Bienvenidos, Tarrons.
Welcome aboard the mysterious chirp.
This is Raven.
Buckle up.
It's about to get exciting.
It was a day like any other day in the hard-hitting streets of Yorksburg.
I wasn't particularly looking forward to anything, and if I had been, it probably wouldn't have happened.
Or so says Chandler, my handler for the case I was on.
The name is Cannon.
Luke Cannon.
First-while lieutenant with The Mysterious CHIRP and the Black Opal TRILL ships.
I had come to Hot L6 for a vacation, lured by the name and its reputation.
None of it deserved.
I'd longed to forget myself in a seedy diner, drowning my sorrows in pancakas and blue milk, and watching the octopidian dancers on the counter until I couldn't fend off sleep.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Turns out the planet I wanted was Hot K5, the dwarf planet next door.
Hot L6 was the conference planet, with IT aspirations and eco realities.
Luckily, I knew a guy.
Chandler and I go way back.
Couple of street urchins who turned out better than anyone expected.
So I called.
After a couple of minutes of small talk, he said the three words that were a lifeline.
Want a job?
So here I was watching the back exit of the conference center, nee warehouse, holster full, belly empty, earpiece barking.
What's your status?
I wanted to say bored as whales, but I knew better.
I stuck to the script.
All clear.
Entering now.
We were a security detail for the interplanetary responsible fuel exchange, an opportunity for big wigs to be seen thinking about doing good and middle wigs to be seen at all.
Ostensibly, I was there to protect them.
But the reality was I was protecting their bijou.
I made my way to the Sphere Room, checking egresses and e-stairs as I went and wishing I had company.
Excuse me, but do you work here?
I need some help.
Uh, I'm sorry, but I I'm sure you are.
Don't worry about it, I'm gracious.
Just carry my valise to the Sphere Room for me while I go powder my ears.
Uh, listen, I don't mean to be Place it carefully in the wings on stage left.
Do you know what stage left is?
Luckily, I'd learned a thing or two from Circus Trifolium aboard the Mysterious.
She must have seen that in my face, because she just kept talking.
Thank the horse lords.
Please and thank you by now.
And down the hall they went, sweeping their tail peduncle over the floor, never changing course, even when oncomers had to flatten themselves against the wall for their own
safety.
I grabbed the bag.
uh
tail-slapping Bag of Holding from the weight of it, and hung a Louis.
I waved my badge at the undulating colors of the forcefield entry point and passed into the Sphere Room.
Canon, we've got maybe twelve minutes before incoming.
Check the room's perimeter, then meet me at the podium on stage.
On it, Chandler.
And why are you toting a Versace Hermes?
Never mind, I don't care.
See you in five.
Four minutes later.
We were completing our inspection of the stage.
I was off stage left so I could dump the bag when I caught a movement back with the scenery controls.
Chandler, I think I got something.
Have at it, then podium pronto.
I set my Smith and West to stun and proceeded with full caution.
What I found was a whole lot of nothing except half an anchovy, and that I found with my shoe.
flicked on the SNW power light, shown it up into the catwalk.
Still nothing.
All clear.
Want me to check behind the presentation screen?
Nah, we're out of time.
Probably some turkey or mini tech bot.
I made my way to the podium and the giant half-Thry Kreen that was my friend and the best Scottsing security detail this side of the wormhole.
Beside him was a tall, elegant being, broad-shouldered in a
seed-stitched tunic of red, gold, and green.
Ah, greetings to you, my friend.
I am Sindarin.
I am just a minor dignitary from Betoga, but we believe equity is crucial for sustainability.
Let me begin by stating how humbled and honored I am to be the keynote speaker for this fuel exchange.
And in an hour, I'll be doing an interactive baking share on the holodeck.
Your friend said you would be of assistance?
The name's Cannon.
And if Chandler says I'm your solution, I'm sure I can help.
What's the problem?
I fear that some of the technology that I will be utilizing during my presentation may be a bit delicate.
So I would feel more comfortable if it were stored securely.
The good news is there's a backstage exit.
Across from that is a freight elevator whose rear exit is down the hall from the service entrance to the holodeck.
We could keep your equipment on a dolly offstage where you can see it.
We can load it into the elevator and I'll take 'em up.
You'll be able to return promptly.
I'll secure the holodeck and report back for security before you can say Scott's your uncle.
My most heartfelt gratitude to you, Cannon, sir.
Would it be agreeable if I were to leave my coat with the equipment?
Cannon, make it so.
One hour and 16 minutes later, the participants were finishing an impromptu frothy and sweets break.
Sindarin had just left for the holodeck with Chandler, followed by a drove of Conference Waitrons pushing draped food trolleys.
I was watching the crowd from the stage, intrigued in spite of myself.
If you've ever been to the theatricals on Minerva, you know what I mean.
Doesn't matter if you don't speak the language or can't hear, or if it's too clever to follow, the gesture chorus makes the real conversations.
The power plays, the flirtations, the sizing ups.
Absolutely crystal clear.
It was like that.
Who was trying to get backing for a project?
Who was desperate for money or spice or some other basic problem?
Who was secure and aloof?
You know the score.
The only surprises were that there were some genuinely kind and compassionate beings.
probably from Preservation Alliance, and that craft services had run out of snacks early.
The crowd began to drift out, headed for workshops they could ignore but say that they had attended or to mini power meetings at the bar.
I'd wait another few minutes, then join Chandler on the holodeck for Sindarin's Interactive.
I decided to grab some bacon from the bedraggled salad bar.
Whoever put the word salad next to word bar should be ashamed when my earpiece erupted.
Cannon, get up here.
Sindarin's paraphernalia's been nicked.
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It was true.
And not true.
Most of the expensive, gorgeous high-tech equipment was still there.
What was missing was the culinary delicacies of 42 different worlds across nearly as many galaxies.
And the beings were not happy about it.
You!
You were supposed to be watching my things!
How am I supposed to make meaningful connections so I do well in the fuel exchange with-
my bags!" I looked around the room.
The holodeck had us in a grassy glade with a soft breeze rustling the leaves of an open and ancient forest.
An elegant labyrinth of low, narrow tables led participants from many of the four entrances to a round table in the center.
Along each pathway were small plates, some overturned, some broken.
The center table was pristine.
Chandler was checking it out.
Tucked in among the trees surrounding the glade were travel cases, most vomiting their contents across the moss.
Chandler had opted to leave the soothing simulation on, probably to comfort the guests.
Smart move.
I remembered there'd been a few travel cases here when I brought in the equipment.
Now it looked like most of the guests had not been allowed to check in.
and had left their bags in here, the most secure and out of the way place.
It made sense.
Most of them had contributions to this event in those bags.
Okay beings, settle down, please.
I waited for the grumbling and protestations to die down.
Could everyone who has a bag here, please raise an appendage?
Yeah, it was pretty much everyone.
Okay, could everyone who does not have a bag here, please come check in with me.
Everyone else, please examine your things and create a list on your device of what's been stolen.
Is there a link to which we should send the list?
Or perhaps a preferred tag of choice?
I almost said, how about stolen?
Then I realized items probably went missing every day.
This conference center was on hot L6 for Scott's sake.
Sure, it could attract high-end guests, but they didn't have high-end security.
That was my job.
Tag it, holodeck theft.
Thank you.
Two thermians in a construct met me at the quink gazebo I had chosen for headquarters.
We decided the construct and one thermian would post themselves at opposite poles in the glade to review lists.
and answer procedural questions as needed.
The other thermian I recognized from a field training on cancer on, they and I would go over every inch of the room and question the participants.
I started with Sindarin.
When I arrived, there were no guests in the room.
Perhaps I was too preoccupied with my tasks at hand, for I did not notice the travel cases.
I was focused on setting up the floating glass lotus plates and my bonsais.
and checking the programming for the ancient ones to join us, as these are of vital importance to the process.
Who let you in?
Was there a security guard?
yes.
The question of how and when guests deposited their things.
The Waitrons all had a clearance card.
You know, they're easily influenced by casual threat or financial restitution to open the room.
Things are rather difficult in Yorksburg.
I wasn't surprised.
Same story.
different day.
was when I was choosing the forest locations for the final small round table connectings that I noticed the travel cases.
For a moment I was taken aback.
I mean the sheer ferocity of the carnage.
it.
Well honestly it took me aback.
I do not know why.
Up until that moment I'd felt completely at ease.
But when Sindarin said I do not know why my lie-o-meter went off.
I decided it could wait.
By that time, the Waitrons had begun to set up my food offerings.
Some were to be placed in the temples, some along the labyrinth pathways, especially where one another would meet.
You see, this encourages the participants to share a moment, a revelation, or even a spontaneous musing.
It is important to- I get it.
Let's get back to the food on the dollies.
Was it all there?
I believe some of it.
Some dollies were completely untouched, some ransacked, and uh two were slightly sampled.
Where were they kept prior to being brought here?
Were they accessible to everyone?
Were they all in one place?
I believe most were backstage, both stage right and stage left.
Probably a few near the exit door.
Several were in the kitchen, both in the walk-in and at a prep station for final touches.
That made sense.
The timeline and the destruction pattern suggested that whoever it was had begun backstage and that they were small or a changeling.
I thought back to the movement I'd caught out of the corner of my eye early that day.
Could have been my snooping that spooked our criminal, caused him to exit the Sphere Room.
Most folks had thrown outerwear atop their bags or
left him half open.
Some of the travel cases were pretty large.
It wouldn't have been hard for a small enough being to hitch a ride unnoticed.
Thank you.
You've been very helpful.
If you could try to get me a detailed inventory of what you are missing, I'd be grateful.
A scream pierced the room.
I headed toward it, following the subsequent sobs and heart-wrenching wails to a picked-up bridge and expecting the worst.
Are you okay?
It's my jewels!
My jewels are gone!
I put my bag under this cute little bridge thinking it would be safer and now they're gone!
Were they in some kind of case?
How are they packaged?
large ruby tiara is still here.
It was in a locked case.
But the star gems, sapphires, and pearls, they were mixed into the magic fairy cakes that are magicked to tumble out as you bite so you don't swallow them and then beings could
enjoy them for the whole event as long as they stayed in this room.
And they're gone.
If they can't leave the room, they are not gone.
We'll start by looking near the egresses.
I pinged the thermians and constructs to help me search, and told participants to stay where they were.
I didn't need any funny stuff and Chandler had gone to admin to review any video footage, which I expected to be useless given how things were going.
We checked the entire perimeter of the room.
No glory.
We were out luck and out of time when Sindarin called my name.
Canon!
Pardon my boisterous reaction, but I believe I see the gemstones.
You see there?
Under a table.
Right there.
In the midsection of the labyrinth.
I made my way over and squatted down.
There they were, glittering and spit-covered.
All there in little piles surrounded by crumbs and legs of things.
Then it all went to space debris.
Folks crawling under tables, folks scouring the woods.
From the shouting it appeared that there was a pattern.
The non-food items were present, albeit sometimes slimy, and 99.9 % of the food eaten.
All that was left was a masticated peep.
Blue, if you're wondering.
I was looking around the room, trying to think of next steps.
When I saw Sindarin put something in a pocket, I was there in a tail slap.
What's that?
I beg your pardon.
You put something in your pocket.
Show it to me.
Now.
He sighed and handed me a strand of red yarn, probably from a sweater.
That was lucky.
Hand it over, please.
Here.
I am blessed.
Fortune often smiles upon me.
It's red.
Perhaps that's auspicious.
A good omen, if you will.
I don't usually.
But if you tell me why you tried to hide this seemingly innocuous strand, I might make an exception.
My apologies.
A momentary lapse of etiquette made subconsciously is I have a cosmic affinity for minor trinkets of no real consequence, an impetuous habit that lingers from my youth.
I wasn't buying what he was selling.
And he knew it.
He kept talking.
Soto voce, as they say.
For my ears only.
Well, in my travels, I have encountered hundreds, perhaps thousands even, of sentient species.
Some are hunted without cause.
Without cause?
How can you know that?
Not every red ant is a fire ant.
Not every mantis.
Not even every thrycrene is a threat.
That hit home.
I pocketed the evidence, pinged Chandler, and began my surreptitious search for more evidence of the fabric persuasion along the perimeter.
I didn't tell anyone what I was doing.
Retracing steps is common enough.
By the time Chandler arrived, I had found another strand, yellow this time, and a dark suspicion was growing in my mind.
I was about to exit the door nearest the Strand when Sindarin approached.
Be careful and kind.
Not everything is as it appears to be.
I left the room and headed down the hall.
The Blacksburg Interfaith Food Pantry is a nonprofit near and dear to this month's guest, author Mindy Quigley.
Serving qualified residents of Blacksburg and McCoy, Virginia, the Blacksburg Interfaith Food Pantry is a joint ministry of over 25 faith-based communities in Blacksburg.
We are also supported by individuals, organizations, and clubs that are members of our community.
A program of New River Community Action Incorporated
The Blacksburg Interfaith Food Pantry is an all-volunteer organization, open four days a week.
We rely solely on cash and food donations from churches, individuals, and other organizations.
To donate food or make a cash contribution, please visit the Make a Donation tab on our website, blacksburginterfaithfoodpantry.org.
We appreciate the overwhelming generosity which provides us with the ability to serve the increasing needs of the Blacksburg and McCoy communities.
For more information, email bbergifp at gmail.com.
Thank you.
I had followed the twists and turns into ever darker and dirtier hallways, neglected because the public never saw them and no one cares about the workers.
And I found what I'd been looking for under a decrepit vanity table.
The signs were all there.
Afghans, doilies, the unraveled sleeve of a woolen sweater, just as I had expected.
A verminous K-nit.
I felt rather than saw it creep up behind me, pulled my Smith and West from the holster as I turned, freeze.
But it was too late.
The form hurling toward me wrapped around my face and neck, smothering me and then fell off.
I looked down.
It was a tattered rib stitch house coat and its former occupant huddled small and shivering, clutching.
tiny knitted tauntaun.
Not a vermicious knit then, not as ravenous or unraveled enough, and it wasn't spelling threats with its body.
Some sort of knit, though, had to be.
I knelt down.
Hey, buddy, it's okay.
I'm not gonna hurt you.
oh It held a crumpled tissue in one paw.
probably from a guest's coat in or on one of the guest's travel bags.
I should have arrested him, should have thrown him in the clink or at least sent him to juvie.
He blinked up at me.
He slowly extended the paw, holding his little toy.
Then hesitated.
He drew that paw back, clutched the tiny tauntaun to his chest, then extended the other paw and opened it.
offering it up.
Inside the tissue was the corner crust of a PB &J.
Yeah.
I gently took the proffered crust, slowly bit off a piece, then carefully extended my hand to the little knit, hoping there was no truth to the saying, bite the hand that feeds you.
The knit took it.
opened its mouth wider than its own head and devoured the small piece of crust like a hungry shark on a beach full of bleeders.
You
Then it threw itself at my pant leg, shivering and muttering in a language I didn't know.
Cannon, update.
Cannon, do you read me?
Come in with an update.
Boss, nothing left but food scraps.
Appears to have been an animal of some kind, possibly an ROUS.
Same here.
Then did the sphere room.
Okay, report back and we'll get this mess cleaned up.
Have them check the vents for nests and keep all the beautiful beings content for the remainder of the conference.
I hid the knit under the lid of an old piano.
I gave him a handkerchief, my lunch, and a promise to return.
The remainder of the weekend was business as usual.
The odd necklace stolen usually recovered in another guest's bed where it fell off.
The money missing that turned out to be drunkenly spent on all the available entertainments in the city.
One or two small items actually nicked, but burgled so badly we figured out who done it.
Mostly folks just lost their tempers or their dignity.
At the end of the weekend, I met Chandler over coffee and a tasty brioche.
My bags parked next to me.
You done good, Cannon.
Thanks for reminding me why I hired you.
He handed me a fistful of credits.
More than we had bargained.
Thanks.
You're a true pal, Chandler.
Ah don't mention it.
to anyone.
What's with the extra bag?
Souvenirs?
Tailored garments made by the locals?
Have you gone soft on me?" I smiled, relaxed and sure of myself.
My colleagues aboard the Mysterious helped me out in a big way last season.
I didn't lie.
It was true.
It was also true that nothing in that new big travel case was going to do my friends any favors.
But Chandler didn't need to know that.
Take it easy, Cannon.
Until the next time.
He gave a mock salute.
Then Chandler the handler loped off.
Me?
I stepped out into the too hot sun of an over-paved city.
Little buddy?
Orry?
Wanna go someplace with a whale load of food and an ocean of privacy?
Orry?
And we did.
This episode is sponsored by the incredibly talented Yasmin Twazin.
Thank you.
And thank you, Terrans, for listening to The Mysterious Chirp.
Follow us on Instagram, YouTube, Patreon, and our website to catch behind-the-scenes information and learn more about the characters, cast, and production team.
And now, the credits.
The Mysterious Chirp is a monthly science fiction podcast written by Holly Adams and the cast of The Mysterious Chirp.
and produced by Shearwater Productions and Christopher Plummer of Michigan Tech University.
The cast in this episode in order of appearance, Joey Steenhagen as Lieutenant Luke Cannon, Connor Fleming as Chandler the Handler, Holly Adams as the overprivileged lady,
and Dee Alves as Sindarin and as Veek.
Theme music by Ryan Terrell, additional music by Jonah Rady, and dialogue editing by Rainy Alexeiev.
Thanks for listening.
If you enjoy the mysterious chirp, you might also like ghost inspectors and three black halflings.