Project Purple

8 - The Detective

"What do you have?"

Rigor leaned closer, peering down on his net guy, Felix, as he squirreled away on the elaborate multiple computer system set-up he had going, with monitors flashing and loading, and a fat cable snake wrapped around his red office chair.

Felix's ears had turned red, a sign Rigor recognized as frustration: "Good dusting takes time."

Rigor had gone to the sharpest computer geek he knew. Felix was the embodiment of the tech geek parody-thirty-four, and still living in his parent's chaotic basement. But if anyone could trace an IP address, it was this uber-nerd, with his thick, black retro-look eyeglass frames, whose Maggot a few years back still reigned as one of the champions of mal-ware for impacting some 600,000 computers. Felix' self-replicating, self-propagating program wormed its way into machines across the network, bypassing login authentications, and forcing administrators across North America to disconnect their computers-to keep his destructive horror from spreading further.

It also got Felix a sixteen-month sentence when he was caught-of house arrest, but without computer access. And it was that absence that almost broke him.

"At least in prison they give you access," he used to cry, threatening a nervous breakdown, and slamming another Nintendo game console against the basement paneling.

At first, Felix was far from wild about the arrangement with the Henderson Police Department. But it was part of his plea-bargain to make himself available for 'consultation' with law inforcement. Since then, Felix had minded himself and had even taken an interest in police I-net investigations.

"These four hang out together between chores," Rigor said, smoking a Pall Mall Red and nodding at the clip on the computer screen. He knew the four colonists now-the Cowleech, the Goatwench, the Bibliothecary, and the Badger-were all about the same age.

"I'm lettering in "Disassembly," the Goatwench preened to the other three.

The Cowleech nodded in mock gravity at the scarlet "D' etched onto the breast of the Goatwench, "'Tis a humane system, better than branding or tattooing. Panty thieves are thus adorned with a 'P T'."

"And jack-goats labeled as thus, cousin," the Bibliothecary cut in with a grin.

"And never shake hands with an 'M'," the Cowleech warned.

"The masturbator!" the Badger cried, and slapped a hand over his mouth, as if in shock.

"Thou wishes to see maidens marked as Adultress so they'd be easier to de-pants," the Goatwench teased. "We are onto you thus," and she wagged a finger at him.

The Cowleech shrugged, "Like I said, 'tis a humane system."

Felix scowled his disapproval, "So they all have to speak like they're in The Hound of the Baskervilles, or what-they lose points? You think they're being scored?"

Rigor exhaled a puff of smoke. "I think they're all aiming for Shakespeare-like authenticity, yeah."

Unimpressed, Felix did a FAST-REVERSE BLUR, marching the goatwench back in time. Suddenly he sniffed the air and whirled back, glowering up at Rigor.

"Get away from us with the cancer stick! - I warned you before you came over that everything in this room is delicate, I'm delicate, my sinuses-My babies don't like the smoke either, I can tell," he snarled of his blinking, humming tech console. "Tobacco is the Amuck Meteor that crashes into the cosmic wonder of technology, causing ... well, you know what it causes."