Chapter 90

  How Much Is Too Much?

  (Misha Tulley)

  “This just in, police have found the body of one as of yet unidentified woman believed to be missing student…”

  The news reporters continued to press and talk about the few key details of the case that they had, but after the first few minutes, it was clear that the announcers had nothing new. No new details, just a regurgitation of the same facts to try to get listeners to pay attention longer.

  Oddly enough, Misha found the process to be rather revealing about human culture. Especially as she saw the direct effects of this circular conversation having an immediate impact on the passengers in her vehicle.

  An eerie silence filled the vehicle, as everyone was lost in their own thoughts. Maybe trying to find alternate details, trying to remember the girls in question. Girls that had all gone missing at near the beginning of the semester. There had a been a lull, especially as no other females went missing and nothing linking the disappearances to malicious actions could be found.

  Yet, now Misha found herself wondering about what she should do next. In her mind she knew that within seconds a part of her consciousness could be within the network of the police investigation crew on scene, from there she might be able to delve deeper, find and direct the police to more resources.

  Then she realized this came back to the age-old question: that being, if you could change the world, would you? And if so, how much?

  Not just this case, but with the planet in general. While her own mind wasn’t strong enough to calculate statistical variances, she knew how to request unused super computers to research and answer her complex algorithms for her. This was how she ultimately became aware of one key certainty.

  This planet was dead.

  Also, running military simulations, she also came to the same conclusion. The war between the Bakshee and Psychers was over, the Bakshee had won.

  Statistically there were very few things that could fix this scenario. Their queen was dead, and as far as Misha was aware there was no sign that she would be resurrecting anywhere nearby, nor any time soon. Even with that variable out of the way, the fleet was gone, lost in a relentless battle. Furthermore her planet, the one she now found herself hiding in, was also gone. Or not gone, not technically, but barring a few major catastrophes that wiped out more than half of the planet’s population, and particularly focused on the Bakshee portion, statistically their probably for retaking the planet was nearing zero.

  Which again led Misha to her own inner thoughts of what should she do now?

  With her role and her ability to easily own and traverse these beginner level micro-connections that link this still budding planet together, Misha realized that she could change the planet. Just as Ms. Clayton had, but her approach was too small. At least that is what Misha now thought of her efforts. Ms. Clayton had created one company with multiple backdoors that she could take over. But that led a lot to chance, particularly in the twenty or so years she needed to re-take her company. A lot could change between each subsequent death and rebirth, companies could fall within a decade of mismanagement, let alone two.

  No, what Misha needed was something bigger. With her Immortality, Misha realized she was at a unique point, where she had enough prior experience to have skills needed to make many of the changes she wanted. But now she was also aided by the fact that she would have the ability to continually apply those changes to this world.

  Which again, begged the question, how much was too much to change? Take for instance the ongoing case that was being discussed on the radio.

  “We repeat the body of a young female, presumed to be one of the missing university students has been found. Police are investigating this, an request that anyone with any tips call ahead to…”

  The thing was, Misha felt she could find those responsible, but what would that solve?

  It would stop a crime, but would it stop the next?

  Then the more she thought about the situation she was in, with her ability to intercede and monitor most electronics, did that mean she had to try to solve every crime in the area? Was it her moral obligation to do so? That was an odd concept that Misha even now was still grappling with, the idea of a moral obligation.

  When she was in the fleet, she had her orders, and orders were resolute. Now, she found herself suddenly free of those same orders, which was simultaneously freeing and frightening.

  Phil told her to be good and do good things, and the best outcome would always come. But what was good?

  In this particular case, the idea of what was good was clear. Finding the killers and enacting justice. There were killers, Misha had picked up that much based on what little chatter she had picked up on by listening to the workers who were at the crime scene.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  There was also the fact that another body was nearby, how could Misha know this? Simple, the nanites told her. The second girl was a fighter, and managed to draw blood of her enemy. That blood came from a Bakshee convert.

  Even now the blood of that Bakshee convert called out, signifying the resting spot of at least one more body. Just as Misha was contemplating this, and what she should do, or how she could even tell these other officers about a body buried under the dirt. That’s when her friends spoke, and broke her out of her musings.

  “That poor girl,” Darcy began.

  “Girls, as in plural,” Jasmine corrected.

  “So you think the others are there as well?” Darcy asked.

  “They have to be somewhere,” Jasmine replied.

  Then like that, Misha listened to the people on the scene, those that were looking for the girls and other, that’s when Misha found one officer by herself, praying.

  “Please lord, let this be a fluke, a one off,” the female officer began her voice not being transmitted through her radio, but that didn’t matter as Misha still heard. Then the officer continued, “but if they are dead, the please give me a sign, anything.”

  Hearing that sincere request for help, Misha decided to do just that, help.

  ***

  (Sgt Carol Knight)

  It had been a long day, that began with a hiker claiming to see a hand sticking up from the ground, to the discovery of a missing body, and the subsequent reopening of a dead case. After two months of no leads, the case had effectively gone cold, especially as there were previously no signs of any foul play.

  They had a case of a few girls who went to college, and then within a few days of arriving early, all went missing. It was believed that the pressure of trying to make it had gotten to all three women. Women who all seemed to be exceptional students, from socially depressed backgrounds. The only real tie that was found was that they all received a myriad of scholarships, but there was no clear overlap between the scholarships, that each student had. Nor was there any similarity in the people who administered all the scholarships, that was a dead end. At least for now it was a dead end.

  Suddenly with the body being found, the case became alive again and subpoenas could be generated as this went from being a simple missing persons case to an actual murder investigation. A murder caused by what appears to be a wild animal that then buried their dead in the ground.

  Even now, with these extra details the case still made little to no sense.

  Then as had become a habit of hers, Carol prayed. Unlike other times that she did in silence, this time, feeling safe in the wilderness, she spoke her prayer out loud, knowing that if anyone heard her, they would likely think she was crazy. Even though she was far from the only person who took a moment to step away and pray.

  But unlike everyone else who had taken a moment to pray, Carol received a response.

  Bzzt.

  “Sergeant Carol Knight,” an androgenous voice called out over the speaker. It was the same artificial voice that her favorite steaming services used. Hearing the voice in her earpiece, Carol instantly felt annoyed as this was clearly the boys taking a moment to mess with her.

  “This is not the time, I’m busy guys,” Carol replied, trying to keep her voice calm and steady.

  “I know, you need to find the next body, quickly.”

  “All right, this is not funny anymore.”

  “Carol, of should I say babushka, if you ever thought anything of the power of prayer then listen now. A victim’s body is within twenty feet of you.”

  Gasps.

  “This has gone too far,” Carol replied as a faint tear came to her eye as she looked around trying to see who was behind this.

  “No one is watching, this in not a joke. This is the answer to the prayer you asked for.” The voice continued, this time as it did it switched to a female voice. Still artificial, but clearly going to try to pretend to be Carol’s grandmother. At least that is what her grandmother used to call her, babushka. No one on the force would know it, that or if they did, they were taking this prank to be way too personal, especially given the gravity of the situation.

  Realizing this was either the answer from beyond the grave from her grandmother, or the most elaborate hoax ever, she decided to hope for the latter, while expecting the former.

  “Okay, where is this body, oh great one?” Carol replied mockingly.

  “Turn northeast from your current location, now begin walking forward.”

  “There is a tree right there,” Carol chided.

  “Walk around the tree, I can’t see them from my location.” The voice replied back.

  Hearing that, Carol realized that at least the people pulling this prank did not want her to crash herself into a tree.

  “Stop, now turn left.”

  Carol turned.

  “One step forward, and carefully dig down. You have your gloves on, right?”

  “Yes, I have my gloves on,” Carol chided. With that she dropped to her knees and began digging. Instantly the feel of moisture filled her knees as she felt moisture being held by the fallen leaves sticking to her pants. Fortunately, this too had already happened earlier, the dirtying of her uniform, and she had long ago given up on trying to keep a clean uniform. At least for today shew as well past caring.

  Rustle, rustle.

  Carol found that the ground was surprisingly easy to move. The outer layer of recently fallen leaves were easy to move. Then surprisingly the ground underneath while seeming to not have been disturbed for a while, was also easy to move. At least it was easier to move than the surrounding dirt.

  Just using her gloved hands, Carol found that she was able to scoop away the dirt rather easily. For a moment, she paused as she wondered if one of the boys would come up to her and try to take a picture of her in this position. Something along the lines of a digging bitch, or something else equally unflattering.

  Still, after a few moments everything was still quiet. Only if she focused could she hear the team still working a few hundred yards away at the site of the first body.

  “Careful, you are almost there,” the generic artificial voice called out to her.

  For a moment, Carol paused and checked to see her radio, trying to see what her status was, only to realize she was in a dead zone. In hindsight, she probably should have started with this, and then started moving. But realizing that she could still somehow hear the voice clearly, despite being clearly surrounded by trees was oddly reassuring.

  Thump.

  Then almost as if on cue, Carol felt something sold resist and bounce back at her touch.

  “What is this?” Carol asked, turning on her spot light to its brightest setting as she looked down at the ground. There she saw the dirt covered, but clearly unmistakable outline of a hand.

  “That should be your second victim. Be careful, for if you are careful, you will find the blood of the killer.”

  “Wait, the killer?” Carol asked, giving a few final brushes to reveal the full hand, causing Carol to instantly flinch back in disbelief as she scampered away, her mind trying to understand what she had seen. What she had done.

  “How could this?” Carol muttered, rising to her feet, before going over to the body and realizing that there might have indeed been some blood just under those fingernails.

  “You were a fighter,” Carol thought to herself, her mind still reeling with everything that had happened. Suddenly the world became a bit blurry as she tried to understand what was happening. Then her protocol kicked in, “I’ve found a second body over here!”

  There was a pause, until finally a few of the nearby crew members came over to investigate why Carol was yelling.

  “What?”

  “I’ve found a second body!” Carol began, then looking down at the hand, she continued, “I think there’s blood of our attacker as well.”

  And like that, Carol Knight found herself becoming a true believer. Was it her grandmother? The victim? Regardless of who gave the message, her prayer had been answered, and she both felt alive with exhilaration, along with confusion, at the people that came.

  For the people that came next were not her fellow officers, but reporters who seemed to be recording and live streaming the event in real time.

  “Wait, you can’t be here, this is an open investigation,” Carol chided, but it was done, as the reporters clearly got their money shot, before being run off by fellow officers who quickly began roping off this area as an active crime scene as well.

  Carol would never know how lucky she was that the first to arrive at the scene were the reporters, rather than her fellow officers.