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science fiction genre

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Not-So-Plain-Sight
a Ray Simmons story

by David Keating

Ray Simmons looked out the window wall of the 95th floor Confederation Trade Tower office, and failed to appreciate the magnificent view of a thunderhead building over the mountains in the distance.

 Simmons' reflection in the window revealed the image of a man who was comfortable moving in the highest circles, both socially and politically. Slightly over average height, fit, well groomed with a touch of gray at the temples, and with the unconscious air of someone who never feels out of control.

 Officially, his title was Investigative Consultant, ET Specialist. The title meant that he received an obscenely high salary and invitations to all the best parties. It also meant that he was the one they called when some high-ranking official from one of the Confederation worlds stuck his foot, or other ambulatory appendage, into a mess. And it didn't get much messier than finding the Althoran Ambassador to Earth in his suite with the corpse of the Vice-President of Research for Asteroids Inc.. Especially since Asteroids was negotiating a deal between Earth and several offworld bidders to analyze its latest survey of the Asteroid Belt.

 Ray and the Ambassador had been going over its statement for almost two hours. He had yet to get an answer that made any sense. The alien admitted to having been in the same room as the victim, John Lamont, when the crime was committed. It even admitted to being in conversation with him when the murder was occurring. Yet it repeatedly and categorically stated that it had seen nothing.

 This, of course, was ridiculous, because the bloody thing was all eyes! Well, not literally. Althorans didn't have eyes. In fact, Althorans didn't seem to have anything organized the way a human would think of as normal. They were the closest humanity had yet come to meeting the amorphous blob of nineteen fifties science fiction movies, Simmons thought. Those old flicks were a hobby of his, and he could recite lines from everything from Star Wars to Godzilla Meets King Kong.

 The Ambassador wasn't really a blob. If you've never seen an Althoran, think of a kid's balloon filled with half-set blueberry jello, the kind with sparkles in it, and you have a pretty good picture. The outer membrane is sensitive to all kinds of input; sound, light, radiation. That meant that Althorans were in demand as analysts for a lot of different industries. It was the primary vocation for the handful who were on Earth. It also meant that it was impossible for the Ambassador not to have seen what happened to Lamont.

 Simmons turned his back on the view. "Okay, Ambassador, let's try it again. The Asteroids VP came to your room to discuss Althora's bid on the asteroid analysis deal, correct?" Simmons waited. The tabletop Translator clicked for a moment then relayed the reply.

 "Investigator Simmons, how long do you expect me to be patient? As an Ambassador to your world, I have diplomatic immunity in this incident. As it happened in my suite, it technically happened on Althora, and is therefore a crime for Althoran investigation. If your reputation were not what it is, I would not have even agreed to this interview. Please don't insult me by asking the same questions again and again."

 The Translator made the alien sound like an Oxford professor. After two hours, you would think it would have enough data to include emotional inflections, Simmons thought sourly. He knew he was missing something, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

 "I understand your position, Ambassador. However, I believe that your cooperation has more to do with the fact that your government would like to close the deal to analyze the content of our asteroid belt than it does with my reputation, don't you?"

 "And what would you know of that?" Was he wrong, or was there a hint of derision in the Ambassador's reply?

 "I don't need to know a lot to know that finding the Vice-President of Research dead at your, pardon the expression, feet, doesn't help your bid any."

 Ray wasn't sure the Translator had been able to do anything with the "dead at your feet" barb, but the Ambassador seemed to get the point. "No, you are right. My government is not pleased with this turn of events. Very well, ask your questions, but please, instead of this endless repetition, why don't you tell me what is troubling you about my statements?"

 Yes, thought Simmons! The Translator was definitely starting to add emotions. The Ambassador sounded annoyed, impatient, and maybe a little nervous. "What's troubling me is that you were alone in the room with the victim, yet you keep telling me that you did not see the murder. Considering the range of Althoran perception that seems impossible. So, either we are missing something, which I hope is the case Ambassador, or you are lying to me, and murdered Lamont for some reason as yet unknown. To be frank, the second choice is the simplest, and has the advantage of getting me out of here in time for the Morani Opera. However, I doubt that Althora would get the analysis contract, and I do not imagine that your government would be very pleased with you personally."

 There was no reply for several minutes. When the Ambassador did speak, the Translator clearly conveyed that the alien was becoming concerned. Its reply was much more subdued. "Investigator Simmons, I fail to see how accusing me of this crime would be just. I did not, after all, commit it."

 Simmons took a breath. Time to press. "It wouldn't be just. It would just be easier. Ambassador, Lamont came to your suite to discuss details of the asteroid analysis. Maybe he found out something that would put Althora's bid at a disadvantage. You panicked, killed him, then got stuck with no good alibi, so you're trying this nonsense." 

"Why does it have to be nonsense, Investigator?" Exasperation! Good! "I told you, I was examining the data, Lamont and I were talking, he screamed, he was dead."

 "And how did he look when he died, Ambassador? You say he screamed. His throat was cut. When did he scream? He must have seen his attacker coming. Why didn't you see the murderer?" Simmons asked the questions rapid-fire, but he wasn't sure the Translator would get them across that way.

 "I told you," the Althoran said again, almost regretfully. "I didn't see anything."

 "How is that possible, Ambassador? You sense sound waves, a range of light well beyond the human, radiation of multiple sorts. From what I understand, Althorans make most of Earth's sensing instruments obsolete. And this ability extends to every square inch of your body. How can you not see a man murdered when he is standing right beside you?"

 In answer, the Ambassador moved, well, rippled, from the corner where it had been resting, over to the window wall where Simmons had been a few minutes earlier. "Ray Simmons," the Ambassador had clearly made a decision. "I will explain something about my race that will help you to understand. Look out this window. When do you see?"

 'When do I see?' Simmons wondered if the Translator had made a mistake, but he turned to the window. "I see mountains, a storm, lightning. I'm not sure I understand the question."

 The Althoran sounded as though it was humoring a child. "I asked you 'When' do you see, not what."

 "Okay, I'll play along. As far as I know, I see now. 'When' do you see? The future?" Simmons immediately hoped that the Translator would miss the sarcasm in his voice.

 The first response from the Translator might have been a snort. "Not the future Simmons, the past. You do understand that different energy waves travel at different speeds, don't you Investigator?" the reciprocal sarcasm was obvious, and Simmons regretted his earlier remark. "Observe that flash of lightning. Now wait."

 It took about five seconds, and Simmons knew what the Althoran was going to say before it happened. "Thunder!" he blurted.

 "Yes. The sound wave of the thunder arrives much later than the light wave of the lightning. Each defines the same event, but in a different way and a different time. Both define an event that has already occurred."

 Understanding dawned. "That's how you perceive things, isn't it? For you, each kind of input is a distinct event."

Simmons thought of those old dubbed Japanese movies, where the pictures and soundtrack were always out of sync. He found it hard to imagine living like that.

 The Ambassador continued, "Althora is a world of enclosed spaces. My people evolved underground. In our tunnels, there is no place where sound and light could be so far removed from each other as your thunder and lightning. Your cities are madhouses of input. On Earth, Althorans are bombarded by chaos."

 Simmons considered that. "So how do you cope? As Ambassador, you attend public functions. Althorans are part of business in several industries on Earth. I've never heard of any problems."

 The Ambassador seemed to hesitate. "When we are young, it is not such an issue. We adapt. When we are young, we relish the cacophony of input a world such as yours provides. It is like a drug. However, I am not young Simmons. I prefer the quiet, and have long since learned to selectively tune out any input which I do not need at any given moment."

 When the Ambassador stopped talking, Simmons was at a loss. What was the Althoran telling him? Suddenly he got it. "Are you saying that when you were talking to Lamont, you were blind?" he asked incredulously.

 "That is correct, Ray Simmons. I was listening to the Translator and was not looking at what you consider the visible spectrum of light at all. As light moves faster than sound, by the time I reacted to Lamont's scream, there was nothing to see."

 Simmons thought about that. There was something else. "Okay, lets say that I accept that you didn't see the killer initially. He must have still been in the room. How long did it take you to 'see' Lamont?"

 "Perhaps a half second." The Ambassador's reply was terse.

 Simmons considered. Add maybe a second for the Translator to work. Still not enough time for a killer to exit the room. "Ambassador, there is still a piece missing here. I think you had better tell me the rest."

 The Translator interpreted the Ambassador's reaction as a sigh. "Are you old as a member of your race Simmons?" Ray shook his head. At least, he didn't consider himself old. "That is well. The days when I stood in the middle of one of your markets and became drunk on its input are long past. I no longer examine data and see the correlations that exist in the minute fluctuations of wavelengths." The Ambassador paused, then went on. "When our senses are strong, Investigator, an Althoran can sense for long distances, farther than a human being. But it is a strain for us. As we age, we return to the way we were when we lived in our tunnels, and we do not sense very far at all."

 The Ambassador stopped, and Simmons could imagine a very old man, reminiscing about the heady, rowdy days of his youth. "How far can you see?" he prompted quietly.

 "Less than five feet." The anguish was plain in the Translator's response. "Forgive me Simmons, but I could not see the murderer who was probably standing right there, laughing at an old fool."

Before seating himself in front of the Deputy Director's desk, Simmons helped himself to one of the very expensive cigars from the intricately carved humidor that graced one corner of Carmen Ramone's desk. He didn't smoke. He just liked to use the gesture as a way to remind her of the adventure they had shared that resulted in it being there.

 She just gave him her habitual momentary glare before relaxing into a smile. "Well, Ray, you've done it again. Case solved, criminal awaiting deportation, even a potential new trade deal between Earth and Althora. Who would have thought we'd ever be selling glasses to a race that can see more kinds of light than I've ever dreamed of? And if the newly promoted Supreme Trade Ambassador has anything to say about it, you'll receive a medal to boot."

 Ray Simmons smiled back at his boss. "Well, they're not exactly glasses of course, but they do enhance some input so that Althorans can see farther."

 When she just waited, he continued. "Actually, once I understood the Ambassador's limitations, it was easy. Since he obviously wasn't publicizing his condition, we checked back through all of his contacts for medical personnel who had connections to other worlds bidding on the asteroid deal, and voila. The Pholanx nurse who did his checkup turned out to be the concubine of the Pholanx Trade Commissioner."

 "Well," Carmen said, "Pholanx is obviously out of the bidding, with their trade ambassador under house arrest for murder. But I'm not sure I see why the Ambassador's nearsightedness helped solve anything."

 "Simple, boss. The Ambassador had to switch from one kind of input, as he calls it, to another when he heard Lamont scream. Rather like when a human looks up from a book. As you get older, it takes longer for your eyes to refocus to see things farther away. All the murderer had to do was move fast enough to stay out of focus."

 "And the Pholanx are that fast?" she asked.

 Ray's smile broadened. "During our interview, the nurse gave me a demonstration." He paused. "Yes, they are that fast."

 Carmen Ramone knew when to change the subject. "Yes, of course. You look particularly well dressed this evening. Plans?"

 Investigative Consultant Ray Simmons, ET Specialist rose from his chair, replaced the cigar, and started for the door. "All in the line of duty. A little interplanetary diplomatic work. The Supreme Trade Ambassador for Althora, his Pholanxian nurse, and I are going to the Morani Opera."

 By the time she reacted, the cigar bounced harmlessly off the door he had just exited.

 

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