Simon Grave and the Girl with the Crab Tattoo by Len Boswell

Author:Len Boswell [Boswell, Len]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2024-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

34

Loblolly and Snoot sat in front of the Global Missing Persons Identifier and listened to the strange sounds coming from the machine, which seemed to match the clangs and dings and crunches and gnashings of an MRI machine.

They had uploaded images of the two women’s faces, as well as images for more than a hundred pieces of jewelry, and punched the start button, initiating a cacophonous search of missing person files worldwide.

“How long is this going to take?” said Loblolly.

“It could be minutes if the missing person is local, or hours—even days—if the missing person is from another country.”

“But it will stop when it finds a match, right?”

“Yes, if we’re lucky, the GMPI will find a match based on their faces; if not, it will turn to the jewelry, and that could create a large number of false positives.”

“I’m hoping for faces.”

“Me, too, I want to get out there and help with the search for that portal cylinder.”

They settled back in their chairs and listened. Sometimes a series of clanks and whistles and trills would have them leaning forward, hoping for a result, but the machine would suddenly go quiet, clanks coming less often.

They waited and waited. Minutes passed, and then an hour.

“Jeez,” said Loblolly, “this is taking a long time.”

“Not all that long,” said the GMPI. “Believe me, I’ve had cases that took weeks.”

Loblolly was stunned. It had a woman’s voice and a decidedly English accent. “You can talk?”

“Of course I can talk,” it said. “My programmer insisted on it. And I can sing, too. Something to take your minds off the delay, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Snoot. “Just tell us where you are now in your search.”

“Nothing in Crab Cove or the Greater Crabopolis, so I’ve spread the search north to New Philadelphia, west to Cumberland, and south to New Norfolk.”

“What’s with all the clanks?” said Loblolly. “I mean, how will we know when you’ve found a match?”

“Ah, good question,” it said. “If it’s a sort-of match, there will be a bell. If it’s a good match, there will be a whistle, and if it’s an excellent match, I will launch into song.”

“What song?”

“I don’t know, it’s random. Anything from New Hillbilly to Quantum Jazz, to Queen covers. Sometimes even classical music.”

“Um, okay,” said Loblolly. “I guess we’d better let you get back to work, then.”

“Okay,” it said. “Talk to you soon, I hope.” Its voice was replaced by renewed clangs, knocks, and bangs.

“She seems nice,” said Loblolly.

Snoot gave her a funny look.

“What?” said Loblolly.

“It’s a machine, Polly. A machine.”

Loblolly slumped back in her chair. As soon as her back hit the chair, the GMPI launched into a bad, off-key cover of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Snoot let it sing for a few seconds, then shouted, “Stop!”

The GMPI stopped singing and its regular voice came back. “What? Why? Don’t you like my singing?”

Snoot rolled her eyes, and lied. “Your singing is fine, but we need the match.”

It sighed. “As you wish. Watch the screen. Your match is coming up in two point six seconds.

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