The Elephant in the Elevator

By Pamela Love

“Time for your first elephant hunt, Ms. Chowdhury.” Inspector Patel’s gaze was fixed on the huge, disc-shaped space elevator descending the cable toward its Himalayan base. So was mine, but with more awe—this system lets us easily and regularly reach space itself!

My pulse accelerated. I tapped my case. “My equipment is ready, sir.”

We weren’t searching for an actual elephant in the elevator, of course—even a calf couldn’t pass planetary security. But possessing products derived from any endangered creature is a major felony, besides being a blow to India’s vital conservation efforts. Now the police had a new tool to help detect small items that would previously have been easily smuggled off world—my invention, the Chowdhury Sensor. This day marked the start of my helping to protect our planet’s environment.

I watched the elevator settle into its base. Patel’s authority must be enormous to recall the elevator once it’s started its journey into orbit. His informant must be very reliable, too. Only the wealthy and powerful traveled by space elevator. If my scans found nothing illegal aboard, these individuals could make Patel—and me—very sorry. I shivered, and not only because of the icy wind, so unfamiliar to me, a lifelong New Delhi resident.

The elevator’s doors slid open. Flanked by officers, I marched inside. We blocked the exit while Patel strode to the center. Three dozen passengers sat around the elevator’s inner perimeter. They stared at the inspector as he introduced himself with polished courtesy.

“Everyone must remain seated while we examine this car and those within it for contraband.”

“But we were cleared before we boarded.” A man in a gray suit—likely Scandinavian, judging by his accent—puffed out his chest. “So was our luggage. I’m on my way to a meeting on the Moon. If I miss it—”

The inspector raised a commanding hand. “We have evidence of an elephant in the elevator.”

Silence filled the car.

“We will notify the prosecutor of appropriate cooperation.”

More silence.

The inspector lifted one eyebrow. “Very well. Our brand-new technology will locate and identify any contraband. We shall employ it now.”

Recognizing my cue, I took the Chowdhury Sensor from its case and headed toward the nearest passenger.

“Wait!” a young woman said. “I would never use any elephant products. However, I do have an elephant—of sorts—with me. It’s perfectly legal, but a rumor may have gotten out about it which led to this confusion.” She chuckled.

In an instant, Patel was at her side. He was not chuckling. “Details, madam. Quickly.”

Unzipping a bag covered with embroidered peacocks, the woman plucked a needle from a pincushion as red as her sari. She twirled the needle between two fingers. “A stasis field fills this needle’s eye, which contains a sculpture of an elephant.”

The inspector whipped out a magnifying glass. “I have heard of such microsculptures. Of what is it made, madam?”

I looked over his shoulder. The artwork was surprisingly detailed for something so tiny. It was also white. Ivory, I thought.

“A single grain of rice. This type of carving is an ancient art form. What it is not is an actual elephant.” She beckoned to me as one might summon a servant.

I extended the sensing wand and checked the screen. “Yes, it’s rice—248 years and seven months old, at that.”

Patel bowed to the woman. “You possess exquisite taste, madam… and no doubt the receipt proving you paid the export tax on this item?”

She swallowed hard. “It is possible that…in the confusion of my preparations for emigration to Mars, I might have accidentally neglected one or two minor details.”

“Indeed. Officer Jha will take you and your luggage to where this matter, as well as any other pending details, may be resolved.”

Such a resolution would no doubt involve a substantial fine, but likely no prison time. I sighed. Rice was not endangered. Was that all I’d achieved? Spotting a tax cheat?

After she’d trudged off the elevator, Patel turned slowly around. “Does anyone else have any minor details they’d like to clear up before being scanned? You will recall this sensor was able to date that grain of rice—within a stasis field!—to the month of its harvest. What else might it find, given the opportunity? Remember, the prosecutor wants to hear about people being cooperative. Once wrongdoing has already been discovered, that hardly counts as cooperation, does it?”

Half of the remaining passengers leaped to their feet.

“There’s a collection of stolen antique stamps in my briefcase—”

“I’ve got tiger DNA ready to clone under my fingernails—”

“My earrings are narwhal ivory. Not elephant but still illegal—”

Two days later, I sat in Inspector Patel’s office in New Delhi. He bestowed a rare smile upon me. “You were instrumental in eighteen arrests. You have the government’s gratitude—and a contract for your further services.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” Should I tell him? I bit my lip. By now, Patel must have received my final report. Which would he trust more—my findings or his informant? “I must point out that your original source was mistaken. This was no elephant hunt. I scanned every passenger, item of luggage, and the entire elevator car, inside and out. There was nothing pertaining to a pachyderm.”

Inspector Patel sipped his tea. “On the contrary, there was an elephant in that elevator. There is always the ‘elephant in the room,’—someone trying to smuggle something on the space elevator, despite their wealth. Or maybe because their wealth makes them feel entitled.

“That’s why I’ve never had an informant for this duty. My random searches have always caught someone. With your help, this time I caught them all.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Pamela Love was born in New Jersey, and worked as a teacher and in marketing before becoming a writer. Her work has appeared in Havok, Page & Spine, and Luna Station Quarterly. She is the 2020 winner of the Magazine Merit Fiction Award for her story “The Fog Test”, which appeared in Cricket. She and her family live in Maryland.

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