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The Trans-Europa

by H.G. Silvia

By H.G. SilviaPublished 2 years ago 17 min read
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The Trans-Europa
Photo by Nathan Duck on Unsplash

Beyond the cracked sidewalk, and the telephone pole with layers of flyers in a rainbow of colors, and the patch of dry brown grass there stood a ten-foot-high concrete block wall, caked with dozens of coats of paint. There was a small shrine at the foot of it, with burnt-out candles and dead flowers and a few soggy teddy bears. One word of graffiti-filled the wall, red letters on a gold background: Rejoice!

***

Don’t rush through it, there are no extra points for speed. The words echoed in my brain as I stood there and soaked in the details. What did I overlook the last time through? The bears, the candles, the dead grass. Dead just like her, like Rainbow. Are they clues? Exactly how meta was this game? Am I mistaking thematic elements for clues?

I fixated on the word Rejoice. The color palette of this whole scene was at odds with itself. Golden tones and the somber browns of death clashed with bombastic, overly-saturated hues of pop. Soda pop, pop music, other Indy-pop games from this publisher. Were they placed there as a distraction, or were they meant to be more hints for my next move?

The previously ignored message that served only as a distraction was now a nagging, flashing box, center-stage in my field of view. ‘LUCAS. DINNER. NOW.’ There could be no misinterpretation of that hint. The rest of the game will have to wait. I logged off the server and toggled off the augmented reality mode on my contacts.

The real world was different in more ways than I care to admit. I suppose nostalgia is as bad an addiction as any. I tell myself it couldn’t be, what harm could come from seeing the world as it once was? I ask, but I already know the answer. I heard it every night at dinner from my parents and, until recently, older sister. You spend too much time in those AR fantasy worlds. How will you ever learn a real trade with your focus so fractured? I have a plan, they just didn’t want to hear it

Two mag-lev rides and an express elevator later and I was back at our living quarters. A quick retina scan let me in. I stowed my gear in a cubby by the door and kicked off my shoes. I toggled AR mode again and slithered to the table.

Dinner started without me, as always. Being late wasn’t something I tried to do, but then, I suppose being on-time wasn’t either. “Sorry I’m late.” I meant it, though it’s doubtful they still believe it after the way I’ve abused it. My father cocked an eyebrow and made sure I saw him look at me and then to my empty seat. Mom never lifted her eyes from her plate. It’s strange, they treated me like a disappointment, like an addict. The world has grown so clean, so soft but yet so...rigid. It’s hard to come out of a twenty-first-century world and be anything but disappointed with this twenty-third century one they lived in.

“You missed Devra’s call.” Mom took an angry bite of cheesy broccoli casserole, swallowed hard and reached for her glass of water. She never made eye contact with me, instead, she fixated on her meal. It must take a lot of effort to ignore your son completely. She failed at it, often. She wouldn’t speak to me...or is it at me, otherwise.

My sister Devra was away at university. It had been almost a year since we’d seen her. As a psychology major, I imagine her time is better spent learning from less typical sources than her own dysfunctional family. The last time we spoke she actually encouraged me to stick with my AR gaming, to focus on the case-studies I had been exploring. She saw the merits of my efforts, even if our parents didn't.

It was a losing battle, I could see it plain as day. I wanted a career in criminology. The publisher of the AR games I play uses historical cases and builds a true-to-life narrative for the player. The only way to win is to actually solve the crime based on the real evidence the same way detectives did back then. I’m spending most of my free time playing through these AR games to sharpen my deduction and observation skills. All the while knowing that in today’s world crime is virtually non-existent. I might as well be a typewriter salesman, my father would say. What would he say of my focus now, I wonder?

“I’m sorry I missed her call, how are things going out there?” I asked, looking first at my visually non-committal mother, then to my visibly disinterested father. It was like this every night, a straight-up throw-down. A tag-team brawl between the two sides, them versus me. I’m not sure what was worse, being their target, or the fact they weren’t aware I always was.

“She’s coming home on a shuttle this weekend.” My father tapped in and spared Mom the effort of prying herself away from the casserole. “Honestly, Lucas, we told her how much time you spend in AR and she’s concerned about it. About you. It’s a long ride from Europa, so I fully expect you to make time to spend with her while she’s here.”

Devra coming all the way from Uni just to preach AR abstinence at me is a complete farce. I have no doubt the truth is closer to this; Mom and Dad bombarded Devra with their abject ignorance for several hours and she leveraged their concerns for a free ticket home. I miss her every day. It would be nice to see her again.

I choked on the words I spoke next. “I’ll be there. At the spaceport, I mean. And, to talk to her.” Then I went a little off-book, sticking to the script is a slog anyway. “I know I’ll be late, and I’ll miss it, and that’s why I’m still here, but I will figure this all out, I promise, Dad.” I could see the words meant nothing to him. He stared through me for a second then resumed eating. Mom never skipped a frame. See what I mean? Here’s the world, soft, but so rigid. I have no one to blame for this but myself.

***

Once you’re assigned the case in-game, you’re fed information exactly the same as the original lead detective. The difference here is that when you start to make decisions, the game AI generates scenarios based on your input and plays them out in real-time for you. Hell, I could suspect the Pope and it would show me how he might have done it. I don’t have time for that sort of fantasy, though. I study the real suspects, the real victims and visit the augmented real locations. I’m not doing any of this for funsies.

Back in the game, I reviewed the dossiers on the family, suspects and victim. Rainbow Curtis was born in 1990 to Chet and Doreen Curtis of Brooklyn, New York. She went missing on August 14th, 2012. One suspect was a local pizza delivery man named Carl Franke. Carl had been arrested once before in 2006 in Florida for possession, solicitation and assaulting an undercover officer. Additionally, his misdemeanor charges of destruction of property stemmed from what the notes described as misogynistic graffiti.

Having completely ruined his life so early he was left with very little opportunities to improve upon it. Upon relocating to New York City in 2009 he found work at Guiseppe’s Pizzeria folding boxes and making deliveries. He earned the ironic nickname “the pizza kid.” It was known that he did not care for this moniker.

Sometime in 2011, Carl got religion. He expressed to his co-workers and on-again, off-again girlfriend Becky Worley that he had embraced the ‘Light of Tao.’ He had often been heard vocalizing mantras when performing menial tasks. His co-workers knew of his record, but never thought him much of a threat.

Letting the augmented reality overlay the city streets, I followed Carl, aka the pizza kid, on the day of Rainbow’s disappearance. This was where the AI took over based on my input and rendered a scene that fit the criminal narrative I was proposing. I knew he left work at six in the evening, shortly before Rainbow Curtis went missing. His path home tracked with Rainbow’s. She walked every day along the same route. Historic weather data showed it was raining that day. I told the AI to proceed assuming he stopped and offered her a ride. Assume she refused, an argument ensued and despite his more recent Taoism, he reverted to his primal-self. The pizza kid assaulted Rainbow in the heavy rain and, in a panic, placed her unconscious body in the back seat of his Volkswagen Golf. Records show he had access to his uncle’s storage area, a garage about twenty blocks away. It must have been the only place he would think to take her. My speculation continued.

When the ride ended, she was lifted again. The kid slid her body onto a soft pile of clothing among the boxes in the garage. He pulled an old coat over the top, creating a cave that emanated the sweetness of old ladies who frequently powdered themselves—a light rose motif that played ironically well in the deep recesses of Rainbow’s ancestral brain. The pizza kid lifted her head to help her lap water from a hubcap. He broke bits of pepperoni and crust into bite-sized pieces and left them where her tongue could reach them. Much later, she heard him practicing his orations like songs. Like monks chanting in the distance, they were a comfort.

Of course, we can only assume what either of them thought, did or heard. I like to imagine pizza-kid-Carl reverted to his enlightened self through the vocalization of his mantras. I like to imagine in those closing moments of Rainbow’s life he tried just a little to ease her suffering, but the truth is, the records don’t show much more than the garage location and the general description of the contents. Physical evidence doesn’t place either Carl or Rainbow at the scene. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, just that I cannot prove it happened. Most of this is just me and the game AI filling in the gaps.

This is the third time through for me, but the first time I picked up on the pizza kid as a prime suspect. Even though my reasons for playing the game were not about entertainment, it is meant as such. This fact often leads players away from the true perpetrator in an attempt to make the gameplay last longer.

Having to start over didn’t bother me. Like anything in life, failure is part of the learning process. What I glean through multiple play-throughs helps me spot false leads easier when I investigate other cases. There is a case much more relevant to me than poor Rainbow, but I owe it to my family to get it right the first time.

I was on the verge. The evidence laid out neatly in front of me. Carl was my guy. I found myself growing angry with Carl, the pizza kid. He’s probably been dead for two hundred years, but somehow the way he treated her incited me. Something in his profile caused the AI to have him giving Rainbow water from a hubcap.

Am I supposed to hate this guy? Was he just a red herring? Why bother, Carl? Why feed her scraps of garbage pizza? Why chant your stupid, useless mantras? Why cover her in old ladies' coats? Why were you always late? Why did they have to die? Who was to blame?

I caught myself. Off-topic again. One thing at a time, Lucas. I need to hear Devra’s voice again. I toggled the AR mode and stepped back from the garage. It was a highrise now. It still freaks me out a bit when I switch from the AR version of a location to the current, real-world appearance. Thank God for the safety protocols, I surely would have walked off a non-existing bridge or two without them.

“Replay last incoming VM from Devra.” Sure, I could have the AI simulate her voice, and converse with her, but why torture myself. At least with the voicemail I know it’s really her. She had become my anchor these last few months. I wish I could say my push towards police work was for my parents, but Devra and I had gotten so close... It’s for her, I know it is.

“Hey little brother, it’s Dev. Obvi. I’m sorry about the last call with mom and dad, I mean, sorry I missed you. I wasn’t sure of the time difference. Europa in is some weird century-long wider-than-normal orbit and it screws with time.”

She sounded happy. At peace. Things were chaotic at home before she left. I don’t blame her for wanting to go away to school, but all the way to Jupiter? Literally, the farthest away from us she could possibly be. I wonder if our parents ever made that connection. I let the message play on.

“Anyway, I know you’re having a rough go of it with Mom and Dad. I’m sorry I had to leave you to fend for yourself. They seem overly concerned about your ‘AR addiction.’ I guess they’re a little too old school to see its benefits for you, but I wanted you to know, I do. We use a lot of AR in psychology here.”

Validation. This wasn’t the first time she’d said as much, but it would be the last. I never want to think of her maturing to that stoic place Mom and Dad ended up. I get it, I guess. The world of today is so much different than the twenty-first. Individual freedoms are at a premium. The whole world needs to operate efficiently or there’s no way twelve billion people could survive here.

“Listen, I’m not sure what they told you, but the truth is I wanted to come home and see you. Well, not a hundred percent you. I do have friends, too, but...you know what I mean. Anyway, we have a break starting this weekend. Mid-terms were brutal and my brain needs a defrag. I may have let Mom and Dad think I was in their corner regarding your AR issue, but trust me, Lucas, it was just a ploy to get dad to cover the shuttle flight back home. I love you baby brother, see you soon.”

The message ended. I missed my train, standing there on the platform, engrossed in her words. Not especially stellar or encouraging, but in contrast to the life we knew before, it left me smiling with just a bit less watery eyes than the last three-hundred-plus times I played it.

When I got home the place was dark and quiet. I toggled my AR mode and walked into the kitchen. Mom was standing at the sink scrubbing leftover casserole from a glass dish. “Hi, Mom,” I whispered softly. I stood there a minute and watched her toil, but she never acknowledged my presence.

“I think I’ve cracked the case, Mom. I’m pretty confident I know who killed Rainbow Curtis.” In return for my declaration, I received nothing. I knew she couldn’t care. Not then, not now. I didn’t expect a response, so it wasn’t any different than before.

I turned away and walked toward my bedroom. I stopped midway to look at my father sitting on the couch, watching the news. He turned his head and with a simple glare conveyed all the disappointment he needed to. Yes, Dad, I missed dinner...again.

I spent the evening in console mode, going over my notes and the evidence I had collected on Rainbow’s killer. For the first time, I ignore the obvious clues. The angry pizza delivery man was too easy. I’m sure all the noobs name him as the killer. I know I nearly did.

How was I so bad at this? The last two times I didn’t even find him as a suspect, now I can see he’s too obvious. The game hinges on your intuition steering you away from Occam's Razor. Just because it’s the most likely answer doesn’t make it the only answer.

If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last year it’s the importance of family. Good or bad, these are the people closest to you in your life and despite all appearances, they must be considered regardless of the damage it does. The truth is often stranger than fiction.

Chet and Doreen Curtis were separated in 2001. At the time Rainbow went missing Chet was in New Mexico working a construction job. Initially, Chet was cleared as a potential suspect, despite the abuse charges on his record from when Rainbow was little.

I decided to dig a little deeper. The game AI has access to historic video data as well as the public records of the time. After hours of watching the most boring footage of men building apartment complexes, I found him. Unmistakable in his hardhat, thick, dark mustache, and coveralls. The work permit badge pinned prominently on his chest very plainly read “Chet Curtis.”

The problem was, this wasn’t Chet Curtis. Yeah, maybe I cheated a little. Today’s facial recognition is orders of magnitude faster than what the twenty-first had. Diego Garcia was his name, a known associate of Chet’s from the nineties when they worked at a steel mill together.

If the Chet in New Mexico was actually Diego, then where was the real Chet Curtis? Another three-hundred hours of tollbooth video and the magic of twenty-third-century facial rec proved useful. Video evidence puts Chet in New York at the time of Rainbow’s disappearance. This was the missing link, the clue I needed to push forward with Chet as a suspect.

I submitted my findings to the game AI, which led to unlocking video interviews with both Chet and Diego. When faced with the evidence, Chet cracked in the interrogation room, claiming it was all a horrible accident. He seemed sincerely distraught over what he had done. He led the cops to her grave, at an in-progress construction site he still had access to. Her own father. Once found out he alternated between semi-catatonic, and uncontrollable sobbing.

The game was done. I won. In my momentary excitement, I ran out to the living room to share my victory with my parents. I knew they hated my interest in the games, but I needed them. I needed their approval. I hoped, at that moment, beyond all reason, that they would be proud of me. But, no. I toggled off console mode and there sat Mom and Dad watching the news.

“Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of the Trans-Europa shuttle disaster at the New York shuttle port. One-hundred-twenty-three lives were lost. Of those lost, eight were crew, seventy were passengers, many of which were college students from the University of Europa. Forty-five people on the ground were also lost. Several families awaiting their loved ones and port workers were caught up in the blast and wreckage of the shuttle.”

I stood at the edge of the couch and watched Mom and Dad have no reaction to the news playing on the screen. But then, why would they. This feed is now. They are forever locked into then. The newscast played on.

“A year later and the authorities are no closer to finding a suspect in this apparent act of terrorism. Specialists blame the complacency of today’s law enforcement agencies for the lack of closure, citing the lax attention and disregard for classic investigatory procedures in their push for reform within the system.”

The news snapped me back to this dark reality. I stood between the screen and my parents and told them what I’ve wanted to say for the past year. “Everything I do, everything I am is dedicated to finding the truth. This, this obscene gesture—keeping you here, reliving these days leading up to the end, it’s all to keep me focused. I’m closer now than ever to figuring it all out. I’m sorry I missed the landing. I’m sorry you were angry with me. I’m sorry you must have felt Devra was only on that shuttle because of me. I’m sorry you all died, and I didn’t. I’m sorry I was late.”

They just sat and stared through me. Why wouldn’t they? I haven’t programmed them to extrapolate behavior for situations like this. I shut down the AR and the news screen and went back to my room. Back into console mode where I could add more details to my own on-going investigation.

science fiction
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About the Creator

H.G. Silvia

H.G. Silvia has enjoyed having several shorts published and hopes to garner a following here as well.He specializes in twisty, thought-provoking sci-fi tinted stories that explore characters in depth.

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