Marlowe and the Spacewoman Read online

  Praise for the modest Ian M. Dudley’s Work:

  “It’s not crap. I’ll say that much. And the font could be larger.”

  Krishna Sethuraman

  “I’m very disappointed in the poor implementation of the latest security updates. This book needs A LOT of patches!”

  Alex Icasiano

  “Dude! So many words! And not enough guns! The Second Amendment guarantees our right to bear books with lots of guns in them, dammit! Guns!”

  Eugene Tan

  “Every time he asks me to provide a blurb for one of his books, I cry. I won’t tell you what actually reading the accursed things does to me. He performs unspeakable acts on the English language, acts too horrible to describe.”

  Ian’s wife

  “Ph-nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. Don’t, under any circumstances, read this book aloud unless you are prepared to deal with the consequences.”

  Francis Wayland Thurston

  “Pure, unadulterated genius. I’ve never read anyone who comes close. Mind-blowing plots, amazing characters, and superbly crafted settings. More, more, more!”

  I. M. Dudley

  Other Works by Ian M. Dudley

  MARLOWE AND THE SPACEWOMAN series

  Marlowe and the Spacewoman (buy another copy!)

  Marlowe and the Spacewoman vs. The Santa Claus Gang 1

  Balloons of the Apocalypse 2

  Non-Fiction

  The Killer Party: How to Host a Murder Mystery 3

  Audio Books 4

  The War on Christmas

  The Gift of the Apocalypse

  A Downsized Christmas Carol

  1 Out of print due to a hard drive failure, a hamster, and an ill-chosen storage location for backup media

  2 Publication pending results of psychiatric exams

  3 Seized as evidence by mental health authorities; no longer in print

  4 Available for free at http://ianmdudley.com/xmas.htm

  For Marj,

  Thank you for your love and understanding as I struggled against, and ultimately failed to shake, my addiction to writing. You turned a blind eye when I slipped out to sneak a few pages, and as punishment for your enabling behavior, you got to change more diapers than me.

  I love you despite that lingering dirty diaper smell!

  I must also thank all the people who read this book in its many draft forms and very kindly and very patiently pointed out the flaws while occasionally overstating the good so I wouldn't feel too hurt: Marj, of course, poor woman, Clifford Brooks, Heather Liston, Scott Brown, Amory Sharpe, Shannon Page, Keith White, Lisa Eckstein, Danelle McDermott, and Kit Campbell.

  This book is much better because of your efforts!

  MARLOWE

  AND THE

  SPACEWOMAN

  Ian M. Dudley

  Marlowe and the Spacewoman

  A Pallmark Press Publication / December 2011

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2011 Ian M. Dudley

  Cover artwork done by smokewithouthmirrors

  http://smokewithoutmirrors.deviantart.com/

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Or else.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictional, and any similarity to persons real, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and totally unintentional.

  CHAPTER 1

  IT CAME FROM THE SEWERS

  The sting of the acid rain should have been hard to ignore, but the gun in Marlowe’s face made it easy.

  “I’m sorry, but you know too much,” said Toulene. “My new identity, the DNA profile I’ll be assuming, and my route of escape. You provided all of them. I can’t be found. The City isn’t the only party trying to locate me.”

  These meetings always go sour, thought Marlowe. Everything seems to be going fine, and then someone jams a gun in your face. He put on his most winsome smile, which wasn’t saying much. “You mind if I put my hat back on? I just got this face lifted recently, and I’d hate to void the warranty.”

  Interpreting not getting shot in the face as assent, he slowly reached down for the fedora hissing in the caustic puddle at his feet. The bubbling of the acid-resistant coating on the hat caused it to wobble on the water. “Weatherman said it would be a 6.2, maybe 6.1,” he said conversationally. “But I think the pH dipped to 4.9 or so. What do you think?”

  Toulene said nothing, but the gun wavered in her hand. Amateur, thought Marlowe. But geneticists can hardly be expected to have street smarts. “What do you think of the face?” he asked as he shook the excess water off the hat. “Recognize it?” He checked on Teddy’s hiding place using the low light implant in his left eye. Teddy’s heat signature, centered on a pile of discarded boxes, lit up the back of the alley. “Nothing to be embarrassed about if you don’t. It’s modeled on an old movie icon from the 1940s. That’s Big Fed Calendar, nearly two hundred years ago. Even the surgeon didn’t know who it was.”

  Toulene's hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a thick strand had broken loose and plastered itself onto her forehead. She brushed it back, her brilliant green eyes never leaving Marlowe. He didn’t think she was admiring the face lift. She had a pasty complexion due to the thick coating of acid block, but aside from that and the gun, she wasn’t entirely unattractive.

  She wore what had been the height of fashion: a black Gore-Tex pullover turtleneck with stealth vents, crushed velvet Mood pants that changed color, and high-riser clomping boots made of synthetic raccoon hide. Streaked with dirt and imbued with an unpleasant odor, they had exceeded their utility and fashion expiration date by about three weeks.

  The same clothes she’d been wearing when she first found her way into Marlowe’s office, three weeks ago. Then, the Mood pants had been color cycling, jumping from dark rich blues to pastel yellows, but now they were stuck in forest green.

  A one-sided conversation wasn’t going to do, so Marlowe tried a different tack. He eyed the gun. “That hardware’s a Kristoff Mach 7, right?” He let out a whistle, trying to sound nonchalant even though the plasma pistol easily exceeded the rating of his plasma-resistant armor. “Those are hard to come by these days. How’d you get it? You don’t look like a veteran.”

  “Just shut up and hand over the goods,” said Toulene, finding her voice again.

  “Now hold on just a second,” said Marlowe. “You need a permit for that, and you don’t look to me like you’ve got one. If you’re willing to flaunt our very strict firearms regulations, what’s to stop you, once you no longer need me, from using that gun to fatally mess up my new face? That’s hardly an incentive to, as you put it, hand over the goods. We need to find a middle ground, a position of mutual trust.”

  Toulene’s eyes hardened and the gun no longer shook. The rain had stopped, thinning down to a corrosive mist. Tiny beads like a blanket of miniature pearls clung to the surface of the gun, fizzing like a can of soda pop as they interacted with the weapon’s protective coating. “I don’t have time for this. The City finding me is the least of my worries.”

  Desperation had taken hold and given her the courage needed to make her dangerous. Time to end this, thought Marlowe. “Teddy.” He said the name lightly, but the response was immediate and cataclysmic. Teddy’s gruff voice screamed from behind them. “Freeze! Show us your hands. You’re surrounded!”

  “That’s right, don’t move,” called out another voice to their left.

  “I have you in my sights,” a third shouted.

  Toulene looked shocked. She raised her hands, poi
nting the pistol away from Marlowe. “You lied. You turned me in.” Her voice was faint, almost inaudible.

  “No, I took precautions.” He relieved her of the gun and cycled out the plasma cartridges.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t take any chances-”

  “Forget it. You were watching out for yourself. I know the type. I deal with people like you all the time. Did you bring the money?”

  “So robbery then?” She had nerve enough to look defiant.

  “Unlike most people in my line of business,” said Marlowe, “I have integrity. Just like it says on my card. If you have the money, we’ve still got a deal.”

  “I brought the money. It’s right-”

  “That’s all right, sister, I’ll get it. Hands back up.” Marlowe removed a fat manila envelope from the pocket Toulene had reached for. Inside was a wad of cash that immediately started to smolder in the damp air. He counted quickly, then tucked it into a pocket. “Lucky for you, this is the right amount.”

  Marlowe reached inside his trench coat and withdrew a reflective Teflar-coated envelope. Acid rain fizzed impotently where it struck the surface. “Inside this you’ll find what you need. A false identity diskey, a syringe with a retrovirus to temporarily alter your DNA profile to match the diskey, and most importantly, the travel chip that will enable you to get across the border.”

  He handed over the envelope. “Give yourself a day to rest after taking the retrovirus. You’ll have moderate flu-like symptoms for about twelve hours. The new DNA profile will last three days and will pass a border check reader, but not a full lab workup. You might also experience dry mouth, sexual dysfunction, colorblindness, and occasional drowsiness. These side effects will pass within two weeks. Any questions?” He waited, but she said nothing. “When you hear me say go, make like a jet and scram. Oh yes, and you’d better take this.” He returned the unloaded Kristoff to her. “I don’t have a permit for it.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything.” Marlowe tipped his hat and backed away, his hand sliding against the wall of the alley as a guide. He hoped it was too dark for her to see how much his hand was shaking, or how much of the beaded moisture on his face was sweat and not acid rain. He did take some comfort in knowing she probably thought she was about to die. A part of him felt tempted. But sometimes the only thing that kept him going was knowing he was better than that.

  He kept moving until he hit the side of his car, which he’d left parked across the entrance to the alley. Toulene had receded into a faint, wavering heat signature in his left eye, but Marlowe still walked around to the other side of the car before calling out.

  “Go!”

  At first she didn’t move, as if waiting for a death sentence to be carried out. Then the shimmering silhouette in Marlowe’s left eye turned and ran for the sewer access hole she’d crawled out of just minutes earlier. A moment later, all that remained of her was a fading heat signature.

  Marlowe squeezed his throat mike. “Good work, Teddy. Come on, let’s get out of this rain.”

  An instant later, so fast Marlowe didn’t have time to react, a huge Rottweiler bounded out of the shadows, leapt over the car, and planted its one hundred and ten pounds of flesh squarely on his chest. The plasma-resistant armor groaned under the load. The slathering beast growled like a motorcycle, jaws open and steam pouring out of its mouth. The stench of processed liver rolled over Marlowe’s face, gagging him.

  “Teddy! Teddy!” Marlowe panicked as the dog’s weight made breathing difficult. He flailed his arms and legs, desperate to get out from under the beast. “Get off me! Get off me!”

  The dog rolled off Marlowe’s chest and licked his face. “Sorry Marlowe, sorry. I forgot you don’t like dogs jumping on you. I just got so excited.”

  Marlowe pushed Teddy’s head away and pulled himself up. The color began to return to his face as he shook off the sensation of dogs jumping on him, their jaws snapping hungrily. “It’s OK, Teddy, I’m all right. Just remember in the future, OK?”

  The dog sat down and nodded his head, a trail of slobber stretching down from his mouth. “Boy, we sure scared her, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, Teddy, we sure did.”

  “To think, I helped scare a member of The Ones! Maybe, if everything we’ve heard is true, The One. Me! Intimidate the Creator! It’s a rush!” Teddy began pacing back and forth, his fur slick with rain. Fortunately, part of the tinkering to his genome had made his skin and hair acid resistant. Since not all humans were so endowed, he also had the good sense to refrain from shaking off that rainwater while near Marlowe. Excited, his breath came out in jagged, insistent puffs that rolled and mingled with the mist until melting into it.

  Marlowe suppressed a smile. He always found this part of their business transactions amusing. Teddy hated asking for payment.

  “Ya know, Marlowe, I really enjoyed that. It was fun. I got to throw my voice again, which I love practicing. And you are truly one of the greats. I’ve never worked with a better, more professional PI. Not that I work with other PIs, mind you, I’m exclusively available only to you, but if I did….”

  Marlowe bent down, rubbed Teddy’s head, and waited.

  “Gee, what I’m trying to get at, Marlowe, is that even though I really enjoy working with you, I still need to eat.”

  “Not to worry, Teddy. I’ve got your payment right here, along with a bonus I think you’ll really like.”

  Marlowe popped the trunk of the car, pulled out a two pound vac-u-pak of seasoned horse meat and another brightly labeled silver 12 oz vac-u-pak.

  “Here’s the horse meat, and as a special treat, a large pack of Bac-O-Roni. This brand has only 10% wood pulp filler in it.”

  Teddy rose up onto his hind legs, leaning against the back of the car, his nose jabbing back and forth through the early morning air. “Oh boy, oh boy! I smell bacon!”

  Marlowe ripped open the Bac-O-Roni pack and fed the strips, one at a time, to Teddy.

  “Oh, geez, Marlowe,” Teddy mumbled between chews, “this is great! Mm. Thanks! You’re the best. Ya know, if you ever need a guard dog, I’d-”

  “Teddy, one outlawed pet is enough. Besides, a ventriloquist such as yourself would be wasting his talent as a mere guard dog. No, you should stay a free agent.”

  Teddy hung his head. “If you say so, Marlowe. But if you ever change your mind...”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “OK, well, the missus will be waiting. You know how to reach me.” Teddy bounded off.

  “Teddy, wait! You forgot something.”

  Teddy skidded to a halt on the wet asphalt, then spun around and came back, tongue lolling. “I did? What did I forget? What?”

  “Your half.”

  Marlowe pulled out half the City scrip in the manila envelope he’d taken from Toulene, rolled it up, and tucked it under Teddy’s collar.

  “Thanks, Marlowe! I completely forgot. You’re one of the last honest souls.”

  “You’re welcome, Teddy. Say hi to DeeDee for me.”

  “Roger. We still on for chess next week?”

  “You bet.”

  Teddy’s gaze moved over Marlowe’s shoulder, and he breathed in sharply. “Uh oh!” Marlowe’s initial reaction was to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned to see what the dog had spotted. Overhead, the clouds had broken up as the storm moved on, revealing a white smudge against the black night sky.

  “A comet!” hissed Teddy. “Those things are bad news. What do you think? The end of the world?” He hunched his head low and dropped his voice to a whisper. “The return of the Lost Martians?”

  Marlowe shrugged. “I don’t know, Teddy. I’m not superstitious.”

  “Oh,” said Teddy, clearly not placated. He looked around, sniffed the air. “Well, can’t smell anything bad. I better get home. Good night, Marlowe. Be careful.”

  “You too,” said Marlowe.

  Te
ddy vanished into the night, the faint echo of his toenails skittering behind him. A pungent aroma of wet dog hung in the air and stubbornly clung to Marlowe as he jumped into his car. He stared out the window after Teddy for a moment, then fired up the engine and headed home, anxious to dry off and warm up.

  Cloaked in the shadows of a building, a hunched shape perched high above on a fire escape railing. The dark form clucked to itself before alighting from the rail and darting up into the sky, seemingly on an intercept course with the comet.

  CHAPTER 2

  PERSONAL HYGIENE CAN BE A DEADLY MATTER

  The bar of soap killed Marlowe. “Nothing personal,” it bubbled to him as the needle retracted, “just business.” Not that he would remember the one-way exchange; he was dead. The soap loitered just long enough to be sure of Marlowe’s passing, then dissolved down the drain to make good its escape.

  The Personal Digital Implant, or PDI, located just below Marlowe’s left ear closed the calendar and phone book programs as soon as it detected the onset of brain death. In their place it launched the resurrection app. This triggered the id box in the floor safe under Marlowe’s bed, which hummed to life. As tiny nano probes set about repairing the damage to his body caused by the injected toxin, the backup of Marlowe’s memories and personality stirred within the electronic confines of the id box.

  Within fifteen minutes the nano probes had completed their repairs and returned to the storage sack where Marlowe had once had an appendix. All in all, given the number of times he’d made use of the nano probes, and how infrequently he had made use of the appendix (except for that one bursting incident), he’d come out ahead in the deal. When they had safely returned to their sack, the nano probes sent a coded pulse to the PDI, giving the all clear for Id Restoration. The PDI, in turn, sent an Id Request to the id box, which promptly flashed Marlowe’s brain with the most recent backup of his mind.