Chapter 10

X

Chat, Chat, Chat

Cubi sits up in bed watching TV. Two winged apians sit facing one another in black leather chairs.

"You're at sixty thousand rupees, the next question could take you to one hundred and twenty five thousand. If you get it wrong, you'll drop down to thirty two thousand. You have no lifelines remaining. Remember, you don't have to play if you don't want to, you can just take the sixty four thousand and leave."

"I'm ready, Zriz."

"Okay. Which festival is traditionally celebrated by neurops on the fifth annual rising of the cloudy moon? Is it: A. The festival of apian stripes. B. The festival of airphibian toes. C. The festival of cat's eyes. Or D. The festival of human bones?"

The contestant pulls on a feeler thoughtfully.

"B," Cubi says. "The festival of airphibian toes. Much misunderstood by the airphibians themselves."

"I don't think it's A," the contestant says, "but that's all I can think of. I honestly don't know."

"B," Cubi says. "It's B. How could you even think that it's any of the others?"

"I'll take the money, Zriz."

"Is that your final answer?"

"Yes."

"You plank," Cubi says. "You ignorant plank."

"Give him a round of applause, winged and wingless, Zzarr goes away tonight with sixty four thousand rupees!"

"Don't applaud him," Cubi mutters. "He's a plank. You'll only encourage him to embody even more plank-like characteristics."

"If you had to have a guess, which answer would you have gone for?"

"I honestly have no idea. They all sound like they could be it. Not, A, I shouldn't think, but any of the rest."

"Well, I can reveal that the answer is in fact B, so it was a sound decision on your part not to play. If you were sitting at home, shouting the answer at your TV, perhaps you'd like to consider sitting in the seat opposite me yourself. If that's the case, call the following number and…"

Cubi grabs his mobile from his bedside. "One million rupees is only a fiftieth of what I need, but it's getting there. Wonder how long it takes to get on the show…"

The phone goes off in his hands.

"Hello?" Cubi says timidly.

On the other side of the line, there is only a quiet sound - a tactile sighing, as of things rubbing together.

"Is this a dirty phone call?" Cubi asks.

The sound continues.

"I'm a short, male human. In all probability, I'm not your type," Cubi says, just before hanging up.

Somebody knocks on the door to Cubi's apartment. Since no-one called through the intercom, it must be a neighbour.

"Great," Cubi mutters, crawling out of bed and righting himself unsteadily. "What do you think I've done now?"

The knocking sounds again.

"Just because a mammal did it," Cubi says to himself, wandering through the living room and towards tbe door, "doesn't mean it was me. Rats are mammals. The building has rats. Therefore, the rats did it. But I bet you'll take some persuading, won't you?"

The visitor pounds on the door angrily. "This is a police raid. You have five seconds to open the door or we'll detonate the charges and open it ourselves."

Cubi runs for the door, leaping over his sofa. "Wait! Fuck! No! I'm opening the door! Don't blow anything up! You'll blow me up!"

Cubi throws the door open. The winged detective from Mec's mansion is standing there with his hands in his pockets and an unlit cigarette in his mandibles. "Hello," he says.

Cubi looks around. "This isn't a raid, is it?"

"No, I got bored waiting. It made you pick up the pace, didn't it?"

"I'm sure that's illegal somehow."

The detective shrugs. "Can I come in or what?"

"Sure," Cubi says, stepping aside. "Why not?"

"Nice place you have here," the detective says looking around. "Minimalist and yet cosy."

Cubi has little in the way of furniture. A sofa covered in a blanket, an armchair, a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks. Otherwise, the living room's chief defining feature is the large window and its clear view of the balloon houses of Fernheath Park and the base of Hive Central.

"If you say so," Cubi says. He pulls the blanket from the sofa, revealing it as a rather comfortable looking leather one - clean and smooth. "I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Zzrh," the detective says, folding his wings more tightly and sitting on the sofa. "Do you have a light?"

"I have some matches in the kitchen, but I'd rather you didn't smoke."

"It's your home," Zzrh says, taking the cigarette from his mandibles and secreting it carefully into his jacket.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," Cubi says. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Not to be a stereotype, but I'd love a coffee. No milk, as much sugar as you can dissolve in it."

Cubi heads into the kitchen, not too far away. He can still see the detective through the door, watching him casually. "Is there something I can help you with?" Cubi asks.

"No," Zzrh says. "Just a friendly visit. Looking to have a chat, that's all."

"You'll excuse me if I find that a little doubtful."

"Why? Are you committing any crimes I should know about?"

Cubi re-enters with a mug in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other. "Well, I blew Hive Central to smithereens the other day, but then I felt kind of guilty, so I glued it all back together."

Zzrh takes the mug. "Can't arrest you for that then. Darn!"

Cubi sits in the armchair across from his visitor, the bowl of cereal in his lap. "What would you like to chat about, then?"

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

"It turned out rather dreary yesterday. I haven't had much chance to look out of the window today, but I was expecting it to be more of the same. You don't really want to talk about the weather do you?"

"Sure. But maybe you don't. What about your friend in hospital, I'm sure she must be in your thoughts?"

"Yeah." Cubi shifts uncomfortably, as much as he might not want to under the detective's gaze. "She's okay. She just needs rest."

"And money, didn't you say?"

Cubi thinks carefully before answering. "We all need money to some extent. Some of us more than others. Because of her illness, my friend lost her job. When I heard that I'd inherited a valuable painting I thought I could help her out."

"Help her out? Are you trying to buy her affection? Or just convince her that you can be a dependable mate?"

"It's not like that."

Zzrh takes a tentative sip of his coffee. "I'm just wondering why you're so desperate to get money to your friend."

"It's none of your business. She's in financial difficulty, and I want to help her out. But I'm not rich. I can't, unless I get some money from somewhere. If you lost a valuable inheritance, I'm sure you'd be very annoyed too with regards to the things you could spend it on."

"True. Don't let me stop you having your breakfast, by the way."

Cubi sets the bowl of cereal aside. "I've lost my appetite."

"This isn't an interview remember, just a friendly chat."

"Well it really feels like an interview."

Zzrh swallows some more coffee. "Of course it does, you're doing all the talking. Shut up for five seconds and let me tell you some things."

Cubi waits quietly.

"You see, Mec obviously didn't curry much favour with the Slinkists," Zzrh says. "But, excuse me, you're not a Slinkist yourself are you?"

"Athiest," Cubi says.

"Right. The thing is, we're investigating Ogive's death and we find a tentative trail pointing to the CPG."

"The Colony Perimeter Guard," Cubi says slowly. "They killed someone a couple of blocks from here. She was a neurop working in a nursery in Hive Central. But I thought they were quite fond of Mec, as much he might have hated them in return."

"That's what I was wondering too. But then I thought, what if they killed Mec, knowing full well that everyone would think that the Slinkists had done it? No-one's been caught yet, but this whole deal has created a lot of animosity towards humans. Those dangerous, murderous, fanatical mammals. Isn't that something that we'd expect the CPG to be quite happy with?"

"I don't really watch the news or read any papers. It's not that bad, is it?"

"It's been better, I think. Antennaton's not so bad a place for a human to live in this city, it might not affect you."

"Do you think you'll find who did it?"

Zzrh laughs dryly. "I don't want to make any promises. You can know that I'll try."

He sets the, now empty, mug down. "It's been nice chatting to you, Cubiform, but I have places to be. Maybe I'll call around again sometime."

"Sure. I can't stop you. How did you get into the building, can I ask? You didn't get my landlord to let you in, did you?"

"Don't worry, I just waited until someone came out and grabbed the door before it closed."

They both stand and move towards the door.

At the threshold, Zzrh turns around. "One more thing. Didn't you inherit something else with the painting?"

Cubi looks back at him blankly. "Did I?"

"Yeah, a manuscript or something."

"Oh! I forgot about that."

"If you need money, why don't you try and get it published?"

Cubi shakes his head. "No, it probably wouldn't-" He cuts himself off.

"Wouldn't what?" Zzrh asks, innocently.

Wouldn't be enough money, quick enough. But Cubi can't say that. "Nothing," Cubi says. "Yeah, I'll certainly try and get it published. Thanks for calling round. Bye."

*

Outside, Zzrh sticks a cigarette in his mandibles and smiles lopsidedly.

He fumbles in his pockets and then sighs. "Damn it. Should have asked for a match."