{"id":7123,"date":"2025-10-29T00:21:54","date_gmt":"2025-10-28T18:21:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/?p=7123"},"modified":"2025-10-29T19:46:28","modified_gmt":"2025-10-29T13:46:28","slug":"private-investigator-of-earth","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/?p=7123","title":{"rendered":"PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Scott<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0I haven’t written much lately, let alone a blahg.\u00a0 I’ve been somewhat busy and I’ve been stuck on a short story called “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” for a couple of months.\u00a0 I like the concept and the character but I haven’t been able to flesh out the ending.\u00a0 Recently, I turned to ChatGPT to see if artificial intelligence could help me get on with it.\u00a0 That is going to be the subject of a future blahg after I finally finish writing the story for myself.\u00a0 Watch for it.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0For this blahg, I want to talk about an old short story of mine that I recently came across.\u00a0 It was tucked in a drawer of my old desk and when we downsized to a smaller desk, I kept the story with the intention of posting it here.\u00a0 The big problem is that it was a ten page original type-written story and I’d never got around to digitizing it.\u00a0 Here’s an example of the front page:\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

“Private Investigator of Earth” was the first fully realized short story that I ever wrote.\u00a0 I think I was around 17 or 18 when I typed it out on an old Underwood typewriter.\u00a0 I think I might have even submitted it to a science fiction magazine.\u00a0 I know it never got published because I know now that the story was not that good.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0I finally scanned each of the ten pages as image files and used an online site to do character recognition and create a text file that I could then edit to one master Word document.\u00a0 I haven’t corrected many of the spelling or grammar errors and the formatting is the same.\u00a0 Here’s how it turned out:<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH<\/h4>\n

By Scott T. Henderson<\/h4>\n

<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I often recall my first case with fond reminiscence of its vast adventure.\u00a0 Being the only private investigator on earth, though, has its drawbacks.\u00a0 I made sure when rented this dump, that landlord put in a new, translucent glass door that bares my name and slogan:\u00a0 \u201cJames Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth.\u00a0 Give me the time and I\u2019ll solve the Crime.\u201d\u00a0 Unfortunately the hinges were rusted and have since then emitted a loud squawking noise when opened.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I remember that night some fifteen years ago when my new career began.\u00a0 It was the king of night that you wouldn\u2019t catch a megolan (equivalent to a dog) out roaming on.\u00a0 What was left of our atmosphere and ozone layer had since then diminished to a point were the remaining people on earth had to dwell in anti–repulsionisms or as well called them bubble, cities.\u00a0 Our forcefields were provided through the use of pulsating and non\u2014pulsating magnetic degausers (generators) which repelled any alienation gases or chunks of meteorites.\u00a0 But we still ahd out problems with computer simulated storms which retained what little remaining O2 we needed.\u00a0 And that night we had one of the dandiest computer simulies since the Gralos Blackhole passed through the earth destroying the African continent.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I sat fully relaxed, with my feet on the desk, reading the current date issue of Jupiter\u2019s only newspaper, the \u201cCirce Review.\u201d\u00a0 I heard the approaching, reverberating sound of footsteps on the stairs, a sound which I had not as yet had a chance to become accustomed to.\u00a0 I quickly straightened up to present myself to my very first client.\u00a0 The squawking door gave way to a creature not of this planet.\u00a0 She was a quadro or in scientific names a quadrolife, from the planet Uranus.\u00a0 In common form I make I a point not to discriminate, besides Uranians<\/u> are the closest life form in the galaxy resembling an Earth person.\u00a0 She, as it occurred to me at the time, must have just came from the Shuttle station because she was still wrapped in her uranian fur parka and would have thought twice about wearing it in Earth\u2019s climate.\u00a0 I gathered from her appearance that she hadn\u2019t came all the way to Earth just to see me.\u00a0 If she needed my services it was because something had occurred aboard the Shuttle on her flight here to Earth.\u00a0 I offered her a seat and she began to unravel her story via a tele-translutation device used to translate different languages in to the language most common to the listener.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0As she unravelled her story I eyed her, make a photographic reproduction of her in my mind.\u00a0 The only other time I had seen a Quadro was in a photographic hologram shown to me at the Academy of Detection, on the sixth moon of the six sun, otherwise known as Titan.\u00a0 She was very much like any other earth woman except that she had solid ruby red eyes and a life span four times that of any earth being.\u00a0 Quadrolifes had the ability to survive death three times if killed or to live to an age of about four hundred.\u00a0 When I first heard \u00a0the term Quadrolife I thought of some ugly four headed creature from an old science-fiction movie.\u00a0 How wrong I was!<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0She informed me that her name was Pelline Christe and she was representative of the Uranian Consulate, the supreme peace keepers and law enforcers of the galaxy.\u00a0 At first this stunned me a bit because I was wondering what the Consulate would want with me.\u00a0 She explained that she was carrying plans for a solar-laserbeam\u2014cannon to the Earth Consulate but the plans were stolen on her trip here to Earth.\u00a0 The plans were to be presented to the Consulate and permission was to be obtained to test a working model in the area located outside the existing anti–repulsionisms. The force of this baby could reach such a high intensity that it could wipe out a planet of Earth’s size in less than a minute!<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Now this quadro babe was really starting to scare me with her talk of the Earth being blown up! I asked her why she came to me instead of going to U.N.I.S. located out on Jupiter (U.N.I.S. stands for Universal Nations Investigating Services).\u00a0 Her answer was that she couldn’t take chances of this story seeping out to the media because if it did we would have total mayhem on our hands! The only ones that knew of the plans were the Uranian Consulate, their designer, and now me. She informed me that she had 48 hours before she had to report back to her Consulate and between that time she was to have informed the Earth Consulate of the existence of such a weapon.\u00a0 Now I had two things to consider: saving this girl’s job and saving the galaxy.\u00a0 I was reluctant at first but I decided to take the case. Who am I to give up a chance at being a hero or at least, saving my own neck?<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I told Miss Christe that she would have to stay out of contact with everyone until I had a chance to crack this case wide open. No one should know about the theft otherwise it would invoke universal panic! The only safe place for Miss Christe would be back at my apartment, besides I intended to spend as much time as I could on this case. I knew that there wouldn’t be any sleep for me that night.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I locked my office, located at 18 King Lane, and headed to the nearest Monorail stop with my head bending in the force of wind being produced as a result of the computer simulated storm. The computers really knew their stuff when it came to conjuring up storms. I had given the address of my apartment to Miss Christe along with the color–number–coordinate combination and implied that she was not to allow anyone in, with the exception of Myself. I hadn’t long to wait for the monorail and quickly boarded it to seek refuge from the storm. My first stop, I decided, was to be the Shuttle station. It was necessary to obtain a list of all the passengers aboard Miss Christe’s flight, its stops, its cargo, and, most importantly, its crew.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0As I sat aboard the monorail I thought how nice it would be to have my old automobile instead of a chauffer driven monorail.\u00a0 It had been some time since I had last felt the comfort of the wheel in my hands.\u00a0 Not since the government moved what was once Passaic, New Jersey into this bubble had I even seen a car. The carbon monoxide gas was detrimental to the public’s safety so cars were banned from all anti–repulsionisms, and there was hardly enough 02 for the drivers to survive in outside the bubbles.\u00a0 If someone wanted to leave the bubble they had to use an anti–radioactive 02 suit but even these were hard to obtain.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I stepped down from the platform to find myself in front of the Shuttle station, my first stop in the search of an answer for this case.\u00a0 I had to think of some reason, besides the real one, for wanting to take a look at the list.\u00a0 I quickly assumed the role of a civilian whose luggage had either been misdirected, lost, or simply been picked up by someone by mistake.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The story was bought and I soon held the vital information I needed in the palm of my hand. My first objective was to converse with the crew and see if they had either willingly or mistakenly taken the case containing the plans, without making them aware of its contents. \u00a0\u00a0A menial task for me!<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I learned that the flight from Uranus was on a two hour layover here, on earth, to undergo repairs on its anti–gravity stimulation propulsion system.\u00a0 The crew was in the lounge area, reserved for all personnel, discussing the malfunction of the propulsion system. I listened intently outside the door when the conversation soon switched to Miss Christe and her missing briefcase. How did they know about that?\u00a0 The pilot mentioned that Miss Christe’s briefcase had been reported missing.\u00a0 The steward had searched the Shuttle and the station and hadn’t found it, he suggested that it might have been stolen and she should report it to the police. There was no reason for me to remain any longer because it was obvious that this was a dead end.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I checked the list of cargo but it turned out that the Shuttle was only carrying the passengers’ luggage, on this run, and none of them matched the description of the missing briefcase. The Shuttle had only made one stop, to refuel on the planet Jupiter.\u00a0 None of the passengers were allowed to leave the vessel while it was being refueled, so I came to two more dead\u00a0 ends. The next option was to question all the passengers, and I wasn’t looking forward to that because there were 32 passengers aboard the Shuttle that Miss Christe had arrived on.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I arrived at the home of a William Bascomb at approximately ten thirty, and the other 18 passengers were to be pussycats compared to this one, seeing that I had already questioned that many by that time and had come up with nothing. \u00a0Bascomb had just finished a vacation on Uranus and was returning early to take care of some financial problems.\u00a0 I knocked on the door and hoped that he wouldn’t be angry at being disturbed.\u00a0 A loud booming voice demanded to know who it was, so I told him my name and profession.\u00a0 I was suddenly surprised when a hand holding a high frequency laser crashed through a second story window and took aim on me! My nimble legs lept foward and I sprawled out flat on the ground in hopes that the dark of the storm would prevent him from seeing my trembling body. Whether it was my good luck or not I may never know but the beam missed me. I took advantage of the situation and pulled out my stun phaser and fired! Had I hit him? My answer was a beam that tore up the ground two feet in front of me! I had to flush him out if I was to get a clear shot at him, but this proved to be difficult in the dark.\u00a0 I had an idea!\u00a0 I fired a shot at the window, that now had a large gaping hole in it.\u00a0 I hadn’t hoped to hit him, only to get him to fire back. I caught the glimmer of light coming and rolled! I aimed at the spot where the beam had emitted from and fired! Bingo! His scream was all I needed to be sure that I had hit him.\u00a0 But I was too sure of myself. Oh, I had hit him, but his laser tumbled out the window, hit the ground and fired off a shot at me!\u00a0 If I \u00a0had have moved any faster I would have had a permanent hole in my head instead of one in my hat.\u00a0 I walked over to the laser and placed it inside my holster while I held my stun phaser in my hand. I was sure that this was the same man who had stolen the plans but I had to move fast because the effects of my phaser would wear off in twenty minutes.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I gained entrance to the house by smashing open a first story window and crawling through it.\u00a0 I searched the house but found nothing to tie him in with the theft, but there had to be.\u00a0 Why else would he open fire on me? I started up the stairs to see to Bascomb when my hand pushed the headmost at the bottom of the stairs back to reveal a button. I pushed the button and the wall in the living area opened to reveal a hidden room! I found a briefcase matching the description of Miss Christe’s. Inside the case was five hundred thousand quidelacs (Uranian dollar equal in value to about two earth dollars).<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Even though Quidelacs were common on Earth, five hundred thousand of them one place, other than a bank weren’t. I came to the conclusion that Bascomb had either stolen this currency or he stole the plans and had already sold them for this amount.\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0I hadn’t liked the idea of working with the police but I needed some answers that only they could give me. I picked up the police frequency on Bascomb’s tele-audio–visual phone and placed a call to the Sergeant in charge.\u00a0 As his face appeared on the screen I noticed a large grin was blooming from one of his ears to the other.\u00a0 He and I were not the greatest of friends because we were always competing. He began to open his mouth to say something but I cut him off, telling him to hold his wisecracks until I had a chance to explain.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0It didn’t take long for a police aircar (nondetrimental to public safety) to arrive, and by that time Bascomb had aroused to find himself being held captive by his own phaser. It turned out that a call from the Uranian police came in reporting a robbery at the Uralian Universal Bank and the description of the thief fit Bascomb to a T. Now where was I? My only lead turned out to be a false one and I hadn’t any idea where my next one would come from.\u00a0 The police hauled away Bascomb with the money and told me I might as well come with them to collect a reward for the return of the money.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0At the station I collected the five hundred quidelac reward and was readying to leave when the Sergeant called me into his office. Was he going to give me a pat on the back or was he going to bawl me out for not reporting the incident right a way? As I entered the room I was surprised to find a Quadro sitting at the desk with the Sergeant. The Sergeant introduced me to the lady and it nearly blew my mind. Her name was Miss Pelline Christe! She explained to me that her briefcase was stolen and that it contained plans for a solar–laserbeam–cannon. \u00a0I interrupted her telling her that she needn’t explain something that I already knew. The Sergeant, to whom I explained everything to in my call, had ordered an aircar remedied to leave for my apartment. We decided to go quietly and that I would enter the apartment win her trust and arrest her.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0As we rode to my apartment, I couldn’t get my mind off of how a quadro, let alone a dame, had pulled the wool over my eyes. The quadro at my apartment was the real thief and the one in the car with us was the real Miss Christe. The thief stole the plans and decided the best way to escape suspicion was to assume the identity of the one whom the plans were stolen from.\u00a0 She came to me with her phony story because she knew that the real Miss Christe would go to the police instead of a private investigator. What this phony hadn’t counted on was I might run into someone who would send me to the police.\u00a0 If it hadn’t been for Bascom I might still have been on a wild goose chase looking for the thief who was at this moment in my apartment.\u00a0 But a fool shall have his revenge, and I was determined to have mine!<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0As I rode the elevator to the seventh floor, on which my apartment was located, I hoped that she hadn’t already flown the coop. The police were to take the stairs and bust in had I trouble with the thief. I decided it would be best for me to knock, and her to let me in, instead of\u00a0 busting in and having her snatch up a weapon in defence. I knocked on the door but there wasn’t an answer, my first thought was that she had fled from her place of sanctum.\u00a0 I spealed the combination and entered the apartment. I spotted the briefcase on the table and determined that she must be asleep in the bedroom.\u00a0 Suddenly the door closed and the quadro popped out from the other side of the door with my extra phaser in her hand. She explained that she had been listening to my conversations with a micro–transmitter that she had slipped into my pocket,\u00a0 and was aware that I was in fresh pursuit of her.\u00a0 She told me to drop my phaser and to stand with my back to her while she picked up the briefcase, she then demanded that I start walking, with my back to her, out of the door to the left and towards the elevator.\u00a0 As we left the apartment the police arrived at the top of the stairs, so she quickly swung me around so that she was shielded from the police. We boarded the elevator, the doors closed and that’s when I made my move! I brought back my elbow and nudged the elevator buttons and it came to a jerking stop knocking the phaser out of her hand. I pulled out the laser that I had confiscated from Bascomb, she must have forgotten I still had it, and ordered her to pick up the phaser and hand it to me.\u00a0 She picked up the laser and threw it at me, knocking me off balance, causing me to missfire the laser in my hand. The beam rifled through the top of the elevator and severed one of the elevator cables; causing the elevator to tilt foward at a ninety degree angle! The quadro began to scream in panic! I asked her what she as screaming about, she would live if she was killed. She argued that she had already been killed three times trying to steal other things, and that this was her last life. I had to think of something!<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The police ran down the stairs and were wondering why the elevator hadn’t came down.\u00a0 One of the police officers heard the scream and suggested that they should pry the doors open and see what had happened. When those law enforcers caught sight of what happened they were speechless and didn’t know what to do.\u00a0 One of them yelled up and asked if I was okay. I replied yes, but I was more shaken up than anything.\u00a0 Just then the idea hit me! I told the sergeant to go up to the fourth floor, because we were stuck between the third and fourth floors. I then asked him to pry open the doors and see how much damage there was to the cables.\u00a0 He yelled down the shaft and reported that the one cable had been severed and the other one was untouched. I asked if there was any possibility of the cables being fused together again.\u00a0 His reply was yes but it would take a while to get hold of the right machinery.\u00a0 I suggested that if he had Bascomb’s laser he could put it on low intensity and fuse the wires. The sergeant lowered a rope and I attached Bascomb’s lasere to it and he hauled it up. He then fused the cables together and the rest was up to me. I pushed every button I could until I finally got the elevator to descend down the shaft. Once at the bottom level the police cut a large enough hole in the elevator, with Bascomb’s laser, so that the quadro and I could crawl out. It felt good to be out of the elevator and I had a better appreciation of the police.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The police took the phony Miss Christe into custody, the real Miss Christe took the plans to the Earth Consulate, and I collected another five hundred quidelac reward for the return of the plans.<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Yes, that’s it my very first case. Remember if you’re ever visiting Earth and you are in need of a private investigator, just pop by my office at 13 King Lane, walk up the stairs, through the squawking door, and I’ll be there, the Private Investigator of Earth!<\/h4>\n

<\/h4>\n

The End<\/h4>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0Now, here’s where I loop back to the issue of ChatGPT.\u00a0 There’s the option to upload your story\/writing and have it make it better.\u00a0 I was offered two options:\u00a0 A Light Polish or A Modernized Edition.\u00a0 Here are the two versions of the story by ChatGPT<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH \u2013 light polish<\/strong><\/h4>\n

By Scott T. Henderson<\/em><\/h4>\n

I often recall my first case with fond reminiscence of its vast adventure. Being the only private investigator on Earth has its drawbacks, though. When I rented this dump, I made sure the landlord installed a new translucent glass door bearing my name and slogan:<\/h4>\n

\u201cJames Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth. Give me the time and I\u2019ll solve the crime.\u201d<\/strong><\/h4>\n

Unfortunately, the hinges were rusted, and ever since, the door has emitted a loud squawk whenever it opens.<\/h4>\n

I remember that night some fifteen years ago when my new career began. It was the kind of night you wouldn\u2019t catch a megolan (the equivalent of a dog) roaming in. What was left of our atmosphere and ozone layer had diminished to the point where the remaining people on Earth had to dwell inside anti-repulsionisms<\/em>\u2014or as we called them, bubble cities.<\/h4>\n

Our forcefields were powered by pulsating and non-pulsating magnetic degaussers (generators) that repelled alien gases and chunks of meteorite. But we still had problems with computer-simulated storms, which helped retain what little oxygen we had left. That night we had one of the wildest \u201ccomputer simulies\u201d since the Gralos Black Hole passed through Earth and destroyed the African continent.<\/h4>\n

I was fully relaxed, feet on the desk, reading the current issue of Jupiter\u2019s only newspaper, The Circe Review<\/em>, when I heard the reverberating sound of footsteps on the stairs\u2014a sound I hadn\u2019t yet become accustomed to. I quickly straightened up, ready to present myself to my very first client.<\/h4>\n

The squawking door gave way to a creature not of this planet. She was a Quadro\u2014or in scientific terms, a Quadrolife<\/em>\u2014from the planet Uranus. I make it a point not to discriminate; besides, Uranians are the closest life form in the galaxy resembling Earth people.<\/h4>\n

She must have just arrived from the Shuttle Station, still wrapped in her Uranian fur parka. No one would wear one of those in Earth\u2019s climate unless they had just landed. I gathered from her appearance that she hadn\u2019t come all the way to Earth just to sightsee. If she needed my services, something serious had happened aboard the shuttle.<\/h4>\n

I offered her a seat, and she began to unravel her story through a tele-translutation device, which converted her speech into my language.<\/h4>\n

As she spoke, I studied her carefully, forming a mental photograph. The only other time I had seen a Quadro was in a holographic projection shown to me at the Academy of Detection on Titan\u2014the sixth moon of the sixth sun. She looked much like any Earth woman, except for her solid ruby-red eyes and her long lifespan\u2014four times that of any human. Quadrolifes could survive death three times or live to an age of about four hundred years. When I first heard the term \u201cQuadrolife,\u201d I pictured some ugly, four-headed monster from an old science-fiction movie. How wrong I was.<\/h4>\n

She introduced herself as Pelline Christe<\/strong>, a representative of the Uranian Consulate\u2014the supreme peacekeepers and law enforcers of the galaxy. That stunned me a bit. What would the Consulate want with me?<\/h4>\n

She explained that she was carrying plans for a solar-laser-beam cannon<\/em> to the Earth Consulate, but the plans had been stolen en route. They were to be presented for approval to test a working model outside the anti-repulsionisms. The force of this thing could reach such an intensity that it could wipe out a planet the size of Earth in less than a minute.<\/h4>\n

This \u201cQuadro babe\u201d was starting to scare me with all this talk of blowing up Earth. I asked why she\u2019d come to me instead of U.N.I.S. (Universal Nations Investigating Services) on Jupiter.<\/h4>\n

She said she couldn\u2019t risk the story leaking to the media\u2014it would cause total galactic panic. Only the Uranian Consulate, their designer, and now I knew of the plans. She had forty-eight hours to report back, and in that time she was supposed to inform the Earth Consulate of the weapon\u2019s existence.<\/h4>\n

Two things to consider: saving her job and saving the galaxy. I wasn\u2019t keen at first, but I decided to take the case. Who was I to pass up a chance to be a hero\u2014or at least save my own neck?<\/h4>\n

I told Miss Christe to stay out of contact with everyone until I cracked the case. No one else could know about the theft. The safest place for her was my apartment, and I\u2019d need all my time to investigate. Sleep wasn\u2019t in the cards that night.<\/h4>\n

I locked up my office at 18 King Lane and headed to the nearest monorail stop, head bowed against the wind whipped up by the simulated storm. The computers really knew how to make weather. I gave Miss Christe my apartment\u2019s color-number-coordinate combination and told her not to let anyone in\u2014except me.<\/h4>\n

The monorail arrived quickly, and I boarded to escape the storm. My first stop: the Shuttle Station. I needed a list of passengers, stops, cargo, and, most importantly, crew.<\/h4>\n

As I sat aboard the monorail, I thought how nice it would be to have my old automobile again. It had been years since I\u2019d felt a steering wheel in my hands. Ever since the government moved what used to be Passaic, New Jersey, into a bubble, cars had been banned\u2014carbon monoxide was too dangerous, and there wasn\u2019t enough oxygen outside for drivers to survive anyway. Those who wanted to leave the bubbles had to wear anti-radioactive O\u2082 suits, which were hard to come by.<\/h4>\n

At the Shuttle Station, I needed an excuse to see the passenger list. I pretended to be a traveler whose luggage had been lost or picked up by mistake. The story worked, and soon I held the information I needed in my hand.<\/h4>\n

My first objective was to question the crew\u2014discreetly\u2014and see if they\u2019d taken the briefcase by mistake. The flight had a two-hour layover on Earth for repairs to its anti-gravity propulsion system. I listened from outside the lounge door as they discussed the malfunction\u2014and then shifted to talking about Miss Christe and her missing briefcase. How did they know about that? The pilot said it had been reported missing, the steward had searched the Shuttle and station with no luck, and they\u2019d suggested she report it to the police. Dead end.<\/h4>\n

I checked the cargo list\u2014nothing matched the briefcase. The Shuttle had only made one stop, for refueling on Jupiter, and passengers hadn\u2019t been allowed to disembark. Another dead end. The next step: question all thirty-two passengers.<\/h4>\n

By 10:30 that night I arrived at the home of William Bascomb<\/strong>, passenger number nineteen. He\u2019d just returned from vacation on Uranus to deal with financial troubles. I knocked, hoping he wouldn\u2019t be angry at the late visit.<\/h4>\n

A booming voice demanded my name, so I told him. Suddenly, a hand with a high-frequency laser burst through a second-story window and took aim! I dove to the ground, hoping the darkness would hide me. The beam missed by inches. I fired back with my stun phaser\u2014missed\u2014then fired again when his return shot gave away his position. This time, a scream told me I\u2019d hit him.<\/h4>\n

But his weapon fell out the window, hit the ground, and fired again\u2014burning a hole clean through my hat. Lucky me. I holstered his weapon, still holding my phaser, and broke into the house through a first-floor window.<\/h4>\n

Inside, I found nothing to link him to the theft\u2014but why else shoot at me? As I started up the stairs, my hand brushed a panel that clicked open to reveal a hidden button. I pressed it. A section of wall slid aside to uncover a secret room\u2014and inside was a briefcase matching Miss Christe\u2019s.<\/h4>\n

It contained five hundred thousand Quidelacs<\/em> (Uranian currency, about two Earth dollars each). That much cash outside a bank was suspicious. Either he\u2019d stolen it\u2014or he\u2019d already sold the plans.<\/h4>\n

I needed answers only the police could give. I used Bascomb\u2019s tele-audio-visual phone to call the precinct. The Sergeant\u2019s face appeared, grinning from ear to ear\u2014we\u2019d been rivals for years. Before he could wisecrack, I told him to hold his tongue and listen.<\/h4>\n

Soon a police aircar arrived. By then, Bascomb had awakened to find himself held at phaser-point by his own gun. Turns out the Uranian police had just reported a robbery at the Universal Bank\u2014description fit Bascomb perfectly. My lead had been a false one. The police hauled him away, along with the money, and I collected a five-hundred-Quidelac reward for the recovery.<\/h4>\n

As I was about to leave, the Sergeant called me into his office. I expected a lecture\u2014but was stunned to find another Quadro sitting there. The Sergeant introduced her as Miss Pelline Christe.<\/em><\/h4>\n

That nearly blew my mind.<\/h4>\n

The woman I\u2019d met earlier\u2014the one at my apartment\u2014was a fake. She\u2019d stolen the plans and assumed Miss Christe\u2019s identity, knowing the real one would go to the police while she could misdirect me.<\/h4>\n

The Sergeant ordered an aircar to my building. We decided I\u2019d go in first to gain her trust.<\/h4>\n

As we rode the elevator, I couldn\u2019t get over how completely that \u201cdame\u201d had played me. The fake Miss Christe was sitting in my apartment with stolen plans, probably smug as ever.<\/h4>\n

I reached the seventh floor and knocked. No answer. I keyed in the door code and stepped inside. The briefcase sat on the table\u2014she had to be in the bedroom. Then the door slammed shut behind me. She appeared, holding my spare phaser.<\/h4>\n

She said she\u2019d been listening to my conversations through a micro-transmitter she\u2019d slipped into my pocket. She ordered me to drop my weapon and walk out ahead of her toward the elevator.<\/h4>\n

We reached the elevator just as the police arrived at the stairs. She swung me around to use me as a shield. The doors closed.<\/h4>\n

That\u2019s when I made my move.<\/h4>\n

I slammed my elbow into the control panel, jolting the elevator to a stop. The lurch knocked the phaser from her hand. I pulled out Bascomb\u2019s confiscated laser\u2014she must have forgotten I had it\u2014and ordered her to pick up her weapon and hand it over. She threw it at me instead. I staggered, misfired, and the beam sliced through the ceiling, severing one of the cables. The elevator tilted forward at a ninety-degree angle.<\/h4>\n

She screamed in panic. I told her she\u2019d survive\u2014she was a Quadrolife, after all. But she shrieked that she\u2019d already been killed three times; this would be her last life.<\/h4>\n

Meanwhile, the police forced open the doors on the lower floor and shouted up. I told them we were stuck between the third and fourth levels. The Sergeant confirmed one cable was cut but the other intact.<\/h4>\n

\u201cCan you fuse it?\u201d I yelled.<\/h4>\n

\u201cWith the right machinery,\u201d he answered.<\/h4>\n

\u201cIf you\u2019ve got Bascomb\u2019s laser, set it to low and weld it!\u201d<\/h4>\n

He did. The cables fused. I hit every button I could, and the elevator finally descended to the bottom. The police cut a hole in the side large enough for us to crawl out.<\/h4>\n

I\u2019d never been so glad to touch solid ground.<\/h4>\n

The police took the fake Miss Christe into custody. The real Miss Christe delivered the plans safely to the Earth Consulate. I collected another five-hundred-Quidelac reward.<\/h4>\n

And that was my very first case.<\/h4>\n

So remember\u2014if you\u2019re ever visiting Earth and need a private investigator, just stop by my office at 13 King Lane. Walk up the stairs, through the squawking door, and I\u2019ll be there\u2014<\/h4>\n

James Nemesis, Private Investigator of Earth.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

———————————<\/p>\n

And now here’s the Modernized Edition:<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH<\/strong><\/h4>\n

by Scott T. Henderson (Modernized Edition)<\/em><\/h4>\n
    \n
  1. \n

    The Door and the Dame<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

    My name\u2019s James Nemesis<\/strong>, and I\u2019m the only private investigator left on Earth.<\/h4>\n

    That used to mean something. Now it just means I\u2019m the only fool who couldn\u2019t afford to ship off-world.<\/h4>\n

    My office sits in the bottom tier of what used to be New York Dome \u2014 half-broken neon, recycled air thick as regret. When I took this place, I made the landlord put in a new glass door with my name stenciled across it:
    \nJAMES NEMESIS \u2014 PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR OF EARTH<\/strong>
    \nGive me the time and I\u2019ll solve the crime.<\/em><\/h4>\n

    The hinges still scream like a dying cat every time it opens. Some things you can\u2019t fix with a wrench.<\/h4>\n

    That night \u2014 fifteen years ago \u2014 was when it all began. A storm rolled through the dome, one of those \u201catmospheric simulations\u201d that kept the oxygen levels balanced and the citizens nostalgic. Lightning danced on the inside of the sky panels. The city smelled like metal and fear.<\/h4>\n

    I had my feet on the desk, a lukewarm synth-coffee in one hand, and the Circe Review<\/em> from Jupiter streaming across my wall screen. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. Real ones. Not the drone of a courier bot, not the shuffle of someone too broke to bother with silence. These were deliberate. High heels. Expensive.<\/h4>\n

    The door shrieked open.<\/h4>\n

    She wasn\u2019t human.<\/h4>\n

    Uranians are rare these days \u2014 most don\u2019t bother with this dying planet \u2014 but this one looked human enough to make a priest reconsider his vows. Long coat of Uranian fur, silver at the seams, red eyes glowing faintly in the half-light.<\/h4>\n

    I gestured toward the chair. \u201cYou must be lost. The spaceport\u2019s three domes east.\u201d<\/h4>\n

    \u201cI\u2019m not lost,\u201d she said through a small translator clipped to her collar. Her voice came out smooth, almost musical. \u201cI\u2019m here because something was stolen.\u201d<\/h4>\n

    That was the first line of a story that would change everything.<\/h4>\n
      \n
    1. \n

      The Job<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

      She called herself Pelline Christe<\/strong>, a Quadrolife<\/em> from Uranus \u2014 a species that can die three times before it sticks. She didn\u2019t brag about it, but I caught the glint in her eyes when she said it. Immortality always carries a little arrogance.<\/h4>\n

      The story unfolded in neat, careful sentences.
      \nA classified weapon \u2014 a solar laser cannon<\/em> powerful enough to vaporize a planet \u2014 had been stolen en route to an off-world research station. The theft happened aboard the shuttle she\u2019d traveled on. The Earth government, still pretending it had authority, wanted it recovered quietly.<\/h4>\n

      And that\u2019s where I came in. The last human investigator with a license that still scanned green.<\/h4>\n

      \u201cI can pay,\u201d she said, sliding a transparent cred-chip across my desk. The numbers on it made my heart stumble.<\/h4>\n

      I pocketed the chip and stood. \u201cMiss Christe, you just bought yourself the best detective still breathing under this dome.\u201d<\/h4>\n
        \n
      1. \n

        The Chase Begins<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

        The rest of the night was a blur of transport tubes and sensor sweeps. I tracked a lead to William Bascomb<\/strong>, an engineer who\u2019d been stationed near the shuttle\u2019s cargo bay. His digital trail was clean \u2014 too clean. That\u2019s how you know a man\u2019s hiding something.<\/h4>\n

        I caught up to him in a maintenance corridor deep under Dome Sector 7. His reflection flickered off the wet metal walls as I raised my pulse pistol.<\/h4>\n

        \u201cMr. Bascomb,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ve been making expensive mistakes.\u201d<\/h4>\n

        He spun, hands up, eyes wide. \u201cI didn\u2019t take the plans! It was her \u2014 the woman from Uranus! She\u2014\u201d<\/h4>\n

        And that\u2019s when the corridor lights cut out.<\/h4>\n

        A jolt of instinct told me everything I needed: I\u2019d been played.<\/h4>\n
          \n
        1. \n

          Crossfire<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

          The corridor went black. Only the hum of the city\u2019s recycled air filled the silence.
          \nA second later, the emergency strips flickered on\u2014thin red light painting Bascomb\u2019s face the color of guilt.<\/h4>\n

          He bolted.
          \nI fired once, grazing his shoulder. Enough to drop him but not end him.
          \nWhen I reached him, he was shaking. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t me,\u201d he muttered. \u201cShe\u2014she swapped the access code mid-flight. I thought she was security.\u201d<\/h4>\n

          \u201cShe gave you her name?\u201d<\/h4>\n

          He swallowed. \u201cPelline Christe.\u201d<\/h4>\n

          That name hit me like a shock baton. My \u201cclient.\u201d The real one hadn\u2019t even been here.<\/h4>\n

          By the time I looked up, a maintenance bot rolled past, scanning Bascomb\u2019s wound and dispatching a report to Dome Control. I didn\u2019t wait around to explain. I was already running.<\/h4>\n
            \n
          1. \n

            Shadows in the Bubble<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

            Outside, the storm simulation was in full effect\u2014rain hammering the inside of the dome, thunder echoing through artificial clouds. It looked real enough to drown in.<\/h4>\n

            I took the mag-line back to my office, my mind running faster than the rail.
            \nEither Miss Christe had a twin, or someone had worn her face like a mask. Quadrolife tech could do that. They had bioprint suits that fooled scanners and souls alike.<\/h4>\n

            When I stepped off the line, the power grid flickered. Half the dome dimmed.
            \nA bad sign.<\/h4>\n

            My office door was already open. The glass still read my name, but the squawk of its hinges was silent this time.<\/h4>\n

            She was there.
            \nSame red eyes. Same fur coat. But she wasn\u2019t waiting\u2014she was searching. My desk drawers were half-open, papers scattered.<\/h4>\n

            I didn\u2019t bother drawing the pistol. \u201cYou know, most clients wait for a bill before they break into the office.\u201d<\/h4>\n

            She froze, then turned slowly. \u201cMr. Nemesis. You\u2019re earlier than expected.\u201d<\/h4>\n

            Her voice was different\u2014cooler, harder.
            \nAnd I noticed the glimmer at her wrist: a data-key, pulsing faintly with blue light.<\/h4>\n

            \u201cThe plans,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n

            She smiled. \u201cYou\u2019re quicker than your reputation suggests.\u201d<\/h4>\n
              \n
            1. \n

              The Elevator Job<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

              She made for the corridor. I lunged. The data-key slipped from her fingers and clattered across the floor. She dove, I grabbed, and we both crashed through the door into the hallway\u2014her coat tearing, my shoulder screaming.<\/h4>\n

              She hit the elevator button and the doors slid open with a hiss. I followed.
              \nThe lift shot upward, fast enough to pin us to the wall.<\/h4>\n

              \u201cWhy steal it?\u201d I shouted over the hum. \u201cYou could\u2019ve walked out clean!\u201d<\/h4>\n

              \u201cI don\u2019t need to explain survival to someone stuck on a dying rock,\u201d she said.<\/h4>\n

              The lift jerked suddenly, then shuddered to a halt between levels.
              \nLights went out again. The power grid across the dome must\u2019ve blown.<\/h4>\n

              \u201cConvenient,\u201d I muttered.<\/h4>\n

              She laughed softly. \u201cNot for you.\u201d<\/h4>\n

              She moved\u2014too fast. I felt the crack of her elbow against my jaw and the taste of blood. I swung back, missed, and slammed the emergency override.
              \nThe doors pried open just enough to reveal the maintenance shaft\u2014dark, bottomless. Wind from the ventilation systems roared below.<\/h4>\n

              She lunged again, and this time I caught her wrist and twisted. The data-key flew free.<\/h4>\n

              \u201cYou\u2019re not getting away with this,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n

              She grinned. \u201cMaybe not this life.\u201d<\/h4>\n

              Then she threw herself backward into the shaft.<\/h4>\n

              I watched her fall\u2014twisting, shrinking, swallowed by the dark\u2014until there was nothing left but the hum of machinery and the flicker of the data-key at my feet.<\/h4>\n
                \n
              1. \n

                Ghost in the System<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

                By morning, the dome lights were back. The city looked the same, but I wasn\u2019t.<\/h4>\n

                I turned the data-key over in my hand. It pulsed faintly\u2014an encrypted holofile marked with the insignia of the Interplanetary Defense Council.
                \nI\u2019d seen those seals before. Touch the wrong file and the next knock on your door is an orbital strike.<\/h4>\n

                I plugged it into the wall console anyway.<\/h4>\n

                Miss Christe\u2019s real face appeared.
                \nOlder. Sterner. And very much alive.<\/h4>\n

                \u201cMr. Nemesis,\u201d her hologram said. \u201cIf you\u2019re viewing this, you\u2019ve encountered an imposter. The plans for the Solar Laser were compromised en route to Earth. We believe a rogue Quadrolife cell intends to sell them to the Martian syndicate. If the imposter survives, terminate her. If not\u2014recover the plans and deliver them to the Council. Payment will follow.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                The message blinked out.<\/h4>\n

                I looked down at the data-key. The irony wasn\u2019t lost on me\u2014my first real client wanted me to clean up the mess her twin made. Or her clone. Or her ghost. At this point, they all bled the same.<\/h4>\n
                  \n
                1. \n

                  Resurrection Protocol<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

                  Three days later, I was still nursing a bruised jaw and a bad conscience.
                  \nThe imposter\u2019s dive into the elevator shaft should\u2019ve been the end of it. But you don\u2019t stay a licensed investigator in a world this rotten without learning one thing: Quadrolifes don\u2019t die easy.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                  By the time I filed my report, the city\u2019s morgue logs were already glitching. One \u201cunidentified female, Uranian biology\u201d checked in, checked out, then deleted herself from the system entirely. That took more than luck \u2014 it took clearance.<\/h4>\n

                  I knew where she\u2019d go next.
                  \nThere\u2019s only one place in the Dome where you can rebuild a new body from a corpse: The Renewal Clinic<\/strong>, buried deep in the medical sector, past the checkpoints and the anti-bio scanners.<\/h4>\n

                  I went in under a false ID \u2014 \u201cDr. Smith,\u201d because subtlety is wasted on bureaucrats. The receptionist didn\u2019t even look up, just scanned my badge and waved me through.<\/h4>\n

                  Inside, the clinic hummed with quiet machines and the faint smell of ozone.
                  \nOne of the pods was open, its cradle still warm. The display read:
                  \nREGENERATION CYCLE COMPLETE. LIFE 3\/4.<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                  \u201cThought I told you not to follow me,\u201d came a voice behind me.<\/h4>\n

                  I turned.<\/h4>\n

                  She was standing in the doorway \u2014 the same red eyes, the same infuriating half-smile. A little paler. A little dead inside. But very much alive.<\/h4>\n

                  \u201cI don\u2019t like unfinished business,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n
                    \n
                  1. \n

                    Truth Serum<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

                    She circled me slowly, boots clicking on the clinic floor. \u201cYou think you know who I am,\u201d she said, \u201cbut you\u2019ve got it backwards. I\u2019m not the fake Pelline Christe. She is.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    \u201cCute,\u201d I said. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to do better than that.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    \u201cThink about it,\u201d she hissed. \u201cWho sends a stolen weapon plan to Earth and then hires a washed-up human detective to clean it up? The Council\u2019s dirty, Nemesis. Always has been. I was trying to keep that laser out of their hands.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    I wanted to call her a liar.
                    \nBut the more she talked, the more it made sense. Governments don\u2019t hire freelancers for top-secret retrievals unless they need someone expendable.<\/h4>\n

                    She must\u2019ve seen the hesitation in my face, because she softened.
                    \n\u201cYou\u2019re good,\u201d she said. \u201cYou found me when no one else could. Help me get off this planet. Help me finish this, and I\u2019ll make sure you\u2019re remembered as more than a relic.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    Her words hit something deep. Maybe pride. Maybe loneliness. Either way, I lowered the pistol \u2014 a mistake that never goes unpunished.<\/h4>\n

                    She moved first, fast as ever, but I\u2019d learned her rhythm. I caught her arm, twisted, and pinned her against the pod. The data-key fell from her pocket, landing between us.<\/h4>\n

                    \u201cThe only thing I\u2019m finishing,\u201d I said, \u201cis this case.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    She smiled. \u201cThen you\u2019ll never know who you were really working for.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                    I pressed the key against the pod interface. The system beeped \u2014 once, twice \u2014 then flared white as the containment field surged. She gasped, her body dissolving into radiant static. When the light faded, all that was left was the smell of ozone and the faint pulse of a data file reuploading itself into nowhere.<\/h4>\n
                      \n
                    1. \n

                      The End of the Case<\/strong><\/h4>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n

                      I turned the plans over to the Interplanetary Defense Council the next morning. They didn\u2019t ask many questions, and I didn\u2019t offer any answers. The reward transferred to my account before I left the building. Enough credits to buy a better office. Maybe even a new door.<\/h4>\n

                      But I kept the old one.
                      \nThe hinges still screamed whenever someone came through. It was comforting, in a way \u2014 a reminder that nothing lasts forever, not even silence.<\/h4>\n

                      Sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear her voice in the hum of the city.
                      \nA whisper through the static, soft and amused:<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cYou\u2019ll never know who you were really working for.\u201d<\/em><\/h4>\n

                      Maybe she\u2019s right. Maybe the whole planet\u2019s just another client, lying to itself for the paycheck.<\/h4>\n

                      But as long as the lights flicker and the dome keeps the air in, there\u2019ll be people with secrets \u2014 and someone like me to dig them up.<\/h4>\n

                      After all, I\u2019m James Nemesis.
                      \nPrivate Investigator of Earth.
                      \nGive me the time, and I\u2019ll solve the crime.<\/h4>\n

                      ——————————<\/p>\n

                      I don’t think ChatGPT did any better version than I did 45 years ago.\u00a0 I’m very fond of “Private Investigator of Earth.”\u00a0 I even recall that I was going to write a sequel with the title “Metamorphosis on Thorax.”\u00a0 James Nemesis was going to investigate a sort of invasion of the body snatchers case where key government officials had been replaced by some time of clones.\u00a0 It never got beyond the title and the concept.\u00a0 I don’t recall much else.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

                      \u00a0 \u00a0Let me be clear, I’m probably never going to write “Metamorphosis on Thorax.”\u00a0 My friend Bryan and I toyed around with some bedroom recordings on an old cassette recorder where I played Nemesis and he was my assistant, David Blake.\u00a0 I can’t recall much of that either.\u00a0 I thought I’d let ChatGPT write the story, it’s not likely I ever will.\u00a0 Read it for yourself and let me know what you think.\u00a0 Artificial Intelligence isn’t smart enough to know what I think…yet.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

                       <\/p>\n

                      Metamorphosis on Thorax<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      By Scott T. Henderson<\/em><\/h4>\n

                      I was halfway through a bottle of Martian rye and a halfhearted case of corporate espionage when trouble came knocking \u2014 literally.
                      \nThe glass door rattled, the kind of knock that doesn\u2019t wait to be invited.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cDon\u2019t break it,\u201d I said. \u201cThe landlord just replaced that door.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      The door swung open and in stumbled David Blake<\/strong>, wearing a trench coat that looked like it had lost a fight with a garbage compactor. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath a blend of cheap liquor and cheaper regret.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cJames,\u201d he croaked. \u201cYou still working cases, or just decorating the office with unpaid bills?\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cDepends,\u201d I said. \u201cYou paying or confessing?\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      He dropped a crumpled folder on my desk. \u201cMaybe both.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Blake used to be a cop \u2014 the kind they make recruitment posters out of before they make examples of them. He\u2019d been on the wrong side of a cover-up, took the fall, and never got back up. I\u2019d thrown him a line a few times, usually to drag him out of some back-alley bar.<\/h4>\n

                      I picked up the folder. Inside were holo-prints of a few government officials \u2014 faces I recognized from the Earth Consulate network feeds. The captions under each read: Deceased.<\/em><\/h4>\n

                      \u201cProblem is,\u201d Blake said, unscrewing the top of my rye, \u201cthey\u2019re still giving press conferences.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Chapter One: The Hollow Men<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      It started small \u2014 the way infestations always do. A senator\u2019s aide with no record of sleep in three weeks. A planetary governor whose fingerprints didn\u2019t match his own. A Consulate scientist whose blood crystallized when she was cut.<\/h4>\n

                      Blake leaned over my desk, cigarette trembling between two fingers. \u201cThey\u2019re not human anymore, Nemesis. They look like it, sound like it \u2014 hell, they even bleed<\/em> like it. But inside\u2026\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      He trailed off and took a swig straight from the bottle.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cInside\u2019s where it gets messy,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cYeah,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cMessy.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      He told me all the affected officials had recently returned from Thorax<\/strong>, a mining colony orbiting Glaucus-7 \u2014 one of those half-mythic frontier worlds where even the stars don\u2019t stay still.<\/h4>\n

                      I poured myself a drink. \u201cSo you\u2019re saying someone\u2019s replacing the upper crust of the government with doubles.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cNot someone,\u201d he said. \u201cSomething.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Chapter Two: The Body That Wasn\u2019t<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      The morgue stank of ozone and antiseptic. The body on the slab had no organs \u2014 just a gel-like substance glowing faintly under the ultraviolet lamps.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cClone medium,\u201d Blake muttered. His voice was slurred, but his instincts were still sharp \u2014 a cop\u2019s nose for what doesn\u2019t belong.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cThorax-grade silicate,\u201d I said, checking the data chip embedded in the corpse\u2019s neck. \u201cImported biology. This isn\u2019t cloning \u2014 it\u2019s manufacturing.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Blake shivered. \u201cYou ever get the feeling you\u2019re late to a war that already started?\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cEvery day,\u201d I said. \u201cBook passage. We\u2019re going to Thorax.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Chapter Three: The Planet That Shouldn\u2019t Exist<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      Thorax wasn\u2019t supposed to be habitable, but it never asked permission.
                      \nThe planet pulsed beneath its own atmosphere \u2014 red fog, molten plains, and veins of light like the heartbeat of a sleeping god.<\/h4>\n

                      We met Dr. Kira Melanth<\/strong>, the colony\u2019s head biologist, a pale woman with goggles that hid what I suspected were terrified eyes.<\/h4>\n

                      She led us through the lab \u2014 tanks of amber fluid and shapes suspended within, twitching like dreams trying to wake.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cThe metamorphic silicates,\u201d she said. \u201cThey\u2019ve begun replicating organic tissue. Not by command \u2014 by instinct.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Blake lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the tanks. \u201cInstinct to do what?\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      She looked at him. \u201cTo replace. To perfect.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      That\u2019s when one of the tanks shattered.<\/h4>\n

                      A technician screamed as a figure stepped out of the fluid \u2014 his own reflection. The thing smiled, learning how to breathe with lungs that weren\u2019t lungs.<\/h4>\n

                      Blake stumbled back, gun half-drawn, half-drunk. I fired first. The blast disintegrated the creature \u2014 but the residue twitched, glowed, and started knitting itself back together.<\/h4>\n

                      We ran.<\/h4>\n

                      Chapter Four: The Consulate Conspiracy<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      By the time we hit Earth again, it was already too late.
                      \nThe Earth Consulate Tower was sealed off \u2014 \u201cquarantine,\u201d they said. The press footage showed calm, collected officials reassuring the public. One of them was Draylin Voss<\/strong> \u2014 the same man who\u2019d hired us.<\/h4>\n

                      Trouble was, Blake had a holo still showing Voss\u2019s body encased in Thorax crystal.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cWe\u2019ve been played,\u201d he said. \u201cWe didn\u2019t stop it \u2014 we delivered<\/em> it.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      We broke into the Tower using his old police credentials. They still worked. Maybe the system didn\u2019t care who was alive anymore.<\/h4>\n

                      We found Voss in the upper chamber, perfectly still, waiting.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cMr. Nemesis,\u201d he said, smiling in that wrong, mechanical way. \u201cYou\u2019ve brought exactly what we needed.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d I asked.<\/h4>\n

                      He turned his gaze on Blake. \u201cA compatible host.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      Blake staggered, grabbed his head. The veins under his skin pulsed gold.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cGet out of him!\u201d I shouted, drawing my pistol.<\/h4>\n

                      Voss tilted his head. \u201cHe invited us.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      I fired. The beam hit him dead center. He dissolved into light, screaming like electricity dying. Blake dropped to his knees, shaking.<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cJames\u2026\u201d he whispered. \u201cIt\u2019s still in me. I can feel it.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      \u201cThen we get it out,\u201d I said.<\/h4>\n

                      He looked up, eyes wet and distant. \u201cNo, you don\u2019t get it. It is<\/em> me now.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      I raised my gun \u2014 but I couldn\u2019t pull the trigger.<\/h4>\n

                      Chapter Five: What Remains<\/strong><\/h4>\n

                      That was three weeks ago.
                      \nThe Consulate\u2019s been silent. The newsfeeds loop official statements from people who don\u2019t blink enough.<\/h4>\n

                      Sometimes, when I walk past the old precinct, I see Blake. He stands under the sodium lights, coat collar turned up, hands shaking just enough to prove he\u2019s still human \u2014 or trying to be.<\/h4>\n

                      He hasn\u2019t said a word since Thorax. Doesn\u2019t have to. I can feel that whatever\u2019s inside him is waiting \u2014 patient, hungry, calculating.<\/h4>\n

                      Maybe one day he\u2019ll come back for me.
                      \nMaybe one day I\u2019ll let him.<\/h4>\n

                      Until then, my sign still hangs crooked on the door:<\/h4>\n

                      James Nemesis \u2014 Private Investigator of Earth.<\/strong>
                      \n\u201cIf it walks, talks, or bleeds, I\u2019ll find what\u2019s underneath.\u201d<\/h4>\n

                      And when the nights get quiet enough to hear the hum of the silicates in the walls, I pour two glasses \u2014 one for me, and one for what\u2019s coming.<\/h4>\n

                      Because sooner or later, everything changes.
                      \nEven the man who hunts monsters.<\/h4>\n

                       <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

                      \u00a0 \u00a0I haven’t written much lately, let alone a blahg.\u00a0 I’ve been somewhat busy and I’ve been stuck on a short story called “HOW ABOUT YOU, DELBERT ROBINSON?” for a couple of months.\u00a0 I like the concept and the character but I haven’t been able to flesh out the ending.\u00a0 Recently, I turned to ChatGPT […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[330,4,331,3],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7123"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7123"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7123\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7130,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7123\/revisions\/7130"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7123"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7123"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/falseducks.com\/theblahg\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7123"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}