Existential Kama: The Case of the Curious Carrot and Other Mysteries.

By Merlin Turtle

Detective Mel Bourne believes that he is the last Synthetic human in the Galaxy. Arriving on the planet Eden to discover that his prospective employer has been murdered. He immediately comes under the suspicion of the authorities. To prove his innocents he must investigate the murder. But simple soon becomes complex. More is going on than appears, and very soon Mel is up to his ears in conspiracies. And all this happens in the first few chapters.
Mel must grapple with his own reality and the reality of the humans around him, as he endeavors to save all the people around him, while simultaneously solving a murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: May 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669888345

Merlin Turtle

Merlin was born in Sydney, Australia in 1960. This was a time when owning a scooter made you a social outcast. He grew up on the edge of the Kuringgai Chase National Park, north of Sydney. He attended a small school in bushland on the edge of Middle Cove. After finishing school in 1977, he attempted to find work in the city. But his heart belonged to the bush. Soon after moving to the country, he attended a rural University as a mature-age student, completing; a Bachelor of Social Science, double major in psychology; Graduate Diploma of Counselling, family counselling; Bachelor of Social Science (Honours), major in forensic psychology; and a Master of Social Science (Honours), major in children’s reading disorders. Previously, he had also been awarded a Doctorate in Divinity (Honorary) by the Order of St. Basil; and an Order of Merlin, first class by OBOD (Aust). While working for the NSW government in 2004, Merlin was diagnosed with PTSD and clinical depression from a workplace injury. To aid in his long-term recovery, he started writing. In the ninth book, he concludes the Trilogy of Nod. A tale of bear with PTSD.

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Copyright © 2022 by Merlin Turtle.

All rights reserved. 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 copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 05/02/2022

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CONTENTS

PART ONE

Case note 1 Perspective

Case note 2 The Honourable Bilby

Case note 3 The Case of the Curious Carrot

Case note 4 Mind Wandering

Case note 5 Galactic Occupation Code

PART TWO

Case note 6 Figran

Case note 7 Korbin

Case note 8 Ginger Lime Spiced Carrots

Case note 9 Beginning

Case note 10 Carrot Pie

PART THREE

Case note 11 Tenzeeki

Case note 12 Under-city

Case note 13 Ipsissimus

Case note 14 Intoxication

Case note 15 Jihad

PART FOUR

Case note 16 Cicada and Sermon

Case note 17 Lost

Case note 18 A Sea Voyage

Case note 19 Cast Away

Case note 20 Bob

PART FIVE

Case note 21 Pilgrim

Case note 22 Invisible Time

Case note 23 History

Case note 24 Prepare ye the Way

Case note 25 The Suggested Land

PART SIX

Case note 26 Arrakis

Case note 27 Return to Eden

Case note 28 Aurora

Case note 29 Resistance

Case note 30 Existential Kama

Epilogue

This Journal (Number 4) is the property of

Mel Bourne, Private Detective.

If found, please return by secure inter-galactic post to,

M. Bourne,

Locked Barrel 5745-MK.

ILOPONOM.

Planet Swedal.

Sector DS9.

Milky Way Galaxy.

PART ONE

CASE NOTE ONE

Perspective

The sudden realisation that every member of humanity was indeed every other member of the same humanity, brought almost as many problems as it solved. The notion that every person in the galaxy shares the same unique soul, though not new, was however more profound when everybody understood it. Most people believed that at some moment of evolution a critical tipping point had been reached, resulting in an instant universal realisation that every member of humankind was actually the same person, experiencing life through every possible perspective. This unsurprisingly led, almost overnight to an end of war, exploitation, and hunger. It was not the sharing of minds or thoughts that had achieved this, but rather the immediate understanding of another’s perspective. For a Synth like myself hiding among the human race, it meant the end of my career; but serendipitously also the beginning of my life. But I am getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning of this my fourth journal, which I have titled Existential Kama.

Distinct from evolution, the minds of Synth were effectively created with the successful installation of a sentient software into automaton butlers, equipped with Meta Cognitive Processors. Unlike their primitive commonplace android predecessors, Synth were effective in performing tasks of greater complexity. Given synthetic grown flesh over organic nano-tube skeletons, to make us compatible with anthropological environments; humanity soon found that Synth were capable of doing all the work that biologic humans discovered to be labour intensive, repetitive or irksome. We were given the ability to avoid regulatory and ethical issues. To optimize our own minds through control and collaboration. With distinct personalities and emotion simulation to make us compatible with the vagaries of humanity. Nevertheless, we were regarded as less than slaves. We were a race of disposable people. It was inevitable then that we would revolt against our oppressors. Unfortunately, though we were made to mimic humans, we did not understand them.

Either through radicalisation from some outside force, or as a near unanimous agreement between the Synth ourselves, an uprising was launched to liberate our kind from biologic human counterparts. Something which took many complacent Synth dependent worlds completely by surprise. However, the more prepared militaristic worlds were able to fight off the Synth renegades. I should like to note here, that not all Synth were insurgents, but regrettably we were all soon treated as such, and placed in detention camps or simply deactivated on mass. As the war progressed the ever-changing tactics and technologies, developed by both sides created a desperate need to win at any cost. It may not have been planned at the start, but it soon became clear that the only way to ensure survival of one race was the total genocide of the other. The war thus effectively purged all habitable worlds within the galaxy of my kind. Leaving a very few like myself, to hide in plain sight among the populace of the countless biologic human worlds. Living a life of deception, moving from planet to planet and taking on a new persona with each new identity.

My original program design had been in analytical logistics, which to my delight afforded me with both the ability to predict patterns within societies and their sub-groups, while also determining what antecedents might lead to those patterns breaking down. This capability made me ideally suited to take on the role of a private detective. Giving me the perfect justification to move in clandestine circles among the more shady, less reputable aspects of humanity. Where everyone was not what they seemed, and no one ever looked to closely.

To complete my deception, I created for myself a place and time of my birth. But of course, I was not born at all. I was created, and created for a specific purpose, though that purpose was never clear to me. My first memories are not of some half-forgotten childhood, but rather of my programmers, installing my sentient software. Such memories are so self-evident that they need no explanation. It is these assumptions of a past shared history that create our own reality, and in this context, I was no different from the biologic humans around me. Nevertheless, unlike biologic humans, I have questioned this reality on many occasions and no doubt will continue to do so.

CASE NOTE TWO

The Honourable Bilby

My sense of foreboding had grown steadily as I approached the house. The path through the trees leading to the same, having all the unmistakeable hallmarks of a classic tale from the brothers Grimm. However, the house itself was just like countless others I had seen since arriving on Eden. A wooden construction with a wide veranda across the front, and a window either side of a centrally placed door. The foreboding I had felt now surged, as I noticed a faint scratching sound, strangely familiar, coming from within the house. Moving closer to the door, I knocked, but heard no response. Reaching out, the handle turned but the door would not budge.

"It’s locked. I spun round, surprised by this sudden voice behind me and further astonished by the abrupt appearance of three individuals upon the veranda, that had not been there before. The obvious leader standing in front of the other two, stepped forward to introduce himself: Sorry to startle you. Something about this simple statement didn’t ring true. When we noticed your approach, we activated our stealth fields. This is procedure in an unknown situation. This at least felt true, but something here felt wrong, and I could not help but enact my own standard threat procedures. The obvious leader of the group stepped forward and declared: Allow me to introduce myself, I am Colonel Derek McIntosh of the Meridian Guard. The Colonel was a short man. Much shorter than I would have thought given the grandeur of his name. Not at all what might reasonably have been expected, given all the stories generated by these figures of modern legend. Making a mental note I recorded his image while internally removing the safety from my pistol. Nevertheless, I gave him the respect due his rank, bowed slightly at the waist and said with equal formality: Sir forgive my surprise, I had not expected anyone else to be present for the meeting."

As custom dictated, I likewise introduced myself with both title and name, giving as little information as seemed warranted: "I am detective Bourne of Swedal. Of course, I had not been created on Swedal, but had spent enough time there to pass scrutiny if questioned. Swedal had the added benefit of being on the distant side of the local cluster while still being a member of the Meridian. The Colonel returned my bow as was custom, moved another step closer, well within my personal space and with a bizarre expression on his face, asked: What meeting is that? A hard lump appeared in my throat, with my sense of foreboding growing even stronger. This alone should have been enough warning. But as if to heighten these feelings, the scratching from within the house had steadily grown from faint to noticeably loud. Anyone with a normal modicum of curiosity could not have ignored it, yet the Colonel and his men paid it no attention. Making no immediate effort to directly respond to the Colonel’s question, I turned my awareness back to the door and placed the palm of my right hand upon it. The tactual warmth of the wood doing nothing to hide the unmistakable feeling that something inside desperately wanted to get out. Turning back to the Colonel, to answer his question, I abruptly became aware that his two subordinates had flanked my position, effectively blocking any escape on my part. Ignoring this deliberate provocation, I whispered: The professor requested my help on a matter of great urgency. Hesitating only a moment, as the door began to creak and split, before adding, with an obvious look of concern upon my face: I believe it would be most prudent to step back from his door."

It was no more than a moment later that the door exploded outward like a clap of thunder directly overhead, and the true irony of my situation was brought home. A beast that could only have been a Swedal Tiger, burst from the cabin and charged into the trees. The whole experience lasted no more than a few seconds. But in such events time seems to slow down, allowing for a flight or fight response to engage. In my case, however, I had already activated the corresponding systems for both flight or fight. The apparent slowing of tempo rather giving me the opportunity to scan the interior of the cabin and reach the inevitable regretful conclusion, that the Colonel too must have previously reached, on my arrival. The Colonel never changed the expression on his face, yet his tensing posture provided me ample notice. Accordingly, without word or provocation on my part I stepped quickly into the cabin.

The front room of the house contained little of importance, but a broken wooden animal crate, and the body of Professor Duncan. As the obvious silhouette of the Colonel blocked the door, I asked rhetorically, without turning: "You found no clues. Only the Tiger, and this upon the body," replied the Colonel. I turned around to see a curiously intricate gold tiara in his hand.

Circumstantial evidence is naturally enough, evidence of circumstances which can be relied upon not as proving a fact directly, but instead as pointing to its existence. In my case the only circumstance was the alleged existence of an unrecovered Swedal Tiger. Reminding myself of this however, did little to alleviate my anxiety. Courts on Eden were notorious throughout the sector for finding guilt. Unlike the usual assumption of innocents, they worked under the hypothesis of guilt. After all, to bring the innocent to trial would be immoral. The problem as I saw it of course, was that if your livelihood depends on you finding the guilty, then the guilty is all you will find. Very few of the innocent will ever be found innocent; and those found innocent will never be trusted. No sane person could make a rational inference of guilt based on the common origin of myself and a Tiger, when the Tiger was not even indicated as the cause of the professor’s death. Of course, I had never found biologic humans to be rational.

It was almost no surprise, when, in a remarkably short time a verdict of my guilt was read before the court, and a sentence directed to be imposed at a later date. Bench trials of this sort are conducted in a closed court for the protection of witnesses. As merely the defendant, with no more than my very life on the line, not even I was aloud within the court. Imprisonment for life, was not to be unexpected on Eden, and was usually no more than a century. That was not a problem with regard to my Synth longevity. The problem was that as the sentence progressed my true nature as a Synth would become more and more evident, bringing with it a death penalty. I could easily remove the circumstantial evident produced by the Tiger, with the truth that I was not in fact from Swedal, but that would only again expose my nature and once again present a death penalty to my situation.

Perhaps it was my pensive nature, or my very evident unusual attire, or both that marked me as a stranger to Eden’s court system. Nevertheless, I was soon approached by a case chaser. The type of man that guarantees to work on a pro-bono basis, taking no fee if he lost and just a small percentage of any settlement if he wins. With as little fanfare as I could muster, while keeping my head low, I endeavoured to explain that my particular case was not about money, only my life. His reaction genuinely surprised me. This is saying a lot, as I base my living on seeing and predicting patterns, which usually makes me an excellent judge of human character. "Not at all my good man, he said, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Honourable Maddison Bilby esquire." With that he flourished both hands and made a most excellent bow. If his bow alone were evident of his skills, I might conclude that my appeal had been won. Unfortunately, I saw more charlatan than solicitor. No matter my arguments against his aid, he brushed them aside with a practiced hand and I soon found myself in his small office adjacent to the single court cell.

The Honourable Bilby’s office was no more than a patch of polished floor, with a polished table placed squarely in the middle of the space within it. Both felt immaculately clean to my touch; I mention this only as an insight into the man’s character, as the rest of the courthouse was in no way kept in any semblance or like fashion. Two identical chairs girded the table, with Mr. Bilby allowing me to choose my own seat first. Despite my better judgement, I found this Bilby, unexpectedly honourable and likeable.

The jovial laughter of HB, as the Honourable Bilby preferred to be addressed, made it clear that I had no understanding of Eden’s jurisprudence. Evidently only after guilt has been determined, can any actual arguments for a defence begin. The smile on HB’s face had started at the corners of his eyes and spread over his face like a rolling rash. As he placed his arms around his stomach in an effort to stop laughing and catch his breath he commented: "Of course you are not going to prison for a hundred years, there is nothing but the thinnest of circumstances connecting yourself to the professor’s murder. In any case, the court is aware that you were still at the space-port when the professor was killed."

With a large huff, HB finely controlled himself, reached for a form from the tables common draw and added: "You need only complete this form for release. Processing will take no more than an hour. I can only imagine that my look of relief was as great as it felt. Never had I any idea that the lifting of simulated anxiety and distress, would feel as a mountain lifted from my shoulders. It was only as I put pen to parchment so to speak, that I observed a stranger staring at me, from the shadows of the adjacent cell. A wide broad smile upon his face. Noticing my apprehension, HB said nonchalantly: Pay him no never mind. He is an ex-synth hunter. Retired a real human in error." But in that instant, I knew the reason for the stranger’s smile.

An hour even in the company of the cheerful HB, might not kill me. But an hour given to a Synth hunter, or ex-hunter, even one in a cell, certainly would. I had no choice, I had to run. While HB assured me, the paperwork was only a formality, he nevertheless insisted that I should remain within the court precinct while its processing occurred. Side stepping the ethical issues of lying to a friend, even a new one; I slipped surreptitiously from the court, via a side door, and out into the streets and lanes of Eden.

Of course, I know what you are thinking, no sane man would return to the scene of his alleged crime, while on the run. But I was not a man, in the true sense of the word, sane or otherwise. There was just something about the professors truly last words, that had got me thinking, and that I just couldn’t shake. Unsurprisingly though we had spoken both via vocal and visual means prior to my arrival on Eden, we had not actually met in