Lectures [The Navigator Part 4]

It's another Fri-Wednesday Special! This time we're returning back to the Navigator. This is probably my favorite series to work on at the moment, I just love the setting, the mystery of my character, and the struggle. It's in a sense a personal story because for my first time in my life I'm having to deal with a completely new lifestyle and setting, but I don't want to bore you with my life's story so here's a fictional story about a man in a new life on a completely new planet. Enjoy!

 

Previous Chapter: Lifelines [Part 3] 

The Beginning: The Navigator Part 1 

Curiosity is one of the most useful characteristics ever evolved, without it mankind would still be running across the plains of Africa without ever looking up to the stars with the sense of awe wonder. It was the reason why The Navigator could sail from solar system to solar system within the matter of just a few weeks. However curiosity has a negative side-effect too, injury or death.

See a frog that looks really colorful like a pomegranate or freshly picked lime? Do you wonder if it taste just as sweet and juicy at a pineapple? Go ahead and taste it, it can’t be bad just look at the colors! Nope, within one bite you’re on the ground gagging on your own throw up dying a poor miserable existence just because you wondered what a frog tasted like. The words of the Ploi̱gós echoed across time from a distant memory. So many years had passed he had forgotten her face, but he remembered the way she stood higher than everybody around her, even though she was a few inches shorter than average, and her words were full of wisdom with hints of arrogance. She deserved every bit it.

Never, even once, test the waters of the unknown with your own physical self or you will die a miserable naive existence like tuk-tuk and the frog. You’re all here to navigate, the art of taking in information of your surroundings then using said information to look stuff up in charts and then making educated guesses. Never make a guess without gathering data of your surroundings, and then applying that data to others. It is the very reason humankind is where we are today. And that applies a hundred times more to survival instances. I don’t give a fuck if the waters look as blue as the flares of Zeta Puppis, don’t drink it unless you’re sure there is no contaminatanimates. If you see a creature on a H-congruous world, you might assume it’s fine to cook up because it’s carbon based and aerobic like us, but remember that frog that kill tuk-tuk?

This is why the Q-tool is one of the most important things ever invented, let me show you why….

The Navigator switched the Q-tool on, rings of emerald circled around his arm verifying it was him. Once the handshake was complete it was off to business. A red laser shot out of the gadget, hovering above the central disk a readout of the chemical compounds detected within the laser’s focus. He moved the laser across the tendril as slowly as steadily as he could fighting the very weight of his muscles, like a old and tired machine.

Your first catch is going to be completely inedible, always. Not because it might kill you, but because you are going to dissect that creature down to its very molecule, leave no chemical compound untouched, I want the creature to look like a cattle mutilation that has been mutilated again and again and then left to rot in the sun for a few days only to be mutilated a few more times. I don’t care how hungry you are, as you all may remember the human body can live for three weeks without taking a single bite so you’ll have plenty of fat to burn, you don’t fuck around when dealing with an unknown species.

Twenty minutes passed before he was finished with the surface, the tendril was mostly inedible, not poisonous just little to no nutritional value except as a fiber. Taking his knife he began dissecting it, one layer at a time.

Two hours had passed, his ration remained by his side untouched. He finally had reached the suction cup, still clinging on the rock even when ninety-five percent of its body was ripped to carefully calculated shreds. He figured he could let the cup slide, he was growing bored of this analysis, he already found three parts that were edible and that’s all he needed. A long muscle fiber that made up the layer right below the skin had a similar chemical structure to that of terrestrial squids, a starfish shaped organ that he assumed to be the central nervous system was next on the list, and then the skin he could use to wrap it all up in like a bacon-wrapped jalapeno.

He removed the suction cup from the rock, the laser switched off. Where the creature hung for its dear life (and death) was a barren spot, completely at loss from the moss that used to inhabit it. Small fibers not much thicker than a strand of hair dangled from the suction cup, it must be how the tendril fed he thought. He now had a hypothesis on how to catch the tendril, his work was done. One step closer to being the next Magellan.

An hour of rest and gagging on the last of his ration had passed when he decided it was time for round two. His arm had plenty of time to rest, and he was ready for the second half, and this time he had a secret weapon, a suction cup.

The suction cup was fastened to a new rock, completely barren of moss so a tendril wouldn’t snatch it from him, this rock was heavier just the perfect weight to apply pressure to grasp on rocks or ice, he made sure by catching a few rocks on land. He was ready to get the hell away from here once and for all.

It doesn’t matter how good your tools are, if you can’t throw a makeshift grappling hook properly you’ll be stuck on the shorelines for a while. His tools were better, but the added weight made the throws equally more difficult. It was reassuring that his accuracy looked better, most of his shots would splash around the general region of the iceberg.

One, two, three throw, he would think and occasionally mutter under his breath. It was reminiscent of his career.

Accuracy, the Ploi̱gós’ memory continued to lecture on, is the number one rule in navigation, the slightest initial calculations can throw off your entire course delaying your trek, or getting yourself fired. Unlike the navigators from long ago on Earth there’s nothing stopping a spaceship with the mass of a city. Sure recalculations can be done, and are performed every day of the trek. A good navigator is measured by the amount of readjustments in a single trek, the longer the trek and the small the adjustments the better, simple as that. Once any of you can make it halfway across the galaxy with no adjustment will you be able to achieve the rank of Ploi̱gós.

This is how the Navigator felt right now, the initial conditions have to be ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine to a hundred percent correct, and right now he was feeling about at sixty-five percent. He continued to throw.

However balancing logic and primitive instincts isn’t easy, especially on a tired mind and a fatigued body, the frustration seeped from somewhere deep within his brain stem overriding his frontal lobe and flooded his body from neck to feet. The frustration leaked into the their calm frozen air through screams of pain and rage. Why is this so fucking hard? He cried and cursed with every throw. His shots got flying way over the ice. The consciousness of what made him a navigator, the very essence of his life, was being evicted by a part of the brain that should've been left back on Earth.

    The human, he swore the Ploi̱gós spoke as the Navigator overshot an iceberg again, just a little bit too far behind and way over where the ice drifted. He swore the Ploi̱gós spoke more in his head than she ever did in lecture, is a curious creature. No lifeform has conquered the stars like we have....

    The navigator took a rest, another iceberg was a few meters off he could spare his energy for a few moments. He took a deep breath and recounted the lecture.

    …. all observed life has destroyed itself through war, eroding its own environment, or wasting all their fuel elsewhere before reaching the stars. As far as we’re concerned, humans are the only species to ever leave their own solar system. That was eons ago, and now we’ve conquered the entire Orion Arm. If we can do that then the universe is practically ours, manifest destiny in its rawest form.

    The iceberg was within throwing distance now. His head still clouded in frustration, the only thing keeping him sane at the moment was the Ploi̱gós’ memory. A simpler time when he was ambitious and naive, before he had been rejected by the Expanse time and time again. He prepared his suction cupped rock and carried on.

    Now can anybody tell me why humankind is the anomaly?

    He decided to try something different, instead of just throwing he began to spin the rope above his head, it was like a small rocky body spinning about his massive coat’s gravitational pull. It continued to spin upwards as it picked up speed.

    Some say it’s luck. Others say it’s our passion for exploring. Generals say its our desire to conquer. Scientist say we’re curious. Economists think it’s because we had a great amount of resources. The few religious sects out there thank God or Cthulu or whatever they worship. Nobody knows for sure, we’ve seen all of this before on other planets, yet we’re the only ones up here. So why us?

    The rock was far above his head now, the iceberg a few meters upstream still. He counted his breadths. One, two, three...

    I have seen humans on every habitable planet from here to Sagittarius A, and have observed those less fortunate societies die as we roam the skies. And you know what I think is the reason why?

    The iceberg was near now, it was smaller than the others. He wound up the throw, faster and faster. fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,...

    It’s because we’re irrational creatures. Now you might be saying that every creature is, it’s just nature. Irrationality is important for survival after all, reflexes are important for times we can’t think. But there is something fundamentally different about the human brain than any other.

    He pulled his arm back, twenty-six, twenty-seven,, and threw it forward. Twenty-eight, twenty-ni…. The grappling hook flew through the air just like it always had so many times before, he his hopes slipped away with the rope.

    During times of irrationality, when our brainstem takes complete control of our minds and like a ghost of a caveman, we may want to fight whomever is near us, snap at our loved ones, murder, or rape.

    He saw it before the rock ever got there, the arm was too high it was going to overshoot and then he was going to lay down and wish there was something near by to punch.

    But those who actually act on those impulses are a low percentage, no matter how many drugs we fill our brains up with we have on average an astounding amount of restraint on our brainstem. More than any other alien life form. So what is it?

    The iceberg drifted near the rope’s trajectory. That was when he saw the solution!

    It’s that no matter how angry we get at the universe, we can take a few moments break, relax, come back to the problem and see it with different eyes.

    The rock had already arched over the iceberg, but that didn’t mean it was over. Infact it was best it did. He yanked back on the rope, shifting the flight path back towards the shore. It flew until he heard the satisfying sound of it sliding, Shhh, clack, and, stttt. He pulled the rope, it felt nice and taut. The suction cup had gotten grips with the ice! He let out a huge laugh filling up the desolate landscape, he was still coming to grips with the reality of his situation. He laughed the entire time he pulled. Finally the Inner Circle was conquered, he was getting the hell out of it.

Lifelines [The Navigator Part 3]

 It's another Fri-sunday special! This one is another Navigator story, previously The Navigator hit a dead end at the river Styx, unable to cross it due to its enormous width he has to resort to engineering his own methods of crossing, one that involves a long rope and a rock along with the discovery of a mysterious tentacle creature. 

Previous Chapter: The Inner Circle [Part 2]

The Beginning: The Navigator Part 1

    The line thrashed violently back-and-forth, like a pissed off anaconda with its head caught in a mousetrap or hole too small for the rest of its body. The shaking rocked the tiny iceberg like a house on top of a fault line, no matter how many times this happened he always tipping into the frozen depths below. On cue The Navigator pulled the line, his feet anchored against a small ledge of ice carved crudely to the contours of his boots. He made sure to not pull too strongly, or the ice might betray him, sending him straight off the ice raft into the freezing water where he would most likely die from the wild life, and if not hypothermia. He hoped it was the latter. Slowly he pulled the rope, counting to three between each tug. One, two, three. Pull. One, two, three. Pull, and so on.

    Many pulls and approximately eighteen meters of rope later The Navigator finally came up on top. The end of the line fought back one final time before giving in to the tug of war match, the tendrils always went limp before giving in, he just hoped this one didn’t get smart and let go. The last thing his growling stomach needed was an empty line, which would only be possible if a tendril discovered that the air was more lethal to them than bugspray is to mosquitoes. He drew in the rest of the line and observed his catch.

    Dangling from the bitter end of the rope was a smooth black featureless conical creature no wider than The Navigator’s arm at the thickest, the creature looked like a disembodied tentacle with all its suction cups allocated to the thickest end. Slivers of blue-white light ran down the length of the creature’s body, the strands looked like moonlight, if the moon was out that was. Like a good explorer The Navigator gave the tentacles a name, he called them simply tendrils, for obvious reasons. He unwinded the tendril from the rope, tossed the rock its body was wrapped around into a pile of other rocks, pulled out his knife and dug into the tendril’s meaty body.

It was lunch time.

*****

Like all most discoveries the tendrils were discovered on accident. Using his rope and an assortment of rocks he would stand at the shoreline of Styx tossing the rocks tied to the end of the rope at the drifting icebergs, the plan was to have the rocks function as a grappling hook of some sorts and reel the ice inwards. Most of the time he was remind with each throw why he never played sports throughout grade school; he was beginning to regret not having the foresight of the extremely improbable possibility that one day he would have to use the arc of a basketball combined with the accuracy and speed of a pitcher to save his life. Who knew?

Hours he spent tossing at the drifting ice, only taking breaks if he didn’t see any ice drifting downstream or when a rock came loose and left him for the river. When the moon was high in the air, what he now called noon, his arms were completely exhausted and he was down to his last rock.

They say save the best for last, but that doesn’t really apply in survival situations. Unlike the first rock he used it had no sharp edges for catching the ice nor rough texture to grip the rope with. Each rock between the two digressed downwards until it was smooth and mossy like this one. With no other choice but to walk up the hillside to collect more rocks or try one more time with this runt and call it a lunch when it failed he decided to toss the runt of the pile.

Rock wound up in his hand, rope tied about it like some sort of poorly knotted gift box, and iceberg in sight he pitched the rock slightly ahead of the drifting glacier. The stone soared straight threw the air, up and up it went just like the past few hundred throws; and just like the past few hundred throws he knew what was going to happen next, he could hear it in his mind’s ears: splash, except his ears heard something different: Thud!

He did it, he made contact. GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLLL! Or whatever they say in basketball, he didn’t care, after hours of pitching he finally made contact with the ice. Navigator: one, dying-on-the-edge-of-the-river: zero. He quickly grabbed the line and pulled inwards with full force.

Shhh, Tap, Spash. The three sounds he didn’t want to hear, the sound of sliding across the ice, hitting the edge then falling. Physics just called a penalty upon his goal, for what reasons he didn’t know but he assumed it was for a faulty choice in a rock, not up to regulation for makeshift grappling hooks. Navigator: zero, dying-on-the-edge-of-the-river: one. The line dropped from his hands and he fell to the ground in defeat. Maybe he’ll give it another shot after halftime.

Halftime was a lunch, another dry cardboard meal of rations, one of four left. As he hesitantly placed the brick into his mouth he couldn’t help but to think how happy he was that he was almost out of them. It meant a lighter load, and no disgusting after-taste (or taste in general for that matter). Though he was a bit concerned, after he ran out he’d be stuck with only half a box of chocolate; which although tasted much better, didn’t contain nearly enough nutrients or energy to sustain a fully grown man over the course of several days, he could probably make the box last a two meals if he stretched it long enough.

The ration was a quarter devoured when he saw the rope shake violently back-and-forth across the shoreline, he spat out a piece of the brick spraying its brown substance onto the equally brown dirt. Instincts kicked in all the way from deen down in brainstem, his brain had to chose between fight or flight, and it chose fight. His brainstem flung his body towards the rope, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight the rope or pull it back, so he did both.

His hands made contact with the rope’s end as if he were grabbing the head of a snake, at the same time he pulled it inwards wrapping it around his arms as he was trained to do back in the Academy, the rope was your lifeline never-ever let it go. In survival situations the rope was more essential than a Q-tool and the antenna pack combined. A rope could be used for any tasks from simply tying things to your backpack and functioning as a belt, to restraining a crew member to a pipe or chair if they got off the deep end and decided to declare a mutiny, it could be used to climb or repel down ledges, function as a pulley or ladder, it could be tied to make a snare to catch prey, fishing, and too many more reasons to count. The only thing it couldn’t do was push. Compared to a Q-tool a rope had way more practical survival purposes, the Q-tool could only tell you what to do it could never do anything for you.

The tug-of-war match continued for what felt like forever, several times the rope nearly slipped from his grasp or worse pulled him into Styx. The haze made it difficult to see what his opponent was, he would have dismissed it as a boulder if it wasn’t for the violent shaking of the rope. His hidden opponent made a crucial mistake: it subsided its shaking, that’s when he took the upper hand. He pulled with his whole body, letting gravity and the muscles of his legs work in unison to pull his weight back and down the contender gave in. Like a loaded spring with the tension just released her flew straight up and back through the air. His back his the ground first chased by the rope and a black extension that hung by its end. He may have one but not without his opponent making one more strike, the black object’s trajectory was aimed directly at his face.

Crack! The object hit him directly on his jaw.

“AHHHHHHH!” He cried out, “fuck that hurt!” He tried to say, but it sounded more like “thuck, that hurth!” The impact had caused his mouth to slam shut with his tongue directly in the middle.

He spat out a few ounces of blood before looking at the attacker: a black snake like creatures coiled up in a messy knot that glistened under the midday moon. With his knife he uncoiled the organic knot, the texture was as smooth as the creature was glossy it could easily wiggle right out of his hands slipping back into Styx if it chose too but it chose to remain limp and motionless. The tendril was soft, almost mushy like a sausage, he couldn’t feel a single trace of bone within the creature, it was pure muscle, which didn’t explain his now swollen tongue. When he finished uncoiling the tendril from the rope he found the culprit, his own rock. The creature was stuck to it using a suction cup, it had used his own weapon against him.

He looked at the slimy body, then at his ration, and back again. It would be nice to have meat again.

To be continued....

The gift: Friday Special

Hello! Time for another Friday Special. Today we are debuting the start of a story we started a long time ago. It has gone through several iterations but this is supposed to be the beginning and give hints towards the future. This is a stand alone part of the series and is basically a prologue so enjoy.

It was dark, the only light emanated from the holographic interface that displayed the then known galaxy’s of the Universe. Two figures sat and watched from opposing sides each other untrusting but knew their duty. They had to come to a decision which would greatly affect the course of a planets life and possibly the Universe. Where would their next venture take them? Was the single question they set to answer as they did every couple of standard space years. Their job was immense but not impossible, they only had to agree. Each figure had several planets chosen as candidates for their gift. I was a sign of their good will and possibly ill intentions but with life in the universe being so spread apart they have to do anything and everything in their power to cultivate it for the Greater Good.

“Olivia search for planet Z0512.” One of the figures said and instantly the hologram zoomed through space past galaxies to land on a lone planet orbiting a small white dwarf star. “How about this one?” the figure began to speak again, “ It could use some technologic rehabilitation to stop the wars that ravage it.”

“An interesting pick,” the other figure said, its voice sounded slightly electronic, “what’s the motivation to bring a war torn civilization into our society?”

“Well as you can see from data their numbers have been dwindling for centuries and could be on the brink of extinction in several centuries.” The being paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “We could do some good by saving them.”

“That’s very altruistic of you, but many species follow similar trends, a good sixty percent end up blasting themselves back to the paleolithic era only to start again. I’m saying this to you since you’ve been recently promoted to directorship, not to antagonize Zeta.”

“I understand, we have been at this for some time now. We have already shot down some of our best ideas.” The first figure relented, “I figured you would not approve primitive lifeforms that would rather kill each other than work on more noble pursuits.” He sighed and said, “Olivia please mark off Z0512 from our list.” He peered across the table to his equal, “What is your next suggestion?”

“Naturally I want to suggest a Mega Corp planet, I have a few you might consider. Olivia, can you bring up M7132?” The hologram shifted and spun traveling across millions of lightyears within half a second to the adjacent arm. “M7132 now collectively called Franzia by its citizens has recently entered into a resource crisis, but instead of entering into a state of resource wars they have unified as a means to preserve and advance their energy production.”

“Hmm…” the Zeta corp representative thought for a moment as he looked through the data from the scouting scans of the world. Finally he spoke, “seems like a good choice altruistic and they seem to be fairly level headed. However there are a couple of small problems. Our gift does use a lot of resources and even with an accelerated track we would not be able to help them without exposing ourselves and bringing in outside resources and that star looks like it could implode at any moment. Which could end the project before it even begins.”

“I see…. Olivia can you bring up the projected decline of M7132?”

A series of charts and graphs aligned themselves over the hologram there was one for fossil fuels, another for hydrogen and oxygen, rate of environmental damage; a medical chart for the planet, with each and every graph declining to zero within the next one hundred and sixty-eight years.

“A shame,” the Mega director said, “I seem to have had my mind set too politically. You raise a fair point.”

“I have a concession for you if you are interested.” The being grinned at the other sitting across from him .

“You have my curiosity.”

“Your corporation can send a smaller gift to accelerate the populus to the point past scarcity fairly easily with some of your previous experiments in subliminal suggestion technology. I have no problem with your intervention but leave us out. We are here for the big project.”

“The big project? I’m afraid I wasn’t briefed in this, I thought this was a routine Gift giving ceremony.”

“Recently the Zeta corporation board has been wanting bigger returns on their Gifts. We want to concentrate our efforts on one world with great possibilities. It is a sort of experiment instead of our usual Gift.”

“I’m intrigued, a scientific endeavor on top of a scientific endeavor I take it. Do you have any particular planets in mind?”

“Glad you asked. Olivia could you please bring up the recently discovered planet?” The hologram zoomed past replicating light speed in its rendering. It slowed on a small cluster of planets orbiting a not so special star. The Mega director had taken the bait he had laid out. This was the moment of truth and what his recent directorship was riding on.

The Mega director gazed upon the planet’s projection. “Hmm, an unmarked planet. Do we have any data on it?”

“Olivia where are we on the data analysis from the probe?”

“I am sorry but I can only show partial renders of the data,” a voice emanated from the room around them. “I could show what I currently have.”

“Please do Olivia.” The raw data slowly engulfed the table. Pictures of wildlife and and societies from a distance in space started going through a slide show. Chemical compositions of the soil and geography data were put in virtual piles. The Zeta director spoke up again as the other director started looking through the data for any glimmers of hope, “I had a chance to look over some of the preliminary data just before this meeting, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to come to showing you such an unprepared subject.” He paused again to make sure the other looked at him as he spoke his next words, “Although it seems that there are a great variety of creatures on the planet the primary one seems to have divided itself in arbitrary land disputes and borders, this is a clue to them having aggressive tendencies. However It seems that they have also been able to work together for the Greater Good and could be pushed to behave in a more respectable manner with our intervention.”

“Much like the older days! Has Zeta begun establishing stations there yet?”

“No we wanted to wait and see what you thought first. Certainly jumping in before all relatable data has been analysed before starting our experiment. We would also like your consent and any ideas you have on the matter, of course. You must understand my cautiousness this will be a large endeavor that will be different from anything we have tried before.”

“I propose a joint endeavor with Mega and Zeta both establishing stations throughout the planet itself. I will initiate an orbital analysis of the planet. It will be the first MZ for the first time in over three centuries. Olivia, can you designate the planet an ID?”

“MZ15 -” Olivia began saying only to be cut off by the director.

“No, lets make this something special. Lets call it what the locals call it, do you know what it is known by Director?”

The mouth of the Zeta director widened as he spoke, “This little blue planet is called Earth.”

Friday Special: Royalty

Today is another Friday Special, that means Kyle and I will be doing something special every friday. Last friday we had a guest Katie Jares who submitted a very well written story about the mundaneness of life and how fast it can change. Today, Kyle and I are posting our longer stories that we have been working on. Mine is the start of mystery novel which I hope to continue writing on and have several in the series, in fact I already have ideas for more of the novels that will be tied in here on the blog. So please enjoy.

Royalty

            I was there, in the Bahamas, lying under the shade of a giant umbrella while a smaller one bobbed in my daiquiri. The sunglasses that rested on my face hid my critical glare from the rest of the beach. Most of my attention was drawn to the ladies, who after sunbathing for hours, decided to play a game of volleyball or take a dip in the crystal clear water. It was the first moment of peace I could remember having in a long time. I couldn’t quite hide the grin that crept over my face, betraying my somewhat creepy fascination. Leaning back I watch the clouds rolls across the sky with the breeze. How did I get here again? Struggling to find an answer, I decided to bring the daiquiri to my lips when the beach began to tremble. There was a ringing in my ears and a crack appeared where the volleyball game once was. The ground groaned as gasses escaped the crevice grew as it raced towards me. The water began to engulf the now empty beach, everyone else had long since gone. Paralyzed, I watched as the calamity unfolded, I was going to die. The ground separated and I was plunged into darkness.

I awoke with a start from my nightmare to deafening blows on my door. My hangover left me stumbling out of bed. The urge to vomit came over me again explaining why my dream had taken such a violent turn. The chaos of the room became an obstacle in my state; I slipped on a dirty t-shirt and crashed to the floor. Getting up, I scrambled for my robe to cover my indecency. Continuing into the defiled living room my feet push pass the piles of beer cans. Wrestling with the sleeves I fall over a misplaced chair from the party the night before. The commotion woke up King who’s first instinct was to rush over on his stubby corgi legs and assist me in getting up by licking my now vulnerable face. “King, calm down. I’m okay,” I say as I swept up my shattered ego off the floor. Careful now, I make my way through the disaster area that was my beach home to my front door. I was about to investigate the cause of the alarm when the question answered for me.

“Newport Police, open up!”

My heart ripped in two, half jumping into my throat and the other plummeting into my stomach. Whatever was left of my mind went into overdrive, and adrenaline flooded my system. Peeking through the peep hole I could see the two in blue clearly. One was a brute of a man who could only grow hair on his upper lip, the second, dwarfed by the size of his partner, stood impatiently. What could they want with me? It couldn’t be the party could it? No, there has to be something else. Demetri better not be in the back of that squad car. Jack breathe you know better than this. My only option is to open that door and put on a show for them.

I opened the door slowly, “Can I help you?” I say meekly. Now with the door open I could clearly see their nametags: Harmon and Payne. Payne was the larger of the two; he stood silent and gawked for a moment. His shirt was wrinkled and stained giving the appearance that he was still new on the job. Harmon struggled to push Payne out of the way to no avail; Harmon was clean cut and clearly a ladies man, to bad his bulletproof vest did most of the work. I restrained the urge to visibly show my apathy that existed in that moment.

            “I’m Deputy Harmon and this is my partner Payne, we would like to ask you some question.” Harmon said finally pushing past the behemoth.

            I couldn’t take the hang over much longer, maybe if I ditched these two dopes I could get that bottle of scotch. “Could you come back later?” I started to close the door, “I am very busy at the moment as you can see, you two have a nice day.”

“Hold on there,” Harmon pushed back with more force that I did not think he possessed. “This isn’t optional Mr.-”

            “Doctor. Dr. Royal. I didn’t go through 8 years of school for nothing.” The pair were thrown off by my curt response, but I could care less. My options were dwindling. I had nothing to hide and it will probably be hard enough for them to find anything anyways. If I wanted them gone, I was going to have to humble them. It is hard to pick up on people’s interests when they wear a uniform, which means I have to rely on generalizations. I had to say something fast, “Alright then, come on in gentlemen, can I interest you in coffee or something to eat?”

            “I would love something to eat!” Payne said finding his voice at the sound of food. Bingo, that’s all I needed. Harmon elbowed him, but Payne had already made his way inside.

“Sounds great. Anyway, why don’t you two grab some of the cushions strewn across the room and sit down on the couch? I will be right back.”

“Wait,” Harmon began to protest, “you can’t just leave.”

            But I was already gone and headed toward the kitchen. They can figure it out. One cushion underneath the couch; two on top of the bookcase, the last might have been in the guest bathroom but I wasn’t sure. Navigating my way around The Fallen plants without much thought on my way toward the kitchen; noting the pieces of art that had fallen asymmetrically, who says they need to be straight. The kitchen must have been ground zero for the party. Bottles of cheap liquor were strewn about; plastic cups formed random patterns on all surfaces. I couldn’t quite tell if the majority of the food I provided ended up in people’s stomachs or on the floor. The disgusting chocolate fountain has dried up but that hasn’t quite stopped the pump from trying.

            I spy some rolls that happened to not get eaten from the night before. Waste not, want not, they always say; although this is mostly out of convenience. I decided for a new batch of coffee while the oven heated up. The appearance of hospitality is half the battle; a hot meal will have them favoring me more warmly. On mornings like this I couldn’t help but grab my favorite coffee mug, it had an “I heart Psych” logo with the heart replaced by the Greek psi; the other two wouldn’t matter much but I chose cooler colors just in case. Preparing my mug with brown sugar, heavy cream and … Irish Whisky. Where could it be? That’s when I see the bottle lying there on the floor, taunting me. Drunken Jack didn’t always make the best decisions for Hangover Jack. However I had a chance, I kept a secret stash in my study not far from the kitchen. With the rolls warming in the oven and the coffee brewing I slipped out into the hall towards the study.

            My study is the only room off limits in a party, usually locked with my keys. Which were in the door. This is a problem, I opened the door slowly, unknowing what lye inside. When did they get my keys, more importantly who took them? Breathe and the lights go on. My eyes were instantly drawn to my thinking couch, the cushions were ruffled up with clothes hanging on for dear life. They didn’t. My extensive library was now on the floor. I struggled to contain myself, concentrating on the task at hand. Careful not disturb the temporary slumber of my books I made my way to my desk. Nothing was sacred to these people; I was going to need to sanitize everything. Opening the second drawer on the right side, I lifted out the false bottom to reveal a stainless steel flask. With that in hand I made my way out of the depressing room.

            By the time I made it back to the kitchen to pull the rolls out of the oven with perfect timing. The coffee would soon finish up, the last bit of water passing through the grounds. There are not a lot of people stupid enough to pull something off such as hooking up in my study; the fit and style seemed to indicate one person, Demetri. Demetri was not really a friend more of a nuisance, someone who for whatever reason pops up at my parties with out being invited. He can’t seem to control himself around alcohol, generally devolving into a naked mess and creating chaos. Usually putting a damper on everyone else’s fun. This is the last straw. But this doesn’t do me any good now.

            Finishing up the platter for my ‘guests’ I didn’t know how much more time Harmon would allow me to evade them. Down the hall I could hear their conversation.

            “Hey, Harmon this place sure is a piece of work, this has to be the dirtiest house I have seen in a while.” Payne said a little too loud.

            “That is pretty impressive coming from you Payne.” Harmon responded.

            “Sorry for letting the doctor get distracted earlier.” Payne lamented. “I let my stomach get the best of me.”

            “Forget about it. We could use a break from high society. Besides the search has turned up nothing special so far,” Harmon said. “But where could that guy have gone?”

That’s my cue. I appeared from the hallway, “Gentlemen I am back,” I anounced, “I apologize for the wait.” Strolling over to where they sat I pushed trash off the coffee table onto the floor. Taking my coffee and a roll, I sat down. “What can I help you with gentlemen?” They looked at each other and nodded. Harmon pulled out a photo from one of the many utility pockets on his person.

“Have you seen this man recently?” Harmon asked handing the photo to me.

It was a headshot of a sickly man; his hair and face were greasy and wild. Even though they were closed it seems like his eyes were popping out the sockets. His nose was a little too large for the small size of his head. He was lying on the sand and he seemed to be soaked. Strange, there was a small red dot mark on his neck. What you couldn’t tell from the picture was he had; Bipolar disorder, anxiety, and schizophrenia. He has a problem with taking his meds and listening to authority. I should know I am his psychiatrist. This could be bad, having a patient dead even if it isn’t your fault can be bad. I might need to bring Amber in on this.

“Neil Connor, he is one of my patients. Guessing from the photo that he is no longer in need of my services,” I said handing it back.

“Indeed, he was found dead this morning. He washed up on shore about a mile south of here. What kind of doctor are you again Dr. Royal?” Harmon inquired.

“I specialize in Psychiatric Medicine; most of my patients are high profile cases around the area. Recently as a favor to a friend I took on Neil.” I said.

“When did you last see Neil?” asked Harmon.

It was hard, but the fuzzy memory of the night before came back in waves.

            The music was loud and when mixed with the lights, bodies were moving. I was going around checking how people were doing. Food and drink were flowing. From the back porch with the hot tub to the game room with poker, everyone was having the time of their life. Amber had found me talking to an old friend from college and asked me to the front door. This is where I find Neil. He acted excessively paranoid; always looking around, not only that but he was shaking almost violently. The loud music and people must have bothered him immensely.

            “How are you doing Neil? Can I get you anything?” I asked patting him on the back for assurance.

            “You gotta help me Dr. Royal, someone is going to kill me.” He said grabbing at my clothes.

            “Neil, you need to calm down no one is trying to kill you. Why don’t you take your medication?” I say attempting to pry his hands off of me.

            “I can’t take the pills, the pills are the problem man. He knows when I take my pills.” Neil was becoming more upset.

            “Calm down, Neil, it’s okay. Are you sure you don’t want a drink or join the party while you are here?” I asked as I gestured into the party. It was at this point that Neil’s face lost all color. He jerked away from me.

            “This was a bad idea, I have to go.” Neil said dashing out the door. In a moment he was gone.

“I had no idea it was real, and someone was actually try to kill him. Schizos get those feelings all the time.” I explained finishing my story.

“Well the threat was very much real. Would you mind if we searched your apartment Dr. Royal? Orders and all that.” Harmon asked as he finished writing in his note pad.

“Not at all, mi casa es su casa, as I always say.” I never say that. “I hope you don’t mind the mess.” Not like they will mess it up more anyways.

“Thank you, we will be out of your hair shortly.” Harmon turned to Payne they got up and began their search. In the mean time I laid my head back and closed my eyes. I finally had time to myself.

I grew up here in Newport; to say my family is well off is an understatement. It was mostly luck that my great grandfather bought an old mine that turned out to have oil reserves underneath it. Since then we expanded to other industries such as hotel, and land development. The Royal’s fit right in with society here in Newport; yacht clubs to wine tasting, we were everywhere. So it came as a surprise when I told my father that I would be pursuing a Ph.D. in Psychiatry, he expected me to take over the family business. But I thought differently. I decided to use my family’s connections to start up my own practice, creating a network of high profile clients, in doing so I am able to charge more for my services.

Recent statistics in Psychiatry have touted that 50% of the world’s population will have some sort of mental disorder in their lifetime. To say this is a bit exaggerated is an understatement. Throughout life people encounter mental stress, a recent trend in Psychiatry is to over diagnose this into disorder. This isn’t necessarily a good thing; in fact it might be hurting the field as a whole. Should I be more concerned about this? Sure but it is hard to fight the status quo and there isn’t a simple answer to why we do it. I on the other hand abuse it, making people with a lot of money believe they have mental problems is a lot easier than it sounds. I give them Peace of Mind and help them with smaller day-to-day problems but I am not doing any real psychiatry that uses the Cognitive Behavior Therapy learned in school. Somewhere along the line it turned into a con game.

I was in another dream when Payne grabbed my arm startling me awake. He stood me upright and flipped me around to hold my hands behind my back. What is going on? Payne effortlessly held me still as he clicked the handcuffs in place. Harmon read my Miranda rights. I attempted to struggle against the gorilla that held me behind my back to no avail. Obviously I missed something. It was probably the large water safe bag with several full bottles of medications and an empty syringe would probably do it. Now I am officially fucked. “What is going on? What is that bag doing here?” I asked panic settling in.

“We found this in your bathroom, hidden in the toilet basin. The syringe matches the murder weapon used on Neil Connor. You are under arrest for his homicide and suspected black-market drug activity.” Harmon said as the pair began to carry me out to their squad car.

“But I was framed; I had nothing to do with it. I swear!” I said as they sealed my fate by closing the door on my face.

The sun was blinding outside as I watched the squad car roll past the beach. Longing for the warm hug of the sand on your toes and the sizzling kisses from the sun, I watched paradise slip past. The dignity and self-respect that I once had was gone; now replaced by embarrassment and anger. I had a lot of time to think in the back of the squad car. What was my next move? Who framed me? What did Neil get into that he was murdered? This has to be the worst day of my life. Prescription pills and an empty syringe, and how did they make it into my apartment. I had absolutely nothing, but I did have Amber Knight.

Amber Knight is one of my longest friends; she might as well be family. A quick wit with an even sharper tongue, Always right beside or one step ahead she was the one that could get me out of any sticky situation, like that time in Mexico, New York, oh and god that Cruise in the Mediterranean. This is different. I am being accused of murder of my own patient not drugs, theft, or public intoxication. She got us out of everything, which is why she is such a great lawyer. Even if I am being framed I have no idea what the American Psychological Association is going to say. If word gets out I am done for; not only my license to practice be taken away, so will my credibility as a Psychiatrist. I have to take care of this quick. The weight of the implications started to fall on my shoulders, breathe.

“Are you comfortable back there Dr. Murderer?” Harmon started giggling at his own stupid joke as Payne drove.

“Oh yeah I am right at home, but I was wondering if you guys wouldn’t mind stopping for some donuts, don’t worry I got this one.” The roll I ate turns violently in my stomach mixing with the Irish coffee. I close my eyes and try to steady myself.

“You would like that wouldn’t you but we are already approaching the station,” Payne said.

I could feel the squad car slow down and pull up into a parking lot. Pulling in front of the police station I open my eyes. Payne took his sweet time pulling me back to me feet, and then walked on briskly. I struggled to keep my slippers on my wobbly feet. My only option was to go with the flow. I need to stay as quiet as possible, ‘anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of law.’ The welcome comity wasn’t impressive. They took prints and a mug shot, every single cop laughed as they interacted with me. A killer in a bathrobe.

I used to have everything together. My name meant something. In school the weekend was Thursday through Sunday. Either by miracle or luck I succeeded in making A’s and finishing grad school in one go. It is not like I didn’t deserve it; I worked hard for it and used my charisma, intelligence, rationality and a great understanding of the human mind.  Do I have some bad habits? Sure. Let’s just say I like to fill my time, and things come easy.

After processing I was finally able to make my phone call. I picked up the phone, and eyed the cop that directed me there for a moment, “Mind backing up for a private conversation?” He hesitated but I held my glare until he relented. I summoned my courage as I punched in the numbers and waited for her to answer.

“You better have a good reason for calling this early on a Saturday,” came from the phone.

“Its 11:21 a.m. you bum. It’s me Jack; I have a problem and kind of need a favor.”

“This better not be one of your crazy methods of getting me over to your place to help you clean.”

“Not exactly, this is a little bit of a bigger favor. It kind of involves the police.”

“Did you go on a drunk rampage on the beach again?”

“Even worse than that. Do you want to know now or when you get to the police station?”

An audible sigh came from the other end, “Just tell me.”

“I have been framed for murdering one of my patients.”

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes, don’t do anything stupid.” She was gone.

The guard must have seen me hanging up the phone because he slowly strolled over. “Come on, back to your cell.”