Newtonâs Cradle (short story)
Note: Iâm new to tumblr so Iâm not exactly sure how to format correctly. Specifically, the paragraphs turn into separated blocks, and all italicization disappears. I apologize ahead of time for any confusion this may cause.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
The silver spheres of the Newtonâs Cradle on my desk clashed in a soothing rhythm. On the television in the corner of my office, CIN News recounted the important events happening in the world.
âThe death toll continues to rise as more and more people fall victim to the devastating disease popularly known as âCopper Lung.â Medical professionals and scientists continue to search for the, as of yet, unknown cure for the sickness. Hundreds of thousands of deaths have already been reported across the country.â
I sat there listening in annoyance as the reporter droned on. The news was never the place to go for a happy story, but now it was getting out of hand. Every hour of every day, it seemed the only thing being talked about was Copper Lung. Ever since it first appeared within that Detroit construction worker six months ago, cases of it began to spring up like weeds. A mother here, a child there. CEO, homeless, student, the disease almost didnât care who you were or where you came from. Almost. There was an exception; one that nobody overlooked.
The news went to commercial break and a political advertisement played. Târella Qouretz was running for mayor. She seemed like every politician to me, making empty promises to improve everyoneâs way of life, while almost assuredly changing nothing if she were to get elected. The only difference being she was a rylekian, an alien species so considerately known to the wide world of bigots as âspace hobos.â She didnât try to hide it either, not that she could have. Anyone could see her magenta colored skin, pointed ears, short stature, and green, cat-like eyes from a mile away.
Sheâs fighting an uphill battle, I thought.
The rylekians have had a rough go at it ever since landing on our planet a hundred years ago, and it hasnât gotten much better. Theyâre treated with hatred and distrust, often forced to live in slums. Many end up beaten, or face down in a gutter due to interactions with humans. Theyâre spit on, ridiculed, and discriminated against. I donât know how bad life was like on their home planet for them to flee, but thereâs no way it could have been as terrible as it is for them here.
My sister treated them differently, though. She would often cry whenever she heard the latest horror story happening to the rylekians. She cared for the aliens and would often volunteer at shelters that assisted them. To her, they were the same as any of us.
I looked at the clock on my computer. 6:50 PM.
Ten more minutes and I can go home, I mused in anticipation.
Itâs been a slow week. Nobodyâs ever said private investigating was always steady work, but I could typically get at least a few cases every week. I didnât let it get to me, though. I needed a vacation. Iâve been known to overwork myself from time to time.
I drummed my fingers on my desk, watching the spheres of my Newtonâs Cradle rock back and forth. My sister gave it to me as a gift when I left the police force and decided to start my own investigation service, away from the bureaucracy of the department. She said every office needs one. At first I thought it was stupid, but now Iâve grown to like the silly desk toy. I made sure to let her know of my change of heart before it was too late.
The sound came from the door. âMr. Reese,â cried the voice of my secretary, Suzie, from the other side. âA potential client is here to see you.â
I glanced at the clock once again. It mockingly showed 6:59. I sighed and requested Suzie send the person in. I pondered if I should tell Suzie to no longer allow new clients to visit past quarter of seven.
The door squeaked open on its hinges, revealing Suzie with her long, curly blonde hair. âRight this way, ma'am,â she called to an unseen woman. A figure wearing a long, hooded black coat cautiously walked in. The person was short, shorter than your average person. Beneath the figureâs hood, I glimpsed magenta skin.
âThank you, Suzie. You may go home, Iâll lock up when Iâm done here.â
The secretary saluted me, a motion she often made, seemingly as a joke. While not particularly funny, it was kinda cute seeing the sweet girl make such an absurdly out of place gesture. She softly closed the door to my office, causing a slight click.
The rylekian lowered her hood once Suzie had left. I was taken slightly aback.
âI wouldnât have pegged you as someone whoâd take such precautions to hide their features,â I remarked. âYou seem quite proud of them on T.V., Ms. Qouretz.â
âPride shouldnât take precedence over safety,â the politician so firmly informed me. âWhen Iâm campaigning I have protection. Security is there in case anyone tries to harm me. In private matters such as these, howeverâŠâ she trailed. âItâs not exactly the wisest decision for a rylekian to wander alone in areas densely populated by humans. A rylekian woman even less so.â
I couldnât argue with her logic. Itâs gotten so bad that if a rylekian shows up dead in a human neighborhood, the rylekian is the one blamed for being where they shouldnât have been.
âSo what is it you need, Ms. Qouretz,â I inquired as I turned off the television. âIt must be something important for you to so blatantly risk your well-being.â
Târella nodded gravely. Her shoulder length, pink-violet hair shook slightly with the effort.
âHow good are you at finding missing people, Mr. Reese,â she asked.
I shrugged. âIâve yet to fail whenever Iâm asked to look for someone. Granted, theyâre not always alive, but I find them. Why, whoâre you looking for?â
The politician looked at her feet while rubbing the back of her neck, obviously trying to find the right words. âI doubt you know this,â she said suddenly after a long pause, âbut many of my people have gone missing in this city. Most of them lived in the slum known as Idleberg. Dozens have disappeared without a trace. The news doesnât report on it due to it being a crime against rylekians, which doesnât rouse the interest of human viewers.â
Târella Qouretzâs fists clenched. âOthers, including myself, have brought up the disappearances to the authorities, but they only respond with the obligatory, âWeâll look into it when we can,â the liars.â She took on a very solemn expression. âI swear if Iâm elected, things will be different. My people will be equals in Chicago.â
I couldnât help but admire the womanâs determination. I was shocked to realize that she actually wanted to change things for the better, and wasnât just saying things she believed the public wanted to hear, like other politicians do. My sister would have liked her.
It left a bitter taste in my mouth knowing that the womanâs hopes will be crushed, that sheâll never get elected. Even if every rylekian in Chicago, along with whatever few humans were sympathetic to their plight, voted for Târella Qouretz, I doubted sheâd be elected. It didnât matter if she was a better candidate. Hatred has quite the blinding effect.
âIâve heard,â Târella continued, âthat you are good at what you do and arenât against helping rylekians. That you actually see us as people. Since you didnât immediately throw me out of your office, I see thatâs the case. So, please, will you help find the missing rylekians from Idleberg?â
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. âHonestly, Ms. Qouretz, as long as youâre paying, you could be a giraffe for all I care.â
The next night I went to Idleberg, making note of it in my files, as I did with every place I visited for work. Like every slum the rylekians were forced to live in, it was an absolute dump. It smelled of rotten fish, sweat, and excrement, all mixed together to create something truly awful. Then there was the smog. Idleberg was situated near a factory of some kind, tainting the air with its presence.
I held my breath as much as I could, and walked the streets of the slum. All around me were rylekians. Each one, young or old, male or female, had the same look of defeat on their face. As I walked by, they eyed me with obvious suspicion. After all, why would a human visit a place such as this? I didnât think I was in any real danger. Most rylekians were wise enough to not mess with a human, knowing full well the retaliation theyâd receive if the attack were to become known. Even still, I couldnât help but pat the pistol I kept hidden in my coat when on the job. I didnât mean any harm to the unfortunate occupants of Idleberg, but they didnât know that.
I walked up to a small, one story building with boarded up windows. I looked at the address on the battered mailbox next to the door to make sure I was in the right place. It said 122 Sunflower Street, just as Târella said it would. I knocked on the metal door, noticing that there was once a doorbell to the side of it, but was torn out.
After a few moments, the door opened a crack. In the small opening, I could see a yellow, cat-like eye staring back at me. It opened wider and in the doorway I saw a rylekian man. He had the light, blue-violet skin exclusive, I knew, to the males of his species, just as the magenta skin was a feature inherent to the females. Being able to see his full face, I noticed his eyes were wet with red coloration around them. He had been crying.
âAre you the one Miss Qouretz sent,â the man asked, sniffling a bit.
I nodded. âThat I am. May I come in?â
The sorrowful man moved aside, making room for me to walk past. I emerged into a room dimly lit by candles. I guessed the building didnât have electricity. The room was modestly furnished. Very modestly.
The homeâs owner motioned to a nearby stool, torn and with the cotton spilling from the top. When I sat on it, it rocked due to uneven legs.
The rylekian grabbed a dirty cloth and blew his nose into it while sitting on another nearby stool. âYour species are real bastards, you know that,â he asked, obviously not expecting a response, nor did I give him one. âFirst you kill my wife, and now you take my son! We havenât done anything to you!â
I leaned forward in the stool, resting my head on my knuckles. âAre you sure it was a human who took your son,â I inquired calmly.
âWho else could it have fucking been,â the distressed father exclaimed, possibly taking offence from what could potentially be seen as an offensive question to those unfamiliar with my work. He began to divulge what he knew, angrily, but coherently. I listened quietly and intently, allowing him to vent any frustration he was feeling.
âI told him not to take that job,â the rylekian father remarked, âbut he didnât listen. I told him people have been disappearing around that area but he didnât care.â The man sobbed. âMy boy wanted to earn us some money. Thatâs all he wanted. To help his father by getting us some dinner. And then they fucking took him from me, dammit!â The rylekian wiped his eyes with the same dirty cloth he blew his nose into earlier. If my sister had seen him, Iâm sure sheâd have hugged him.
The father continued his explanation. âI bet his boss, Cromley, I think his name was, had something to do with it.â
I decided to interject there. âWhoâs Cromley? What does he do?â
The rylekian grimaced. âHe runs that big factory that makes some kind of mechanical parts. Iâm sure you saw it. It creates so much smog that you can hardly see outside some days. Most of the people who disappeared vanished around the factory. I know that bastard had a hand in it. Please, talk to him and get him to confess.â The miserable fatherâs eyes lit up. âTell me when he does too. Please.â
I followed the lead and visited this Cromley at his factory. What exactly was being made there, I couldnât tell you. It could have been anything from car parts to refrigerators. The cacophony I was greeted with made my ears ring and battered my brain. Hearing myself think, let alone someone talking, was out of the question. Nevertheless, I managed to communicate to one of the primarily rylekian workforce that I wished to speak to his boss. He led me up a flight of metal stairs to a tiny office overlooking the entire operation. I thanked my guide, but I wasnât positive he heard me.
I knocked on the door but couldnât be sure if that would work. I couldnât even hear the knock myself. My fears were alleviated when the door suddenly swung open, revealing a giant, round man standing angrily in front of me. He motioned me inside and quickly shut the door.
Thankfully, the small office of Cromley must of had some sort of sound proofing, for the blare of the factory became a mild buzz. My host took a seat behind his desk. There wasnât another chair.
âWho the hell are you,â Cromley so politely asked. Cromley must have been the largest man I had ever seen in my life. Iâm pretty sure you could have fit three grown adults in his shirt and still had room to move around. His face and head were completely shaven. His scalp shined brightly in the light, visibly damp with sweat.
âMy name is Malcolm Reese,â I replied. âI wanted to ask you about the recent disappearances of rylekians. Iâve heard that many vanished around your factory.â
âAnd let me guess,â Cromley said, clearly agitated, âyou think I had something to do with it?â The factory owner suddenly began to cough violently into his hand. I thought I could glimpse blood in his palm when he was finished. He wiped the gunk onto his denim pants.
âI just want information. Nothing more, nothing less,â I informed my host.
âThen listen close,â Cromley barked. âI had nothing to do with those missing space hobos. Why the fuck would I want to get rid of my own damn workers? I want the culprit found as much as you do! Do you know how much money Iâm fucking losing because of this?â
Cromley began to sweat even more profusely. Another coughing fit overtook him, worse than the previous one. His eyes watered as red clearly leaked from between his fingers. He looked at the blood in his hand in disgust. I knew what was wrong.
I crossed my arms. âHow long do you have,â I asked the dying man.
âWho the fuck knows,â Cromley answered, his words tinged with a hint of sadness.
That was usually the case with Copper Lung. If you got it, you could have anywhere from a few days, to a few months to live. Nobody could ever say for sure. My sister had three weeks.
Copper Lung was miraculously not believed to be contagious, so I wasnât in any danger of catching it. I continued to question Cromley.
âEven if you werenât involved, surely you know something that could help me. The disappearances took place near your factory. Dozens of them. You must have noticed something out of the ordinary. Anything at all.â
Cromley bashed his ham of a fist against his desk, making everything on top tremble.
âI told you, I donât know anything! I even checked the security footage, didnât see a damn thing.â
My curiosity was piqued. âMind if I see the footage?â
The large man clicked a few times on his computer and then handed me a disc. âIf it gets you out of my office,â he said.
I watched the footage at home. I stared at the screen for hours, all the while sipping a cup of black coffee. It was an addiction I couldnât manage to overcome.
Cromley was correct. The security cameras didnât pick up anything suspicious. To the average person. I, however, was experienced in this kind of thing. Among the ordinary footage of rylekians walking to and from the factory, a van could be seen driving by. This wouldnât normally raise any alarms, but I noticed this exact van appeared multiple times in the footage. It could be nothing, maybe this street was just on the vanâs regular route. However, the sheer number of times it appeared rubbed me the wrong way. I decided to follow my instincts and slow down the footage to inspect the van. In blurry letters, I saw the words, âNew Hope Pharmaceuticals.â
Early the next day, after noting it in my files, I decided to pay New Hope Pharmaceuticals a visit. It was located near the center of Chicago, surrounded by various other businesses. The building was a massive skyscraper, lined with shining glass windows. Their logo, a fox lying upon the company name, could be seen on the white vans surrounding the premises. The same van seen so many times outside of Cromleyâs factory.
I watched the vans as nonchalantly as I could, figuring out where they went as they returned. From where I stood, I saw most vans entered a tunnel that headed underground, barred off by a guard operating a boom gate. If I was going to get any answers, they would be down there.
I left New Hope Pharmaceuticals and returned in the middle of the night, suspecting the cover of darkness would work to my advantage. My strategy worked, as there were far less eyes around, and I was able to sneak past the gate guard with ease. Thankfully, he didnât take his job very seriously. Instead of looking out for any unwanted visitors, he focused all of his attention on his phone, laughing at something or other.
I stuck to the shadows as best as I could and made my way down the tunnel. From behind, an approaching van rumbled. Without hesitation, I quickly hid behind a nearby crate and waited for it to pass. I held my breath, hoping I was fast enough for them not to see me. When they passed, I knew I was safe.
I watched as the van pulled up to a metal gate that was situated off the main path. The words, âRestricted Access,â were illuminated on a sign above. The driver input a code on a nearby keypad, slowly opening the gate. I snuck closer, carefully staying out of sight, trying to catch a better glimpse as to what was on the other side of the gate.
In the chamber was various instruments, some obviously meant for creating medicines, but others with not so clear purposes. Humans in white lab coats ran back and forth, inspecting vials and calculating data. Nothing too out of the ordinary yet. Right before the gate shut, however, something terrible caught my eye. The rear doors of the van I followed into the depths beneath the building were opened by the driver and in the back were three rylekians, tied and gagged.
Before I had a chance to act, I felt a shock and everything went black. When I came to, I saw that I was sat up in a chair, but not strapped. Still weak, I gazed meekly at my surroundings. Submissive looking rylekians were kept in cages, dozens of them, all appearing to be drugged. Pinned to various boards were scans of lungs. Half of them were discolored and seemed to be almost metallic. I knew immediately they were afflicted with Copper Lung, for I had seen images just like them when my sister was diagnosed.
The other half of the lung images were shaped differently, not human. They also seemed perfectly healthy, from my limited medical knowledge. While never having seen a picture of them before, I made the educated guess that they were rylekian lungs. A feeling of unease washed over me like a waterfall, so I searched for comfort in my gun. It, of course, was taken while I was out cold, to my dismay.
âIâm sorry, but youâll get it back once itâs clear you arenât a threat to anyone here.â
I turned and saw a middle-aged man in round glasses and a white lab coat holding my pistol. He had a look of exhaustion, with purple, heavy bags under his eyes. He had a name tag that said, âHoward Jones,â pinned to his coat.
âNow, I must ask,â the scientist continued, âwhat were you doing armed in an area clearly marked, âRestricted Access?ââ
I remained silent, only staring at Jones.
Howard Jones sighed. âLook, Iâm trying to help you. To do that, I need to know why youâre here. If you donât have any malicious intentions, you can be on your way. No harm done.â
I nodded towards the nearby cages holding the kidnapped rylekians. âWhy are they here?â
Jonesâ face scrunched up with a look of confusion. âThose animals,â he asked. âTheyâre going to help us with our experiments. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?â
I was astonished. He was speaking of intelligent beings as no more than creatures at a zoo. I knew there were plenty of people out there who thought like him, but this man was a scientist. I thought the smart ones were past prejudices.
âThe problem,â I answered, âis that youâre kidnapping people.â
That same confused look remained on Jonesâ face. âI donât know why youâd think that. The only people here are employees of New Hope Pharmaceuticals and volunteers who have been diagnosed with Copper Lung. And now you.â
âCut the shit,â I snapped. âYou know Iâm talking about the rylekians!â
Jones removed his glasses and rubbed off a smudge with his shirt. âSpace hobos arenât people, even if the law says otherwise. They are intruders, squatting on our planet. We can barely sustain our own population, and now we need to care for monsters from another world. Thinking thatâs possible, let alone desirable, is madness.â
My sister would have been livid if sheâd had heard what I just did.
âThe only mad one I see is you,â I sneered, crossing my arms.
The scientist was clearly agitated. âMay I ask your name?â
âMalcolm. Have you figured out what weâre doing here, Malcolm,â he inquired. âWhy I study countless lung scans every day, and perform numerous experiments? Weâre trying to cure the deadliest sickness to hit our species in generations. Have you lost anyone to this disease?â
âAh,â he responded, noticing my reaction. âOf course you have. Itâs becoming more and more rare for someone to not have lost a loved one from it. Personally, I lost my daughter. When that happened, I swore I would find a cure so no one else would need to feel what I felt the day she was buried.
The scientist continued. âLet me tell you how to best find a cure for an ailment. You search for a living creature that the ailment doesnât affect, and find a way to harness whatever makes them immune for yourself. Do you know what the only creature that weâve been able to find thatâs immune to Copper Lung is?â
âEvery single one of these space hobos,â Jones said, not waiting for an answer, âyou insist on calling âpeople.â Using these beasts are the best chance we have at survival. So what if a few need to die? As long as we survive, thatâs all that matters. If we knew that sooner, and had the guts to do what was necessary, my daughter and whomever you lost may have lived.â
Howard Jones rubbed his temples. âSo, what are you going to do, Malcolm? Iâm tired and still have a lot to do before I can rest. You can leave here, forget you saw anything, and allow us to save humanity. Or you can try to free a bunch of animals. If you attempt that, though, I canât guarantee youâll survive, especially since Iâm holding this gun that you so thoughtfully brought. And your sudden appearance means we will cover up everything happening here, no matter what you choose, in case you decided to double cross us or told anyone where you were going. So, whatâll it be?â
I crossed my arms and smiled, noticing a Newtonâs Cradle clacking away on the nearby desk.