Tag Archives: mystery

Inside a cozy Victorian bakery, warm light reflects off golden pastries. A worried mouse baker in a flour-dusted apron gestures toward a large floor drain. A dapper rat in a waistcoat kneels to inspect it, while a monocled frog detective sips coffee, observing the scene with an amused expression.

Shadow Street Chapter 2

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

Mrs. Smith worked the bread. She pounded it out on the counter. Flour went everywhere. Out the window of her little shop, she could see the city, covered in the smoke of coal, yet the sun shined down through her windows and onto her work board. She kneaded the dough, rolling it out, and then braiding it up into perfect plaits and the oven. Donuts were down, pastries doing their magic, and cookies were lined up to go.

Younger mice scurried around and ran from corner to corner, keeping up with her in a flurry of activity. Their job, if it hits the floor, get it up. They ran around behind her, sweeping stray flour, wiping up minor spills, and eating stray globs of jam that had only moments ago gone in a blintz or spread onto a bagel.

There was a definite flurry around her.

She waved to another team, who ground coffee and brew it into large kettles for customers who were already walking by up and down the cobblestone outside.

She dropped a load of donuts while another team of field mice, all in hats and scarves, arranged the morning’s goods in the front window of the shop.

The door opened with the tinkle of a bell and a mole came in with her family on the way to school.

“Mrs. Smith, any of those fine bread sticks, the ones with the chocolate swirl in them?”

“I know you love them.”

 Mrs. Smith pulled a basket of them up from beneath the counter and handed them across as the woman and her three children took them.

“Can you give Mrs. Smith the money?” The lady said to her youngest. The young mole handed her three pieces of silver. They thanked each other, and shortly they were gone. Outside, Mrs. Smith saw a carriage go by, drawn by a Scottish terrier who was clearly in charge of the whole situation.

He poked his nose through the door.

“Hello there Theo,” she said. She threw him a loaf of bread that he ate in one bite.

“Good morning,” he said as she came out.

“You have anything for me?”

“Only the usual.”

“Come on then,” she called into the shop, and several of the younger mice came out to help take several packages off the back of the carriage.

“Flour,” she said as the first ones went by.

“Sugar, okay,” she said as the second big bag went into the shop.

“Should be one more. Here it is.” She picked up a small bag containing a bottle. “Vanilla, very good. See you, Theo.”

“Good day Mrs. Smith.”

He was away, padding down the lane, pulling his carriage. He turned a corner. Other carriages were out. Folks were coming out on the street as the sun continued to rise.

“Morning, Mrs. Smith,” said a passing fox.

“Good morning.”

She went back in.

“The donuts!”

She jumped across the counter and lifted them from the oil. They were perfectly golden brown. She set them aside to drain as she lowered a fresh bunch in.

The door jingled and two rats came in, dressed in sweaters and hats.

“Good morning,” said Mrs. Smith. She crushed a tuft of fur out of her eye.

“Hello there,” said one of them. “Hi,” said the other.

“What are you looking for this morning?”

“Danishes?” They said together.

“Cheese or cherry?”

“Cheese,” said one while the other said “cherry.” Then they switched.

“I’ll get you one of each, then.”

They nodded their heads happily while she looked through the danishes in her display case, picking the best ones.

She handed them over in a paper bag as the two rats gave her a coin each.

As they passed through the door and back out on the street, a frog, slender and young, and a turtle on two legs, came through the door.

“What can I get for you, gentlemen?” She looked up and recognized the frog. “Oh, how are you? You’ve got that party later in the day, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” said the frog. “It’s for the reception at the clock tower.”

“Right. I’ve got a box for you right over here. Hang on a second.”

They nodded to her. The frog tipped his hat with his tongue and put it back on again.

Mrs. smith left the counter. Her help was doing fine behind her. One of the mice was filling a cream-filled donut while another helped someone to coffee.

With her back turned to them, she looked over a table through several boxes already set aside for larger orders she had ready for the day. There were several birthday cakes, several boxes of assorted sweets, one box of soft pretzels, and then the box she was looking for.

“Here it is.” She opened it to confirm it had an assortment of jelly donuts in it, then she lifted it and turned to hand it to them as something green quickly slipped behind the table and out of sight.

“There you go.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“Oh, thank you for the order, dears.”

She patted one on the shoulder and sent them on their way.

“Now, where was I?”

“We’ve got it, Mrs. Smith,” said one of her helpers. One of them took her by the hand and guided her to a table in the front window and pushed a cheese danish into her hands and then brought her a cup of coffee. She sat down and just enjoyed watching her place of work. The busy morning was always her favorite. Most of the help went home after lunch, and by the time she closed, she’d be on her own, but for now, it was nice.

Outside on the street, she could see carriages trotting down the road, driven and owned by the dogs pulling them. That’s when she remembered we were on the way.

Our carriage stopped in front of the bakery, and she could see us coming. She perked up, slurped down her coffee, and absently brushed at the flour on her apron.

Our carriage stopped and Mr. Curtis popped out of the door. He was more of a large bulbous head with little legs, and his skin was gray-green in the sun. He adjusted his monocle and his top hat.

“Dr. James, I believe we have arrived,” he said as he paid the corgi at the helm a hefty sum.

I stepped out of the carriage, stroking my mustache and squinting into a brief wind from down the street. “I believe you are correct,” I said.

“It smells fabulous,” said the bullfrog, who swept into the bakery and twirled on the spot.

“Thank you both so much for coming to see me,” said Mrs. Smith as I came through the door.

“It’s our pleasure.”

“That’s right!” said Mr. Curtis as he hit the floor. Crouched down, one eye closed, and another eye open to a bulbous extent, he eyed a crack in the cobblestone of the floor like he was looking through a microscope.

“What’s down there?” said Mrs. Smith as I rolled my eyes.

“Interesting,” said Mr. Curtis. He dug his finger into a crack in the floor and then tasted the result. “Interesting and delicious.” He stood back up, this time stretching his legs to appear taller than I am. It was a failure even with his top hat on.

“Please come and sit with me in the window.”

“Of course,” I said.

I sat at the table with her and Mr. Curtis rolled into a chair next to her. He never knew what to do with his feet, and I could see him having difficulty with whether he should be there and let them dangle or just sit on them, they weren’t long enough to reach the floor which is odd because I’ve seen how far the old boy can jump.

He eventually landed on sitting on one while letting the other one hang, but he just couldn’t figure it which one to let hang.

“Can we get you anything before you look around?”

“Oh I’m already looking around Mrs. Smith,” said Mr. Curtis, who was currently bulging his other eye out at the window, watching foxes, moles, mice, and the occasional dog or rabbit go by.

“That turtle is still trying to cross the street,” said Curtis.

“Yes, he is. Could I have tea?” I said.

“Coffee,” said Curtis. He stopped for a second and remembered himself. “Please?”

“Johnny?” she said.

A mouse ran by.

“Coffee and tea for my guests, a coffee for me, and bring the tray.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He scurried off and ran behind the counter to retrieve a wooden tray with a silver lining. He pulled an assortment of pastries from the display case, several donuts, several rolls, a couple of danishes, and a bagel. Then returning, almost fluidly from the coffee and tea stand, brought it all back to the table, along with a short stack of appetizer plates everyone could pull what they wanted onto.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Curtis, sniffing his coffee with a couple of over-sized nostrils. “I never miss a thing. Jamaican?”

“Columbian,” said Mrs. Smith.

“Quite right, yes,” said the bullfrog. While she wasn’t looking, I watched him remove his hat for a moment and store a donut and a roll in there for safekeeping.

I scowled at him, and he stuck his tongue out at me and mocked my outrage.

“Tell us more about when you first noticed something was off around here,” I said.

She coughed and sat on one paw in her chair. Mr. Curtis absently switched feet to match her.

“Well, it was about a month ago when the eclipse happened. Everyone was shielding their eyes, and the bakery was going bananas. It was so busy we didn’t get a chance to go outside to see it. We were too busy selling blintzes and rolls to do much more than see folks outside.”

“When it became dark?”

“You probably know most everyone did their best to return home like it was night or resisted their primal instinct to stay outside so they could watch the shadows on the street.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Curtis. “Shadows.”

He licked his eyeball.

“Yes, and there was this moment of calm, then as the sun came back out, kapow! There was this enormous bang.”

“Kapow…” Mr. Curtis was writing in a little notebook of his. I noticed he was using one of my favorite fountain pens in his hand.

“There was this clatter from the back by a loading dock on the back alley behind the bakery. Every night as I told you, we give away what we can’t sell. I went back there to see several boxes I had lined up sliding for a drain we have back there.”

“Can we see it?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s this way.”

She got up, and of course, I stood as quickly as I could, Mr. Curtis also following suit. I took a quick sip of my tea and put it down, while Mr. Curtis simply took his cup with him, besides nabbing another roll and following us, hiding the roll behind his back.

Mrs. Smith showed us through the bakery, past the ovens, and through to the back entrance. The stone floor was slick and made of cobblestone, closer to what was outside in the alley.

“Is this the drain?” I said, kneeling to look.

“It is.”

Mr. Curtis was looking at the ceiling while we talked, gaging when he could take a bite of the bun head behind his back.

It was a large drain, with bars far enough apart to fit my hand through. It was wet and smelled filthy, even though I could tell someone had sprayed the floor recently, probably pushing something down here.

“Curtis?” I said. “Thoughts?”

“None yet,” he said before pulling the not-so-well-hidden bun out from behind him and taking a bite like it was an apple.

In a dimly lit Victorian-style study, a dapper rat in a waistcoat and a monocled frog in a robe lean over a desk covered in scattered notes. A concerned mouse baker in a red cloak looks on. Outside the window, gas lamps cast eerie shadows over the cobblestone streets.

Shadow Street Chapter 1

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

It was quite an ordinary day on Shadow Street. The streets themselves are of cool cobblestone and dampness. Mr. Curtis and I were settling in for a long evening before the warming stove of number 356. The warmth was there, but there wasn’t much coal left. The room was dark and long and overlooked the street. Mr. Curtis and I have our rooms above, and below is a kitchen and dining room we never use, and a parlor where our assistant Mrs. Constellation kept her desk. She keeps us organized and has free rein to terrorize us whenever we are being too lazy for our own goods.

It didn’t help sometimes being what we are.

Outside, a cart rolled by, driven by a dog in a waistcoat and bowler hat. I watched as he steered it around the corner onto Main Street.

Mr. Curtis sat in the back window, smelling incensed with his spindly yet strong legs curled up under him. The waves of incense circled his bulbous frog’s face. Next to him, on his desk, was his monocle, and several fountain pens with no ink in sight.

He was in deep concentration, and I hated to disturb him, but Mrs. Constellation had no such inhibitions. She called up the stairs, “Mr. James? Mr. Curtis? It’s time for your lunch.”

Mr. Curtis snorted. Almost catatonic, smelling the sweet smoke of his vanilla-burning cone. He licked his eye, smacked his lips closed and shifted from one foot to another.

“Mr. Curtis?” I said. “Mrs. Constellation just…”

A finger pop pumped up, long and green. It was so flexible I always wondered how many knuckles he must have in there. My rat’s fingers weren’t nearly so flexible, and I wasn’t sure that I’d even gotten through to him.

“Peter?”

“Silence Dr. James,” said the frog. His face was bulbous, dark green, and covered in handsome round nodules.

I hesitated, and recoiled, checking my waistcoat for my pocket watch, and returning it to its home a moment later. Still, without the knowledge of what time it was, I laughed a little. “Quite right.”

“Just a moment.”

It was at that moment, after I took a step back, that Mrs. Constellation came bursting through the door. She was dressed in a sleek single-bodied suit with three large loops on which she was wearing a hammer, screwdriver, and a T-Square. She pushed me out of the way, a look of disgust upon her face, and kicked the old bullfrog’s chair out from under him. It was the first moment at which I realized he wasn’t wearing anything in his chair. The way he curls himself up, sometimes I miss this.

The chair went skittering out, but the frog’s head didn’t move at all. His feet just fell to the floor under him as if he’d already been standing there.

“You old bullfrog, get something on. You’re already late. And I don’t care if you are naked as a jerk or not. You will be ready for your next client!”

“My dear, I’m always ready for my next client. I don’t know what you mean,” said the old frog.

“Oh!” She slammed down a tray, that I swear she hadn’t been carrying just a moment before, of little sandwiches. They bounced, but none tumbled to the floor. She stormed from the room, yelling “five minutes!” as she stomped out.

“Peter, you really should…”

“John, it keeps her on her toes. You know I do it to keep her occupied.”

“Certainly. “

The frog whipped out a tongue and took a sandwich from the tray directly into his mouth. “Lies and mint jam. My favorite.”

“Mrs. Constellation knows you well.”

“She is adequate.”

“Come now, Mr. Curtis. Be nice.”

The frog gathered a robe to draw over his shoulders, which he tied at his front, and then slipped his feet into a pair of open-heeled woolly slippers.

“Better?”

I pointed to my eye, where my pair of spectacles lived above my twitchy nose, and closed my right eye.

“Ah yes.”

His tongue whipped out and connected with his monocle on the table. After wiping it off with a handkerchief from the pocket of his dressing gown and quickly returning it, he fitted it in front of his left eye, using the considerable brow he had to hold it in place. We could hear our assistant downstairs calmly inviting someone in the front door down on the street level below.

He turned then to face me as Mrs. Constellation knocked on the door. I hate that smile. It’s false. I’ve never found it to be genuine, but people use it anyway, so I suppose I just put up with it.

Mr. Curtis whiffled the smoke of his incense cone away and said, “Enter!”

Mrs. Constellation opened the door for a young mouse who looked younger than her years. “Your eleven-thirty, sirs.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Constellation. Please show her in,” said Mr. Curtis. He shared a scowl, light-hearted on his end and not on hers, with Mrs. Constellation, who held the door as the young mouse came into the apartment.

“Anything else, sir?” Mrs. Constellation asked of me, but Mr. Curtis answered her too quickly with a “Yes, thank you!” and a silly wave, which she also hated.

“Very well, Mrs. Smith then, gents.” She shut the door and left her in our company, but I knew better than to believe we were alone. It was always her job to keep tabs on us, keep us honest, I suppose. It wouldn’t surprise me to awaken with her sneaking through my room with her samurai sword, trying to catch me off guard.

The young mouse padded into our room, and even though I was easily twice her height, I felt inferior to her minute, yet effortless beauty.

“May I take your coat, Mrs. Smith?”

“Yes, of course, she turned her back to me and allowed her red cloak to slide from her shoulders. I placed it on the third hook by the door.

She turned in her white dress and licked her paw and cleaned the fur that had been matted beneath the cloak absently as we talked further.

On the first hook was Mr. Curtis’s green and yellow scarf and black top hat, and on the second hook was my modest coat and brown hat I kept around for excursions.

“Mrs. Smith, would you care to sit down?”

“Oh, thank you.”

I took her by the hand. I could hardly tell she was a baker as dainty as they felt to me. “You’re a baker?”

“Oh yes, the shop just down the main street is mine. It’s in the…”

“Back of the stables, I know,” said Mr. Curtis. He was behind his wing chair, more hanging off the back of it than sitting in it.

“Mr. Curtis?” I said.

He crawled over the back of the chair and slipped down into it after rolling over the top.

“Well there,” said Mrs. Smith. “That’s the way.”

“The only way,” said the frog, who also was concealing our plate of sandwiches behind him, and placed them on the little coffee table between the chairs.

I brought tea Mrs. Constellation had already sent up and waited. There was always a heedless cat-and-mouse game at this point where the client won’t clearly say what they want, and the old bullfrog already knows what she wants, anyway.

“What brings you, Mrs. Smith? I am so sorry about your husband,” said Mr. Curtis. “To what can I offer the best bread mistress this side of second street?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was in the rights coming to see you and all.”

“Too juicy a casserole, did you guess?” said the frog. “Please have a sandwich. The ones on the tray towards the top are likely more to your liking. The ones on the top were…”

“Special ordered for you,” I said. “Please tell us what you’ve seen.”

“I’ve been running the bakery now for three years, and in all that time I’ve been honing my craft.”

“Getting better, yes,” said Mr. Curtis, as he ate another fly and mint jelly with the crusts cut off.

“I worked my way through the bread, sweet doughs, raisin filled, mostly buns. I want to be the place for stopping in the afternoon for a coffee and a plum roll in the afternoon.”

I coughed and pulled my notepad out, and the pen I never gave to Mr. Curtis, because he always squirts himself in the face and then closes the note anyway when Mr. Curtis said “Yes, I frequently send Mrs. Constellation down there to get a box of rolls toward the end of the day. I like your assortments.”

He put his slippered foot up on the table for a moment, the other one under him in his wing hair. “Excuse me.” He pulled his foot from the table and back onto the floor.

“It’s the assortments I was talking about,” she said.

One of Mr. Curtis’s eyes bulged, and his left cheek bulged with air.

“I was cleaning up after closing three weeks ago about the time the carriage comes to take away the rest of the day’s buns.”

“What you don’t sell by the end of the day.” It wasn’t a question. I watched as Mr. Curtis swapped his monocle from one eye to the other. One eye bulged while the other shrank as he listened to her.

“Yes, I always have extra, and I always start with a fresh, empty kitchen at the start of each new day. I give away what I can’t sell to a boy’s school.”

“Franklin Academy, yes.”

“You know it?”

“My alma mater.”

“It is?”

“I know your bakery well, at least what comes from it.”

“So the carriage was there, and I was loading them in. I usually have five to fifteen boxes, and it hadn’t been a very busy day that day I had twelve.”

“This alone wasn’t enough to alarm you, though.”

“True.”

“The next day?”

“Seven.”

“The following week?”

“Nine.”

“Still insignificant.”

“Then it became drastic.”

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Three?”

“Two.”

“None?”

“It was three nights ago. I had, I know, twelve boxes when the carriage arrived, and when I turned to pick the first one up…”

“You saw the drain?”

“How did you know I was going to say…”

“I didn’t. Please go on,” he croaked.

“I turned and not only did I have nothing to give the carriage driver again, but I was also watching the last box go down the drain.”

“Which isn’t possible, correct?”

“It isn’t. The drain is in the floor of my back warehouse, more of a loading dock, and we never use it except to stage deliveries.”

“Yes.”

“And the drain, though a large storm drain, has a mesh closing on it that any of us could stand on and not fall through.”

“Interesting.”

“It was there, the last box, moving for the drain it couldn’t fit through, and…”

“It was gone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” said Mr. Curtis as he stood up. “I’m happy to take your case.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am,” said the frog. “All the standard fees apply. I’m looking forward to every moment, and you my dear, have plenty to do as well.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do. John?”

I stood up out of habit, not used to the old bullfrog using my Christian name, and she followed suit, without realizing it.

He bounded to the door in two hops, one foot stuck to the doorknob, and he pulled it to call down the stairs. “Mrs. Constellation, we’ll take the case!”

“We will?” she said, crawling up the stairs.

“Of course, we will.” He popped on his hat and flipped his scarf behind his head.

“But what are your rates?”

“Oh, the usual, the usual. Not to worry. Mrs. Constellation?”

“Come with me dear,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Tomorrow, have an additional couple of boxes handy at the end of the shift. I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Okay, Mrs. Smith?”

“Of course.”

“Come with me,” said Mrs. Constellation, who led her toward the stairs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Smith. Goodbye!”

Mrs. Constellation shut the door. Curtis and I could hear them mumbling down the stairs.

“The case of the sneaky donuts! Tally-ho!”

I just put away my pen, rolled my eyes, and went along with it.

Standard-Issue Partner, Chapter 10

Standard-Issue Partner
Neon lights flicker,
Machines replace flesh and bone,
Trust must still be earned.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Standard-Issue Partner.

Flint turned to the controls of his pod and settled in. He could see the Earth ahead of him, it’s blue oceans filling his field of view. He could see part of Europe and part of North America. He wondered what it might have been like to live before the meteor impact that had taken out so much of the world. He could see, across the face of what used to be the United States, a huge crater that was all lit up like it was a grand experiment of some kind. He watched as the night side came up and the entire central city was illuminated like a great disc, made of a thousand lights. He watched it for a while. He knew the stories of the great asteroid that had almost destroyed humanity and culture on this tiny little planet, but several asteroids had hit at once. It was only for the digital age that humanity had survived. They still had all the records of mankind’s achievements, so there was no real knowledge lost.

It was a grand catastrophe. Once everything had settled they began to rebuild the cities, but the richest, most fertile land was always in the middle of the craters that had scattered across the continents, and the outlying regions were wastelands where nothing would grow.

It seemed oddly peaceful from up here, all alone in the vacuum of space.

Flint nudged one of the controls on his tiny space vessel. It increased the speed by ten percent, but you couldn’t tell the difference by just eyeballing anything.

He settled back and adjusted his chair. It would be a long way home, especially without anything to read or do. He adjusted his chair, and pulled a pillow from an extra compartment to his left, and closed his eyes.

The silent stream of air from the tanks, and a quick check to determine that there was enough satisfied him, and he allowed his eyes to close again, and drift off, listening to the intake valves and the air conditioning. Otherwise, all was totally quiet.

When he awoke the ship was rocking this way and that and he seemed to be upside down. He looked ahead of him, and his field of vision was filled with blue ocean water. A fish flitted past the window, and then suddenly he could see the sky. He had flipped over again. In his view, he could see a magnetic crane that seemed to be pulling his entire escape pod from the water, and powerlifting him up onto the deck of a large boat.

It dropped him on the deck with a clunk, and the pod began to roll over and over as it headed for the edge. It slowed to a stop, and Flint could hear a large number of people all around him. They popped off the explosive bolts on the hatchway, and let Flint out.

“Sir, are you all right?”

Flint nodded to them and made his way over to the bridge of the vessel. A guard let him through, and waiting for him, inside the warmth of the small command center was the Chief.

Flint raised his eyebrows and greeted the Chief.

“Glad to have you back Flint.”

“Glad to be back. Is there a flight off of this ship?”

“We’ll be on our way in just a moment. Flint?”

“I got them.”

“And Roman?”

“Dead. I tried to save him.”

“We’re beginning to take another plan of attack on the robots Flint, you may have been right. I don’t think we can use them as partners anymore.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Simon’s been a great help. I think there’s room enough for all, let’s just not restrict all partners to human/robot status. There’s got to be a mix.”

“You may be right.”

“Let’s get off this can, and back to the city. I want to see that Simon is properly restored, and get on with my life here.”

“There’s one more thing before we can go back.”

“What?”

The chief turned to the door and called for her.

Dianne came bounding in, she looked a mess. She took Flint by the arms and hugged him, and kissed him.

“How can I tell you are real?”

“How can I tell you are either?” She smacked him on the head and kissed him again. Eyes were closed and satisfaction granted.

They returned to the city center, and Flint to the police tower. Simon was sitting up and seemed to be in a good mood.

“When are they going to let you out of here?”

Simon sat up. “I can go as soon as I’m ready.”

There were monitors stationed around the room that were noting the progress of Simon’s refurbishment. They all said one hundred percent complete.

“What happened to Roman?”

“Died.”

“Pity, I was hoping to give him one more chomp for the last time.”

“I know.”

They poured over reconnaissance photos of the moon base where Roman was planning the outward expansion of the human race through robotics.

“So it was all about getting off the planet,” said Simon.

“Do you think there’s any life out there?”

“No.”

“I don’t know. There should be. Do you think we’ll ever find it?”

“No.”

They reported to the Chief, fresh for the next day, but everything had taken on a glazed look as if someone had put a fuzzy cloud over their world.

Simon got the drinks this time. He brought Simon what was basically a drink cup full of gasoline, oil, and other chemicals he needed to keep his body strong, though it looked like perfectly normal lemonade. They laughed over their lunch, Simon slurping down the strange concoction, and Flint choking down a sandwich.

Something beeped.

Flint checked his pocket.

“It’s the chief.”

Simon nodded, and they made their way from the little courtyard up to the Chief’s office. The chief flicked on a video display.

“We noticed here last night after you were rescued, that there was a serious amount of activity in this part of the city. I thought you’d like the first crack at it.”

“We’ll take it, sir,” said Simon.”

“Good to hear.”

“Sir?” asked Flint.

“Yes?”

“About Dianne.”

“For another time.”

Flint and Simon stepped into their car and buzzed over to that side of the city, and notice right off that several of the buildings had been knocked down.

He parked it on the side of the building and set it so that he and Simon could watch. He turned on the sensors and turned on the video displays so that they could get the best possible angle.

Below them, robots were steadily working. There were new robots, and old models, working together. They seemed to be building something, but it was unclear what.

Much of whatever it was was under wraps, and it looked as if much of the day’s activity was already over. Storm clouds hung in the sky, and it began to rain. Positioned as he was, the rain was falling in sheets all the way around them. It was next to impossible to see anything, save for what was coming in on the monitors. They shout out several tiny robotic spy cameras and sent them to get a better look at the object.

The little camera bots whizzed around through the rain, which really just returned a rain-soaked sky for an image, and then they were under it, poking holes in the covered mass’s cover, and slipping inside.

“Damn! There he is!”

The monitors had picked up Roman again.

“Thermal imaging says it’s the real Roman,” said Simon.

“Not possible. He was destroyed on the moon.”

“There he is though.”

“Check a bio-scan on him. I want to check for any kind of abnormality.”

“Like a mechanical hand?”

“Like anything.”

Simon performed the check and looked up.

“What?”

Simon shook his head.

“Come on, what?”

“It’s the age.”

“How is that a problem?”

“He’s only six.”

“But he’s full-grown already!”

“That means…”

Flint shook his head. “Cloners.”

“Yep. Cloners.”

“Christ.”

“We can’t blow them apart.”

“I wonder what they want.”

“Look there’s three or four more of them.”

“And one of me.”

“What?”

“Look.”

One the screen, next to three of the Romans was a clear Flint clone looking around, and calmly taking orders.

“In no way, shape or form is this okay.”

“They’ll get us from the inside out.”

“Never a worse way to go.”

“We have to take them out, to stop them in their tracks.”

“I know.”

“How are we going to get down there?”

“We’re going to walk right in.”

“Walk in, are you crazy?”

“Nope. it’s the easiest way.”

They lowered the air car and piloted it out into the rain. Water splashed all around them and forced them to fly by their instruments. They sailed down in the nasty weather and landed the a few alleys away.

“I hope this works,” said Simon.

“It’s better than going in stolen uniforms.”

They made their way into the tent and worked their way into the crowd.

Roman stood at the head of the group, a group of about a thousand combined robots, humans, and clones. He tapped on the microphone.

“Gentlemen, ladies, I welcome you all. We’ve had a minor setback and in the interests of time, I am assured that we will all make a hasty journey to the moon this go around. Seeking only friendship and peace with the rest of our kind, I am sure that this will be something we can all share and enjoy.”

He rifled through papers on his podium.

“We have had a minor setback, in that the first expedition has failed to make it to the landing site, but I can assure you that the next one will not fail. I am here to uncover and dedicate the second chance. It’s a rocket ship designed to make it to the moon. From there we will be able to get on with the business of getting on into the galaxy and out into the stars.”

He checked his notes again.

“It is for this momentous occasion that I will pull the ceremonial veil away to show you the craft of the future.”

He raised his arms, and Flint could see the sheer size of the thing. Behind Roman, it must be taking up an entire office block. A grand gray curtain fell across it, and there was a single tassel, which seemed to be connected to a series of pulleys and other knots. Roman pulled at the tassel, and the curtain fell away. A gigantic craft appeared in the moonlight, covered in the falling rain. It stood a hundred feet tall, and gleaming white. It was covered in guns.

“The thing is,” said Roman, we could never make the thing fly, so it’s time to take this city down!”

Every porthole on the ship opened, and every missile bay slid aside, and Flint and Simon pointed their grapple guns to the middle of the ship, to a port that looked highly accessible and shot into the sky. They slung forward through the rain, and landed on the ship, quickly ducking inside. The rain was pouring outside, and the people, robot or not were starting to riot. They flung themselves forward into the throngs as what was left of the ship above them began to swivel and teeter as it raised and lowered its guns and missiles around, targeting all the buildings around them.

The ship was massive, the size of a skyscraper, and yet the people below didn’t seem to know what to do.

Roman stormed into the craft and started climbing up.

Flint and Simon were already planting charges. Flint would toss them to Simon, and Simon to Flint and they clinked them onto the walls as they made their way down into the ship toward the street.

Dianne burst through the door.

Simon scanned her.

“Flint!” she said.

“Simon?” said Flint.

“Robot,” said Simon.

Flint and Simon took turns and shot her with an electrical device that stunned her and dropped her to the ground.

Another gang came in, and started trying to pull the charges off the wall. One of them peeled a charge from the wall and it just went off. The explosion blew a hole through the side of the building and the remains of that squad shot out in a spurt of flame.

Flint and Simon continued, making their way down into the ship, which was beginning to swivel and turn, and fire at the buildings around it. One of the buildings took a hit and toppled to the ground.

Flint slid down a passageway set of stairs that had been built for sliding. They were steep. He held the handrails in his hands and slid down. Simon took a jump and landed next to him.

They pulled their pistols and found themselves in a room devoted to the bashing of the other buildings. Several major cannons were set up in here and manned by robots. They were currently pounding on the buildings around them.

Flint and Simon started with the pistols, cutting the heads off of the robots who were doing the shooting.

They fell to the floor, but the cannons didn’t do anything to stop. They kept firing on automatic. Flint and Simon began spreading the charges around in here, sticking them to everything that they could think of. A few well-placed laser shots, and the machines began to fire on themselves.

Flint and Simon took the ladder down. It was only a moment of time before the whole place went up, as many charges as they have dropped. Above them, they could hear the explosions as the first started to go off on their own.

They landed, and before them it was cold. Their breath stood out before them, even though Simon was now simulated. They looked around. The explosions and fire were about to take the whole place down around them.

“There!” said Simon.

“What?”

“The door.”

Before them was a great steel door that looked like it went back into the buildings beyond. Flint took his remote and detonated all the remaining charges. The ship went up and exploded in a fireball. It crumpled to the ground and sent everyone who could still move screaming.

They pushed open the steel door and behind it lay the cold room. Everything in it was ice blue and totally frozen. There were honeycombs in the walls where it looked like clones were in the process of being developed. They all had Roman’s face.

In the center of the mass was a table, the only thing in the room which seemed to be warmed in any way, and sitting on it, was the crumpled form of Roman. Except he wasn’t the Roman they all knew. He was old. The oldest person that Flint had ever seen.

Was he three hundred, possibly four hundred?

It was little more than a shriveled mass of flesh. The face was right, the smile, certainly the teeth, but the rest was nothing more than the goo of oozing flesh.

It coughed.

Flint and Simon splayed flashlights out upon it and looked him up and down.

The figure coughed again and spat, but it didn’t make it very far. The puss just oozed off and dribbled down the corner of his mouth. It held a cigarette to its mouth and pulled on it. It looked like it could barely move its legs. The feet looked tiny and shrunken. The eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets. They were very white in comparison to the rest of the body, the skin, which was all a gray powder color that seemed to fill the very air with the soot of tobacco all by itself.

“Well?” it said.

“Roman?”

“You guessed it.”

“But I, I mean we…”

“I know, You’ve been chasing my clones all over this continent and out into space, and never realized you were dealing with clones, and not just androids.”

They sat at the creeping thing’s side.

“True. We couldn’t let anyone abuse the android system like that.”

“I totally agree, which is why we almost slipped the cloning bit passed you.”

The ancient Roman coughed, again, and held the cigarette to its mouth.

“We’re going to have to take you in, I hope you know that.”

“Yes, yes, your civic duty. I know. I used to be a cop myself, of course, that was in a different time, before the asteroids.”

“You were alive before the asteroids?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

The old Roman reached out and smacked Flint. It was not the best feeling in the world. It was much like being slapped with an old banana peel.

Flint pulled back and looked around.

“You’re not going to take me though.”

Simon perked up at that. “We’re not, are we?”

“No, you see. I think my clones will have something to say about that.”

The clone chambers began to open, and the contents started to ooze out and hit the floor. They all looked like lean and mean adult versions of Roman. They popped their knuckles, and their necks, and leaned in to do some real pounding while the table on which the older Roman was sitting began to slowly lower itself into the floor.

“You take these clones, I’m going after laughing boy there,” said Flint.

Simon nodded and began to shoot the clones. His laser cut through them almost too easily.

Flint leaped over the clones that remained, using his grapple and landed right on the platform lowering into the floor.

“Hey!” cried the older Roman.

“Hey, nothing!” Flint put his fist through the old man’s face, and pulled the unconscious form up and hoisted it into the room. He carried it over to Simon, who had just finished off the last of the clones.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Together they took the elder Roman up and out of the remains of the ship, which was currently on fire and in the process of being dowsed by the local firemen, who hovered in their fire trucks near the scene.

They took the air car and delivered the limp body of Roman to the police.

An hour later they convened near the same cell they had the other Roman in earlier. The elder Roman sat in the cell, smoking, and coughing. On the other side of the glass stood the chief, and Flint and Simon.

“I was a cop once,” said Roman.

They sat down and listened to him.

“I was once a cop when this was the land of plenty before the asteroids came. It was a long time ago.”

“How old are you?” asked Flint.

“I am over five hundred years old. Of course, the records are not that clear during the aftermath of the asteroids. We were not very careful at that time. It was all about survival at that point, wasn’t it?”

Simon stepped forward. “What was it like before the asteroids?”

“It’s actually pretty hard to remember these days. None of it really comes to very much. I think it was hardest to see the differences because everything is so vertical now. Back then everything was about stretching out and getting to the next frontier. Now we’ve built skyscrapers that almost touch space, but we can’t spread out, there are just these few pockets of land here and there that are useful. Ironic that it’s just the areas where the asteroids hit that are habitable, of course, it’s really not that bad around outside these big cities nowadays. It’s evening out nice. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to expand again and get everything you need from this planet, but it doesn’t change the fact that we should be exploring, and exploring right. There shouldn’t be a planet or a moon in this solar system that hasn’t been explored. There is life out there you know.”

The chief responded, “He’s right, we just never looked.”

“Yes, life, and it’s a strange lot to find.”

“Have you seen it?” asked Flint.

“No, but I’ve felt it. Felt it coming. And it’s not far off.”

He coughed again.

“Not long now. Not long before they come.”

He breathed. It was a raspy sort of a thing.

“Not long.”

He died.

They were out in the air car. It was a normal day, by all standards that were normal. The sun was shining, the city was starting to escape its borders a little bit, and the buildings were as clean and streak-free as they could be. Simon and Flint surveyed in the landscape.

“What do you think?” asked Flint.

“About the old guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s pretty slim Pickens out there. I think that there’s got to be life, but what is life anyway, I mean look at me, I’m a robot aren’t I?”

“I know, but I mean what about other planets, other solar systems, other worlds, do you think all of that exists?”

“Sure, but I think that if there is life out there in the galaxy, it’s likely not to be half as weird as we are.”

“I suppose that could be true.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“But it’s still sunny.”

“I know, that’s the strangest part about it.”

Somewhere in the sky Alib looked to Bilbnib as they were enjoying a nice spot of fresh parsip , and looked over their controls. It had been a dirty night, and they had been trudging through the stars for years at this point. They were beginning to wonder what the point of it all was when a blip came across their tracker.

“What’s this?” asked Alib. He stroked his many fingered hands and put down his cup of parsip with his second off-hand.

“I’m not sure.”

“Could it be life?”

“Intelligent life?”

“We’ve seen life before.”

“It’s probably just another world of polar bears again.”

“True, that seems to be the norm in this part of space.”

“Is it worth checking?”

“Anything is worth checking.”

They flitted by, and zoomed by the Earth, sliding through the atmosphere, and down over the cities. They glided over and through the central city.

Not a creature on the Earth could see them. Their ship, perfectly cloaked, swung low and managed to scrape the surface of the earth, gathering data as it went, It took a profile of the creatures of the Earth. It cataloged everything it could find. Every flora and fauna the world had available was scanned, tested, theorized about and dropped back into place.

Bilbnib sighed and checked the earth off of his list. He was disappointed to be sure, but that was no real reason to fret. He was sure that given a few thousand more years the humans might have a chance.

“Then again, there’s still hope for the polar bears down there,” said Alib.

Bilbnib broke his pencil and tossed it across the room.

Simon and Flint lowered the air car down to the frozen tundra, near a group of polar bears. Simon wasn’t concerned, but Flint was wearing a massive blue parka and looking out onto the tundra with his binoculars.

“Simon, you have that scan done?”

“Yeah, there’s about fifteen of them in this group.”

“And you think there’s something out there?”

“It was on the scanners. I think we’re looking for something really special.”

Flint looked around. The snow stretched as far as he could see.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s out there.”

They watched the field as the polar bears moved around in the sun. One of them turned over on its back and rolled over. It basked in the sun, and searched the skies, rubbing its back on the snow and ice beneath it.

The ice cracked.

The polar bear turned up and scurried off, as much as one of those critters can get away with, and below it, in the ice, Flint could see it.

“There it is.”

Under the ice, a shape began to appear. At first, it was just a shadow, and then as the ice around it began to melt and crack. A moment or two later, and the shadow grew to a towering pillar of ice and mangled metal. It blew the ground away, sending shards of ice and snow in all directions.

With a subtle shift in the surface of the Earth, the tower began to glow a soft blue, and at its base was a door.

Flint and Simon hiked down to the base of the tower. At the tower’s base, there stood a great door adorned with faces of every kind, style, and predisposition. Some of the faces were filled with teeth, others were adorned with several eyes. Others were covered in fur or scales.

Simon reached out to touch one of the faces.

Flint grabbed his hand and pulled it back.

Simon looked over the faces and examined them.

Flint took a step forward, and the doors slid open.

They both took a step back.

Inside it was dark.

Flint held a communicator to his ear. “We’re going in.”

They stepped through the door and the tower closed behind them.