Prayer Day

"I wonder what motivates people to do that to each other?" gulped the long-limbed crustacean, who wore a construction hard hat and a cheap suit. He stood in a dark, dusty chamber with the Detective, a pudgy amphibian, and an android. Music, shouts and dancing pounded down at them from a distant hole in the ceiling of the sepulcher-like structure that they stood in. Small clods of dirt, loosened by the commotion above, showered down intermittently. The scent of fresh-dug earth and blood mingled.

"Whenever there's killin' involved," said the Detective, "Ya gotta work from the get-go that anything's possible."

"Sorry to pull you in on a holiday, Detective," said the crustacean. "Prayer Day only comes once a year, and everybody parties. My name's Gaius Timor. I'm in City Planning."

Timor stuck out a clawed hand and the Detective shook it.

"He was just sitting alone in a packed bar," clipped the android, whose design steered more toward mechanical reptile. An awkward, poorly tailored suit lumped over the sleek metal frame. "Biggest day on the planet, and he's alone with a drink."

"Thanks, One," snapped the Detective, with a quick, world-weary glance. He was humanoid, wore a trench coat over slacks and an old shirt, with a sharp chin, olive skin and a big, middle-aged ex-athlete's body. A large, holstered weapon sat under the Detective's left arm like a kitten in front of a fireplace.

"You're welcome," said One, ignoring the sarcasm. He turned to Timor and the amphibian, then jerked a gunmetal grey thumb claw at the Detective as he said, "War Head Four-Six-Five-Two-Five-Zero here is a freelance investigator assigned to this case via the New Jerusalem City Freelance Investigator Edict. He is a former police officer but has temporary jurisdictional powers as relates to this specific case, even in the extreme event of execution—"

"Okay," said the Detective as he turned back to toss another annoyed look at the android. "They get it."

In front of them lay the bodies.

One was an arthropod, six long spider arms sticking out of a large shirt and two others out of a pair of beaten-up pants. Multiple eyes stared vacant at them like a last wish. The other victim was a cephalopod, humanoid in form until a tentacled face and simple eyes led up to a domed, cuttlefish-like carapace. Worker overalls covered the cephalopod's body. They both lay on the dirt floor, with jagged digging tools thrust into the other's torso. A swimming pool of blood congealed under the bodies, and the cephalopod had spat ink out of its mouth and onto the petrified face of the arthropod. Agony had been water-colored over their faces with the wet, cold brush of violence.

"You the one that found the bodies?" nodded the Detective at Timor. "ID scan everybody here, One."

"Check," said One. Ninety percent mechanical, a few chunks of brain matter floated around in a clear brain carapace. The rest was metal exo-skeleton. "Hold still for a moment everyone while I scan the ID chip implanted in your shoulders. Thank you. Processing."

"Nope," said Timor with a shake of his head. He pointed at the old amphibian that stood in a distant corner of the crypt, wiping his sweaty brow with a weathered handkerchief. "This is your guy. Found 'em and called me. He's Burnett Urbanitas, our Archeological Advisor from the University of New Jerusalem."

Timor chuckled at the amphibian's nervousness, which annoyed the Detective. He gave Timor a long look-over before his gaze slid over to the archeologist.

Overalls covered a plump yet time-worn body, which resembled frog more than humanoid. A pair of glasses had been pulled back over the smallish amphibian's bulbous forehead, which sported a small triangular tattoo. Urbanitas's wrinkled, grandfatherly eyes danced to avoid the Detective's, and instead settled on a smaller, similar tattoo on the forehead. Urbanitas gave a quick bow and said, "We are all one, young man."

With a respectful dip of his head, the Detective checked the older man's hands as he replied, "We are all one, sir."

No blood on the hands.

Urbanitas's boots had mud on them and nothing else.

"You Arics and yer little bows crack me up," laughed Timor. He was pointedly ignored, until One began, "It's a traditional—"

"I know," grumbled Timor.

After he cleared his throat, Urbanitas pointed a nervous finger at the Detective and managed to say, "W-what is your name, young man—"

"I'm sorry professor," said One, "but by edict of the New Jerusalem Politburo, War Heads are not allowed to give out their birth names. He is War Head number Four-Six-Five-Two-Five-Zero, and citizens must refer to War Head Investigators past and present as 'Detective'."

Annoyed at Timor and One's rudeness, the Detective softened his voice as he said, "Professor Urbanitas, what is this place?"

As his focus was changed from a double-murder to archeology, Urbanitas's nerves left him like a bad woman in the night, and with a grand wave of his withered arm the old amphibian said, "This is the find of a lifetime." This is the find of a lifetime.

They all stood on sleek, plastic floorboards in a moldy, stone-lined crypt, sixty feet long, twenty foot wide and seven feet tall. Everything around them seemed covered with reddish dust and cobwebs. Long, fat cables intertwined along the walls from the opening at the distant end of the crypt and ended in complex lighting systems that hummed along, illuminating an entire brood of mummies with the first light they had seen in millennia.

About thirty of the wrapped, shrouded or exposed corpses surrounded them, reclining along the walls. In vacant mouths were ancient, silent screams. Bulbous, fungi-ridden insect heads, some of them with no eyes, dangled like broken piñatas from shoulders covered with wrappings created when the planet was at another space and time. Scores of clay jars with complex paint jobs tucked into pockets of space between the many bent, multiple elbows and knees. Hieroglyphs, petroglyphs and runes lined the room like spices at an open-air market. The odors of dust, mold, decomposing garbage and death sat in the room like a large animal in a bathroom stall.

Underneath the transparent floorboards was one last colossal occupant: this mummy's gills and fish-like body had been wrapped in countless reams of wrappings, its tailfin bones protruding jaggedly out of the shallow ground it had been buried in. Arms that defied both humanoid and cichlid anatomy gnarled around the bulbous, swollen torso. This last denizen spanned the entire length of the crypt. Crusty necklaces, rusted rings and green-used-to-be-gold headwear lay on the fish mummy's rotting skull like a pharaoh's crown.

"Microchip ID scan complete," said One. "Identities of all at crime scene confirmed and relayed Downtown. Checking on criminal records."

As he waved a flashlight over the head of the cichlid mummy and the two victims, the Detective said, "Cool, go to Deepscan on the victims."

"Check."

"So," continued the Detective as he pointed a big digit at the cichlid, "this big mummy, haven't seen that in the books, seems pretty rare—"

"Yes, Detective," said Urbanitas in a fever of excitement. "I see that you know about our 'diggings in the dirt.' This is indeed a discovery of monumental proportions. I had already begun to prepare my paper. This is a mummy of royal distinction from this planet's many throes and epochs of evolution. Age of Water, I reckon, and over one hundred and fifty million years old—"

"These younger, uh, more recent mummies—are they Servants?" said the Detective in a whisper.

After a gulp that tried to keep his scientific sanity intact, Professor Urbanitas managed, "Yes, young man, this might be the last Court of Servants. Headed by that legendary manifestation of evil, Servant Prime. They ruthlessly tried to hunt down the Earth Man when he descended to our world."

"That's all still conjecture," interjected the crustacean.

Urbanitas noted the intricate jewelry under the loosened collar of the crustacean and said, "I-I do not wish to offend Geneticist dogma, Mister Timor—"

"Not so long as you keep your Aric agenda in perspective, Professor. Remember that the Earth Man's story is simply legend according to Geneticist texts—"

"Dude, relax," said the Detective. "He just has an opinion. Just like you, me and everybody else." After he took a flashlight out of his coat pocket and dropped an inverted cone of light onto the victims, the Detective continued with, "Prof, who are these guys?"

Professor Urbanitas sighed like all the life had run out of him. "These are two of the city's Contract Archeologists, Mithradetes Languidas and his fellow digger, Demetrius Exerabo."

"Demi was nice enough," interrupted Timor. "An Aric like you guys, but that Languidas was a filthy Ishunite. Dunno how we hired him, but whatever. City's looking to build at this location, and we always have to survey any new or reused construction sites for any possible archeological remains. Pain in the butt, if you ask me, but it's the law."

"And so these guys were doin' a quick survey and found this? Pretty lucky," said the Detective, again annoyed with the crustacean.

Urbanitas's eyes sparkled with tears as he looked over the bodies. "I pushed for Mithradetes, Mister Timor. That's how he got hired. They were—are graduate students of mine, as is Demitrius's wife Yue. She will be crushed. What could have happened?"

"Couple of shovel bums stab each other, what's the big deal?" said Timor with a dry shrug. "Can't we get them out of here, plop all of these mummies into the local museum and get on with our lives? The schedule—"

"No, no, and I don't care about yer schedule," growled the Detective.

Urbanitas's voice dropped to nothing. "I need to call my wife. My phone is in my bag outside."

The Detective reached into his coat and fished out a cell phone, which he handed to the professor. "Hey, call her from here."

"Yes, please stay," said One. "We have not eliminated you as a suspect, so please do not leave the scene of the crime..." One's voice trailed off as the android read the Detective's lightning bolt of a stare.

Urbanitas's gasped turned Timor and the Detective back to him, and they followed his eyes past the head of the fossilized cichlid mummy to a spot on the wall. Hieroglyphs lined the crypt and depicted an elaborate scene involving the Servants seated in an ornate system of seats. In the middle of the scene, a section of the wall had been cut out like a slice out of the middle of a cake.

"It's gone!" shouted Urbanitas. "This find is nothing without it! Who could have taken it?"

"Okay," said the Detective as he illuminated the damaged wall, "We'll figure this tablet theft out as we go. Let's keep focus on the two victims here. Professor, when did you find them? Did you report it right away?"

"Just found them an hour ago," gulped Urbanitas. "Called Timor here straight away. Everything was fine this morning. We all joked about working on Prayer Day. I was going to have everyone home for dinner tonight. Irina—my wife—is working on it as we speak."

The Detective gave the archeologist a soft, sympathetic pat in the back before he knelt down to the bodies. After putting the back of his hand on the neck of the cephalopod, the Detective said, "Body's still warm." He turned to One. "Globalnet and police database search for known associates, aliases and addresses. And scan the tools for prints."

"Check. Criminal records for everyone here are clean. Except for yours, of course."

A dirty frown was shot at One. "Just do what I tell ya and keep yer opinions to yerself."

"Why check for known associates?" asked Urbanitas.

"Need to find the wife. Real fast."

"Prints on tools belong to the person holding the weapon," said One. "Rest of tools are clean. Initiated city-wide scan on the wife's ID chip."

"Got it," said the Detective. "The tools got wiped down. Really need to find the wife and any other members of the dig, hear their story."

"Well, the only other people on the site were Yue, Demetrius's wife, and Elam Subdolus, a graduate student. They were the whole team."

"And where are they now?"

Timor cleared his throat as a way to interrupt and said, "I can tell you that we rented a motel room for the team, and they worked in shifts. It's not the most glamorous job, and our budget is not the healthiest."

"Where's the motel?"

"Across the river," added Urbanitas. "We would just ferry across."

"Location of ID chip confirmed," chirped One. "Right across the street."

"One, get a couple of Synths to watch this dig, tell 'em it's a crime scene—"

"We don't have anyone to spare," said One. "This is Prayer Day, and the whole city is crammed along the Ankor, and the ferry steersman probably won't cross during the ceremonies—"

"Yeah, I know," grimaced the Detective. He turned to Timor and Urbanitas. "We need to seal this crypt up and get over to the motel as soon as possible. One, call the motel and ask of they are still—"

"Called them while we spoke. Talked to the front desk, a gruff woman named Rowena, who said that they have not checked out—"

"The tablet," gasped Urbanitas.

"How much could they get for it, assuming that's what this is all about."

"Enough to retire. The black market for antiquities is always flooded with looted relics—"

"Yes, but this is a rarity, a scene that places the Earth Man, founder of the major faiths of this planet—"

"Not the Geneticist Faith," interjected Timor. "We believe in the Ancients and Creator Being—"

"He named this city," sniffed Urbanitas.

"Speculation," growled Timor.

"Okay, let's not get into a religious debate here. The tablet sounds like it's worth a lot, and that makes it a pretty good motive. Let's get it back and find out who killed these men."

"Perhaps they did gut each other," said Timor. "Not the first time and Aric and Ishunite killed out of theological fervor. It's in their inferior blood."

"If ya believe that," said the Detective, "then yer dumber than I already think ya are.

"When I arrived," said Urbanitas, "the cover had been pulled over the first test pit, which had become the entrance to the crypt."

"Those fuckin' Ishunites," growled Timor.

"Actually, Yue and Elam are both Geneticists," said Urbanitas.

"Let's go. And One, help me to re-cover the crypt. This is still a crime scene. Text the Coroner to meet us at this location, give him temporary jurisdictional powers to open the crypt and stay in contact with them until we can get back."

"Check," said One. "All the Patrol Float Cars are booked. No Synth Officers available. There's a hijacking upriver, two riots downriver, as well as the usual Prayer Day crime wave. How are we going to get across river if the ferry's out?"

"We'll figure it out," said the Detective.

Billions of flower petals cascaded down from upper-level streets and onto hundreds of thousands of worshippers of all species. Shafts of mid-afternoon light sliced through the air, illuminating the petals in brief but well-earned halos. Hundreds of mammalian, arthropod and air-breathing cichlid worshippers waded into the clear, crisp aquamarine Ankor River, which cut a jagged path through the mega-city known as New Jerusalem. A battering ram of noise overwhelmed One, Timor, Urbanitas and the Detective once they climbed out of the crypt. A small fence around the holes and the generators kept the dig site from being swallowed up by the raucous party.

Skyscrapers stretched up to the sky as if to beseech a higher power to rid them of the stench, crime and utter despair that flooded their ground floors on a daily basis. A congregation of insect families carried shrouded bodies of their deceased to the edge of the water. Urchin children frolicked in the water, under the watchful eyes of their shrouded parents. The river was an artery of the ancient history of the planet to a modern metropolis, and multitudes of cultures, species and faiths congregated around the waters, on their knees on worn stone steps or shiny, new tile-tined wading pools to profess their faith in a faithless town. Tens of thousands of isopod, arthropod, reptilian, insect, mammalian and amphibian children placed lit candles on lily pads and pushed them into the tranquil, languid current. The cascading pink, peach and ivory petals garnished the river with more dignity than it or the city could have ever deserved, yet for a few moments, the inhabitants of New Jerusalem felt like their life mattered a little, and this was enough for them to live their lives.

An open casket, with the corpse of an octogenarian isopod inside, was set afire, next to a retired amphibian, wading his creaking, ten-foot tall bulk into the water filled with playing reptilian infants below. After they had pulled themselves up out of the hole in the pavement, the Detective, Urbanitas, Timor and One began to push their way through the congested sidewalk and toward the river. The Detective instantly grabbed his wallet and shoved it into his right front pants pocket, flared open his trench coat so that his pistol was visible. He then surged through the unruly, repentant mob.

He ignored the arachnid punk who opened his trench coat to show off the watches and set of jewelry he carried in the coat liner. A grieving insect couple to the Detective's left carried a tiny coffin to the river. To his right, a few boozing amphibian frat boys, busy downing beer, looked the Detective over before one of them threw up on his shoes. They laughed as he resisted the urge to put a forearm into the silly, drunken grins. Two arachnid females blew kisses at him as they sloshed their drinks around. A backward glance told the Detective that he'd almost lost Urbanitas, who he grabbed and gently placed in front of himself. Through the squeals, shrieks and shouts the Detective could make out Urbanitas say something like "—at about the others—"

At that instant One's electronic claw of a hand was on his shoulder, and the buzz of the android's voice zapped, "Quelled one of the riots. Two Patrol units on the way," to which the Detective shouted in reply, "Tell one of 'em to go to the crime scene and the other to the motel. And text my cell with photos of the wife and co-worker."

"Check," shouted One, barely heard over the rage of sounds.

The ferry was where the Detective had seen it earlier in the day. An expansive wooden raft that would not pass a City Inspection was tethered to an even flimsier dock. On the raft stood a twenty-foot tall walking stick, a telephone pole sized piece of lumber between its massive hands. The stick watched the coffins, lily pads and petals all float downstream. Its lips trembled. The Detective saw the huge creature was deep in prayer.

The Detective waited for the stick to notice him, and when it did not he tapped the massive insect on the leg and pointed across the congested, garnished river. The massive thing leaned over and said in a deep, lilting voice, "No gettin' over there 'till this is over, brudder."

"Sorry man, but I'm a War Head investigating a murder, we need to cross the Ankor, and yer gonna take us," said the Detective, palming his wallet ID and giving the big creature an eyeful of identification.

"This is crazy, man. Too many people in the river. Plus I'm Ishunite, and I'm praying."

"Are all of your tax filings for the past seven years in order, sir?" spat One.

"Get us over there or I'm gonna pull yer license," snapped Timor, leaning over One's shoulder and jabbing a finger at the big steersman.

"Hey," said the Detective with backward glance filled with visible annoyance, "No need for threats."

After he turned back to the huge stick, the Detective said, "Just get us across, and I'll tip ya plenty. Police investigation. Two people died today. Please."

With an angry few seconds of thought, the walking stick gave them a gruff wave onto the raft, un-tethered and pushed off into the river. The raft creaked and groaned as it bore their weight toward the middle of the churning waters. With one shove of the colossal stick, a powerful thrust took them five, ten, twenty feet out into the waters. Boos peppered them from behind, but the Detective watched the throng appear to glide away from the raft with quick, analytical thoughts racing through his mind and over his face. One, Timor and Urbanitas just stood there, worshipped by the petals that danced around them before dying in the river. The football stadium roar of the crowd at river's edge dissipated as well.

"So, you were out getting lunch for the crew when the murder took place?" said the Detective.

"Yes, how did you know?" asked Urbanitas after an astonished reaction.

"Makes sense that's what you were doin', but didya get a receipt?"

After a scrambling search through his shirt and pants pockets, Urbanitas pulled out a few wrinkled-up pieces of paper and handed one of them to the Detective.

"You don't believe me."

"Scan this," said the Detective as he handed the receipt to One. "Yeah, I believe ya, but it gives me another reason to eliminate you as a suspect. And it'll help when I file the report."

"He could have stabbed the both of them, stolen the tablet and framed the others," spat Timor, whose face leaned into the conversation."

"He would have sold the thing already, but that's why he's comin' with us. Just to make sure. Do we have a record of the call-in?" asked the Detective after a glance at One. Then he jabbed an index finger at Timor. "And another thing, shut up and keep yer opinions to yerself unless I ask ya."

"Checking main telephone database," said One. "And the two photos have been sent to your cell phone.

"What? Why—"

"Got 'em, One," said the Detective after he flipped open his phone. He looked at Timor and snarled, "Cuz I don't like ya. Suppose you were in yer office all morning right? And an assistant that can place yer butt in yer chair while the crime was committed?"

"Hey, I don't like what you're insinuating!"

They glared at each other for a few seconds, and all everyone heard was the churning of the waters by the steersman's prodigious piece of wood. Candles on lily pads, petals and coffins bumped against the raft. The walking stick gave a long heave at his telephone pole and watched the staring contest. The Detective did not blink, and Timor's stare dissolved like a piece of candy on a hot sidewalk.

"Do ya have an assistant that places ya at the office or not?"

"I don't like your Aric delusions—"

"Yes or no?"

"Everyone at my level does."

"Okay," said the Detective, as he jabbed his hands into his trench coat pockets and gave a livid Timor his back. "Now, shut up. Yer a loudmouth bigot and I don't like ya. One, call his office and double-check his story with his assistant. Remind her your recordings are admissible."

He turned to Urbanitas. "Speaking of losers, I dealt with a nut job a while back that thought he was a Servant. Was killin' men, women, kids. Dragged 'em down into the sewers and sacrificed 'em before he ate 'em. Nobody could catch 'im."

"Was it that Whisperer Killer? It had the whole city in a terror. It must have imagined itself to be three thousand years old."

"Yeah, one of the worst."

"Were you the one that caught the beast?" asked the professor with a shudder.

"Nope. Chased it around the sewers. Police shot him—it down. Did you know Professor Arthur Majister over at the University?"

"Why yes, poor Arthur. Died in his own office."

"Yep. We weren't good friends, but I miss him. He helped me once in a while with a case, he got involved in one and that's when he was murdered."

"Yes," said Urbanitas. "In his own office, if I recollect. But you mustn't blame yourself, my boy."

"Oh, no?"

"Arthur was a recluse, and if he offered to help you, then he must have thought highly of you. Blame this city and its corrosion, but do not lay fault at your own doorstep. We all should do our part to make this world a better place when we leave it, and Arthur believed this wholeheartedly, so his help to you was part of his philosophy."

After a moment of thought, the Detective nodded at Urbanitas and said, "Hey, thanks. Needed to hear that."

They neared the other edge of the Ankor, and the crowd noise began to swell again. The walking stick used its massive pole to push aside a gaggle of smallish anoles, trilobites and pill bugs that were reverentially tossing hardened pieces of dung into the river. Next to them, mammalian couples of all ages dunked their slumbering infants under the waters, only to have them emerge shrieking with fright. The Detective pivoted, forked out his wallet and gave the ferryman a few large bills. "Thanks, man. Sorry ta interrupt."

"You are welcome," said the stick in his baritone voice. The steersman waved everyone off the raft as it touched the crowded concrete steps. A group of invertebrate businessmen tried to step onto the barge, but the stick waved them off with a wave of its titanic arm.

"Young man, do you have any events scheduled for Prayer Night tonight?" asked Urbanitas, who had watched the Detective deal with the ferryman.

A shadow of surprise spread over the Detective's face as he stepped off the raft, only to be replaced by the standard social mask in seconds. "Uh, yep. Yeah I do."

"Well, it's just, my wife has made this dinner, and from what One was saying about finding you in a pub, I thought you might not have plans. I thought I might invite you to sup with us on this special day."

They zigzagged up the crowded steps and pushed through the mob as it cheered, prayed and cavorted at river's edge.

"Yeah. One, did you got a holda Urbanitas's call ta Timor?"

Out of One's metal reptilian head poked a small, black cylinder. "Assistant confirms Timor's alibi. Here's the call file." They crowded around to hear a dial tone, followed by the sound of a phone line becoming active. "Timor."

"Gaius," said the mike. "It's Burnett. Mithradetes! Demitrius! Both dead! I just came back with lunch, and-and, I found them! Stabbed each other! Yue and Elam are nowhere to be seen! You must call it in!"

"Shit!" said Timor's voice. "What are we going to do? We're so far behind schedule already. Was it as accident? Perhaps we can take care of this internally—"

"Gaius, your words are callous. If you don't call emergency, I will."

"Okay, okay, I'll call it in."

"I'll wait at the crypt for the authorities to arrive."

"I'll call it in and meet you there."

With the sound of the phone call ending, the Detective shot a dirty smirk at Timor, who looked like he'd prefer to be somewhere else, before he nodded at Urbanitas. "Okay, where's the motel?"

"Over there," said the professor, pointed to a decade-old place that had seen better days.

"One, have the patrol floats landed?"

"Both. Check. The Prime Investigator has just sent me a text. He demands an update."

"Ten minutes to solution. And tell the Synths at the hotel to cover the parking lot entrance, and that we're going in through the front and up the main elevators."

"Done."

They moved through the crowd like salmon contesting a river.

A vendor machine that dispensed condoms and candy bars was the highlight of the small, worn lobby. Vomit green shag carpeting that should have been changed a decade ago lined the rectangular lobby. Three small trash cans were empty, but wrappers and crumpled bills lined the walls. One set of glass doors led out to the crowd and Prayer Day, the other out to a parking garage. The smell of old egg and pesticides combined to give the room an aura of disgust. A female octopi humanoid sat behind the sagging wooden counter and cracked chewing gum like a pistol shot. Her 'hair' was made up into an elaborate bun as she re-read a gossip magazine for the eight time within the week. A wooden door behind the female led to her dreary private life. Her dress was too tight and her earrings were too big and too cheap. A set of stairs led up to even cheaper rooms.

She brightened as the Detective opened the glass door and sauntered into the lobby like a panther, followed by One, Timor and Urbanitas, who had sweat streaming down his pudgy amphibian face.

"Hey honey," said octopi girl with a leer.

The Detective held up his ID badge and said, "Police. We called before. Looking for—" He checked his cell for a second. "—Yue Exerabo and Elam Subdolus."

Octopi girl cracked her gum so hard it made the already-nervous Urbanitas flinch. "Second floor. Room 212."

"They still in there?"

"Yep. Noisy bunch, if you know what I mean."

"Anybody in the adjoining rooms?"

"This ain't the kinda place where people stay long."

"Go to the back room. If you hear shots, get on the ground, shut up and don't move until we come and get ya."

"I know the drill," she sighed, and the octopi girl disappeared behind her dreary door as a Synth crept in from the parking garage door. Large, insect-like and mechanical, the Police Synth had multiple legs, arms and weapons, and was crowned with a mantis-like head with various lenses, sensors and microphones. Ribbons of oils, fluids and circuits flowed under its mechanical skin. The robotic officer oozed a perverse familiarity with violence. The robotic officer oozed a perverse familiarity with violence.

"Second floor, room 212. Get behind me," said the Detective, "and don't shoot anyone."

If it had a mouth, the Police Synth would have frowned.

The Detective led, followed by Urbanitas, Timor, One and the Police Synth, cradling its rifles like they were newborn. As they crept up the stairs, the roar of the crowd outside reverberated through the walls, and Timor said, "What's going on out there?"

"Afternoon prayers," growled the Detective. "And shut up."

"I can wait in the lobby," gulped Urbanitas.

"Nope," said the Detective. "Need ya for the tablet stuff—"

A pounding came from the top of the steps. Not mechanical, but constant.

"What is that?" said One.

"They're getting' busy," laughed Timor. The Detective reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol, which was big enough to have its own postal address. The hallway door creaked open when he pushed it, and both the prayer chants outside and the pounding down the hall got louder. Cheaper carpeting lined the hallway, and something scuttled along the ground in the distance. One of the three lights worked, casting an eerie pallor to the hall. A single payphone adorned the wall behind the stairway door, and dozens of phone numbers radiated like scrawled petals from the battered machine. The first door had a torn sheet of paper that had '214' scrawled onto it in various languages.

Through the prayers, they crept down the hall.

Room 212 had a door on it that had bowed inward, as if it was ashamed to be seen with the rest of the disreputable rooms around it. The pounding was even louder, even overwhelming the prayers outside. After he waved Urbanitas, One and Timor back, the Detective pointed at the Synth and whispered, "I'm low, yer high, with yer rifles."

"Check," said the Synth, which moved to the other side of the door and crouched, eager to shoot something.

Urbanitas's brow, which had been furrowed with thought, suddenly jumped up. "That sound...open that door!"

The Detective pivoted and put his foot into the area around the doorknob. The door ripped open like a long-lost letter. He rushed into the room, pistol leading like a bloodhound. The room was tiny, with one bed in front of a beat up TV monitor and a set of drawers that looked like a dog had chewed on them for a while. Sleeping bags littered the floor. A sliding glass window behind them framed New Jerusalem in prayer.

Holding a chisel in mid-air was a young insect humanoid. Next to him, holding yet another chisel, was a female squid-humanoid. They both wore dirty smocks and were covered with dust. On the bed, laying in pieces on a blanket, was the tablet.

"What have you done?" cried Urbanitas.

"Only what our faith needed to be done," hissed the woman as she glared at Urbanitas.

"Keep yer hands up!" woofed the Detective.

"No!" spat the insect. "The Earthman is a myth, and your filthy Aric laws will not keep us from doing what must be done!"

With one motion, the insect threw the chisel to the bed, scooped up the blanket with the tablet inside and dove for the window. Two shots rang out from the Detective's weapon, and blood spurted out from two holes in each of the insect's pant legs. He squealed and fell to the ground. The squid woman began to step over the bed and the Detective's weapon pivoted toward her. "I don't wanna shoot ya."

Her face crinkled up like an eviction notice as she spat, "You don't even know what you are doing, Aric filth!"

As he rose from his crouch, the Detective said, "Yue Exerabo and Elam Subdolus, yer both under arrest. The crime is murder in two charges and destruction of public property. Do you understand that under New Jerusalem jurisdictional laws, you are entitled only to an expedient trial and judgment, and under the Ishun Interspecies Code, a swift yet humane execution?"

"Theft as well," added One, as he and Timor slipped around the Synth and into the room.

While the injured insect moaned and drained blood onto the cheap shag, Urbanitas wriggled by the Detective and scooped up the blanket. He looked in and sighed. "The tablet's been hacked to pieces."

"Wanted to toss this...propaganda in the river," hissed Elam while One placed plastic handcuffs around his multiple wrists. "But there were too many damn people around."

"That tablet," seethed Yue as One tossed some cuffs at her, "was welcomed by my inbred husband and his filthy Ishunite compatriot. They were going to let the media turn this into some cherished discovery that would embarrass our faith, so when they refused to turn it over to us—"

She caught One's toss and began to curse as she slipped the cuffs around her wrists. After a second, the clear plastic things shrunk around so tight that she had to make fists to keep the blood flowing through her hands.

"Everything you say," sighed the Detective, "is being recorded by two robotic sources and will be admissible at your trial—"

"I don't give a shit!" snarled Yue. "They deserved it, and I thank the Creator Being that we were able to get this hunk of ancient lies over here and destroy it before my loser husband could try and make something out of his lousy life instead of dragging us around and digging up shopping centers and suburban developments."

"The tablet is very damaged," said Urbanitas, "but I can still see the Earthman's visage. It can be displayed this way and still get the point across, thank goodness."

"What?" frothed Yue. She shot a stab of hate at Subdolus. "Did you not chip away at the main cartouche—"

Elam was yanked to his feet by the Synth. One took out a medkit from a compartment in his chest and applied quick-dry plastic sealant to the gunshot wounds on the insect's legs. Elam grimaced at the pain and at Yue. "We had like, what, thirty seconds before they kicked our damn door open"

Another Synth appeared at the door. The Detective saw it, looked at One and said, "I'm outta here. Job's done."

Timor stepped into the Detective's field of vision. "I'm going to have the crypt moved in its entirely, but this should not delay the construction more than a week or two. Will you reflect this in your report?"

"No, ya hafta clear it with the prof here," said the Detective as he pointed at Urbanitas. "And if I hear yer givin' him trouble, I'll come by ta chat. Got it?"

"Yes," said Timor as he slid away and out of the room.

"You can expect your usual fee to be in the bank account assigned to your freelance work tomorrow morning," said One.

"Thanks," said the Detective as he shook hands with the android. "You were a big help."

"And you certainly lived up to your file, Detective," said One, who shook his hand back. "And I mean it as a compliment."

"See ya, Professor," said the Detective as he clapped a hand onto Urbanitas's shoulder. The archeologist was absorbed as he had replaced the blanket on the bed and was looking it over. He had rearranged the pieces into their proper order, and the outline of a human astronaut being entertained by robed aliens formed, despite the damage from the chisel's assault.

"Oh yes, thank you, young man," said Urbanitas, too absorbed in the tablet's beauty to look up. He reached around his plump body with his right hand and shook the Detective's with happiness and gratitude.

"See ya," said the Detective as he slid out the door.

A little later, the prayers and the partying had died outside the bar. "Hit me again, dude," said the Detective as he slid his glass back at the trilobite bartender. The bar was emptier than a barn in the summer.

"Sorry man," said the bartender, "It's closin' time." The trilobite shot a sideways look at the Detective and followed it up with, "I gotta go see my family. I'm sure you got places to go, right?"

While the Detective mentally ran down the list of diners open during Prayer Day, a soft, familiar voice behind him said, "Yes, he does."

He turned to see Professor Urbanitas with an amphibian female about his age. "Detective, this is Irina, my wife."

"Hey," said the Detective. "Nice ta meetcha. I know what yer tryin' ta do—"

"Good," said Irina. "So there won't be any argument. Our car is outside. You are our guest for dinner, young man. There is no room for disagreement."

"Yes ma'am," said the Detective as he slid off his barstool with a grin. ◊