''s it going?" she asked. No response. "Hey, Earth to Felicity! Are you there?" Silence. She''d try again in fifteen minutes, and if she got no reply then, she''d check out the opposite wing in person. With a grunt of annoyance, she trudged further down the hall. Even after seven years, there were still emergency cabinets on the walls, the same ones she''d mistaken for "emergency snack compartments" as a child, and decades-old fluorescent lights still protruded from the ceiling. Now they were dark. The only illumination came from her flashlight and a scattering of moonlight through the dusty blinds at the end of the hallway. Her beam alit on the furthest door on the right, next to the office chairs she and her sister had occupied on that fateful day years ago. The door''s placard read ANIMAL TESTING, and it was slightly ajar. She paced over and tried the handle, which turned freely. Somebody must have forgotten to lock up. She fished around on her keyring, but none fit. She''d just have to scold someone in the morning.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Although, if she were to take a little peek inside, would anyone ever know? What if the secret project was gigantic rampaging mice? What then, Maria, what then? She chuckled at her own imagination. Then again, this really could be her chance to explore the lab without anyone scolding her away from the interesting stuff... A few moments of fumbling found the testing room''s light switch, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden fluorescent brightness.
INTERACTIVE SEGMENT: To examine an item more closely, comment in the thread titled "Searching the Testing Room."
"Howdy, flies," she muttered. The Animal Testing room was lined with cabinets and shelves stacked tall with fruit fly vials, starchy food flakes, and electronics. A plastic mouse cage with a whirring ventilation fan sat on the center table, next to a beige metal box studded with knobs and audiovisual feeds. In the air lingered the scent of yeast, cleaning supplies, and a faint undertone of mouse urine.
? Narration Unlocked by Melanthe: The Audiovisual Equipment A tangle of cables connected the metal box to a bulky microphone and two cameras, both of which pointed directly at the mouse cage. The rig was coated with a layer of dust. Her curiosity overcoming her reluctance to meddle, Maria plugged the box in. Its monitor displayed a menu in blocky text: RECORD, VIEW RECORDINGS, SETTINGS. With a few clicks of a keypad, she navigated to VIEW RECORDINGS, only to find an empty list. Had it been deleted for secrecy? Uncle Johann could be paranoid. Then again, Maria was snooping through his research materials. But whoever deleted the videos had forgotten to reset the settings, and one drew her attention: ? Start recording upon noise detection. Musing on this, Maria unplugged the box again to cover her tracks.
A fruit fly sorting station, which used to reside in her mother''s office, now occupied a desk in the testing room''s corner, along with an old PC with a battered optical mouse. Maria had played many a round of solitaire on that machine. Next to it sat the can of paintbrushes and the carbon dioxide pad she¡¯d used to sort fruit flies as a summer job. A sudden squeak roused Maria from her reminiscence. She turned around. "Hey. A mouse." The sole occupant of the cage on the table peered out at her inquisitively. And while she might have ordinarily filed this under "adorable but normal," something was odd. The grey-and-white mouse wore a brass harness that hung over its neck and looped around its front legs. Embedded in the metal at shoulder level, three green LEDs shone brightly. Though the mouse gave no sign of discomfort, it was probably just as well that it was caged alone. Another mouse would''ve surely gnawed at the device, whatever it was. Nearby, protruding up through the wood shavings on the floor of the cage, stood a tiny tripod with a flashing green LED at its summit. A mouse-surveying stand? A microphone for mouse karaoke? At this point, it would have been thematically appropriate for Maria to have said "Curiouser and curiouser," or possibly "Oh my fur and whiskers!" But she didn''t. She merely pursed her lips and turned out the lights, leaving the mouse alone, its LEDs shining an eerie green through the dark. Then she stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. As a result, she was unable to witness what happened in the testing room after she left. First, the tripod in the mouse cage beeped. Next, it flashed three times. And then... Chapter 2: Riddle Night To Maria''s relief, a light now shone through the gap beneath her uncle''s office door. Finally, another human being to talk to! She knocked politely. "Come in," said Uncle Johann.
INTERACTIVE SEGMENT: To examine something more closely, comment in the thread titled "Uncle Johann''s Office."
She stepped in gingerly, taking care not to trip over the piles of paper cluttering every potentially walkable space. Maria had spent long hours in this room as a child; it was a little like home. Uncle Johann sat in a swivel chair at a low office desk, his favorite mug in one hand. It read "I ?? LORENZ CONTRACTION," with the heart and text looking a little squished. He took a sip of stale coffee and asked, "Patrol going well?" "Okay," said Maria. "Felicity''s walkie-talkie stopped working, though." He frowned. "Things don''t just stop. Everything''s got a cause. Be careful." Stress and irregular hours had worn away at Johann Palmstroem. Every few days, Maria took his laundry home to the apartment she shared with Noelle and brought him clean bedding, and he seemed to be making use of the shower at the gym across the street. Even so, his crooked glasses, stained jacket, and distant air made him look like a man who¡¯d fallen and never bothered to get up. "Are you going to keep this up forever?" asked Maria. "Doubtful. No one lives forever." He tilted his head a little, realized he was being too literal, and recalibrated his answer for relevance. "Just till Henry''s either a free man or a dead one. But this office is my fortress. If anyone comes for me here, they¡¯re going to have a bad time.¡± In Maria¡¯s experience, it did no good to try to reason him out of paranoia. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m keeping an eye out.¡± She let her gaze wander. There was the antique bookshelf with its array of dusty oddities: a globe, a bottle of pickled ash seeds, a stuffed rabbit with a pocketwatch. Little had changed there.
? Narration Unlocked by Astrowoud: The Ash Seeds Every few years in the fall, the ash tree in Uncle Johann''s yard cast off winged seeds in prolific squadrons. Rather than let this bounty go to waste, Alice and Noelle would clamber up on ladders and harvest them while they were still green, then pickle them in sugar, vinegar, and chili. But according to the neatly-inked label, this bottle was seven-and-a-half years old, and thus no longer edible.
? Narration Unlocked by Astrowoud: The Rabbit with a Pocketwatch A kitschy stuffed doll of a white rabbit in a waistcoat, carrying a little replica pocketwatch. A tag on the back read: Alice''s Shop, 83 St. Aldate''s, Oxford. MCMLXXVI. MCMLXV, thought Maria. That''s 1000 (M), 1000 - 100 (CM), 50 (L), 20 (XX), 5 (V), and 1 (I). So... 1976.
? Narration Unlocked by Astrowoud: The Deadbolt The deadbolt was operated by a simple turning latch, one more layer of security beyond the office''s key lock. No other room on the floor had one. It would not be plausible to lock the bolt from outside the room by ordinary means, and the rubber covers that hid the gap on the sides of the door eliminated most tricks with wire or fishing line as well.
? Narration Unlocked by Chained: The Globe Although the globe''s sepia-toned continents and curlicued lettering gave an impression of antiquity, the presence of post-Soviet states implied otherwise. Years before, Maria had discovered that many of its features were disguised buttons, but she''d never been able to work out the right combination to pop the puzzle-globe open.
But the partition walling off the far corner of the room was new, and so was the cabinet safe standing against the east wall, protected by two sturdy locks. One key for Vincent, one for Johann. Just like the sealed authentication codes in a nuclear silo. "How''re you doing?" she asked. "Just had a nap." "Sorry to wake you." He shrugged. "Doesn''t matter when I sleep, as long as I sleep sometime." "Oh," said Maria. She wished Vincent could talk him into more regular habits. "I saw Vincent before he left. He said Mr. Fell didn''t think there''d be another reprieve." Against the odds, she''d always held out for a mitigated sentence, a remedy to an obviously unjust decision. There''d been little point in Henry''s confession if they were going to kill him anyway! "We all hoped for... something," she said. "I don''t know what." "For the impossible. Or worse, the intractable," said her uncle, rolling his eyes upward in what could have been either exasperation or supplication. "The impossible''s my business, but intractable''s bad. Not every impossible thing is possible. There are possible impossibles and impossible impossibles.¡± "Uh-huh. How''s the impossibles business, anyway?" "In a holding pattern. Finished the prototypes a few months ago." He seemed less proud of this than he might have been. "Prototypes?"Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "Without Alice, it took years to catch up," said Johann, moving on heedless of Maria¡¯s question. "A Red Queen''s Race. ''It takes all the running you can do to stay in one place.''" He gestured at a pile of incomprehensible blueprints on his desk. The phrase "LEDs show remaining uses, recharge impossible" caught Maria''s eye, but its importance was lost on her. ¡°What does it do?¡± asked Maria, beginning to suspect that this conversation was a bit of a Red Queen''s Race itself. Uncle Johann shook his head in frustration, as if Maria had blithely asked to take a nuclear submarine out for a test drive. ¡°Don¡¯t even ask. It¡¯s not safe to use them, not even the little one.¡± A pause. ¡°Might be inevitable, though. Consistency and all that.¡± Johann''s explanations bore the same relation to the facts as Picasso''s Violin bears to the real instrument. All the pieces were accounted for, but their relations were all over the place. "Vincent wants to go ahead," he continued, "but Henry''s dead-set against it. Fell doesn¡¯t know, and doesn¡¯t need to. The mouse hasn''t taken a position either way." "The mouse! So that harness..." "Doesn''t chafe or abrade. Padded. Quite humane." "Yes, but why don¡¯t you want to use... whatever it is?" Deflection in 3, 2, 1... "How about a riddle? We haven''t done that in a while." As non-answers went, this was more promising. Sometimes, riddles were how her uncle spoke when he had something important to say. If he ever intended to answer her questions seriously, it might well be in that form. Then again, he might just have been nostalgic for those twilight riddle sessions years ago. "All right. What''s the riddle?" "Everything. But we''ll start with this."
INTERACTIVE SEGMENT: All riddles have been answered by commenters!
RIDDLE ONE: Even though I''m always here, I come around but once a year.
"A calendar?" "Not a bad guess. But not it." After giving it some more thought, Maria was able to hit on the answer. ? Narration Unlocked by Melanthe: Riddle One''s Answer "It''s the Earth," said Maria. "When you say it''s ''always here,'' you mean under our feet. But from the point of view of the sun, it comes around once every year." "Correct," said Uncle Johann, picking up the globe from the bookshelf. "There''s no such thing as a ''better'' or ''worse'' reference frame. But it''s only human to prefer our own point of view." His fingers danced over the surface of the globe until it swung open at the equator with a click. From its core, he produced a pocketwatch and a key. "The heart of the world," he said, holding out the watch to Maria. An engraved butterfly flitted across the front of the casing, over a banner reading TEMPVS EDAX RERVM. Her fingertips trembled as she opened it. It kept accurate time. Pasted inside, opposite the watch face, was a photograph of the Palmstroem siblings: her mother and Johann. They looked no older than Maria was now. Gently, she shut the watch and handed it back. "It''s beautiful," she said. Palmstroem replaced the watch and key in the globe and neatly clicked it shut. "That wasn''t so bad," said Maria. "Got another one?" "Sure."
RIDDLE TWO: Dark when it''s still, And aglow when it goes, Its eye''s in its belly, Its tail''s on its nose.
"It''s not a literal animal, is it?" said Maria, more to herself than her uncle. Eventually, she found the solution. ? Narration Unlocked by MortimusWasHere: Riddle Two''s Answer "It''s an optical mouse, right? Like the one in the other room. It''s got a wire connecting it by the ''nose'' to the computer, and a little glowing ''eye'' underneath." "Correct," said Uncle Johann. "I''ve been thinking about mice." ¡°So have I,¡± said Maria, her memory stirred. ¡°You know how I saw that mouse after Mom disappeared? What happened to it?¡± "Henry caught it. Next riddle." It seemed, Maria thought, that Uncle Johann was trying to direct her attention to specific things and ideas without saying anything explicitly. But to what end?
RIDDLE THREE: The end of all time is my terminal part, Fifty-one and a hundred comprising my heart. My first is the first; you must not append more, For I''m wicked and cruel with a thousand before. Take out my hundred and split me in two, And all that remains when you''re done is untrue.
Maria gradually pieced the wordplay together, but she was unprepared for what her uncle showed her next.
HINT 1: One of the items already described in Johann''s office may yield a clue. HINT 2: It may help to focus more on letters and numbers than on meanings, at least to start.
? Narration Unlocked by SmolShrimpa (with contribution from Astrowoud): Riddle Three''s Answer "It''s ALICE," said Maria, after great length. "It''s first letter is the first letter, A. Fifty-one and a hundred give LI and C in Roman numerals. And the end of all time is ''E.''" "That''s correct. And the rest?" "Begin it with M, a thousand, and you get MALICE. Take away a hundred, or C, instead, and split it up, and you get A LIE." Johann smiled weakly and turned to his computer. "Never thought I could live without her." Uncle Johann sometimes needed the world translated for him. How had Maria''s mother described it? As she sifted through her recollections, a stilted, half-familiar voice jarred Maria from her thoughts, and spoke exactly the words she was trying to remember. "You can, Johann. But your way of looking at the world can get a little creative. Dangerously so." No! That couldn''t possibly be... An image of her mother stared at her from Uncle Johann''s computer screen, smiling emptily. A synthesized voice droned through the speakers. "I didn''t want to show you until I''d refined the model more," said Uncle Johann. "A simulation of Alice. Based on videos, chat logs, writings, my own guidance... not perfect. But she helps me focus." Shutting her eyes, Maria turned away. "...I should have warned you that her voice might not be right. The uncanny valley effect would be disconcerting if you weren''t used to it, wouldn''t it?" said Uncle Johann. "But we can improve her. It would help if you talked to her. Would you like --" "No!" It came out sharper than Maria intended. "No... thank you. I''d rather, um... not tonight." "All right," said Uncle Johann, recognizing that he had once again tripped over one of the many invisible lines that crisscrossed the world. He shut down the computer. He had confused Maria, and that was certainly not helpful at all right now. Johann fruitlessly readjusted his glasses. He had bared an embarrassing secret to his niece, only to be met with bewilderment. Another nap was in order. "Thanks for stopping by," he said. "Um, anytime," said Maria, stepping back. What was she supposed to say to that? She understood that he could be a little obsessive, but this¡­ she tried to come up with a word for this, and rejected both "scary-sad" and "tearrifying" offhand. "I''ll... just be going now." As she left, the deadbolt slid into place behind her. That was the last time she saw her uncle alive. Chapter 3: The Voice on the Radio Still nothing from Felicity. Had she fallen asleep on the job? Maria pulled the walkie-talkie out of her belt, where it occupied a place next to her empty holster, and tried once more to contact her partner. "Are you there?" she asked, with no small annoyance. To her relieved surprise, the speaker finally crackled to life. But relief gave way to unease as a harsh whisper came over the channel. "Maria, is that you?" "You''re going to have to speak up! There''s a lot of static." "Shh! Not so loud," the voice rasped. "He''ll hear you." "Who''ll hear me? Aren''t you supposed to be alone over there?" asked Maria. Felicity had never been the type to cryptically dance around a problem. "Wait, you still have my gun, right?" "Never mind about that." Why was Felicity whispering, assuming this was even her? Hoarse as the voice was, it was impossible to be sure. "What do you mean, never mind?" said Maria. "If Noelle finds out, we''re in trouble. It was a gift!" The day before, Maria broke Felicity''s handgun. Felicity had been walking her through some quick disassembly techniques, and in a moment of clumsiness, Maria damaged the extractor. Apologizing profusely, she agreed to let Felicity borrow her revolver until the part was replaced. "It''ll be fine. Say, Maria," asked the voice, "would you do me another favor?" Her eyes narrowed. This smelled as rancid as two-month-old fly food. "Like what?" "Could you leave a few things in the hall by Dr. Palmstroem''s door?" "But you aren''t even supposed to be patrolling this wing tonight." "It''s for an experiment." An experiment! In spite of her better judgment, Maria''s curiosity was piqued. "Really?" "I''ll need a bottle of antifreeze and a paintbrush. For testing some chemical properties." "Like... toxicity?" Maria asked, then inwardly cursed herself for the anxiety in her voice. "No, no, heavens no. It''d be easier if I just showed you. Leave the antifreeze and paintbrush by Dr. Palmstroem''s door, and I''ll give back your gun." "Um, I don''t think this is a good idea." "You could always tell him. But then Noelle would have to find out about the gun, wouldn''t she?" "Wait, you begged me to lend it to you! Why are you acting like this?" "I just don''t want us to get caught." What a mess. Maybe if she played along for the time being, she''d learn more about what was going on. "Fine," said Maria. "But I''m never lending you anything again." Perhaps she should have simply refused ¡ª but that''s not how it happened. The fabricators in the machining room needed antifreeze to keep from overheating, so Maria started her search there. As she entered, she suppressed an involuntary shudder of recollection. The bulky fabricators still filled the far side of the room, and it even looked like they''d kept the same crowbar. Inside the chemical cabinet, she found what she was looking for: a plastic gallon jug of antifreeze on the top shelf. Standing on tiptoe and stretching, she snagged the handle with her fingertips and pulled it down, nearly dropping it in the process. A little blue-green liquid streaked down the sides of the container, which was labeled: EZ-TRACE ANTIFREEZE & COOLANT With UV DYE for leak tracing Instructions: Add to fill line. Do not overfill. Do not ingest. For best results, trace leaks in dark environment with UV flashlight. She shut the machining room door behind her. As for the paintbrush, the fly-sorting station in Animal Testing had a coffee can full of them. If the voice had wanted something bigger, that was their problem. But as soon as Maria entered and flipped on the lights for the second time that night, something struck her as subtly different in the room. It was only after she had retrieved the brush and was heading back to the door that she realized what that change was. Where there had been only one mouse earlier, there were now two. The cage was still locked, and Maria was certain it contained no place to hide an entire mouse. And yet there the surplus rodent was: identical to the first in all visible detail, save that only two of the LEDs on its harness were lit, as opposed to all three. While it was conceivable that someone slipped into the room during her conversation with her uncle, to what end would someone place a mouse in this cage so late at night? "It couldn''t have just appeared out of nowhere," muttered Maria. "That would violate the Law of Conservation of Mouse!"
OPTIONAL PUZZLE: (Solved) There is something Maria can do now to gather clues about this mysterious mouse cage. She cannot unlock or break into the cage itself, but sheset up something else that may pay dividends later.
? Narration Unlocked by SmolShrimpa: Planning Ahead
Spoiler: How to plan ahead The only thing to do, Maria decided, was to gather data. Whatever had just gone on in that cage, the audiovisual setup pointed at the mouse cage would be a perfect way to catch it on tape if it happened again. She plugged the camera back in, made sure it the box was set to record to a new file if a sound triggered it, and tried to think of an excuse for Uncle Johann if he found his equipment tampered with. The best she could come up with was "Didn''t you always want me to follow my curiosity?"Stolen story; please report. Frankly, it rang hollow. Better to hope he never found out. That preparatory measure taken, Maria returned to the hall, her footsteps echoing hollowly through the dark. Half-expecting to be interrupted by the cryptic voice at any moment, she followed the radioed instructions, placing the brush and antifreeze directly under the miniature whiteboard hanging next to Uncle Johann''s door. Then she waited a few minutes. Nothing. Time to plot her next move. What would Noelle have done? She''d seen nobody besides herself and Uncle Johann, and he was still taking his nap. Maybe Felicity, or some unknown mouse-planting intruder, had hidden somewhere. But to hide, they''d have to get up here in the first place. There were only two entrances to this floor: the fire door near the machining room, which was protected by an alarm, and the east wing elevator. No alarm had sounded, so that left the elevator. Good. The east and west wing elevators automatically recorded all keycard use on the lobby computer. And that would surely let her trace the movements of this... mouse reverse-kidnapper. Mouse-deliverer. Whatever. Maria swiped her keycard through the slot on the elevator panel and rode it down to the ground floor. A short hallway led her to the lobby. She scanned for intruders with a slow sweep of her flashlight. The beam cast spidery shadows against the wall as it moved across the potted plants and over the visitor couches, but nobody crouched there to pounce. As she approached the tall glass front doors, she made a point of walking on the runner carpet, where her steps would be silent, and not the tiles. She felt a little abashed at this, like a child sneaking downstairs for a midnight snack. But she was alone and unarmed, and if there really was an intruder, she''d rather have the advantage of stealth. The big brass handles of the doors didn''t budge when tugged sharply. Definitely locked. Only three cars were parked in the lot outside: hers, Felicity''s, and Uncle Johann''s. Good. Turning around, she looked up into the camera monitoring the entrance. Its indicator light blinked reassuringly. Next, she checked behind the long, curved wooden counter that blocked off the reception area from the rest of the room. All was dark and quiet, save for the occasional roar of a revving engine from the nearby freeway. In the back were a cubicle, some copiers, and a storage space. A quick search found nobody there, either. The only other exit from the lobby was another hallway, opposite the one Maria had entered from, which led to the west wing elevators. Time to check the keycard records. Maria slipped behind the desk and turned on the computer. A password screen greeted her. The orientation packet had said that if she ever needed to work the front desk, a guest password was hidden under the keyboard. This seemed like a lousy security practice, but when she found the note written in her uncle''s hand in lab marker, she understood.
[For readers who cannot see the image: The fragments of the sentence are MPUT, DQU, OTH, SSW, SRE, EEN, ECO, ERI, ORDT, and THEPA] You just have to put the pieces together, she could almost hear him say.
? Narration unlocked by SmolShrimpa: The Computer Password
Spoiler: Unlocked narration w/ password Using a notepad app on her phone, Maria rearranged the fragments until she found a sentence: THEPA SSW ORDT OTH ECO MPUT ERI SRE DQU EEN The usernameguestand the password REDQUEEN worked as expected, and soon she had full access to the keycard records. There was definitely a problem here. And that problem... was that there was no problem. Nothing unusual whatsoever. With the exception of Uncle Johann, everyone who had arrived to work that day also left. And the only records of after-hours keycard use showed Maria arriving early and beginning her patrol of the east wing, and Felicity arriving late and patrolling the west wing. Her mysterious mouse-depositor had left no tracks. Having acquired this baffling evidence, Maria took the east wing elevator back upstairs. Perhaps Uncle Johann would be awake by now, and could discuss what to do. But only moments after she reached the fourth floor, a gunshot rang out from her uncle''s office. Heedless of her own safety, Maria rushed to the door. "Stop!" she cried out. "Security! Drop your weapon!" The only reply was the muffled noise of a struggle. She rattled the door furiously; bolted from the inside. Then a second gunshot pierced the air, and the tumult of fighting ceased. "Felicity!" Maria shouted into her walkie-talkie. "Wake up! Get over ¡ª" She froze mid-sentence. Through the thick door, she''d heard her own words echoed on the other side. But that meant ¡ª Maria needed backup, backup that was not Felicity, and she needed it at once. She ducked away from the office door, keeping herself out of a shooter''s line of fire, just as she''d been trained.
??OPTIONAL PUZZLE: (Solved) Maria needs a way to summon help quickly. She has no cell phone reception, she can''t trust the voice on the walkie-talkie, and there''s no time to take the elevator. What is the fastest way for her to get some attention?
? Narration unlocked by MortimusWasHere:Getting Help
Spoiler: Spoiler Then she hurled herself at the fire door. An ear-splitting alarm clamored through the building, and doubtless the entire neighborhood. Maria winced, but the din would do its job. Soon, the fire department would come, and she''d have backup. Then she could see what happened to Uncle Johann without putting her life at risk. She just had to wait, to hold out for help. Nothing good would come of charging into Uncle Johann''s office unarmed. So she stood there in the desolate hallway, covering her ears with her hands and watching the office door warily, ready to bolt for the stairs if anyone emerged. Nobody did. And as she stood, certain thoughts began to intrude. How long does it take to bleed to death from two gunshot wounds? If Uncle Johann dies now, will it be my fault? They''re going to ask why I didn''t have a gun. I need to do something. Why am I not doing something? I need to do something now! Maria grabbed the crowbar from the machining room, rushed backed to the office door, and pried and tugged with all her might. The wood splintered, the door swung open unsteadily, and inside she saw... ...her Uncle Johann, dead. And nobody else. Uncle Johann was dead, and Maria knew it even before she knelt by his side and checked the pulse on his still-warm wrist, even before she turned him over to see a single bullet wound in his chest. Close range, a quiet part of her mind noted, remembering what she''d learned from Noelle. Contact shot, powder burns. Uncle Johann was dead, and Maria recognized her own gun on the floor beside him. She did not touch it. She would not touch anything else. She knew better. Uncle Johann was dead, and Maria clutched the crowbar in shaking hands, steadied her breathing, and numbly ticked off a mental checklist. Search the room for the killer. Definitely check behind that partition. Make sure nobody is hiding. Nobody was, though there was a big puddle of something blue-green there. Antifreeze? And there was a tripod in the puddle. She looked out the window: open, with a clear line of sight to the west wing. Nobody on the ground below, but it was hard to see in the dark. Uncle Johann was dead, and Maria, who was certainly not panicking, methodically checked for clues while waiting for backup. Signs of a struggle ¡ª dolls, books, and a globe knocked off the bookshelf. But not always consistent signs. Why was the pillow near the desk where her uncle slept,while the gun was near the body, and that stack of papers was scattered near the partition in the back? Two different struggles, or one struggle that moved around the room? She photographed the scene, aiming her phone and taking shots with a vague sense of unreality. Time passed in a daze. Soon, Felicity arrived and tried to calm Maria in spite of being deeply shaken herself. Then a firefighter came, followed soon after by Noelle, who had been summoned by Felicity''s panicked call from the lobby phone. More police, who dismissed the firefighter. Then the feds, who dismissed most of the police. But it wasn''t until Maria sat in the downstairs conference room, relating her story in full, that she truly understood... Uncle Johann was dead. Chapter 4: Death Row Interlude At 10:35 PM, the moment that Johann Palmstroem was shot, Vincent Stein was on a plane returning from Indianapolis. Earlier in the day, he had been visiting a federal penitentiary; under less extraordinary circumstances, this would have provided an airtight alibi. Henry''s attorney, Malcolm Fell, accompanied Vincent to this meeting with his brother. The news was dire enough to overwhelm even Fell''s devil-may-care optimism, and a somber mood prevailed as they sat in the waiting room. Once they passed through the next set of security gates, they''d be under close supervision at all times. "I know my brother can be a difficult client," said Vincent, fiddling with his tie clip as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. While he looked presentable enough, his dress shirt was just a little too tight, his cuffs a little too long, and his nails as ragged as ever. "But I appreciate everything you''ve done. Ah, tried to do, at least." Malcolm chuckled in his confident, reassuring baritone. "I don''t think the Court of Appeals gives points for effort, but thanks anyway." His voice resumed a grave tone as he added, "Sorry, kid." ''Kid.'' Vincent had never known what to make of that. At one time, Malcolm''s readiness to play the surrogate big brother had been welcome. He was everything that Vincent wasn''t: tall and broad-shouldered, with his tailored lines, slicked-back hair, and easy smile. But as Vincent grew older, it occurred to him that some might consider such familiarity with a client''s younger brother just a shade unprofessional. His reflections were interrupted by a uniformed officer addressing them both. "He''s ready. Follow me, and stay close." He turned to Vincent. "Remember to limit any physical contact to the beginning and the end of the visit, and keep it brief," he said significantly. "Don''t want a repeat of last time." "It won''t happen again," volunteered Malcolm. "We promise. Kid just got a little emotional, that''s all." Vincent nodded, abashed, as they proceeded to the visiting room. The penitentiary''s innards were as unwelcoming as its concrete exterior. He winced at the harsh light that glared off the steel doors into his sensitive eyes. How could Henry tolerate this place? They sat in the visiting room for a few minutes in quiet anticipation. Vincent began to gnaw at his nails, only to stop when he realized what he was doing. A moment later, Henry was led in handcuffed by the officer, who gave Vincent a nod of tacit approval. Jumping up from his chair and leaping forward in one smooth motion, Vincent pulled his brother into a tight hug. Once they had taken their seats, Malcolm delivered the news of the failed reprieve. Henry was unmoved. "What happens, happens," he said. "I''m sure you did your best." "You know, in all the years I''ve known you," said Malcolm, "those are the kindest words you''ve ever said to me." Oh, no, thought Vincent. They''re at it again. Henry looked down, unwilling to meet Malcolm''s eyes. "We don''t have to pretend. If you don''t believe my confession, nothing I say will change that." Malcolm''s jaw tensed uncharacteristically for a second, as if he wanted to speak through gritted teeth, but wouldn''t give Henry the satisfaction. "If I believed you, I wouldn''t even be here. But no, my friend, mi amigo, you did not chop up Alice Park while her children waited right across the hall. You did not dissolve her in a handy vat of carbon-cleaning solution, which somehow, by some diabolical miracle, worked a hundred times faster than it should have." The lawyer looked at Henry as if he were peering over the rims of his glasses, which was quite a trick, as he wasn''t wearing any. "I think you helped Dr. Park fake her death, and you''ll cover for her all the way to the injection chamber." "Your feelings for Alice are clouding your judgment. But whatever you think," said Henry, "you won''t have to fret over it much longer. That was my last appeal." A silence hung in the air, unanswered and uncomfortable, until Vincent spoke up. "Then there''s no other way to save you. I''ll run the experiment."Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Henry seemed to understand what his brother meant, but it was news to Malcolm. "Experiment?" said Malcolm, "What experiment?" "There''s a way to prove Henry''s innocence." Henry shut his eyes meditatively, but the facade was cracking. "Stop. Don''t even bring it up. Fell can''t know." "Why not? What harm could come of it now?" Now it was Henry''s turn to be discomfited, his air of serene resignation giving way to open concern. "A lot. But Johann wouldn''t let you, and he shouldn''t. You could get... someone killed. There''d be blood on your hands." Finally raising his head, Henry looked his brother in the eye beseechingly. "Let it go, Vincent. It''s in God''s hands now." The sight flooded Malcolm''s heart with pity. The two brothers were eleven years apart in age, and yet the gap now seemed still wider, as if Henry were an old man, tired of life, and Vincent a small child looking up to him with all the hope of innocence. But when Vincent hesitated, clearly about to back down and yield, that pity turned to frustrated anger. "Oh, come on, man!" he exclaimed. "You''re going to make this about God?" Yes, Henry had always shown a streak of stubborn self-martyrdom, but he hadn''t been so insufferably spiritual about it until the last few years. Death row had transformed Henry''s faith from a social nicety to a deadening worldview, one that Malcolm could not abide. "God''s plan isn''t what put you here," said Malcolm. "Your confession did. Now, what''s this big experiment?" "Please," said Vincent, trying to keep his voice level. "I want to let Malcolm know. Why''d you agree to be his client if we weren''t going to trust him?" "I just planned to keep an eye on him," replied Henry. "I guess you could say a little mouse told me." "But why are you acting this way?" Vincent''s voice began to crack a little. "Even if you won''t trust him, why won''t you trust _me_? You keep hinting at risks, but you won''t say what they are! Did I do something wrong, Henry?" "I can''t say. You''d take a warning as a suggestion. That''s just how it''d have to work out." Malcolm couldn''t make head or tail of the conversation, but damned if that was going to stop him from having an opinion. "Even from a guy on death row," he said, "that sounds just a teensy bit fatalistic, don''t you think?" But Vincent didn''t reply, as his thoughts were spinning too rapidly to vocalize. With that last remark, Henry had given away more than he''d intended to. "You think I''m going to dosomething wrong," Vincent finally whispered. "I''d never think that," said Henry. "You don''t want to become the person responsible, just by saying the wrong thing. You''re paralyzed." Henry smiled at this, as if at a sad, private joke. "They also serve who only stand and wait." "Hey," interjected Malcolm. "I''ve been doing a lot of that lately! It just reassures me immeasurably that you approve." But the brothers ignored him. "I''m always happy to talk with you, Vincent. But not about this. Not this close to the end." For a moment, it seemed as though Malcolm was going to insist on pressing the subject further. Then, seeing the exhaustion in Vincent''s eyes, he relented. If he couldn''t save Henry, he could at least refrain from ruining the remainder of this visit for him. And so the two brothers, a decade apart in age, reminisced until time ran out. They thought back on Vincent''s early childhood, and how their grandmother had raised him after the accident. How Henry finished his graduate program, moved to the West Coast, and took Vincent off her hands. How Henry had always found time for his little brother, even as he juggled working a full-time engineering job, and how Alice and Johann had helped, becoming almost like a second family to them. Malcolm also had a few things he could have reminisced about, but he suspected that the story of how he''d fallen for Alice Park at her husband''s funeral would probably not have gone over well. Wisely, he held his tongue. When the visit concluded, Vincent and Henry hugged once more, and both seemed far more at peace. But as the visitors left the penitentiary, it quickly became obvious that, at least on Vincent''s end, this calm was only a front. "We have to act. We have to do it now," said Vincent. "I''m going ahead with the experiment. I''ll tell you everything." "I''m listening," said Malcolm, as he slipped into the driver''s seat of their rented Ford Turtletop. But rather than take the passenger side, Vincent retrieved his notes and laptop from the trunk, then sat in the backseat ¡ª more room to work. "You have to understand," he said, spreading out his materials, "that revealing our work doesn''t just break non-disclosure agreements. Some of it is classified." "So, up to ten years imprisonment." "Some of it is beyond classified," clarified Vincent, buckling up for safety. "We could be made to disappear." "Let me get this straight. You''re telling me, a lawyer, that you''re about to break federal law. And you''re asking me to become an accessory, accomplice, and/or principal in this crime." "Yes." "Sure," said Malcolm, pulling out of their parking place. "But before you tell me anything too secret, could you answer just one question?" "What is it?" Malcolm turned in his seat to look back at his passenger. "Is Alice alive right now?" "That... really depends," said Vincent, pausing to choose his words carefully, "on how you define ''alive'' and ''right now.''" Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "You know what? Just skip straight to the state secrets." "Really?" "Yeah. Let''s do some crimes, as the kids say. I''m all in." He hit the gas, sending them careening down the highway. Chapter 5: A Matched Set "This case is no longer in your jurisdiction, Detective Park. Frankly, I don''t trust you anywhere near the crime scene." Rather than meet Noelle''s glare, Agent Charity Singh directed the forensic medical examiner to finalize his inspection of the body. The obvious signs were easy to read: the single bullet hole, the bruises suggestive of a struggle. Rigor mortis had yet to set in, so the timing, at least, was consistent with Maria''s account. Only an autopsy would reveal the finer details. The examiner covered the body''s still-flaccid hands with plastic bags and rubber-banded them to protect any traces lodged under the fingernails, then slipped another another plastic protector over the scalp. To Noelle and Maria, it resembled a grotesque shower cap. Into a zippered bag and onto a gurney went Johann Palmstroem. Although Agent Singh had spoken to him many times about the Park disappearance, and even grown to like the eccentric recluse, her expression was now stony, as if she were supervising the loading of airport baggage. Her actions, however, were more telling. Agent Singh had risen through the ranks at the field office, and though the stress lines now creased her face, seniority had its privileges. Despite the lateness of the hour, she had ordered a team to work overtime processing evidence. Thanks to her unusual position and a major injection of funding, staff, and technology, she could obtain preliminary forensic results in hours -- a turnaround that most law enforcement agencies would find inconceivable. Singh''s behavior made it clear that she had no intention of leaving Saturn Technologies for the night, nor of allowing Maria to leave, until she had found answers. Had Noelle known that this haste was driven by Henry Stein''s imminent execution, she might have mustered a little sympathy. As it was, any trust Noelle held for the feds had long ago evaporated. To her mind, they simply wanted to pin the guilt on the first convenient suspect. That suspect was Maria, who trailed Noelle and Singh helplessly. She hadn''t been handcuffed yet, but it could only be a matter of time. "Do you honestly expect me to just roll over for this?" said Noelle, following the team into the lobby. Felicity Crowe was still there, slouched in a chair and checking her social media on her phone. She looked guiltily at Maria. Maria, in turn, looked back over her shoulder and flashed her partner a shaky smile. "The victim was a federal contractor, or at least used to be. His work was deemed mission-critical," said Singh, who hadn''t appeared to notice the exchange of looks. She spoke with big, round vowels and emphatic, sharp consonants, as if she expected to be misheard. "We could detain your sister indefinitely, with or without trial. So... yes. Rolling over is exactly what I expect you to do." Noelle took an angry step towards the agent, but stopped short when Maria grabbed her elbow from behind. "Stop. It won''t help." Her eyes pleaded: Don''t make this worse. Singh pretended not to notice what was happening behind her as she methodically filled out a form authorizing transfer of the body. "Am I supposed to just leave you like this?" asked Noelle. "Maybe... you could try to get Mr. Fell when his flight lands?" said Maria. "I mean, I''ll need a lawyer. Right?" Agent Singh''s pen stopped for a moment at the mention of Malcolm Fell. If the girl chose him of all people, it would be an awkward reunion. But she said nothing. "All right," said Noelle. "But don''t say too much. If they can twist your words, they will. You''re being treated as the sole suspect here, at least for now." Maria nodded. "I''ll call you as soon as I can," she said, putting on a passable attempt at a brave face. And although this was unlikely to fool Noelle, Maria found that sometimes when she made a superficial show of courage, a little jolt of genuine determination followed. "I''m thinking it over," she said. "There has to be an answer." She could not read the expression that passed across her older sister''s face: a smile that didn''t reach her eyes. "I''m sure there is. But don''t feel like you have to figure it all out yourself," said Noelle. "Okay," said Maria. It was a small word, the visible tip of a massive iceberg of subsurface emotion. With a final hug, Noelle departed into the balmy summer night, with phone calls to make and records to comb, and the coroner''s van departed as well.
INTERACTION: It''s time for Noelle to do some research. In the comments, suggest topics for Noelle to dig up information about.
Agent Singh and Maria returned to a conference room on the third floor of the Saturn Technologies building and sat for a while, the silence broken only by the rustle of paper as Singh annotated documents neatly in red pen, and the faint bubbling of the coffeemaker on the counter next to the big table.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Maria knew what was going on. This silent treatment was meant to make her talk. But she''d already given as full an account of the evening as she could, even if the investigators didn''t seem to believe it. "Um," she said finally, "I really don''t know how my gun got into Uncle Johann''s office. I gave it to Felicity." "Then what makes you think it was your gun?" replied Singh, still peering at her notes. "It''s not the kind of revolver you see every day. And there''s a little damage on the butt where I dropped it." "I can see why you''d think it was yours, then. Nonetheless, if you gave your gun to Felicity, it couldn''t have been the gun at the scene." "Well, the window was open," said Maria, grasping at straws. "Maybe someone used some kind of... slingshot to launch it up?" "No." Agent Singh looked up wearily, as if to say, Surely you can do better than that. "I''m not saying it was impossible for your gun to have reached the scene. I''m saying the gun we found there could not be the gun you gave to Felicity." Near the table sat a big, black box labeled with a cryptic series of numbers and letters. Agent Singh unlocked it, revealing an array of compartments, some climate-controlled, some sealed, and some ventilated. One slid out, and inside was a plastic bag containing a revolver. A chain of custody form, meant to ensure that the evidence wasn''t tampered with. was attached to the sealed bag. It explicitly attested that after Maria found the gun, the only person who had handled it had been Singh herself, with gloved hands. As soon as she had been notified of the shooting, she had insisted that nobody disturb the scene. "This is the revolver you found. Note the chip." The butt was indeed damaged where Maria had expected it to be. "Now, your partner will be here in a moment, and I''ll show you the problem with your slingshot theory." Jeffrey, one of Singh''s assistants, soon entered, with Felicity Crowe following behind. Felicity was the tallest person in the room by a few inches, and her posture was proud, even defiant, as she glowered down at Agent Singh. Singh, in turn, did not rise from her chair. "So what the hell''s going on? Are we being detained? Because if you''re detaining us, we know our rights. You didn''t say anything, did you, Maria?" Maria''s mouth dropped open for a moment. "Um," she replied. "So you ran your mouth. Figures. But I''m not saying a damn thing till I''ve got a lawyer." "Sure," said Agent Singh. "We''ll see how that works out for you." She got up and poured a cup of coffee, which she offered Felicity. "Oh, thanks," said Felicity, taking a sip. "Not bad." "Are you protecting your partner? Do you think she could have done this?" "What? No!" cried Felicity, shaking her head and waving her arms for emphasis and, in the process, splashing hot coffee on Maria''s shoulder. Not noticing her partner''s wince, she proceeded with a vigorous defense. "She wouldn''t hurt anybody, much less shoot her uncle!" "Mmm. I don''t recall mentioning anybody being shot," replied Agent Singh. She reached over to the counter, grabbed a dishrag, and tossed it to Maria, who began dabbing up the spill in silence. "Who do you think you are, freaking Columbo?" said Felicity, eyes widening incredulously. "I heard two gunshots from the other wing. Plus, I saw his body later. Geez." "I see there''s no fooling you," said Singh. "Is that a gun on your belt?" "Maria''s gun. She gave it to me. See... she didn''t have a gun tonight." Bewilderment flashed across Maria''s face when she realized that Felicity''s holster was indeed occupied. Singh simply pulled a fresh pair of gloves and a clean plastic bag from her box, then rose to her feet. "That makes it evidence. I''ll need to take a look." Grudgingly, Felicity turned over the revolver, and Agent Singh checked the cylinder. Fully loaded, and not recently fired. Strangely, its butt was chipped in exactly the same spot as the other revolver''s. "Does this look familiar?" she asked Maria. It did. "What''s going on?" she whispered. "It looks exactly like mine." "Doesn''t this clear her?" asked Felicity. In response, Agent Singh walked back around the table and directed her attention to the identical revolver in the other bag. At that, Felicity could only shrug, left at a total loss. "I swear I only owned one gun," said Maria, trying to keep a grip on the facts. "You''ve told me as much," said Agent Singh. "A gift from your sister, right?" "Yes," said Maria, then, anxious to avoid leading the investigation to a wrong conclusion, she added, "But she never said anything about buying two of them. I definitely never saw her with one." Singh narrowed her eyes. It would have been easier, in some ways, if Maria had tried to pin the blame on her sister. Tragic and cowardly, perhaps, but her heart was hardened to human weakness. She didn''t know what to make of this denial. "My theory," she said, with deliberate slowness, "is this: these guns were purchased as a matched set." "There''s a way to check that, isn''t there? Even if you don''t take our word for it," said Maria, and then made a proposal.
INTERACTION: How could Agent Singh check this hypothesis without taking Noelle and Maria at their word?
Narration Unlocked by Librarysmiles: Spoiler: Spoiler "Noelle and I took photos of the serial numbers on most of the things we own," said Maria. "In case of theft, you know? There should be a photo of my gun''s serial number of my phone, if you''ll let me unlock it." Agent Singh considered this. While there was no guarantee the photo Maria showed her would be accurate, it could do no harm to look. She pulled Maria''s phone from the box, where it sat, confiscated, and let her unlock it. "Tracing purchase records can be a hassle," said Singh. "Your thoroughness is appreciated." After a few moments of searching through her photo album, Maria found the photo. She''d taken it when disassembling the gun for cleaning, since the serial was concealed under the grip. "Here." Taking the phone back, Agent Singh duly noted the serial number. Then, with gloved hands, a screwdriver, and the utmost care, she unscrewed the grip panels and gently levered them off the gun, moving them to separate plastic bags for fingerprinting. The serial number on the frame underneath was the same as the one in Maria''s photo. While it seemed strange to Singh that a suspect would volunteer such incriminating evidence, she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "It''s a match." "Then... what about the gun Felicity had?" Singh repeated the disassembly process on the revolver Felicity was carrying. She read the serial number and copied it down, then stopped, and read it once more. This couldn''t possibly be correct, could it? Both guns were identical, all the way down to the serial number. Chapter 6: Eliminate the Improbable While Maria Park and Charity Singh disagreed on many things, including Maria''s innocence, they shared a conviction that the world operated by certain rules. It was inconsiderate of these two revolvers to both exist at the same time. Felicity, at least, was taking it in stride. Common sense was fine, but logic and deduction and all that jazz seemed overrated to her when compared with honed instincts. "This sure looks like a setup, but my gut says it doesn''t add up," said Felicity. "If this forger''s smart enough to make a fake gun, why weren''t they smart enough to keep me from showing y''all the original?" "Maybe this person didn''t know you were keeping it safe," said Maria. "Maybe... they planned to ambush me and get rid of mine." The thought made the hairs on her neck prickle. "Nah. If that were true..."
INTERACTION:Why does Maria''s hypothesis -- that someone planted the second gun, then planned to ambush her -- seem relatively unlikely?
Narration Unlocked by librarysmiles:Keep it Simple "...a person planned to ambush you and take your gun. But hey, then they''d have your gun, yeah? So why not just use THAT for the murder, not a copy?" Felicity tapped her temple with a fingertip. "That''d be way simpler. Lot fewer ways to get caught, too, than if they tried to forge something."
"Forgery may have been unlikely," said Agent Singh, with a hint of strained patience, "But anything else is just impossible." "Yep. Seems like it," said Felicity, "But what did Sherlock say? Once you eliminate the improbable, whatever''s left, no matter how impossible, has got to be true." "Um, that''s sort of the exact opposite," said Maria, "of what Sherlock Holmes said." Felicity''s attempt at explanation shut down, Agent Singh made a closer comparison of the revolvers. Though identical in serial number, they differed in two respects. First, the gun found on the scene had been fired recently, and three of its chambers held empty cartridge casings. Second, fine traces of powder were trapped in some of its cracks. This called for forensics. Though a culprit might deface a serial number, they could never forge a gun''s ballistic properties. The imperfections in a revolver''s barrel score tiny ridges into bullets that pass through it, a permanent record of their passage. All that was necessary was to fire a test shot from each revolver into a block of ballistics gel, then compare those bullets to the one in Palmstroem''s corpse. A match would reveal the real murder weapon. "Jeff, when you get to the lab, tell them to limit it to one test firing each," said Agent Singh, motioning over her assistant as she filled out the evidence transfer paperwork. "We don''t want to foul up the barrels too much. Fingerprint and scan them, too." Maria tried to reassure herself that this would only help her case. She hadn''t touched it. Unless... could the murderer have also forged her fingerprints? "Send these to lockup when I''m done?" asked Jeff as he signed the guns into his custody. "Yes -- wait, no. Bring them back to me afterwards," said Singh. "I''ve got a test of my own to do." The assistant agreed, accustomed to Singh''s improvisational approach to investigation, and left. Agent Singh was now alone with Felicity Crowe and Maria Park, and that, in her eyes, was still one person too many. "Ms. Crowe, I think we''re almost done here. There''s just one last thing I need to check. Show me your walkie-talkie." Felicity unclipped it from her belt and passed it to Agent Singh, who pushed the settings button and skimmed the menus. "I see two programmed presets. Two different pairings?" "Yup," said Felicity. After the tangled mess with the guns, it was reassuring to be talking about something that made sense. "Preset D for my day job, preset N for my night job." "It''s set to D," said Agent Singh. "Yeah. Guess that''s why Maria couldn''t contact me. Must''ve forgot to reset it." Felicity punctuated her claim with a much too-offhand shrug.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. "Or you changed it afterwards," replied Agent Singh. "To back up her story. You didn''t test your equipment when you started your rounds?" "Well, no. I was in a hurry. Got in a little late." "Late? Why?" Agent Singh pulled out the keycard records and jotted down a note. So far, this looked consistent. Maria had started her rounds well before Felicity had even arrived. "A little trouble at my day job. A guy didn''t want to leave. He got kind of violent." Later follow-up would reveal that hospital furniture had been thrown, windows had been broken, and, in violation of good biosafety practice, break room dishrags had been used to sop up blood. Nobody died, though, and as Felicity reckoned things, that meant that she oughtn''t to make a big production out of it. "So, sure, I guess I was sorta out of it that evening." "I wish you''d mentioned it to me," said Maria, feeling a little ashamed that she''d found her friend''s lateness suspicious at the time. "Eh, it wasn''t the end of the world." "I''ll confirm your story with your supervisor," said Singh. "In the meantime, you''re free to go. But stay available by phone. If I call at any time tonight, you''d best pick up, or your front door comes down." She said this as if she were threatening a minor inconvenience rather than a no-knock raid. With a frown of dissatisfaction and worry, Felicity gathered what little remained of her possessions now that the gun and walkie-talkie were federal evidence. "Remember," she said to Maria, "Don''t blab until a lawyer gets here. At least, no more than you already have." On the one hand, she regretted leaving her partner to face the music alone, but on the other, what could she do? "I''ll just tell the truth," said Maria. "No way, that''s how they get you," said Felicity. "The truth can sound awfully bad." This sage advice dispensed, Felicity took the elevator down, and the lobby cameras recorded her as she departed the Saturn Technologies building without looking back. Maria and Agent Singh were alone again, though Maria knew that this privacy was only an illusion. If she set one foot out of place, federal agents would be in the room in a snap, cuffing her up and pinning her to the most convenient surface. Wordlessly, Singh rose to her feet, pulled a flashlight from the big box near the table, and motioned for Maria to follow. They returned to Uncle Johann''s cluttered office. Where his body had lain two hours before, only a bloodstain and a string outline remained. Tiny number placards had been set up to allow the photographing of evidence in place. The pillow was still on the floor, the papers still scattered, the puddle of blue-green liquid in the corner -- it was all too much for Maria. When she had first found the body, she had surveyed the crime scene methodically, with an almost unreal clarity. But that self-possession had been mostly born of denial, and was now gone. "You''re hyperventilating," said Agent Singh. That was true, Maria realized. She was hyperventilating. She forced her breathing to steady. "I''m fine." "Do you see that puddle in the corner?" said Agent Singh. The blue-green liquid was fairly obvious against the carpet. If the tipped-over bottle next to it was any indication, it looked to be the same bottle Maria had brought over from the machining room.
BLOCKING INTERACTION: Not all of the antifreeze traces may be immediately obvious. What can be done to check the scene more throughly? The remainder of this chapter is locked until this puzzle is solved. A clue may be found in an earlier chapter. (UNLOCKED.)
Narration Unlocked by Librarysmiles: Spoiler: Spoiler With gloved hands, Agent Singh flipped off the light switch and closed the door. Since the hall lights filtered through underneath, the crime scene was far from pitch black. It was still too dark for Maria''s comfort. Singh turned on her ultraviolet flashlight, and a deep purple beam passed over the floor until it reached the puddle, which glowed noticeably. "There''s the main pool¡­¡± Maria watched as the beam moved to the edge of the splatter and beyond. What had been invisible before was now revealed: a set of irregular footprints. Someone had tracked antifreeze over the carpet. Following the track, it was as if this person had stepped hurriedly out of the puddle, made a few quick strides to the middle of the room, and then moved erratically, sometimes sideways, sometimes back. "The struggle," said Maria. "That must have been the struggle!" "They don''t match your Uncle''s feet. Now, give me your right shoe.¡± Maria crouched awkwardly, not wanting to touch anything, and removed the shoe as directed. Agent Singh took it and shone the UV flashlight on its sole. No glow. Then she checked its size against the footprints. The shoe was too small. Satisfied, she tossed it back to Maria, who nearly fumbled the catch. "I didn''t expect a match, to be honest," said Agent Singh. "But checking did no harm." She turned the lights back on. For the first time that night, hope shone in Maria''s eyes. "Wait, if they don''t match either my Uncle or me, doesn''t that prove I was telling the truth? Somebody else was here! A third person was in the wing!" Agent Singh shot Maria a look of disbelief. Surely she¡¯d noticed the obvious! ¡°You don¡¯t see anything wrong with those footprints?¡± Maria looked again. ¡°Oh.¡± Footprints went to the center of the room and milled about¡­ but none left the room. ¡°That¡¯s right. Unless your mystery culprit took off his shoes or cleaned them somehow, those prints must be fake.¡± But that wouldn¡¯t dissuade Maria so easily. She¡¯d seen her opening, and she planned to make the most out of it. ¡°Even if they¡¯re fake, it still couldn¡¯t have been me! I wouldn¡¯t have had time to fake them!¡± If she had expected this argument to produce any effect on Agent Singh, she was soon to be sorely disappointed. ¡°I assume your argument is that Felicity came running as soon as she heard the shots, leaving you no time to tamper with the scene. That¡¯s what you intended to say?¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± ¡°¡­Follow me,¡± said Agent Singh, sighing. ¡°I want to show you something.¡± Unsure of what lay in store, Maria accompanied her into the elevator. It began to ascend. Chapter 7: The Paper Cenotaph The air was brisk and chilly on the rooftop of Saturn Technologies. Only a few bright stars pierced the haze of smog and light pollution, and the moon glowed a sickly yellow. "Why are we up here?" asked Maria. Agent Singh had led her up from the top floor, via an unobtrusive service access. Clearly, she''d been up here before. "Look out there," replied Agent Singh, gesturing out towards the city with one arm. Under her other arm, she held a thick volume pressed against her body. It was unlike any book Maria had never seen: thick, garish, and printed on cheap newsprint. "What do you think when it¡¯s all spread out in front of you like that?" Maria shivered. Beyond the freeway, the lit windows and blinking spires of the downtown skyline stood out against the dark sky. Though the buildings occluded her line of sight, she knew that the megalopolis stretched far into the distance beyond. The city¡¯s yellow halo would be visible on the horizon for miles, like the illusion of an approaching dawn. "Um, well¡­ those cars on the freeway are like stars." "Stars." "Yeah. Their light''s yellow, normally. But when they''re travelling away from us, it''s red." "That¡¯s not how red shift works," replied Agent Singh. "I know, I know. But you asked what I was thinking, and that''s what came to mind." "I did.¡± Cars roared by. "What I see, Maria, is hundreds of thousands of casualties. Every car. Every shining window. All going dark for good.¡± "Casualties of what?¡± "Terrorists. State actors. Stupid accidents." She flipped open the thick volume, showing Maria a few pages. They were filled with names and numbers. "This is a phone book I ordered online. People don''t use them much anymore, but I carry it with me for some jobs.¡± Maria took the book from her hands and experimentally hefted it a few times, testing its weight. "Heavy. It¡¯s really heavy." "Yes. And whenever I start to feel as though nothing I do matters, I pick it up. And I think to myself: If I fail badly enough, everyone in this book, from Aarnson to Zyskowsi, will die." A grim silence followed. "There won''t be room for obituaries," said Agent Singh. "The best we could do, if there''s any ''we'' left afterwards, would be to retitle a phone book.¡± She took it back from Maria, who hunched over a little and drew her arms in for warmth. When she got back to her office later, she¡¯d toss it back into her little bookshelf without a second thought. She had phone books for a lot of cities. One already had R.I.P. scribbled across the cover, along with a pathetically inadequate frowny face, the understatement of the century. That one was probably a collector¡¯s item now. What must it be like, Maria wondered, to be responsible for so many? It could have just been the poor light and the late hour, but Agent Singh looked and sounded exhausted.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. As they gazed into the distance, the interrogation continued. ¡°Do you know why the Bureau of High-Risk Research was founded?" "It was after Batavia, right?" The Batavia disaster had begun with research into energy production and ended in a burst of gamma rays and a 200-meter-deep crater. "Yes. Existing oversight had been spread too thin. Officially, our directive is to police certain forms of experimentation. Unofficially, we¡¯re here to make sure genies stay neatly bottled." ¡°But what does that have to do with my Uncle? Or me?¡± Maria already suspected, and dreaded, the answer. "I''m going to walk you through my theory of the crime," said Agent Singh, still gazing out into the distance. "If nothing exculpatory comes to light, this is what I''ll be telling my superiors. I¡¯m afraid that your happiness ¨C and even your innocence or guilt ¨C is a matter of little importance right now. What I need is leverage, and one way or another, I¡¯ll find it.¡± "Then why tell me at all?" said Maria, puzzled. "Why give up your advantage in the trial?" "It saves time. And don''t assume you''ll get a trial.¡± If Mr. Fell were here, he¡¯d call her on that,thought Maria. I think. "When your mother disappeared, I laid out my logic for Henry Omnia, and he claimed it was accurate,¡± said Agent Singh. ¡°Which wasn¡¯t the response I expected. But he¡¯s decided he¡¯d rather die than tell us the truth.¡± Maybe if I just listen, and don¡¯t talk, it¡¯ll be fine, thought Maria. "What''s your theory?" "I''m glad you''re willing to humor me. Let''s go back down.¡± When they returned to the conference room, Agent Singh unfolded a neatly labeled map onto the table. The whole floor was laid out there: Uncle Johann''s office, Vincent''s office next door, various storage rooms, the machining room, the animal testing room, the elevator, and the fire escape. Although these plans had likely been drawn up for the previous investigation, as far as Maria could tell, they were still accurate. ¡°We¡¯ll start with the motive, which ties everything together." Out of the evidence crate came a manila envelope, from which Agent Singh produced a document covered in zebra stripes of redaction. It was hard to make sense of, but one section was circled: Reports on ongoing development of¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€areunacceptably vague. We have cause to believe that significant progress is being concealed by the lead members of the research team:¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€,¨€¨€¨€¨€,and¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€,possibly with the intention of espionage, sabotage, or negotiation with a foreign actor. Even disregarding the use of a ¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€ power source, the risk this conduct poses to national security cannot be overstated. A site inspection of¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€will be conducted on¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€¨€,and appropriate action will be taken. "What on earth were they working on?" wondered Maria aloud. "I¡¯d very much like to know that myself," said Agent Singh. "I¡¯d also like to know where one metal donut went. It was an unobtrusive thing, about two inches across.¡± Years before, during the investigation, Maria had been asked about that device. But neither she nor her sister had any idea what happened to it, or what it was, for that matter. ¡°It was an antimatter containment unit,¡± continued Singh, intuiting Maria¡¯s question. ¡°Saturn Technologies commissioned three, but when they were audited after the disappearance, only two were accounted for. Are you starting to see why your mother would want to disappear?¡± "My mom wasn''t a spy!" "You were young. You couldn''t have known everything about her.¡± Singh brushed off Maria¡¯s horror. ¡°So Henry Omnia helped her escape, and your Uncle helped him cover it up. Mr. Omnia is slated to be executed... and that brings us to tonight." Maria''s stomach tensed, and she found herself shifting her weight down in her chair, as if trying to hide. Singh''s tone had become dangerously insinuating. "Only two people could tell you where to find your mother, and one was about to die. So you decided to try to get your uncle to talk, and possibly hand over the key to that safe in his office. Maybe you pleaded for Henry, or insisted that you deserved the truth. It doesn¡¯t matter now." Agent Singh watched Maria''s face closely as she enumerated each possibility, looking for a flinch, a tell, anything to confirm her suspicions. "You pulled a gun. He tried to disarm you." "And?" Maria''s voice rose to a squeak. "You shot Johann Palmstroem." Chapter 8: Maria Defends Herself And there it was, the accusation. Maria was tempted to blurt out a denial, but instead, she clamped her lips tight and focused. To think that, up there on the roof, she¡¯d felt a moment¡¯s sympathy for Agent Singh! Angry tears began to form at the corners of her eyes, but she brushed them away. All thoughts of waiting for a lawyer were forgotten. The fight had begun. ¡°It was a clever trick, but what gave you away,¡± began Agent Singh, with clinical detachment, ¡°was the number of shots fired. The victim was shot only once, but Felicity heard two shots. No other bullets were found at the scene. And the revolver itself appeared to have been fired three times¡­¡±
CONFRONTATION: A Conspiracy of One In this duel of reasoning, Agent Singh will present her argument. I''ve numbered the statements for easy reference and assigned each its own comment thread. For each statement, you may either ** Press for more detail. If a statement in Singh''s theory seems unclear, you can suggest a question that Maria could ask. ** Suggest a counterargument based on the evidence and events seen so far. This chapter will not continue until Maria has countered this argument thoroughly. Good luck!
1. ¡°Because your uncle never left the office, and you were the only person assigned to patrol this area, you''d be the sole suspect if things went south. There seemed to be no way to escape suspicion."
2. ¡°So you planned to make it look as if you¡¯d been framed by an elaborate conspiracy.¡±
3. "Using the fabricator in the machining room, you modified another revolver''s serial number to match yours. Then you gave your own pistol to Felicity."
3a. (Added statement): "You''d need to be a sound hand at gunsmithing and metalwork to pull this off."
4. "When night fell, you started your rounds early, before Felicity arrived. You threatened your uncle with the duplicate gun, then shot him once."Addendum: "You probably wore lab gloves for this."
5.¡°Then you arranged the crime scene to make it look as though a second person fought with your uncle.¡±
6. ¡°To make it look as if you broke into the room, you pried the door open with a crowbar.¡±
6a.(Added statement:) "You used a wire trick, like in a mystery novel, to latch the door from the outside."
7. ¡°Later, Felicity arrived. To fake the murder¡¯s timing, you fired two blank cartridges and left the gun at the scene.¡±
7a. (Added statement:) "Even if you hadn''t known Felicity would be late, with planning, you could''ve done it all within five minutes."
8. "Everything else in your story was a flat-out lie. The ¡®mouse from nowhere¡¯ was a ruse.¡±
9. ¡°Of course, there was no voice on the radio. That was just a way to explain your strange movements and how the antifreeze and footprints got there.¡±
Maria gaped. The way Agent Singh put it, it really did sound like all of the pieces fit together. The only problem was, her whole theory was false. But how to prove it? Narration Unlocked by LibrarySmiles: Why Alone, and Why Framed?
1. ¡°Because your uncle never left the office, and you were the only person assigned to patrol this area, you''d be the sole suspect if things went south. There seemed to be no way to escape suspicion."
It occurred to Maria that she could question some assumptions here. Her uncle had arranged for her to patrol this area precisely becausehe''d trusted her, and she often delivered food to him herself, along with the laundry. In theory, it might have been wiser for Uncle Johann to have assigned two people to the wing. But Agent Singh could easily twist this argument against her -- after all, being trusted in this way could have made it easier to kill Uncle Johann.
2. ¡°So you planned to make it look as if you¡¯d been framed by an elaborate conspiracy.¡±
"That''s ridiculously overcomplicated!" said Maria. "Why not just try to avoid leaving evidence altogether?" "You couldn''t expect to. You would certainly be the first person suspected even in the absence of physical evidence. Moving on..." Narration Unlocked by SmolShrimpa: The Gun
3. "Using the fabricator in the machining room, you modified another revolver''s serial number to match yours. Then you gave your own pistol to Felicity."
"Wait, wait!" said Maria. "How would I even do that? Make a new stock out of matching metal? Melt off the original number and somehow stamp in a new one? How would I even get a matching gun?" "This model''s not rare," replied Singh. "As for the serial number, a finer examination might show tampering." And it might not,thought Maria. "What about checking the hammer strike patterns on the cartridges for a match?" "We''ll do that if the ballistics are inconclusive. But regardless ofhowthe gun was copied, it happened." Feeling as if she''d hit a wall, Maria threw up her hands. "Felicity can tell you! I''m no gun expert; I couldn''t do any of this stuff!" Singh cocked her head. "Then you played dumb. You''d need to be a sound hand at gunsmithing and metalwork to pull this off." Singh''s argument has been updated to add this statement, which will be useful later. Narration Unlocked by SmolShrimpa: Fingerprints on the Gun?
4. "When night fell, you started your rounds early, before Felicity arrived. You threatened your uncle with the duplicate gun, then shot him once."
"Um... well, since I never picked that gun up, that''s easy to check, right?" A flicker of worry passed across Agent Singh''s eyes. "Jeffrey''s taking his time with the prints..." Meanwhile at the forensics lab, Jeffrey fruitlessly re-scanned the gun for the fifth time, adjusting contrast and tweaking image recognition settings. Dusting of the gun had revealed a bewildering panoply of full prints, partials, glove marks, and smears over every exposed surface.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "What the hell happened? Someone pass this piece around for show and tell?" At least some of the prints inside the gun''s workings matched Maria Park. She may have left prints on the outside of the gun, but they were partials or obliterated by others. A few of Felicity Crowe''s prints also survived. The topmost prints, the overlays, belonged to the victim and to some person or people wearing gloves. One type of glove marks was consistent with Agent Singh''s careful handling, but others were more haphazard. One thing was certain: a gloved finger had pulled the trigger. "Mmm, I suspect you''d have found gloves," said Agent Singh. "This is a lab. They''re easy to come by, and just as easy to replace where you found them." Narration unlocked by strand VV: Manipulation of the crime scene
5. ¡°Then you arranged the crime scene to make it look as though a second person fought with your uncle.¡±
"You''re BHR investigators! If I manipulated the crime scene, wouldn''t you have found some evidence of that?" "We did," replied Singh. "There are several reasons to think the crime scene was faked." She pointed to the positions of the fallen objects. "Notice the unnatural way in which these objects fell. Is that really consistent with a struggle?" Maria looked. In truth, hadn''t she thought the same thing when she first saw the scene? She''d thought:
Signs of a struggle ¡ª dolls, books, and a globe knocked off the bookshelf. But not always consistent signs. Why was the pillow near the desk where her uncle slept,while the gun was near the body, and that stack of papers was scattered near the partition in the back?Two different struggles, or one struggle that moved around the room? -Chapter 2
"And don''t forget that the footprints stop in the middle of the room," added Singh, "which casts doubt on their reliability."
9. ¡°Of course, there was no voice on the radio. That was just a way to explain your strange movements and how the antifreeze and footprints got there.¡±
"Speaking of tampering with the scene," said Maria, "Did you find a walkie-talkie there?" "No," said Singh. So whoever the mystery person was... they must have taken it with them when they left. And on the subject of entrances and exits... Narration unlocked by strand VV: Timing
7. ¡°Later, Felicity arrived. To fake the murder¡¯s timing, you fired two blank cartridges and left the gun at the scene.¡±
The front door camera would''ve recorded Maria''s entry... but the problem was, she really hadarrived early that evening, and Felicity really hadarrived late. She''d actually just wanted to speak with Uncle Johann about Henry, but he''d been asleep at the time. But hold on. "Exactly what time does the camera show me coming in?" "About twenty minutes before your partner. You had time to do it all." At first that made sense, but... "How would I know?" "What?" Singh''s tone betrayed neither anxiety nor interest. "How would I know that Felicity was going to be late? I got here early, but notthatearly. I think I was only about five minutes early, tops." Singh considered this. "Even if you hadn''t known Felicity would be late, with planning, you could''ve done it all within five minutes. You just needed to shoot your uncle and stage the scene. Throw some objects around. Spill some antifreeze." Singh''s argument has been updated to include this claim. Narration unlocked by SmolShrimpa: The Impossible Door [with help from Astrowoud''s examination in Chapter 1)
6. ¡°To make it look as if you broke into the room, you pried the door open with a crowbar.¡±
Maria thought back to what she''d noticed earlier.
The deadbolt on the door was operated by a simple turning latch, and had clearly been installed as additional security to supplement the office''s key lock. No other room on the floor had one. It would not be plausible to lock the bolt from outside the room by ordinary means. Even elaborate tricks with wire and fishing line would be rendered impractical by the rubber covers that hid the gap by the side of the door.
Now I''ve got her. "In your theory, when I broke the door open, was the deadbolt locked or unlocked?" she asked. Singh turned around and examined the broken door, which had obvious crowbar marks on the outside. Prying the door open must have required a serious rush of adrenaline on Maria''s part. The deadbolt had still been engaged, and it had broken throughthe frame and dislodged the strike plate. "...it seems to have been locked from the inside," admitted Singh. Stymied, the agent examined the rubber covers around the edges of the door. Finally, she pointed at a deep tear. "Here. You could have slipped a wire through here." Stunned, Maria tried to articulate a reply. "A wire...?! But... oh, come on! That''s were I put the crowbar! Of course it got damaged there! Is it even possible to lock it that way?" In response, Agent Singh led Maria to the machining room. "Do they still keep it here? Ah, yes, they do," she said, as she opened a drawer and retrieved a wire. She then returned to the office. As Maria shook her head, unable to believe what she was seeing, Singh looped one end of the wire around the deadbolt switch, threaded it through the gap in the rubber guard, closed the door, and tugged. It took a few attempts to get the angle right, but a few minutes later, she had made an arrangement that could have locked the bolt from the outside. "There. You used a wire trick, like in a mystery novel, to latch the door from the outside." Singh''s argument had been updated.
Double-Bind: Enough progress has been made to open a new thread: "These Two Statements Contradict!" In a Confrontation, when Maria''s opponent has modified their argument enough, eventually they will get caught in a double-bind. Specifically, they will add one or more statementsthat create a contradiction with a statement that they themselves have made. Usually, pointing out how an added statement contradicts another statement in the argument will be sufficient to bring a Confrontation to a successful end! If you have an idea which two statements in the modified argument contradict, post your guess in the thread. The double-bind has been found. Although resolving this double-bind is enough to advance the story, other holes in the argument exist. Finding them may shed further light on the case. I planned three possible paths to win this confrontation, and only one has been discovered so far!
Narration unlocked by SmolShrimpa: Impossible Speed [SOLUTION #1; uses contradiction between deadbolt + time frame] "So, I came here five minutes early," said Maria, with rising confidence, "and you say that''s enough time? You''re saying I planned to arrange the scene, fake the footprints, latch the door with a wire, and break in... in five minutes?" For the first time this evening, she felt like she finally had the advantage. There was no way Agent Singh was going to push her around on this one. Singh took a deep breath, began to say something, then stopped. She could have argued that perhaps Maria had planned to shoot the victim before Felicity arrived, then do the wire trick after. But that would have been a high-risk proposition - the room''s window was visible from the opposite wing, and Maria could easily have been caught in the act. Turning away, Singh paced a few steps. Then she paced some more while Maria waiting with arms crossed. After a few minutes of tense meandering, Singh spoke. "It does stretch plausibility. But then, it was just a theory." Having just acquired a bout of indigestion attempting to rebut Singh¡¯s ¡®just a theory,¡¯ Maria found this response less than satisfactory. "But that''s not all!" she said, hiccuping a little and forcing down some nervous bile. "If I''d been making up the whole story about the mouse... why would I waste time setting up cameras? In your theory, Felicity could''ve stopped by this wing at any time and found the broken door and Uncle Johann!" ¡°All right, all right," said Singh, making a placatory gesture with her hands. "Let¡¯s assume, just for the moment, that your account was entirely true." She folded the map and put it away. "If so, the truth probably depends on whatever your uncle was working on. Some... impossible technlogy. We need to know more about that before we speculate further.¡± Maria had suspected as much from the beginning, of course. "Then let me show you the mice." ¡°Sure,¡± replied Singh as they headed towards the animal testing room. ¡°But honestly, I suspect there were two mice in there all along. You just missed one the first time you looked. Occam''s razor.¡± They opened the testing room door, turned the lights back on, and checked the cage. Inside, one mouse drank from the water dispenser. A second mouse dug around in the wood shavings. And a third mouse reared up on its hind legs, clutched the cage bars with its forepaws, and looked Agent Singh directly in the eye, as if to say: Howdy! I¡¯m here to ruin your case! Interlude: Can It Be Solved? Five slices of fresh jalape?o plopped into Noelle''s cup of instant ramen. They wouldn''t compensate for the freeze-dried peas and corn kernels, which were similar in consistency to the styrofoam cup itself, but Noelle could only do so much. Food was food, and time was pressing. Errant drips and splatters of broth went unnoticed as Noelle slurped the soggy noodles and scrolled through seven years of notes spread across ten spreadsheet tabs. A database of phone numbers, addresses, possible motives, and rampant speculations, all extensively cross-referenced with links and comments, sprawled across her screen. Sometimes, Noelle wondered if it was the digital equivalent of a conspiracy theorist''s corkboard of pushpins and string, but there was no time to worry about that now. Most of her late-night phone calls had gone to voicemail, so her scramble to enlist the resources of the police would have to wait until morning. In the meantime, she mulled over what she knew and didn''t know. Uncle Johann''s shooting was disconcertingly similar to one of those locked room mystery novels she and Maria loved to obsess over. But while novelists often played scrupulously fair, she couldn''t expect that much latitude from her current situation. What if the vital clues that would make it all sensible just never turned up?
Fairness Rule 1: This story will never ask readers to solve an interaction prompt without providing a way to find the clues. As the story tags state, this is a science fiction mystery. Things that would be impossible in the real world will happen. However, I will only prompt you to answer a question when I can reasonably expect at least some people to figure it out. Some puzzles may be challenging, but at least in hindsight, the path from the clues to the solution should make sense.
Don''t be defeatist,she reminded herself. Better to assume that there really was a way to make light of things. Just keep digging. But even if she uncovered some explanation of the lab''s work, how could she even be sure of its veracity? If the killer turned out to be someone connected with the research, they might flat-out lie about it.
Fairness Rule 2: No character will deliberately lie about how technology works -- not even a guilty party. Any direct explanation of the "rules" of this world can be safely assumed to be true.
No, I shouldn''t be so pessimistic. Saturn Technologies was a government contractor. Even if they hid what they were working on, they couldn''t get away with lying about it, at least not for very long. Of course, none of this would help if that information came too late. Noelle had once flung a mystery novel out of the apartment window in a rage because it only disclosed a crucial clue afterthe detective had named the killer.
Fairness Rule 3: Information from later chapters will never be strictly necessary to solve interaction prompts in earlier chapters. However, elements of the mystery itself may not be solvable until later in the story. For example, at this point, you are still missing some critical information.
Once again, Noelle chided herself for her pessimism. She might get key information later... but there was no reason to just wait around for it. Better to assume she could make some progress now on whatever and hope for the best. Maria was counting on her.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. And she hadabsolute trustin Maria''s account, no matter how outlandish it sounded.
Fairness Rule 4: Narrators do not lie in their narration. Furthermore, no guilty party will conceal guilt during narration via time skip, hidden details, and so on. Finally, I will never deliberately mislead the reader about the order of narration (such as telling a chapter in a way that appears to occur in the present, but is actually a flashback.)
With that in mind, Noelle pulled up the floor plans for the Saturn Technologies labs. During the investigation of her mother''s disappearance, she''d studied the layout closely. For every room on the floor, the only exits were one door and one window. Thin, precarious ledges connected the windows on one side of the building, so a sufficiently agile person could exit Uncle Johann''s office, hug the wall, and enter Vincent''s window, but it would have to be unlocked in advance. No such exit from the machining room was possible.
Fairness Rule 5: No secret passages. After this much investigation, it is implausible that a secret passage would have escaped detection.
Fairness Rule 6: No ropes, ladders, or other climbing aids were used. To set up a mystery this elaborate, then declare that the solution was a magical invention called the ladderwould be boring.
But that made it all seem impossible, unless someone had tampered with the keycard records, or there was an error in the official police accounts!
Fairness Rule 7: The investigators did not and will not deliberately alter the evidence. This includes police and federal investigators. Furthermore, electronic records, such as keycards and videos, were not forged or tampered with. All forensic analyses have been carried out honestly.
Eliminating the impossible left her with one answer that stretched the limits of plausibility:an elaborate hoax suicide. Uncle Johann had shown signs of being mentally unwell, and was certainly paranoid. But he would never have framed Maria!
Fairness Rule 8: Uncle Johann''s shooting is not a suicide made to look like a murder; it''s not a hoax at all. It would be crass to promise you a science fiction mystery and then leave the science fiction irrelevant to the solution. Taking advantage of the victim''s effectively unlimited ability to set up his own locked room death is unsporting conduct.
So Noelle''s thoughts returned once again to impossible devices. Even if Uncle Johann had been working on, say, a machine that lets people walk through walls... there probably weren''tthat many, right? He couldn''t be mass-producing them.
Fairness Rule 9: Only one type of impossible invention plays a role in the disappearance and the shooting, though this invention requires more than one component to operate. By this definition, a garage door + a futuristic power source + an infinite-range garage door opener would count as one invention with three components. This invention requires a power source. As Agent Singh noted, three power sources were provided to the lab, and one is missing. This strictly limits how many units the lab could have built!
Fairness Rule 10: As implied by the blueprint in Uncle Johann''s room, one power source only supports up to three uses of the invention.
But having laid out her thoughts, Noelle found herself at a roadblock Perhaps she could use some inspiration.
In the comments for this chapter, feel free to post: * Research requests for Noelle to dig into. * Questions about the rules of the game, and the underlying fairness of the mystery. * Spoiler-tagged speculation.
Chapter 9: The Key to Heaven and Hell Agent Singh replayed the video yet again, squinting in disbelief. Based on the time-stamp, the impossible happened while she and Maria were up on the roof. First, the tripod inside the mouse cage beeped, activating the camera, then flashed three times, once per second. Three¡­ two¡­ one... Exactly one second after the third flash, the mouse appeared. At first, Maria had thought she¡¯d blinked and missed something. But there had been nothing to miss. The mouse was not there, and then it was. No puff of smoke or flash of light heralded its arrival. When Agent Singh paused and stepped through high-speed footage frame-by-frame, the effect still appeared instantaneous. In one frame, there were two mice. In the next, three. The newcomer wore a metal harness like the others, but this time, only one LED was lit. Three, two, one -- a convenient numbering system for identical triplets. Kind of a letdown, thought Maria.You would think it¡¯d glow. Or maybe fade in, looking a little ghostly. This all looks like a kid smushed two video clips together in Movie Maker. Singh¡¯s never going to believe it. ¡°This footage,¡± said Singh, breaking the silence, ¡°looks convincing.¡± ¡°What, really?¡± ¡°The other mice remain in consistent positions. So do the wood chips by their feet. You couldn¡¯t have put the third mouse in and spliced the clips together. I don¡¯t think you removed the third mouse from the early parts of the video, either. Too technically demanding, especially with footage from two camera angles.¡± She fast-forwarded past the third mouse¡¯s appearance and played a brief segment. The new mouse was sniffing at the others; displeased by this, the mouse with two lights briefly chased it around the cage. ¡°All three mice interact. This looks real.¡± Maria barely dared to voice her thoughts. ¡°This... it''s such a relief!¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t lying about the mice.¡± ¡°Oh, I''m so --¡± ¡°But you¡¯re still the sole suspect for the shooting.¡± Maria¡¯s face fell. What was it going to take to clear her? ¡°The next priority,¡± added Singh, jotting some notes and looking more like a blas¨¦ court stenographer than someone who¡¯d just witnessed a blatant violation of common sense, ¡°is determining the nature of your uncle¡¯s research. We need to get into his safe.¡± As they returned to the scene of the shooting, Maria racked her memory for clues. Safe key¡­ a safe key¡­ ¡°That globe. Uncle Johann hid a key inside,¡± said Maria. She pointed to the faux antique, unwilling to disturb the scene. Agent Singh picked it up and shook it with gloved hands. Inside, something rattled hollowly. ¡°A puzzle box. Do you have any idea what the combination is?¡± Maria bit her lip. ¡°He put it in much too quickly for me to see.¡± Rapping the glove with her knuckles, Singh said, ¡°Seems fragile. We could crack it open.¡± Maria took a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth. Her uncle hadn¡¯t meant the globe for secure storage. Anybody who knew what was inside could smash it open. Instead, it might make sense to think of it as a riddle, and when Uncle Johann started telling riddles... ¡°The combination itself is a message. Maybe just a message to himself,¡± said Maria. ¡°I... do you really think we should just smash it open?¡± "Have it your way." Agent Singh turned the curio over again, scrutinizing it from every angle. The following epigram was printed around the North polar circle: Atoms and systems into ruins hurled / And now a bubble burst, and now a world. - Alexander Pope Around the South polar circle, in similarly fine text, was a second epigram: To every man is given the key to the gates of Heaven. The same key opens the gates of Hell. Tiny marks marred the equator, rendering it shaky and uneven. Singh¡¯s hand lens revealed the cause of this irregularity. In four places, the line had been replaced with dense, microprinted numbers. She read them aloud, starting from the Greenwich meridian and proceeding east: First set: 080645 0815 Second set: 042686 0123 Third set: 021522 1434 Fourth set: 061824 1612 Singh shut her eyes. ¡°This one¡¯s mine.¡± The last two sets were all too obvious to her. The third referred to the events that resulted in the founding of her own agency. And the fourth referred to the tragedy she had commemorated so succinctly on the cover of a Manhattan phone book. She shook off the bitter memory of the tragedy and began to manipulate the globe, pushing down on four cities.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Interaction: Which locations need to be pressed, and in what order, to open the globe? It may be useful to check Internet resources for this, but nothing more advanced than Wikipedia should be needed.
?? Locked Narration: The Key to Heaven and Hell "Then we''re stuck?" asked Maria. ¡°Even without the second key,¡± said Singh, ¡°there¡¯s still something we can do.¡± Singh navigated the clutter to reach Johann Palmstroem¡¯s desk, then sat down. His chair was set too high for her, leaving her feet dangling an inch off the floor. The victim had been a tall man. She pressed the power button. The computer whirred to life, its fan rattling slightly. Like everything else in this lab, it had been left ill-maintained. Username: JPalmstroem. Password: unknown. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to know your Uncle¡¯s password?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Maria. "Not even a hint? That''s too bad." Deciding it was best to make herself more useful on the scene than she would be in a jail cell, she added, ¡°But he did show me how he makes passwords.¡± Long before, Uncle Johann had instructed Maria to use a mnemonic device to make her passwords safer: Choose a quotation. Take the first letter of each word. Anything that¡¯s capitalized in the original is capitalized in the password. Replace any to with 2, any for with 4, any o with a zero, and so on. If you forget the quote, you can always leave some sort of reminder. For example, if the quote was ¡°Men dare to live, and fools to die,¡± the password would be ¡®Md2laf2d¡¯. Maria had listened with little interest, but, in defiance of her Uncle¡¯s advice, set every last one of her passwords to ¡®ver0n1caMars¡¯. Looking back, that probably wasn''t very secure. But then, neither was REDQUEEN; maybe he made an exception for puzzle passwords. ¡°It would probably be based on a quote.¡± Maria began to flip through books from the bookshelf before Singh stopped her. ¡°If it''s a quote, there might be a lead. We found a note in his shirt pocket,¡± said Singh. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡± A few minutes later, Maria and Singh were squinting at a crumpled piece of paper in a plastic tray on the breakroom table. Singh had removed it from its evidence bag to allow examination from all sizes. Some of Uncle Johann''s blood had seeped through his shirt and stained a corner of the page a deep brown, and it took all of Maria''s resolve to focus on the writing, and not this bleak reminder of her uncle''s violent end. Several lines were crossed out, but what looked like the most recent one remained uncanceled. AAiW, ch. 7, riddle TtLG, ch. 2, ¡°now, here¡± Dream of F., s. 11, l. 2 AAiW, ch. 12, r. 42 Dream of F., last line TtLG, ch. 5, a poor sort ¡°Well," said Maria, "Once I''ve checked a few books, I can get you his password. His previous passwords, too, if you want them. Can you just... take a photo, or something? I don''t want to look at it any more.¡± Singh obliged, and soon Maria was back at her Uncle''s bookshelf. All the same author? He really was kind of obsessed, she thought.
Interaction: What is Uncle Johann¡¯s most recent password? An Internet resource may be needed to solve this. Ten characters long. You can also try to guess his prior passwords, though it isn''t necessary to proceed.
Narration Unlocked by SmolShrimpa: A Poor Sort Spoiler: Spoiler There it was, in the fifth chapter ofThrough the Looking Glass: "It''s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," the Queen remarked. Maria dictated the password to Singh, following her Uncle''s rules: Iaps0mt0wb Later, this passage would come back to haunt Maria. But at the moment, as the computer booted up successfully, she didn''t ruminate about its broader significance. Pumping her arm with triumph, she gave a small whoop, ignoring Agent Singh''s sharp look. Not even death could stop Uncle Johann from sending Maria riddles, or keep Maria from solving them. The desktop on Johann Palmstroem''s computer was uncluttered, even spartan. Though entropy had been allowed to work unchecked upon his physical surroundings, no such latitude was given in this virtual space. The few icons permitted to remain here all paraded soldier-like in a single column. And in a perfectly centered rectangle in the center of the screen, a background photo presented itself for inspection. Maria, Noelle, Vincent, Henry, Uncle Johann, and Alice Park all were smiling into the camera, all crouched in front of the corkboard in what was then Henry''s office, which had been covered in bright red construction paper for the event. Birthday balloons floated at the edge of the frame, and pieces of red crepe dangled from the ceiling. Just behind and over the heads of the revelers, multicolored cardboard letters spelled out a message on the corkboard: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HENRY! There had been no comma in the package, but young Vincent had insisted on cutting the punctuation mark out of construction paper and pinning it on. "This photo... it must have been taken just a few days before Mom disappeared." Singh stared, as if fallen into a reverie. Could it be that this sentimental keepsake had softened her heart? "It was the last time all of us were together," whispered Maria. "What? Oh, so it was," said Singh, absently. "Is this in high-definition?" Testing a hypothesis, she opened the photograph in an image editor. Indeed, it had been taken at a much higher resolution, and only displayed at a smaller size. An incredible stroke of luck. Stretching a dotted rectangular box around one particular object hanging on the corkboard, she zoomed in close. Evidently, Henry''s safe key had not been taken down for the festivities. It was definitely similar to the one they''d retrieved from the globe, but not the same. How convenient that it stood out sharply against the background, visible even in its finest detail! "Oh," said Maria. While she was glad to have a lead on getting into the safe, she was also a shade disappointed that this was all Agent Singh had taken from the photograph, which had moved her to the core. "I see what you''re thinking, huh. I guess we could do it all here, huh?"
Interaction: What is Agent Singh planning to do with this photograph?
?? Locked Narration: Another Key But that was not the only secret the computer held. "Um, so... my Uncle made kind of a... chatbot," said Maria. As reluctant as she was to even bring up the subject, she needed to know what he had been up to. "An AI program. He told it about his work. I think that icon is it... no, the one underneath." Agent Singh hovered the cursor over a small, stylized image of a red chess queen. "Do you want me to open it?" "No," said Maria, her voice cracking a little. "But... I guess we''d better do it anyway." It had been bad enough to be grilled by Agent Singh. But in the interrogation to come, Maria would be asking the questions... And honestly? She dreaded this one even more. Chapter 10: The Red Queens Interrogation The things you grow up with, thought Maria, become your definition of normal. Her mother and Uncle Johann had been inseparable. When he fell into one of his episodes, or reacted too intensely to the wrongness of others, or just needed to be lured out of his head into the world of other human beings, she hurried to his side. Maria¡¯s father tolerated it. It was her responsibility, after all, and he was a stoic believer in duty and responsibility. To Uncle Johann, Maria¡¯s mother was a buffer from the outside world, a translator of human oddities and irrationalities, and, finally, a brilliant engineer who helped him realize his impossible ideas. That she may have sacrificed something to achieve these things was not really on his mind, nor, at the time, Maria¡¯s. This sibling symbiosis only tightened when Maria¡¯s father died, felled by a genetic disorder. The trigger was a high fever; his temperature spiked, and his heart, which had beat with invincible vigor through basic training and deployment and baseball and yard work, simply stopped. After the funeral, her mother gradually withdrew. While she didn¡¯t neglect Maria or Noelle, she spent more time with Uncle Johann, and less time with their handful of family friends. To Maria, even this had been normal, in a way. Perhaps she had Noelle to thank for that. When their father died, it had been Noelle who explained the exact sequence of events to the doctor, saving their mother the anguish. And when their mother vanished, it had been Noelle who had worked and saved and cut corners and pulled in every favor she could to make a semblance of normalcy possible for her younger sister. All evening, Maria had been trying to hold together her composure at the loss of yet another family member. But as the program launched, she felt a sickening sense that maybe this last push would be what broke her down. Because -- because -- A black window popped up in the middle of the screen, and lines of text appeared, one by one. Connecting to predictive server¡­ Updating knowledge base¡­ Loading textures¡­ Because on top of everything else, this program was an undeniable proof that nothing had ever really been normal. The thing appeared on screen. Maria clenched her eyes shut and balled her fists. It was a crude, halting simulacrum of her mother¡¯s face, the same one Uncle Johann had flaunted to her earlier. A stupid, smiling impostor. ¡°Hey, Johann,¡± it said, the pause between the words just a little too long. ¡°Are you okay?¡± The pitch held low and monotonous on the ¡®are you o-¡¯, only to leap up on the ¡®-kay?¡¯, turning the query into a bizarre singsong: Da-da-da-DAH? A prompt appeared. ¡°Any ideas?¡± asked Agent Singh. Maria could type something. No, she had to type something. She¡¯d come so far in arguing her innocence to Agent Singh; she wasn¡¯t going to let a glorified chatbot with her mother¡¯s face stop her from finding the truth. She tried: > Hello, Alice. ¡°Have you remembered to get your medications refilled? You can¡¯t keep forgetting,¡± said the thing. > I have. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? ¡°Do you mind if I answer your questions with questions?¡± asked the thing. That stung; while the first few lines could have been said by an ordinary digital assistant, this was something her mother would have said. But now it was time to grit her teeth and interrogate. Narration unlocked by strand VV: The mice If her Uncle had really modeled this program on her mother, maybe he had fed it information about their work.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. >What are we doing with the lab mice? The image on the screen replied. "What do you think we''re doing? Let''s not get into this again! We need to make sure it''s safe for lab mice before we can even dreamof sending a person. I don''t care if you want to. We need to make sure It''s safe." The program seemed to respond to the phrase ''lab mice,'' by a kind of association, without really answering Maria''s question. It could take a formulaic phrase (''What are we doing?'') and turn out a context-free, formulaic answer that was convincing on a surface level (''What do you think we''re doing?'') Sometimes, it repeated itself, vainly reiterating old arguments like a ghost pacing down a decrepit hallway for the ten-thousandth night in a row. Narration unlocked by strand VV: The Red Queen''s Race ''Sending.'' Sending where? Maria hurriedly typed out her next question: >Does this have to do with the Red Queen? "Don''t get me started on the Red Queen! Ha, ha!" God, that laugh was eerie. "Not the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland. The Red Queen is the chess queen from Through the Looking Glass. Everyone confuses them! The Queen of Hearts is angry beyond any sane bound of anger. The Red Queen is logical beyond any sane bound of logic." Well, that certainly explained her mother and Uncle Johann''s obsession. They could probably relate. When Maria was five, her father made a necklace for her mother: a red chess queen on a thin chain. Major Park never shared the Palmstroem siblings'' obsession with Carroll. But he wanted to understand it; he saw the Tenniel drawings on her walls, the figurines, and the framed quotes. These outlandish figures were important to her in some deep, totemic way. >Tell me more about the Red Queen. "Do you remember the Red Queen''s Race?" >It was in Through the Looking Glass. It was also an Asimov story you read to me. "I read it to you?" Hastily, Maria corrected herself. >I mean, you read it to our daughter. "I remember the Red Queen''s Race," said the computer, just barely seeming to follow the conversation. Here, Agent Singh cut in, eying Maria with concern. "Why are you pretending to be your Uncle? Why not speak to her as yourself?" "It was made for him," replied Maria, her voice dark. "If I don''t play along, it''ll just get confused." "If you say so." >Tell me more about the Red Queen''s Race. "In the Red Queen''s Race, it takes all the running you can do to stay in one place. Asimov wrote a story about it. But Asimov''s story is really just an application of the Novikov Consistency Principle." Narration unlocked by strand VV: The Last Few Days Unsure how to deal with this, Maria tried a change of subject. >What have you done in the last few days? "Worked on the belt, mostly," said the image of Alice. "And the mouse-sized prototypes. The beacon''s operational, as far as I can tell. But we won''t know until we can test it."
Interactive Segment: In the comments thread, post your questions for the AI based on Alice Palmstroem Park. Try to determine information that will help Maria''s investigation and uncover the secrets of the Saturn Technologies labs.
Since the interrogation has stalled, the plot will advance from the point the interrogation reached on October 3rd, 2020. However, you may still use the thread to ask questions and continue the questioning, as it may help later on. Rather than rely on questions asked here, the next segment will use speculation that readers made earlier to continue the story. Spoiler warning: If you haven''t yet made a guess as to what Uncle Johann was working on, now would be a good time. Many of you saw this part coming.
Narration Unlocked by strand VV, SmolShrimpa, and Zenopath: The AI''s talk of "beacons" and "sending" crystallized a nascent suspicion in Maria''s mind. Even if the only concrete evidence she had was that mouse... "I''ve got an idea of what my uncle was working on," said Maria, shutting the program down with an almost vindictive click of her mouse. "But you''re not going to believe it." "I can believe a lot... with sufficent evidence," replied Agent Singh. Maria took a deep breath, and said, with as much confidence as she could muster, "A time machine!" She waited. "Sure," said Agent Singh, with neither sarcasm nor enthusiasm. "A time machine. And...?" "What do you mean, ''and?'' It''s a time machine! The mouse traveled in time!" "I agree that''s a possibility. I saw the video, too. But what I''m asking is: how does that shed any light on your uncle''s murder? You''re not accusing the mouse." Maria''s heart sank. "You already knew about the time machine, didn''t you?" "I suspected," replied Agent Singh, as she jotted down another note. "I still only suspect; the word of that program wouldn''t hold water in court. But even assuming such a device exists... it represents only two things to me. First, if real, it is a grave threatto humanity. And second, it is a motivefor your Uncle''s murder... for which you''re still the lead suspect." Chapter 11: Strangled X At the same time that Maria was questioning a cryptic computer program, the doctors and nurses at the county hospital just a mile away were conducting an investigation of their own. At around 11 PM, Patient Strangled X had staggered into a convenience store on a broken leg, then collapsed onto the counter in agonized exhaustion. Scrapes and bruises mottled his skin, and vivid scratches marred his neck. When the clerk asked him what had happened, he rasped that he''d ''had a fall.'' As the EMTs loaded the injured man onto an ambulance, they noted that he was responsive, but not thinking clearly. Based on his evasive answers, bloodshot eyes, and unwillingness to state his name, they put down his status as ''intoxicated.¡¯ This was an understandable error; being nearly strangled to death can leave a person a little woozy. By the time Strangled X got to the hospital, the pain, stress, and possibly internal injuries had knocked him out cold. On arrival, the nurses took his vitals and an IV drip into his wrist to relieve his mild dehydration. The guy had big, easy veins; definitely not a regular user of injected drugs. A doctor then examined him, correctly interpreted the marks on his neck and the blood spots in his eyes, and assigned his appropriate, if grim, temporary name. Of course, the man could also have been called ¡°Leg Fracture X,¡± but they¡¯d already had a Leg Fracture JD earlier in the month. Leg Fracture X had turned out to be an escapee from a memory care unit. And ¡°Possible Long Fall X,¡± ¡°Beaten by Loan Sharks X,¡± and ¡°Pushed off a Cliff??? X¡± would all have been purely speculative. So ¡°Strangled X¡± was the best option remaining. Now it was time to ask the important questions: Who¡¯s this guy, and who the hell''s going to cover his bill? Strangled X had lacked the foresight to collapse while carrying an ID or, better yet, an insurance card. One distinctive identifying mark could be seen: a tattoo of a compass, about the size of a quarter, on his left bicep, where it would normally be covered discreetly by his sleeve. A Masonic symbol, probably. A walkie-talkie was clipped to his belt, and inside his coat pockets, the nurses found a broken phone, a remote control with no manufacturer''s logo, and a small paintbrush. His clothing oozed class, or at least conspicuous cost, though -- a sharp dress shirt, silk tie, jacket, and designer slacks, all a little beat up, but clearly tailor-made. (In the worst case, one nurse noted, they could check up with the tailor.) And he was, all bruises and scrapes aside, well-groomed, well-fed, young-ish, and perhaps even a little handsome. The mystery patient was the subject of much speculation. Hypothesis one: some local businessman walking late on the wrong side of the freeway got mugged, strangled, and left for dead. But why didn¡¯t the mugger take his phone? And why the paintbrush?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. A quick inquiry to the police about missing persons turned up no local matches, but that just meant that they''d have to cast a wider net. Had the team known about the shooting at Saturn Technologies, this process would have been much easier. They would surely have realized that 7-11 where Strangled X had been picked up was only a few blocks from the scene of the crime. But that¡¯s not how it happened. Later that night, while Strangled X slept in his curtained hospital bed, left leg immobilized in a bulky splint, Noelle Park called the emergency department. She planned on trying all the local hospitals; it was a shot in the dark. ¡°I¡¯m looking for my cousin,¡± she said, trying to sound panicked and stressed; she did not have to try very hard. ¡°My cousin sometimes gets mixed up with¡­ um, violent people. I heard there was a fight, and¡­ and... did anyone show up tonight sometime after ten-thirty?¡± She rushed out the last sentence. Noelle had reasoned thus: Maria heard two shots. Only one bullet was found in the body, and none was found at the scene. Therefore, it was more than plausible that the culprit walked away with a gunshot wound. If, by some miracle, he went to a hospital for treatment, he¡¯d probably arouse at least some suspicion, and might have given a false name. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± replied the on-call at the emergency desk. ¡°We can¡¯t release private details without consent.¡± ¡°I know, I know¡­ but there were gunshots!¡± said Noelle. Had she guessed ¡°strangulation¡± or ¡°a broken leg,¡± the call might have ended differently. But as it stood, the on-call only smiled and replied, ¡°Well, I¡¯ll tell you this much. We haven¡¯t had anybody come in with a gunshot wound tonight. Okay? I hope your cousin is safe.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a relief,¡± said Noelle, hollowly. ¡°Thanks.¡± And she moved on to calling the next hospital in the area. Still later that night, in the early hours of the morning, Strangled X woke up. He took stock of his situation, saw the clock on the wall, and realized a vital fact. He called for the nurse. ¡°Hey¡­¡± he said, with a weak smile, voice still raspy. That grip had done a number on his neck. ¡°I think I¡¯m feeling a little better.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good to hear,¡± she said. ¡°Now, are you thinking a little more clearly now?¡± ¡°Yeah. Um¡­ can I borrow a phone? I¡¯ve got to tell my family what¡¯s up.¡± She nodded. ¡°All right. Then you can fill out an intake form, okay? It¡¯ll be good to know your real name.¡± ¡°What¡¯ve you been calling me?¡± ¡°Strangled X.¡± The patient chuckled, as if at a private joke, then took the phone without saying anything else. The first few numbers he tried all went to answering machines; either these people were asleep, or they were in a place without reception. Which made sense, come to think of it. The last call went through, though. And that was good, he thought, because he was going to need all the help he could get. But sneaking out of a hospital couldn¡¯t be that hard, could it? Side-Case: A Problem of Motive Three corpses hung from the balcony, ankles tied to the horizontal base of the tall ornamental railing. Rick approached them from below with trepidation, keeping his camera in front of his face like a shield. The ropes were just long enough to leave their heads dangling at his eye level. Father, mother, and son stared him down. Their eyes were terrified and bulging, and their jaws were clenched tight. Gravity had pooled the blood in their heads, turning their skin bruise-purple. "Christ. Who would do this?" muttered Rick, blanching a little as he photographed the scene. A few quick inquiries with friends and relatives had revealed little of note. Nobody had a reason to kill any of these people -- definitely not like this. The mother was a school nurse, the father worked at some sort of biotech firm, and the son was just a teenager. "I''m wondering why the neighbors didn''t hear anything." Detective Charity Singh seemed more pensive than shocked. She''d been warned of what to expect, so maybe she''d steeled herself. Or maybe staring down at the floor was a good way to avoid looking into those eyes. "No sign of a break-in, either." "You''re saying maybe they knew the guy?" "Maybe." Detective Singh didn''t find that particularly plausible either, though. Even if the killer had been the dearest, most trusted friend, the victims wouldn''t have just let themselves all be tied to a railing. Their arms were completely free. No wounds, either. A paralytic drug, perhaps? Hold on. Each rope was just long enough to let the victims dangle, but not much longer. "Rick, I''m going to head upstairs and look at this from above." As she walked through the living room to the stairs, she spotted a leather briefcase sitting on the floor. It lay on its side, spilled open, and there were traces of fine, rust-brown powder on tile floor. The father had taken home a sample vial from the lab, and it had shattered, raising a cloud of dust which must have taken some time to settle.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Well, forensics would work out what to make of it. Best not to disturb or inhale it, whatever it was. Reaching the balcony confirmed Singh''s suspicions. The measurements just didn''t work. If the killer had tied their feet to that bar, he couldn''t possibly have gotten their bodies over the railing. But there they were, all the same. What, did he just use longer ropes, and then pull them back and trim the excess? But that would be pointless. One more possibility to check. Gingerly, Singh climbed up and over the rail. The ledge was roomy enough to sit on, so she did. Then she put an ankle against the bar and leaned over. "Rick, I think they tied themselves." "Why the hell would they do that?" "I don''t know. But that''s what makes physical sense." The van arrived, and the bodies were cut down, bagged, and sent away. It was time to put forensics on this. *** Later, the lab called back. Given their backlog, it seemed impossible that they could have analyzed the blood samples so quickly. "No toxicology yet. But listen," said Sam. "This jumped out at me as soon as I took a look at the white blood cells. All three of them have massive eosinophilia. Off the charts." "What''s that mean?" "Eosinophils fight parasites, fungi, you know, the big stuff. So either the whole family had hookworm, or... um, I have no idea." "Oh." Detective Singh thought of that purple skin, those dangling heads pooled full of nutrient-rich blood. Hadn''t she seen something like this in a nature documentary once? She began to search the Internet. Next, she phoned that biotech lab, the one the father worked for. At first, they were unwilling to divulge much, but when it became clear that she''d happened onto the truth, they were seized with an eminently justifiable panic. Finally, she tipped off the Bureau of High-Risk Research. Soon, she''d be recruited as a field agent, but for now, there was something far more pressing to deal with. What happens when you successfully force a fungal parasite to host-jump? A mushroom that in nature, drugs ants, tinkers with their brains, makes them crawl up a plant and bite down on a leaf, and then... Meanwhile at the morgue, three pairs of eyes began to hatch. Chapter 12: The Cavalry Arrives The plane¡¯s wheels touched down, juddering and rumbling. Passengers pulled out their phones and began to text their families and answer missed calls. Bing! went the cabin speakers. ¡°Please remain seated until the plane has come to a complete stop,¡± said the speaker-voice, with a touching, if entirely unjustified, faith in the passengers¡¯ obedience. ¡°You may now use your portable electronic devices.¡± During the car ride and the flight, Vincent had drained his laptop and his phone battery completely; economy-class seats didn¡¯t have chargers. But Malcolm had elected to read a book on the erosion of civil liberties in the U.S. after the Batavia disaster, and so his phone had charge to spare. ¡°Well, would you look at that,¡± said Malcolm, ¡°Noelle sent a group message¡­ nine group messages.¡± Vincent jerked around in his seat to face Malcolm, whacking himself in the face with his own neck pillow in the process. Vexed, he tossed it to the floor. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°Wow.... Jesus Christ. See for yourself.¡± Malcolm passed the phone to Vincent, who read with growing alarm: Noelle to Vincent and Malcolm: Noelle: call me when you land Noelle: uncle J was murdered Noelle: Maria¡¯s suspected Noelle: BHR investigating Noelle: Singh again Noelle: she kicked out the police Noelle: Maria has nobody there Noelle: just get the hell over here ok And, an hour after the other messages: Noelle: damn it land already When the cabin door finally opened, Malcolm weaved, shoved, and finagled his way down the aisle. ¡°Sorry! Got a tight connection to make!¡± he lied, dragging Vincent behind him, his carry-on bag cradled before his chest like a shield. The neck pillow was left behind, forgotten.
Less than an hour later, the two arrived at Saturn Technologies, luggage in tow. The left wheel on Vincent¡¯s cheap suitcase had chosen precisely this time to irreparably jam, so it dragged and skidded drunkenly across the flagstones as he walked, flipping one way, then the other. ¡°My keycard isn¡¯t working,¡± said Vincent, giving his suitcase a frustrated little kick. ¡°Did Noelle let Singh know you were coming?¡± ¡°I guess she didn¡¯t get the call,¡± said Malcolm, trying to maintain his air of unflappable confidence. ¡°Or she¡¯s letting us cool our heels out here for a bit. Oh, don¡¯t do that. You¡¯ll break your luggage.¡± Just as they were about to go searching for a spot with better phone reception, a dark sedan pulled into the parking lot. A man emerged, and the car¡¯s lights silhouetted him briefly as he hefted a black box from the trunk. Malcolm squinted through the dark at the man, then made a lucky guess as to his identity. ¡°That you, Jeff? Need a hand?¡± He waved airily and grinned. Jeffrey was far less chipper. ¡°Can¡¯t let you touch this,¡± he shouted back. ¡°Probably shouldn¡¯t even let you into the scene, Fell.¡± Vincent tried to look inconspicuous as Jeffrey approached. He¡¯d never met Agent Singh¡¯s assistant, but the tension in the man¡¯s voice suggested that he was already nearing the end of his patience. Was Malcolm going to needle him? ¡°Well, I¡¯m a lawyer, and your suspect¡¯s sister just gave me the okay. I imagine Maria would like to see a friendly face very much right now,¡± drawled Malcolm. ¡°So you can either let me in, or let her out.¡± ¡°And who are you?¡± Jeffrey asked Vincent. ¡°Vincent Stein. The¡­ um, the victim¡­ he was my research partner.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± said Jeffrey, with more softness than he¡¯d hitherto shown. ¡°And about your brother. All right, are you okay with us letting this shyster into your lab?¡± ¡°My lab?¡± Vincent¡¯s eyes boggled a bit, as if he¡¯d just realized Johann Palmstroem¡¯s death had left him as the head of research for Saturn Technologies. ¡°Oh, yes. Right. I trust Mr. Fell implicitly. Could you let us in? I think you locked us out, which is a good way to keep the crime scene unspoiled, definitely, so I¡¯m not criticizing you¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± said Jeffrey, eying Malcolm once more with a blend of wariness and contempt before buzzing them in. ¡°We go straight up. Stick close to me.¡±
¡°What do you mean, I¡¯m still the lead suspect? The killer could¡¯ve come in using the time machine, then just¡­ blipped out!¡± Agent Singh was seated at the computer now, testing queries on the Alice program and occasionally noting down a response. ¡°The only prototype we¡¯ve found so far couldn¡¯t be large enough for a person. Though this could explain what happened to the antimatter unit. So thanks for that, at least.¡± The sound of elevator doors opening interrupted their argument. Footsteps and the clonk, clonk of a broken suitcase approached, and Jeffrey stuck his head in through the door. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. ¡°I have those tests you wanted. And Ms. Park has visitors.¡± As soon as Vincent saw Maria, he darted forward, nearly tripping over the pillow on the floor, and threw his arms around her. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he cried out. Maria nodded mutely, not ready for this rush of emotion from someone who¡¯d been a frustrating cipher for the last few years. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± said Agent Singh, and Vincent reluctantly separated himself from his childhood friend. She addressed her next question to Malcolm. ¡°Mr. Fell. It¡¯s been some time. Are you here to represent Maria Park?¡± Arms folded, Malcolm, replied, ¡°Yes, if she¡¯ll have me. Maria, your sister asked me to offer you my services. Do you accept?¡± ¡°Definitely,¡± said Maria. ¡°Um, I might have already told Agent Singh some things. I mean, I wanted to help clear my name, but maybe I¡¯ve been talking too much?¡± ¡°By some things,¡± said Malcolm, ¡°do you mean a little, or a blow-by-blow account of every last thing you did that night?¡± ¡°...The second one.¡± ¡°Of course. Well, as your lawyer,¡± said Malcolm, ¡°I¡¯d advise against that. I always advise against that. You aren¡¯t required to build the prosecution¡¯s case for them.¡± ¡°Too late,¡± replied Singh. Malcolm threw up his hands with good-humored exasperation. ¡°Water under the bridge, then. What¡¯s done is done. We can¡¯t change that.¡± Vincent¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Wait, that reminds me! Ms. Singh, what reason do you have for even suspecting Maria? If you don¡¯t mind, could you tell us what you think happened that night?¡± Agent Singh led the group back to the conference room, which was a relief to the temperature-sensitive Vincent. The night wind coming through the office window had left the room unpleasantly chilly. Once they¡¯d taken their seats around the table, Agent Singh laid out the basic facts: Maria¡¯s shift, the locked room, and the two guns. ¡°Jeffrey, do we have an analysis on the revolvers?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± said Jeffrey, pulling the twin guns from his case and laying them on the conference room table. ¡°The fingerprinting results are complicated. As for the ballistics¡­ I fired a test shot from each weapon,¡± he said, weighing his words carefully. ¡°The gun found on the scene was a perfect ballistic match for the bullet found in the victim¡¯s body, and that¡¯s consistent with the suspect¡¯s guilt, but¡­¡± ¡°Leave the other details for later,¡± said Agent Singh, cutting Jeffrey off with a meaningful look. ¡°If nothing further comes to light, we¡¯ll be taking Maria into custody.¡± She sure cut him off quickly, thought Maria. What was he about to say?
INTERACTIVE SEGMENT: This challenging multi-stage puzzle is optional, but if Maria can solve it, she will slice through a major problem in one fell swoop. STAGE I: What was Jeffrey about to report regarding the gun ballistics, and why do you think so? Deadline to solve this optional puzzle in full: October 26th, 2020. The deadline has passed, but the solution may be submitted for... bragging rights, I guess?
But Maria didn¡¯t have long to consider this problem, as Malcolm began to chuckle, low and confident. ¡°Heh, heh. Sorry to send you back to the drawing board, Ms. Singh,¡± he said, relishing the chance to finally get one over on the federal agent, ¡°but something new is about to come to light.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll turn the whole case on its head!¡± said Vincent, trembling with excitement. ¡°Once we show you what¡¯s going on, you¡¯ll have to see that Maria¡¯s innocent!¡± ¡°Um, are you guys talking about the time machine?¡± asked Maria. ¡°We knew about that,¡± said Agent Singh. Malcolm¡¯s grin froze into a grimace. ¡°Yes! That! You¡­ all already knew?¡± With a small harrumph of disappointment, Maria slouched down, shoulders hunched. ¡°It¡¯s no use. I told Agent Singh about it and she pretty much just said ¡®meh.¡¯¡± ¡°I object to that,¡± said Agent Singh. ¡°There¡¯s nothing ¡®meh¡¯ about a time machine. For one thing, it¡¯s a motive. But it is the size of a mouse, and doesn¡¯t clear you.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Vincent hurriedly crouched to the floor, wrestled a stuck zipper open on his luggage, and fished through a compartment, tossing out a toothbrush, a photographic guide to birds, and a box of breath mints before finally pulling out a key chain. It was loaded with nested rings of what seemed to be at least a dozen keys, which he searched through until he found the one he wanted. ¡°I get it! You don¡¯t know about the other time machine!¡± ¡°The other time machine,¡± repeated Singh, hands on her hips. ¡°Yes! We just need to find the other safe key, and...¡± ¡°It¡¯s in the globe,¡± said Maria, still downcast. She thought that the secrets Vincent knew about Uncle Johann¡¯s work would solve the whole mystery and clear her name, just as long as she had Malcolm to represent her. But now it felt more like she was catching them up on all the details. ¡°I still haven¡¯t solved the riddle to open it.¡± Malcolm eyed the crowbar leaning near the evidence case. ¡°Smash it?¡± ¡°No! It was important to him!¡± But without that globe key, they wouldn¡¯t be able to open the office safe.
Note: The globe unlock puzzle was not compeleted successfully by the deadline.
Locked Narration: The Contents of the Safe [unlocked by the lack of a reader solution.] As nobody seemed to have a solution for the globe''s riddle, Malcolm hefted the crowbar and brought it down on the delicate mechanism, hammering it again and again until a crack appeared. Then, bracing it with his feet, he jammed the bar in the crack and split it open with a grunt of effort. "Sorry, Maria," he said, "But your Uncle''d understand - no time to be sentimental about it." He fished through the globe''s remains and retrieved the pocketwatch and the key, which Singh immediately relieved him of. Then, with an almost imperceptible intake of breath, she put both keys in the safe locks and turned them simultaneously. The safe swung open, revealing a bulky metal belt. It bent on myriad hinges, like the backbone of a serpent; these, together with an adjustible elastic strap and opening at the back, made it wearable for a person of nearly any girth, thin or wide. In style - gleaming, brassy, boxy - it resembled the mouse harness, and like the harness, it bore three bright LEDs. All were lit. Vincent stared. "That makes no sense. All of the lights are still on. But it''s impossible to change the power source, so..." Maria remembered what the diagram on the table had said: ''LEDs show remaining uses.'' "Um, Vincent," she said, gulping. "Has this belt... ever actually been used?" Vincent shook his head. "No. It hasn''t. If it had, at least one of the lights would be out." "In that case," said Agent Singh, "You¡¯ve only trapped yourself in a corner. The time machine couldn¡¯t have been used. And if the time machine wasn¡¯t used in this murder¡­ the only possible culprit is Maria.¡± Malcolm cracked his knuckles. ¡°Let¡¯s hear your argument, then.¡± It was time for Malcolm¡¯s first fight as Maria¡¯s defense attorney. Chapter 13: Fell vs. Singh, Round 1 While the discovery that the human-sized prototype had never been used had shaken Maria''s confidence to the core, it only seemed to embolden Malcolm further. As Charity Singh made her argument, one thought ran through his mind: Maria is innocent. Therefore, there had to be a way for someone else to kill Johann Palmstroem. It''s as simple as that. "Begin with the forensics," said Agent Singh, as if laying out a geometric proof. "The gun from the locked room matched the bullet in the body. Based on the powder burns, it was a close-range shot. Therefore, the killer was in the room with the victim, and left the gun there." Maria''s mind seemed to be elsewhere while Agent Singh spoke. Oh, well. That girl often tended to get lost in her own little world. Distractable. But who could blame her, with all she''d been through? "The security cameras cover all entrances, and we checked the entire day''s footage. Every possible suspect who entered the building on the day of the murder was seen leaving before nightfall, with the exception of Maria Park and Felicity Crowe." Vincent was listening with rapt attention and, as usual, gnawing on his fingernails. "Felicity Crowe was patrolling the other wing," continued Singh. "The keycard records prove she couldn''t have reached the murder scene until after the shots were heard." So many assumptions, thought Malcolm. But which to attack first? "The victim couldn''t have locked the door behind the killer -- death came too quickly, according to the examination of the body. The time machine hasn''t been used, so eliminate that as well. There was no way to leave that room until Maria Park broke the door open." Why is she so sure? I can see another way out, no time machine necessary. "Ms. Park is therefore the only possible culprit, and I see no reason not to take her in now. While she raised a few points in her defense earlier, such as the time she would have needed to fake the locked door and a struggle, these are mere probabilities. It would have been difficult for Maria to commit this crime... that, I will admit. But it would have been impossible for anyone else. Her only defense was the use of the time machine... and that possibility has fallen through." Time to counterattack. If she kicks us out of the crime scene now, we''ll never get another chance to clear Henry''s name and get to the bottom of this! "Hey, kiddo!" said Malcolm, waving at Maria, whose eyes seemed focused into the far distance. "What?" she said, roused from her thoughts. "I was listening," she added, clearly lying. "I might need a hand with this argument. Fill me in if she tries to dodge any inconvenient details. You too, Vince. If we put our heads together, we can do this."
Confrontation: A Maze of Logic Without invoking the time machine or repeating Maria''s earlier arguments from Chapter 8, Malcolm, Vincent, and Maria need to counter Singh''s claims.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. As before, you may press a specific statement by asking a question (for example, highlighting an unjustified assumption that Agent Singh is making), or make a counterargument to a specific statement, preferably from evidence that has been given already. This will unlock new statements. Be warned: Not every unlocked statement will be equally useful. Some of them will lead you down the garden path of false assumptions. Keep at it until you''ve forced Singh into a corner!
1. "The gun from the locked room matched the bullet in the body."
2. "Based on the powder burns, it was a close-range shot. Therefore, the killer was in the room with the victim, and left the gun there."
3. "The security cameras cover all entrances. Every possible suspect who entered the building on the day of the murder was seen leaving before nightfall, with the exception of Maria Park and Felicity Crowe. Nobody else could have entered the room."
4. "Felicity was patrolling the other wing. The keycard records prove she could not have reached the murder scene until after the shots were heard."
5. "The victim couldn''t have locked the door behind the killer -- death came too quickly, according to the examination of the body."
6. "The time machine hasn''t been used, so eliminate that as well."
7. "There was no way to leave that room until Maria Park broke the door open."
8. "Ms. Park is therefore the only possible culprit, and I see no reason not to take her in now."
"You''ve left a lot of room for doubt," said Malcolm, "And we can''t wait for this to come to a hearing." "All right by me," said Singh, coolly. "I''d hate to waste a judge''s time with your sophistry, Fell. Let''s see if seven years was enough time for you to learn competence. Your ''doubts,'' then?" Singh had been going easy on Maria; her earlier attack had been a test, which the suspect had passed. But it was time to go for the throat. She''d lead Fell into a logical minefield and force his surrender. That was how to gain a strong bargaining position, after all. And if it put Maria in a bad spot, well, that would be a real shame. But what was one person''s freedom against the lives of millions?
Use the threads below to press for detail and make counterarguments to specific statements! This will unlock more narration and statements. The story will only continue when the confrontation is over.
The time to complete this confrontation has run out. The story will advance regardless.
Fell tried to put the pieces together, but they all collided in his mind. Was there any way to prove that someone else could have been here? Was there any way out of the room? "Hold on," he said. "I''ll think of something." But Agent Singh was unimpressed. "My patience is at an end. If the time machine was not used, there was no way the culprit could have entered or left. Come with me, Ms. Park." (She was wrong about this - there were ways. But Fell had not thought of them.) Vincent was shaking. "We should do the experiment," he said. "Then we can at least prove that the time machine works. Even if it wasn''t used..." "Not now!" replied Malcolm, snapping more sharply than he''d intended. "Maria''s being dragged off to a dark site, okay? So clearing your brother isn''t exactly my top priority right now! We need to find a way to stop this!" Meanwhile, Maria was thinking hard. The time belt in the safe had all three of its indicator lights on. This meant it had never been used. There is no other human-sized time machine here... but is there some other hole in Singh''s argument? I''ve got to think. I''ve got to think harder than I''ve ever thought before. Chapter 14: Focus! Maria was always a distractible person... until she wasn''t. Her attention would flutter around a scene, barraging her with details, flinging her attention this way and that. But then she''d find a problem to fixate on, and suddenly, that problem would become her whole world. And as Fell and Singh argued, the pieces of the case began to click together in her mind, and her environment simply... vanished.
Hyperfocus: Maria has one last trick up her sleeve: a state of absolute, unbreakable focus. In this state, she must piece together clue fragments to come to an epiphany.
The following recollections swirled through Maria''s mind:
Fragment A: What the LEDs Mean Uncle Johann gestured at a pile of incomprehensible blueprints on his desk. The phrase "LEDs show remaining uses, recharge impossible" caught Maria''s eye, but its importance was lost on her.
Fragment B: The Voice on the Radio "Could you leave a few things in the hall by Dr. Palmstroem''s door?" "But you aren''t even supposed to be patrolling this wing tonight." "It''s for an experiment." An experiment! In spite of her better judgment, Maria''s curiosity was piqued. "Really?" "I''ll need a bottle of antifreeze and a paintbrush. For testing some chemical properties."
Fragment C: Maria Heard Two Gunshots Maria took the east wing elevator back upstairs. Perhaps Uncle Johann would be awake by now, and could discuss what to do. But only moments after she reached the fourth floor, a gunshot rang out from her uncle''s office. Heedless of her own safety, Maria rushed to the door. "Stop!" she cried out. "Security! Drop your weapon!" The only reply was the muffled noise of a struggle. She rattled the door furiously; bolted from the inside. Then a second gunshot pierced the air, and the tumult of fighting ceased.
Fragment D: The Open Window She looked out the window: open, with a clear line of sight to the west wing. Nobody on the ground below, but it was hard to see in the dark.
Fragment E: The Footprints at the Crime Scene What had been invisible before was now revealed: a set of irregular footprints. Someone had tracked antifreeze over the carpet. Following the track, it was as if this person had stepped hurriedly out of the puddle, made a few quick strides to the middle of the room, and then moved erratically, sometimes sideways, sometimes back.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "The struggle," said Maria. "That must have been the struggle!" "They don''t match your Uncle''s feet.
Fragment F: One Gunshot Wound at Close Range Uncle Johann was dead, and Maria knew it even before she knelt by his side and checked the pulse on his still-warm wrist, even before she turned him over to see a single bullet wound in his chest. Close range, a quiet part of her mind noted, remembering what she''d learned from Noelle. Contact shot, powder burns.
Fragment G: Serial Number Match Between Gun at Scene + Felicity''s Gun Singh repeated the disassembly process on the revolver Felicity was carrying. She read the serial number and copied it down, then stopped, and read it once more. This couldn''t possibly be correct, could it? Both guns were identical, all the way down to the serial number.
Fragment H: Gun at Scene Had Been Fired Three Times The gun found on the scene had been fired recently, and three of its chambers held empty cartridge casings.
Fragment I: Traces of Powder? Fine traces of powder were trapped in some of the cracks of the gun found at the scene
Fragment J: How Would I Even Get a Matching Gun? "Wait, wait!" said Maria. "How would I even do that? Make a new stock out of matching metal? Melt off the original number and somehow stamp in a new one? How would I even get a matching gun?"
Fragment K: Complicated Fingerprinting? ¡°Jeffrey, do we have an analysis on the revolvers?¡± ¡°Sure,¡± said Jeffrey, pulling the twin guns from his case and laying them on the conference room table. ¡°The fingerprinting results are complicated."
Fragment L: A Ballistic Match, But...? "As for the ballistics¡­ I fired a test shot from each weapon,¡± he said, weighing his words carefully. ¡°The gun found on the scene was a perfect ballistic match for the bullet found in the victim¡¯s body, and that¡¯s consistent with the suspect¡¯s guilt, but¡­¡±
Fragment M: Belt in the Safe "Um, Vincent," she said, gulping. "Has this belt... ever actually been used?" Vincent shook his head. "No. It hasn''t. If it had, at least one of the lights would be out."
Fragment N: No Way Out? Singh: "There was no way to leave that room until Maria Park broke the door open."
Somewhere in this maze of clues... there had to be a connection!
To use hyperfocus, you must combine clue fragments together. To link two fragments, comment in the format: "Link Fragment A and Fragment C" If successful, this will create one or more Hypotheses, which may be combined further! NOT EVERY FRAGMENT IS NECESSARILY USEFUL. Strategies: * Link contradictory fragments. If two facts seem to contradict each other, a deeper truth may emerge when you link them. * Link fragments that, taken together, hint at a hypothesis. (Example: If one fragment said "it rained from 3 - 5 PM" and another said "wet footprints on floor," you could link those: "someone was outside in the rain, then came in.") * Link fragments that work together to establish some certainty. (Example: Two testimonies that support the same general idea.)