Doctor Carlos and the Mona Lisa in Overdrive
(with apologies to William Gibson)

Steven M. Moore
Copyright, 2007



Carlos Obregon gazed into the casket at Wilma’s body. His eyes were moist. He had known Wilma Brown, the mayor of Three Rivers, for more than seventy-five years. That long ago there was only a small village at the point where Darwin’s Run and the Little Muddy joined the wider Maxwell River. Now the town’s population numbered some forty thousand souls, so it was no surprise that the wake was packed with Humans, Rangers, and other grieving citizens.
Doctor Carlos and the rest of the crew of the survey ship Brendan were on Jameson’s Planet for a ship tune-up and much needed R & R. The planet’s tight little solar system only had three planets, including Jameson’s. The other two were gas giants. Wilma had possessed the vision to realize that their solar system was well placed to serve as a waypoint for ships leaving the galactic neighborhood of Earth on their way to the inner galaxy. The four original Human worlds of Earth, Sanctuary, New Haven, and Novo Mondo had by now increased to hundreds and several planets like Jameson’s had become important in the Interstellar Trade Union of Independent Planets, better known as the “i-tweep” from its acronym.
The smile on Wilma’s face seemed beautiful, enigmatic and unnatural to Doctor Carlos. His intern, Julie Chen, made the same observation as they walked out of the funeral home.
“I’ll bet you want to go say hi to the coroner, right?” she asked.
“You’re getting to know me all too well.”
She hooked her arm in his.
“This is the first chance in months that I have the opportunity to get away from you and I blow it by making that suggestion.”
“Too bad.” He flagged a taxi. After giving the taxi’s computer their destination, he settled into the comfortable back seat. Julie had already entered the other side of the open air coach. “But I’m glad you corroborated my observation.”
“Any ideas about what made her smile like that?”
“Well, I didn’t hear any gossips at the wake talking about a young lover, so I’m suspecting some kind of hallucinogenic. The question is why. Was she murdered? Or just tripping while relaxing at home? Never knew her to do that, by the way.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Very. Long ago. Some of it X-rated, not fit for an impressionable young woman’s ears.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

* * *

Bret Conway was the Three Rivers coroner. He got them seated comfortably in a shabby office that appeared to have been hit by an indoor hurricane.
“What an honor to have you here, Doctor Carlos. Wilma often talked about you.”
“Yeah, my ears would get red from time to time, even from lightyears away. So much for relativity. Instant messaging across the parsecs, that ear thing. Now if they could only make a starship drive out of it.”
Conway chortled and poured three small cups of an amber liquid.
“Local brandy, by which I mean it comes from a local fruit. The technology is as old as Human history. Quite tasty.”
“Actually, the Rangers were making brandy out of havenberries when we arrived at New Haven, so I presume they knew the technology long before Humans even started an agrarian society on Earth.”
Conway now frowned. His left eye twitched nervously.
“I very carefully referred to Human history, Doctor Carlos. I suppose there are parallel developments in non-Human cultures. I do believe you’re wrong, though. When we encountered the Rangers, we were much more advanced than they were. Being stranded on New Haven made them revert back to their prehistoric state.”
“I’ll not argue the point with you, since I wasn’t there. Alors bien, sante, Monsieur Conway.”
Doctor Carlos tossed his down and enjoyed the slight burn and burst of flavor. Conway and Julie sipped more discreetly. An old-fashioned cuckoo clock ushered in the change of the hour. The good doctor looked at his watch. For a moment he looked puzzled and then seemed deep in thought.
“Now, what brings you here to my official lair?” asked Conway.
Obregon seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts and come back to the shadowy realm of the office.
“Wilma’s smile. Either she just had some awfully good sex or she ran into Da Vinci himself.”
“Da Vinci?” asked Conway. “Strange name. Is he a Ranger or some other alien?”
“Leonardo Da Vinci,” explained Julie. “He painted the Mona Lisa, who has probably the most famous smile in Human history.”
“I wouldn’t know either of them,” said Conway. “History is sort of irrelevant to me and Jameson’s Planet, for that matter.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” muttered Carlos. “So what was the cause of death?”
“I could determine none.”
“Did you do an autopsy?” asked Julie.
“Of course. Required by law. She had a drink of something toxic. We found the bottle. Its contents correspond to what was in her stomach. Definitely organic, but off world. I can’t place it. It could have been the cause of death.”
“Anybody try it?”
Conway looked shocked.
“Of course not! If it’s a poison….” He let the sentence hang in the air.
“Mind if I look at the bottle?”
“I guess that wouldn’t be a problem.”
They followed him into the basement of the building where the archives were kept. A bored Usk signed out an evidence box to Conway. The Usks were actually more common on Jameson’s Planet than the Rangers. They were also more humanoid. He handed Obregon sterile gloves and the doctor took a stubby glass bottle out of the box. It had a simple stopper in it.
“I’d seal that if I were you.”
“Why? Do you think the vapors can be toxic?” Conway looked worried.
“No, probably not. The density would be too low. But they could make someone sick and with time it would just evaporate. Then your evidence is gone. You just told me you suspect it’s poison. If there were no other physical signs I’d seal it if only in the hope that someday you can identify what the stuff is.” He unstoppered the bottle and took a whiff. Then he held it under Julie’s nose. “Recognize it?”
“No. Am I supposed to?”
“Another thing to add to your training. The list gets bigger and bigger instead of smaller. Sorry about that. If you ever smell this on someone’s breath and they are having difficulty breathing, start doing CPR immediately and get the person into an oxygen tent as soon as possible.”
“What is it?” asked Conway.
“A rather aged bit of Happy Juice. There is a bee-like insect on New Haven – it actually has eight legs and two sets of wings and was probably brought from the Rangers’ home world – this insect produces a bland form of honey when processing most flowers. However, here and there are occasional fields of Walking Vines. Their flowers, when processed by this insect, produce a honey that is hallucinogenic, even when diluted. That’s what you’ve got here. An overdose produces the symptom I described.” He took the bottle by the mouth end and held it up to the dim light bulb. “And we’ve got a print. Match the print with its owner and we may have our murderer.”
Conway looked at the bottle.
“I’ll be damned.” He smiled at Julie. “You weren’t the only one who didn’t know that.”
On their way out Obregon stopped to admire the cuckoo clock. It was a fine piece, equal to the best he had ever seen. He looked underneath for the manufacturer and confirmed it was not manufactured on Earth. It was of more recent construction, well after the Tali invasion of the home planet. Only Rangers made such fine clocks now. Their factories on New Haven rivaled anything the Swiss had ever had. Of course, Switzerland had long ago disappeared in the Tali invasion, along with most other things on Earth.
Doctor Carlos looked at Conway, smiled, and left with his arm hooked in Julie’s as if they were going off to a parade.

* * *

A few hours later Conway called Doctor Carlos at the boarding house where he and most of the Brendan’s crew were staying. Obregon, faced with either bluffing or folding in a poker game, was glad for the interruption.
“I’ve got to take this, gents. I’m bowing out.”
“Hey, I want a chance to get back my money,” said the Brendan’s captain, Lester Wilson. “If you leave now, we just have to postpone.”
“Up to you,” said Obregon, pausing at the door. “I need to take this on the porch. The reception’s lousy in here.”
Julie was on the porch talking to George Edgerton, the ship’s xenosociologist.
Obregon ignored them and answered the phone. Conway’s face appeared on the tiny instrument’s screen.
“The print belongs to a Ranger, Swims-in-Moonbeams. Dominant female in a clan just outside of Three Rivers. The clan is part owner of an import-export business. She would have the means to get something like your Happy Juice through our spaceport customs, which are pretty lax anyway. The police are questioning her now.”
“They’ve got Rangers in their fingerprint database?”
“Why not? The prints are alien, but the principle is the same.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. She could set her whole clan against you.”
“Rangers don’t do that. Usks might. Talis might. Humans surely would. But not Rangers.”
“These are exiles. They got into trouble on New Haven and emigrated. I arrived here a few months later but I heard that the case against them there was solid.”
“Ah, very curious. Now I really need to talk to her.” He hung up on Conway, looked at Edgerton, and snapped his fingers. “Come on, old man. You may be interested in this. And Julie, come along. You may learn something.”
“Every day,” said Julie, rolling her eyes.
They took a taxi to the police station. During the whole ride Edgerton and Obregon were having a whispered conversation. It annoyed Julie to be kept out of it.

* * *

“Nice name,” said Doctor Carlos.
“An old name,” said the Ranger. “One from the home world.”
The words were formed by a translation unit that hung around her neck. The Rangers’ language was a biological form of spread spectrum modulation and de-modulation. Humans neither had the processing capability nor the physical apparatus to produce the complex sound waveform.
When Humans first settled on New Haven in the 82 Eridani system centuries ago, they discovered another sentient life form there and gave it the name Rangers. A typical full grown adult was many times smaller than an adult Human. It was about eighty centimeters high, sixty wide, and one hundred forty long, with six short legs. The back two were slightly longer, with knees that were jointed backwards with respect to a human leg. The bottom part of the back legs looked like boat oars.
The front of a Ranger had seemed ugly at first. A large mouth was situated in the middle of a cluster of six eyes, three above and three below. In back of the eye-mouth arrangement were two rather large membranes, one on each side. These were the organs that produced the complex spread spectrum signals that formed the basis of the Ranger language. A circle of twelve tentacles existed between the eyes and the mouth. Four of these were longer than the others. They looked like small versions of an elephant’s trunk. All four had two opposable thumbs and three stubby fingers between them and were quite efficient in handling a variety of tools.
“So why did you kill Wilma?” asked the doctor.
“Pardon? Who is Wilma?”
“The mayor of Three Rivers.”
“Oh, you mean Dances-in-Starlight.”
“That was your name for her?”
“That is her Ranger name. She was made an honorary member of my clan.”
Obregon’s jaw dropped. He had never heard of that happening. Ranger clans got along with Humans but tended to mix with them only on a personal business basis. Very few Humans even knew what the inside of a clan cave looked like.
“I guess old Wilma had a few tricks up her sleeve that you didn’t know about,” observed Julie with a smile.
“You seem surprised,” said Edgerton. “It’s been known to happen before. Ever since first contact was made on New Haven. Remember the great collaboration between the Human physicist Annie Li and the Ranger physicist Deep Breather.”
“Yes, voila, FTL and the beginning of the modern era,” said Julie.
“Well, not quite all at the same time,” said Edgerton with a smile, “but close enough.”
“All right then,” said Obregon, glaring at Edgerton and then directing his attention again to Swims-in-Moonbeams, “why did you kill Dances-in-Starlight?”
“I didn’t.”
“You do admit that this bottle was one of your imports?”
“Yes. And, if you say so, I guess my prints are on it. But we do not import Happy Juice. It is a narcotic. Less for my people than yours, but dangerous nevertheless.”
“Hallucinogenic,” corrected Obregon.
“Is it possible that the contents of the bottle were switched?” asked Julie.
“Of course,” said Swims-in-Moonbeams. “They had to be. My guess would be that it happened here. But your questioning does not go far enough. I also had motive.”
“What?” asked Edgerton.
“I know your detective literature, you see. I am being interrogated, yes?”
“Not exactly,” said Obregon.
“Yes, you are,” said Julie, glaring at Doctor Carlos.
Obregon smiled. Julie had a lot of experience with non-Human sentients, second only to Edgerton’s, and probably had more empathy towards them than the old man. She could have been a good xenosociologist too, except she lacked objectivity.
“But she’s a suspect,” he observed.
“Let’s hear her motive,” said Edgerton.
“Oh, my motive is simple. Taxes. Dances-in-Starlight was about to raise them. A luxury goods tax, she called it. Of course, almost all our imports could be considered luxuries.”
“But you’re on the Town Council that elected Wilma, excuse me, Dances-in-Starlight, over and over again.”
“Dan O’Shea once and Blibarus once,” corrected Swims-In-Moonbeams. “Never a Ranger. Only another Human and an Usk. We Rangers don’t care much for your Human politics. Anyway, while all our clan loved Dances-in-Starlight, and loved her dearly, I do have the tax motive. I also had access and you’ve got my print on the murder weapon. Book’em Dan-o.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” asked Doctor Carlos.
“Old TV show from Earth.” Edgerton put on his lecturing face. “The original colony on New Haven had a rather complete library in its computer databases. The name Ranger comes from another of those shows. It seems that back then many of the New Haven Rangers carried two energy weapons in holsters on the top of their heads and would go into battle with both guns blazing. It reminded someone of the Lone Ranger. At any rate, I daresay the Rangers were more into the old TV shows than the Humans. They had never seen anything like it.”
“I’m thoroughly confused,” said Julie.
“Never mind. I think I know who murdered Wilma.” Doctor Carlos looked at Swims-in-Moonbeams. “Would you say that most Humans here in Three Rivers get along with Rangers?”
“Yes, I would say so. We both have gone way beyond the xenophobia often associated with the first encounter between sentients. Why do you ask?”
“Bear with me.”
Doctor Carlos left the room. He could be seen talking to the police chief. Then he came back into the room.
“Sorry. We have to wait a bit. Homer went to fetch someone I want you to talk to.”
“Then I will kill time, as you Humans say, telling you the story of my clan.”

* * *

It turned out that Swims-in-Moonbeams’ clan was one of the original ones from the Rangers’ home planet. She hadn’t even reached the history of the flight to New Haven to flee the Tali when the police chief arrived with Conway. They both came into the interrogation room.
“Sit down, Bret, Homer. I think you’ll find this interesting.” Doctor Carlos turned to the Ranger. “You say you had motive and opportunity.”
“Don’t forget the print,” said Conway.
He was perspiring. Julie didn’t think the room was that hot. Obregon saw her watching the nervous Conway and winked at her.
“Yes, I won’t forget the print. Now, did anyone else in Three Rivers know that Wilma was an honorary member of your clan and that you all loved each other like brothers and sisters that you are?”
“I suppose most Humans were aware of it, although I can’t be sure. Certainly all Rangers knew it.”
“Did you know it, Bret?”
“Of course. I’m well connected here. Why wouldn’t I know it?”
“Indeed. Did every one know about the tax proposal?”
“Probably not,” replied the Ranger. “Dances-in-Starlight discussed it in a Town Council meeting two days before she died.”
“Were you upset in that meeting? I mean, about the proposal?”
“Of course. I told her so, and the rest of the Council. I said that it would probably destroy our import-export business. We try to be fair with our prices and live off a very slim margin. If we raised prices to cover the tax, probably not many would buy. If we didn’t, we would go broke. I believe you Humans call it a Catch-22.”
“Who else is usually present at the Town Council meeting?”
“Homer or one of his deputies is usually there to keep order, as if that were necessary. That night it was Homer.”
“Any others?”
“The meetings are open to the public,” explained the police chief.
“Yes. But are town officials required to attend?”
“Not really. I seem to remember that Bret was there and Margarita Ibarra-Wong, the head of the hospital. They weren’t required to be there. The meetings are usually boring, if you ask me.”
“But necessary,” said Conway.
“OK. Now, Mr. Conway, could you go sit by Swims-in-Moonbeams?”
“I don’t see why I should. She’s a murderer.”
“Just do it, Bret,” said Homer.
Edgerton was looking first at Conway, then at Obregon. Finally, he too winked at Julie. She didn’t see what he found so amusing. Was it related to the conversation with Obregon?
“Fine, but I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”
He circled the table and sat down next to the Ranger.
“Now, Swims-in-Moonbeams, shake Mr. Conway’s hand.”
Conway scooted his chair back rapidly and fell off it.
“I will not shake hands with this over grown water bug!”
He picked himself off the floor and sat down again.
“There you have it,” said Obregon in a calm voice. “Homer, arrest this man for the murder of Dances-in-Starlight.”
“What- what- “ sputtered Conway. “You can’t do this! You have no proof!”
“All circumstantial, correct,” said Edgerton. “But I believe we have enough to ask a judge for a search warrant. Right, Homer.”
“You bet. How did you figure it out, Obregon?”
“I listened. First, Conway here got his hackles up about who invented brandy, when, in fact, most researchers believe the Rangers invented a lot of things before we even got out of our caves. Parallel development, yes, but if you count their home planet, they have a much longer history than Humans do. Second, to Conway history is irrelevant, so he didn’t really know about this research into Ranger history. He didn’t even care about Human history. Third, he knew what was contained in the bottle was a poisonous hallucinogenic, but he never ran any tests on it. A simple series of tests would have shown that it was related to ricin, an old poison made from castor beans. Parallel evolution. Walking Vines have flowers which, when pollinated, produce pods containing beans similar to castor beans. The flower, and the beans, even more so, are very hallucinogenic and poisonous in an overdose. Four, he said the print on the bottle was alien. We don’t like to use the term any more – it implies bigotry. Our union, as loose as it is, prides itself on being tolerant. Even the Tali are now treated with respect. Five, he said that Swims-in-Moonbeams would get her whole clan to go after me, which smacks of xenophobia. Six, he knew their clan had been exhiled. Last, but not least, I conferred with Edgerton on the way over. I asked him whether there was any recorded case of a Ranger murdering another sentient. He knew of none.” He nodded to Swims-in-Moonbeams. “I’d pretty well decided you hadn’t done it before I got here. The fact that Wilma, rather Dances-in-Starlight, was in your clan sealed Conway’s fate.”
“What do you mean? You have no proof.” Conway was red in the face. “Look, I’ll shake her hand!” He offered his hand to Swims-in-Moonbeams, who looked at it with curiosity.
“Too late,” said Doctor Carlos. “Even if we don’t find Happy Juice in your house, I’m sure that Homer can hold you long enough to verify with the New Haven authorities that you were involved in the case back on New Haven against Swims-in-Moonbeams’ clan. You are from New Haven, right?
“That’s true,” said Homer. “At first Bret used the New Haven double last name Conway-Giles but eventually dropped it when he saw we didn’t use it here.” The police chief smiled at Obregon. “How did you know he was from New Haven?”
“A little bird told me.”

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...