Visions of a Madman

“OK people, settle down!”

The room grew quiet as the detectives focused on the Chief Inspector.

“You are all here for one reason and one reason only, to capture the killers known as the ‘Love Birds’. You have all been picked in no small part due to your individual successes in other investigations, but this will be the most challenging any of you have seen.”

Chief Inspector Reilly paused and took a sip a water.

“The ‘Love Birds’ are believed to be a husband and wife team of assassins. Their victims have all been witnesses in high profile organized crime cases and their work has cost us at least three convictions so far. They seem to favor a slow but brutal death for their victims, most likely at the request of whoever has been hiring them; each of their eighteen victims so far has been killed by hundreds of small lacerations and disfigurement.”

CI Reilly turned on the projector and the image of the latest victim appeared on the screen behind him.

“As you can see from the latest victim, one Mr. Hoskins who was expected to testify at the Gimbiolli trial in two weeks time, the disfigurement appears to be inflicted by means of what forensics has determined to be a three hooked device of some sort. Additionally, the eyes of each victim appear to have been pierced by what forensics describes as ‘a pointed clamp or similar device’. At his time, however, they cannot get any more specific than that.”

CI Reilly clicked the button and the next slide appeared behind him.

“Here we have the calling card of the ‘Love Birds’. A single, white feather. Forensics has confirmed the red discoloration on the feathers is neither blood, nor any type of dye they are familiar with. They have determined the feather to be of the Psittaciformes order and …”

“You mean a parrot feather, sir?”, asked Detective Simmons.

“What? Well, possibly. It could be a parrot, or a cockatoo, they are not yet certain which. As I was saying these feathers are still being identified, but it is clear these killers have one sick streak in them and are far above your typical killer in intellect. They have, after all, managed to breach security of eighteen different protected witnesses, get in close enough to kill their victims face to face in a less than quick manner, and escape unseen. That’s not to say we will not catch them. We recently caught a break thanks to a recorded conversation between one of the Gimbiolli lieutenants and who we believe to be one of the ‘Love Birds’ themselves. Jeffers, play that recording if you would.”

“So you’re clear on what we need done?”

“Shut up bird, shut up.”

“That’s right. Gotta keep that bird from singing, or it’ll keep us all awake at night. Your usual fee?”

“Cracker, cracker, cracker, cracker.”

“Yeah, OK, a bit steeper than last time, but we can cover it. We’ll get you half of them saltines in advance and the rest once you’re done. Give my best to your wife.”

“Polly is a sweet bird. Rawk!”

“Yeah, I’m sure she is. You two take care and we’ll be in contact once it’s done.”

CI Reilly shook his head.

“Devious, cold-hearted bastards. Their code speak is still being worked on by cryptography, but I’m sure we’ll break it soon enough.”

“Well, you know you can’t bake a cake without breaking a few eggs.”

“What?”

“I said you can’t bake …”

“I heard what you said. I meant what does that have to do with it? I’m not a baker. I just don’t see what eggs have to do with anything relevant.”

“It’s just a saying.”

“A saying that has nothing to do with the issue at hand. If we were baking a cake, sure, we would break some eggs. But we’re not baking a cake, are we?”

“No.”

“Right. So what does breaking eggs have to do with breaking into a safe?”

“Well, I suppose I could have said you can’t be a success without breaking into a few safes.”

“Yeah, you could have, but we are just needing to break in to one safe. This safe. The saying still does not work even with the modification. Unless you are saying I should be drilling through a few additional safes before dealing with this one.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“So maybe you should have said you can;t be a success without breaking into this safe. Singular. And no reference to eggs. Can you pass me the next drill bit?”

Henry handed Paul the drill bit as Paul continued.

“I mean if you are going to use an old saying, or a cliche, it really should fit the situation well, don’t you think?”

“Well, there are only so many old sayings, Paul. It’s not like there is one that is specific to each situation.”

“Well, sure, but still, it should have some relation to what is being discussed. Baking and grand theft are not even remotely related.”

Paul continued drilling.

“Look, Paul, it’s just a saying. It’s a metaphor for any situation. You can’t achieve success without making some sacrifices is all it means.”

“So a baker sacrifices eggs in the pursuit of a cake? What kind of evil bakers are you buying cakes from?”

“No, he doesn’t sacrifice the eggs. Not like that. The eggs, though, are no longer eggs when they get mixed into a batter.”

“But they are not sacrificed either. So maybe it would be better stated that success does not require sacrifice, it requires change.”

“Yeah, maybe. You almost done.”

“Just another couple of seconds.”

The drill penetrated the inner wall of the safe a moment sooner than Paul anticipated, causing him to lean forward from the the sudden lack of resistance. He pulled the drill free and they opened the door of the wall safe. Inside, the Faberge Egg sat in its cushioned nest, a new hole through its side.

“Don’t say a word, Henry. Not one word.”

“You want to use what?”

“Bubbles.”

“Like soap bubbles?”

“Yes, exactly! Well, mostly, it’s not exactly soap, but it would be cost efficient and easily put into place. Why the savings alone …”

“Are you completely insane?!”

“What? No. No, of course I’m not insane. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you are wanting to use SOAP BUBBLES to construct environmental domes on the moon!!”

“I can see you’re hesitant about this plan, but I …”

“Hesitation has nothing to do with it! The entire idea is completely nuts!”

“Oh no, it is quite sane, I can assure you. The air used to create the bubbles would act as structural support until the bubbles set and …”

“Air as structural support? And what do you mean by set exactly?”

“Ah, well, you see, the air pressure forces the bubble surface out uniformly, giving an even support matrix for the bubbles while they set. After the bubble has been exposed to the vacuum of space for a few minutes, it will become more rigid, making for a more permanent structure than you would find from soap bubbles on the Earth.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yes, quite serious. The compound will become semi-solid, almost gelatinous in nature on the interior while the exterior will be quite rigid.”

“You mean these bubbles will be like jello on the inside?”

“Similar, yes. Though without the variety of flavor that one would expect from jello …”

“Wait … these would be flavored bubbles?”

“Well, I suppose they could be, though that would take additional research to perfect. If that is what was wanted.”

“No, that is not what is wanted. What is wanted is an effective means to create habitable areas upon the moon’s surface.”

“Yes, yes, and this will achieve that goal.”

“And how, exactly, would one enter these bubbles? An environmental dome without any means of entry is not exactly a useful thing.”

“We would need to cut the needed openings.”

“Wouldn’t that let out the air used to create the bubble leaving the interior of the dome a vacuum?”

“Well, yes, but we would have a means of entry. And the interior walls would then also become rigid, removing the possibility of anyone trying to taste the gelatinous state of the compound and eliminate the need to research flavorings. All in all I think …”

“But the habitation would be a vacuum! What good would that do us?”

“We would, of course, refill the domes with the needed atmosphere once we put the needed air locks in place.”

The Secretary General of Space Colonization paused, and look of contemplation on his face.

“Very well, let’s give the jello-soap dome solution a try. You said this would be inexpensive, so I suppose a test dome would be a viable option.”

Four smokes. Just four smokes left and no new pack in sight, at least for another 150 miles. If he was lucky, there would be a shop along this desolate stretch of desert highway before he ran out. He wasn’t feeling too lucky.

The last 24 hours had been surreal, and not in a this-will-all-be-funny-when-you-look-back-on-it kind of way. More in the the-world-is-fucked-and-no-one-would-believe-you-even-if-you-could-tell-them kind of way. That was actually probably looking at it through rose colored glasses, though. In the depth of his soul he really believed it to be much worse than that.

He had been traveling across the country for the last week, taking minor layover here and there when something caught his eye. Most of the roadside “exhibits” he saw were just a means for locals to bleed a little more money from those passing through. A giant ball of twine, an area where “the laws of gravity did not apply” (thanks to well placed mirrors), the world’s largest battery (which he was sure was made of plaster), a two-headed animal museum (which was certainly more authentic than most and definitely more morbid) … and then the last stop.

The sign looked plain, easy enough to miss as you were driving along in the desert. It was that plain sign that hooked his curiosity. Why have a small, nondescript sign if you wanted to pull in the curious traveler? Surely far more people blew right by that sign, set up along a stretch of straight and desolate state highway that pleaded for drivers to test the maximum speed of their vehicle, than actually saw it. But he was not your normal driver, and his car was not really built for speed.

As a result, the simple sign seemed to leap right out at him from the bleak landscape.

“See the Immortal Man! $5 Admission! Turn right in 5 miles.”

He had expected to simply see someone’s grandfather sitting on a rocking chair, and almost drove by, but his curiosity got the better of him and he turned down the desert road. The lack of visitors was obvious from the state of the road itself. He would have been surprised if anyone had driven this way in the last month or more and was sure it was just going to end out in the desert with nothing at the end of it.

But two miles into the desert he came upon the house.

It was an old structure, and looked more like an old Victorian than the typical buildings he had seen in the last few days. The older houses had all had a more rustic feel to them, certainly more like shacks that had grown into houses rather then the house he saw, with the columns in front.