The Hunt for Pierre Jnr (5 page)

‘But can he take on skills?’ Pete asked.

‘Maybe, but he doesn’t need to. This kid controls. If he needs a squib, he controls the driver.’

‘Of course. But he still must have the development level of an eight-year-old boy. The same level of processing.’

‘Why? Nothing about Pierre is normal. Not how he was born, not how he was raised, and not how he’s developing.’

‘You’re right. You’re right.’ Pete threw up his hands. ‘We should talk to his mother.’

‘Colonel, can that be arranged? Colonel?’ Geof raised his voice to rouse the snoring man.

‘What? Yes, of course.’ He blew out through his moustache. Colonel Pinter kept a constant link with Services decision-makers and within minutes an answer was always supplied. He didn’t really need to be awake, so he wasn’t. ‘Interviews have been arranged with the surviving facility staff. We are to wait until Tamsin Grey joins us.’

‘Where are they now? His parents, I mean.’

‘The islands,’ Pinter answered. ‘Where else?’

A long silence condensed in the paused conversation — a typical reaction to any mention of the facility or the project. Two decades ago it had seemed like the first step to destigmatising psis, or people with psionic tendencies. In the Psionic Development Program, Doctor Yeon Rhee had created a place where psis could gather and be open about their abilities, a place for study or even to investigate ways to enhance their skills, and then for the researchers to see if it was possible to spark the talent in all humans.

Over time it became something else. The participants were restricted like prisoners ‘for their own protection’. The world turned fearful of the risks psis posed. Tests became experiments, looking for ‘cures’ and controls. It was turning ugly long before Pierre was born.

‘How do we know he even exists?’ The woman from the nearby table was standing behind him. Pete had forgotten she was there, which was strange for him; he couldn’t feel her mind at all ...

‘I’m sorry?’ Pete asked as he turned to face her.

‘I mean, you’re going to all this trouble, gathering a little team together, pulling the great Pinter out of retirement. All based on the testimony of a non-Citizen.’

‘So you would like to join us now, Grey?’ Pinter invited dryly, awake for the moment.

‘No, Colonel, I wouldn’t. But since I’ve been ordered to, I shall obey.’ She pulled her chair into the ring around their little table.

Pete and Geof reacted to Tamsin the way men inclined toward females always did. Sexual advantage was too much for Tamsin to pass on, and she dressed to best accentuate it. Though Geof’s reaction was as she expected, she was annoyed as Pete immediately clamped down on his sexual interest. For Pete to ignore her attractions was slightly offensive, especially since it was caused by a weakness that any grown telepath should have overcome. 
The poor fellow,
 she thought to herself and smiled.

‘Let’s get the show started then. The sooner we blow the lid off this charade, the sooner I can get back to work. Colonel.’ She saluted cleanly.

Pinter declined to return the antiquated gesture. ‘Tamsin Grey, I’d like you to meet Peter Lazarus, volunteer, and Geof Ozenbach, who’ll be running data on this operation.’

‘Ozenbach. I’m glad to be able to thank you in the flesh for keeping me alive.’ Tamsin reached for his hand and shook it, smiling.

Geof smiled back. ‘I don’t remember you needing much help.’

‘A good weaver keeps it that way.’ She now turned to Pete and sized him up. ‘So you’re the man who has the ups jumping at shadows? Why did you come in from the cold? Nobody would have cared if you had stayed there.’

Pete was still stunned by her blocked mind. 
Are you real? Are you human?
 Only bots and rocks were silent to a telepath.

Real enough and more human than you want me to be,
 a voice licked into his mind.

I can’t see your thoughts.

Fancy that. Now, answer the question. Everyone is watching.
 ’Why, Mister Lazarus? For the attention? Trying to get on the inside?’

Pete slowly found his voice. ‘Some things are more important. And who’s jumping at shadows?’

‘You are. You’ve got them hopped up on stories of Pierre Jnr, as if there weren’t enough myths about him already.’

‘I think his existence is well documented.’

‘It hasn’t been for the past eight years. And if this Pierre is as bad as you’ve got everyone thinking, then there’s no way he could have — or would have — been hiding this long.’

‘I have evidence. That’s why I’m here.’

‘What you found was a blanked mind, nothing more. You just leapt to the conclusion that it was an all-powerful, psychic eight-year-old, who no one has seen since he was born.’

‘Clearly there are some people who take this more seriously than you.’

‘Or, the point of this exercise is to dispel the myth once and for all.’ She smiled at him with closed teeth.

‘Why would Services care so much if they didn’t believe he was alive?’ Geof asked.

‘Because
 of the myth, Ozenbach. He’s keeping the flame alive for all the psis out there waiting for the day when their saviour comes to free them.’

How can you be so callous?
 Pete thought to her.

I’m just asking the questions you haven’t.
 Her retort left him stunned. She was one of them, a psi like him, but so very different. Her eyebrow arched, waiting for his response.

... 
You hunt your own kind.

My kind? Psionics is a skill. Being able to dress yourself doesn’t make you my brother. Understand?

‘Tamsin,’ the Colonel said. ‘The order is clearly stated that we are to bring him in. The command is the command.’

‘Of course, Colonel. There must be something that Command isn’t sharing if they’ve already reached the conclusion that Pierre is still alive. And furthermore, why now? Can you get me an answer to that?’

The Colonel swallowed. ‘No answer is forthcoming.’

‘So, just because a second-rate telepath volunteers himself, two of Services’ best are seconded to dig out a myth?’ 
No offence, Pete. I’m just trying to see what I can get out of them.

Her mind was amazing to him. On the outside she was a closed, calculating woman, but underneath she was like a gleeful child throwing stones at windows.

The Colonel tapped his head and smiled at Tamsin as a torrent of data began streaming into Geof’s and Pete’s symbiots.

The data was a backlog of evidence gathered on, or regarding, Pierre since his disappearance. An archive of ‘sightings’, blackouts and abnormalities that bore no actual evidence of Pierre Jnr’s involvement but were connected by the fact that Pierre was a possible cause. A wealth of junk information.

You see that, Pete? Ask and ye shall receive.

‘So, you’re our weapon?’ Pete concluded.

‘I guess I am.’ She smiled benignly. ‘Where do we start?’

‘The islands,’ Pinter answered. ‘Interviews have been arranged.’

Tamsin shuddered. ‘I hate the islands. I think I’ll take a bath.’ 
You want to scrub my back for me, Pete?

Pete stared at her incredulously until she shrugged and walked toward the diner doors. Geof was the only one not watching her stalk away, too busy sorting through the datastream.

‘The midlands,’ Geof concluded out loud, eyes gazing elsewhere. ‘We have to go to the midlands.’

‘How’s that?’ Pete asked, still gazing in the direction of Tamsin’s exit.

‘From the pattern I’m seeing, if he isn’t there, then something just as bad is.’

‘Keep looking,’ Pinter added. ‘They don’t think you have it yet. The data may point at the midlands but nothing narrower. We need more specifics.’

~ * ~

When they returned to the hangar, Tamsin was nowhere in sight.

Geof sat in the makeshift lounge to digest data. The Colonel had a servitor carry his leather armchair to join him and was soon asleep. Pete went to his own room and lay down, letting his mind amble outward around the complex. As far as he could see, there was only the Colonel, Geof, Tamsin and himself — no other sentience within reach. Beyond the walls was only a soft susurrus of sound passing by, with few distinguishable thoughts.

Pete?

He didn’t respond.

Peter? I know you’re there. You can’t hide from me, so you may as well talk to me.

He sighed.

Do you want to know what I’m doing, Pete?

Not really.

I’m having a bath. Just like I said I would.

That’s nice.

It is nice. I like the water on my skin, just like you.

I like the ocean.

Would you like to go swimming with me, Pete? I’m not a very good swimmer, but you could teach me.

How can you be how you are?

That’s very philosophical, Pete. I thought we were just playing. Nobody knows that we’re talking. I’m having a long bath, as I’m known to do, and you’re having some quiet time. We’ve already shown them, that we don’t get on, so nobody will suspect that we are having a conversation.

You’ve been acting this way intentionally?

What way? I am what I am and you are what you are. Was there ever a possibility we could be other than how we are?

Now who’s being philosophical?

I’m trying to make you understand, Peter. I know more than you about how Services works. You’ve spent your life running, but I’ve been in it. Don’t think you know about choices. You chose to turn yourself in. You know what I call you?

What?

An idiot.

Well, that’s your opinion.

You escaped in the early days, after the project was shut down. Services has improved since then. Earlier spotting. Mechanical traps. Weavers. Conditioning.

That’s good to hear.

You need to know that the advantages that psis have are not as big as they often think. Telepathy doesn’t make you smart; it just gives you inside information. And using that information for your own benefit is the biggest giveaway that leads us to awakening psis. We often know before they do if they’re about to go psionic.

You must be so proud.

Why should I be? I got picked up in the first sweep, but I wasn’t smart enough to get free.

Maybe you didn’t want to.

Well, I’ll let you wonder about that.

I don’t understand you.

Tell me something, Pete. How long is your reach?

What do you mean?

How far away do people have to be until you can’t, you know, give them a tickle?

He thought it before he could stop it. It was something he always counted, every time someone walked away. How many steps until he couldn’t peek in? His record was ninety paces.

I will be telling them that, Pete. So they know they can trust me. For security we’re going to have to isolate the compound a bit more. You won’t be getting any traffic noise from now on, if you know what I’m saying. What can I do to gain your trust?

Nothing I can think of.

Okay. Let me know if you do. My bath is getting cold now, so I’m going to dry myself with a big fluffy towel and slip under some sheets. Goodnight, Peter Lazarus.

~ * ~

Since 2134, all registered psis were housed in semi-voluntary imprisonment on artificial islands — plastic bergs with a fair stretch of ocean between them and the mainland and only a passive connection to the Weave, which meant they could watch but not contribute. They were segregated completely.

The squib to the islands took only an hour. Geof and the Colonel remained at the warehouse trawling data while Tamsin and Pete went to interview Pierre’s parents. They were alone in their squib, remotely guided and prowled on either side by two escort vehicles packed with servitors. Pete tried to study Tamsin surreptitiously, but when occasionally, accidentally, he made eye contact, she grinned at him proudly.

While she repulsed him with her manner, the fact that she could shield her mind from him was fascinating, and he could do little but stare at her, hearing only the sound of the air rushing around the squib. No thoughts, no emotions.

Are there more like you?

She didn’t answer. She looked at him but responded neither out loud nor in projection.

Did you learn this somewhere? Have you taught this to anyone else?

She raised an eyebrow. 
This is what it is like for normals.

Pete relaxed somewhat and kept watching her.

All psis on the islands were tagged and trackable, their actions passively monitored. The conditions weren’t too bad, better than the penitentiaries, partly because the residents were not criminals requiring punishment, and partly because Services knew if they didn’t treat them well it might ignite an uprising, which was the last thing they wanted. Actually, the last thing they wanted was another Pierre Jnr, and so the residents also had to agree to be rendered infertile.

Their first appointment was with Pierre Sandro Snr, the father. It was organised so that he would meet with them in a holding room on the mainland side of the island, away from the other inmates and under full Services monitoring. All the islands had such a room. Tamsin was in an annex behind a one-way mirror, to observe the both of them no doubt. Pete waited in a chair, feeling watched. He tried not to let a thought cross his mind.