The Supernaturalist

by Eoin Colfer

  “No,” said Cosmo hurriedly. “I mean; no, sir.”

  “Better,” said the jailer, turning his back. “Follow me, and stay between the yellow lines, or one of the guards will wrap you again.”

  The vat man led him down a long corridor to a bank of elevators. There were two solid yellow lines on the floor, with scuffed linoleum between.

  Cosmo stopped before the first elevator.

  “No, no sweetheart,” said the vat man. “You’re going to the observatory.” He said it reverently. Like it was a big deal. Cosmo followed him to the last elevator in the bank, a gold block with no call button, just a video intercom.

  The vat attendant stood before the camera, smoothing his hair with one licked hand. “I got the kid here. The one who junked the tank.”

  There was no reply, but the door slid open noiselessly. “In you go, sweetheart,” said the man pushing Cosmo inside.

  “Miss you already,” said Cosmo as the door closed. Why not? It was unlikely he would see the man again.

  The elevator rose so quickly that it appeared to stay absolutely still. Cosmo didn’t realize he was moving until one wall slid back to reveal a crystal window. The elevator was on the outside of the building and was shooting upward like a projectile from a cannon. Outside, the city flashed past in speed-blurred lines of light. Soon the golden box had outstripped the other buildings and was sailing upward toward the heavens. Cosmo felt that if the elevator stopped now, he would continue upward, losing himself in the universe.

  There was no time to consider escape, and nowhere to escape to. You might as well talk about escaping from a parachute. Before the notion had even occurred to him, the elevator began decelerating, eventually coming to a halt somewhere near the edge of the atmosphere. It seemed to Cosmo that if he reached up a hand, he would be able to touch the Myishi Satellite.

  The door slid open and a very large hand reached in, grabbing Cosmo by the throat. He was dragged into the most opulent room he had ever seen in his life. Illegal stuffed animal heads were mounted on the walls. Elephants, bears, a gorilla, and hundreds of birds. Even an extinct dolphin, flapping robotically in a vat of blue preservative. Low couches lined the walls, draped with luxurious throws. Expensive-looking art vied for attention, including a mime hologram in a suspended cube.

  “Welcome to the Myishi Corporation,” said a female voice.

  Cosmo looked across the huge room to a sunken lounge area. A slender woman was reclining on a fur-lined sofa, running a finger around the rim of a crystal flute. There were at least half a dozen bodyguards within six feet of her. Cosmo could feel their eyes through the black lenses of their sunglasses. Sunglasses at night. Weirder and weirder.

  One of the bodyguards adjusted a tiny dial on the arm of his glasses. “He’s clean,” he said in tones that could have sanded wood. “No weaponry.”

  Not just ordinary sunglasses then.

  The woman stood. She was tall and slim. No surgery, though. This woman looked as if she could bench-press a couple of the security men. Her features were tanned and strong. The tan must have been painted on, because no one in their right minds stayed out in the sun anymore. Her hair was cropped short, blond with gray streaks at the temples. She was dressed in a loose linen suit, almost like pajamas, and wore flat leather thong sandals with a gold ring on the second toe of one foot. “So you’re the one who took out an assault tank,” she said. Her voice was musical, almost mesmeric. “Do you know how much one of those tanks costs?”

  Cosmo shook his head.

  “An absolute fortune. Never mind, we’re insured. The point is that there is a seal on the tank’s barrel to stop this kind of thing happening. It only opens for one hundredth of a second before each shell is fired. You managed to put a cellophane slug down there in that time. Impressive, if you meant it. We had you DNA typed, Master Cosmo Hill, no-sponsor. You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Cosmo decided that this would be a good time to change the subject. “Are you Miss Myishi?”

  The woman laughed, soft peals that made Cosmo want to laugh with her. “Miss Myishi? No. There hasn’t been a Myishi at the corporation’s helm for nearly a hundred years. We just keep the name for public-recognition purposes. The Myishi zaibatsu wasn’t suited to the modern business world. Too many Eastern morals. My name is . . .”

  At that precise moment, the elevator door opened and Stefan stepped out. His brow was creased in its customary frown, until he noticed the blond lady. “Professor Faustino?” he said uncertainly. “What are you doing here? Did they get you too?”

  Stefan shrugged off a pair of security men at his elbows and strode across the room. With a flick of a single finger, Faustino directed the security men back into the elevator. Stefan caught the gesture. He stopped short. “You work here, Professor Faustino? For Myishi?”

  “It’s President Faustino now, Stefan.”

  Confusion was written all over Stefan’s face. Was this woman an old friend or a new foe? “President? I never thought you would go to work for the corporations, especially Myishi.”

  “Fight from the inside, Stefan. Attack from the rear.”

  “Well, you certainly are on the inside.”

  Faustino reached up, laying a hand on each of Stefan’s shoulders. “Well, well, well. Little Stefan Bashkir. You have grown up.”

  Cosmo blinked. Little Stefan Bashkir? Who was this woman?

  Stefan looked embarassed by the attention. Was he actually blushing? “It’s been more than two years since I got out of the widows and orphans home. The last time I saw you, you were still with the city police. Now you’ve gone over to the other side.”

  Ellen Faustino plucked a wafer-thin remote control from the coffee table. “Don’t believe everything you hear about Myishi, Stefan. We do more good than harm.” She brushed an elegant finger against a button, and the suite’s entire roof slid back, revealing the stars above, and, of course, the Satellite. “The Satellite that saved . . .”

  “That saved the world,” completed Stefan. “We’ve all seen it on TV. Every twenty seconds it seems.”

  Faustino smiled. “Not like this, you haven’t. Come over here, Stefan. And you too, Master Hill. Sit down, the view is splendid.”

  Cosmo crossed the plush carpet, weaving between growling bodyguards. The men probably hadn’t messed anybody up yet today and were just looking for an excuse. He took a seat between Stefan and Faustino on a low sofa. Her perfume wafted over him like something he’d smelled once in a dream, but couldn’t quite remember. “Comfortable?” she asked.

  Cosmo nodded hesitantly. He’d never been asked that question before. The marshals in Clarissa Frayne weren’t inclined to get blubbery if an orphan was uncomfortable. Often the marshals were the cause of the discomfort.

  Faustino pressed a second button on the remote, and the sofa tilted backward, speakers slid out from behind the headrests. They were now looking directly through the transparent ceiling at the Satellite above. The ceiling flexed slightly, and suddenly everything was magnified by a thousand. It seemed as though the Satellite was about to crash onto the building.

  Cosmo jumped in his seat.

  “Relax, boy,” said Ellen, placing two slim fingers on his wrist. “The observatory often has that effect on first timers.”

  The detail was amazing. Cosmo could pick out individual solar panels on the satellite’s wings. He could see bursts of gas from its stabilizers and dish jockeys floating across the concave surface of the great dish. It was immense, mind-boggling.

  Stefan was not so easily impressed. “What are we doing here, Professor Faustino? What is this all about?”

  “Be patient, Stefan. That was always your failing. Sometimes a story is too big to tell in one breath.”

  Faustino pressed a combination of buttons, and several screens appeared on the giant lense. The screens were running old news footage from the beginning of the millennium. Scenes from war-torn Europe and the Middle East, African famine, and South American earthquakes. Wrapar
ound sound erupted from the speakers.

  Faustino supplied the commentary. “Not so long ago, the world was tearing itself apart. There simply wasn’t enough room on the planet for us all. The Myishi Satellite has gone some way to solving that problem.”

  Stefan folded his arms, crossing his boots loudly. International body language for pull the other leg.

  “I know your opinion on Myishi, Stefan,” said Faustino.

  “But just give me a chance, and I think you’ll find we’re fighting the same enemy.”

  “I doubt that,” muttered Stefan.

  “The problem was that countries were not being run as businesses. Decisions were being made on the basis of religion or history, notoriously unsound motives for doing anything. States fell apart because of bigotry and centuries-old squabbles. The Myishi Corporation has taken on all these problems, and I think we’re winning.”

  “How can you say that?” interjected Stefan. “Parts of the city are in chaos. People are starving.”

  “I’m not saying things are perfect, Stefan. There have been wrinkles. But this is a new system. Satellite cities could solve the world’s population problem. Storage in outer space is the future, Stefan, and that’s the truth. Every household has an average of ten computer-driven appliances. Do you realize how much memory space that occupies? In a city this size, that’s ten blocks, just for household appliances. Then you have administration, entertainment, travel, communications. We store all that in a satellite in geostationary orbit above the city, constantly updating, constantly self-repairing.”

  Cosmo was first to twig to where this was leading. “Selfrepairing until now,” he said. “Lately the Satellite has been messing up, big-time.”

  Faustino switched off the news footage. “That’s right. It’s getting worse and worse. As you can see, we have squads of dish jockeys working around the clock. Some things we’ve been able to cover up, but word is getting out. Myishi stock is taking a real hammering.”

  “Sick and homeless people don’t care much about stock,” said Stefan.

  A flash of annoyance curled Ellen Faustino’s lip for an instant, then disappeared. “These things are being addressed, Stefan. We have long-term projects in development. Shelters, employment schemes, rehabilitation clinics. I’m doing my best to raise the money from Myishi International in Berlin. In fact, Central had signed on for a forty-billion-dinar welfare grant for the city until this latest problem came along.”

  “What problem?” asked Stefan, trying to fake only a casual interest.

  “Oh, I think we both know what the problem is.” Ellen Faustino rose from the couch, straightening her linen suit.

  Stefan was out of the sofa, staring down into the woman’s eyes. “I said, What problem, Professor?”

  Faustino stared right back at him, not in the least cowed. “Don’t talk to me that way, Stefan. Your mother would not approve. Answers, that’s why I brought you here. That’s why you and your little vigilante helper aren’t in the interrogation block right now.”

  Ellen Faustino ran some more footage on the ceiling screens. “Look up, Stefan. They’re playing your song.”

  Stefan settled back into the couch. Overhead a familiar scene played out digitally. It showed the Supernaturalists blasting Parasites, on top of the Stromberg Building, in glorious true-tone color.

  Stefan winked at Cosmo. “That doesn’t prove anything. Those people are wearing fuzz plates, so you can’t see who they are. And even if you could, they’re not hurting anybody.”

  Faustino looked around dramatically. “This is not a courtroom, Stefan. I don’t see any lawyers in here. If I wanted you on charges, I’d have had you two years ago.”

  Stefan’s surprise broke through his mask of indifference. “You what?”

  “That’s right, young man. I’ve had my electronic eye on you for a long time now. A special scope on the satellite, dedicated to your nightly activities. Well, you insist on running around on rooftops. And believe me, I have plenty of footage of your smiling face without a fuzz plate. Not to mention Miss Mona Vasquez and a certain Lucien Bonn, aka Ditto. I have enough evidence on your little group to have you buried deeper than a core-ore tunnel.”

  Stefan clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles popped. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t you want to know why I’ve never had you pulled in?”

  “Until tonight,” corrected Stefan.

  Faustino waved her hands. “Tonight was a mistake. You got mixed up in another department’s operation. If you knew the favors I had to call in to get you two released into my custody . . . That said, I have been trying to find you for the past few weeks.”

  “I thought you were the president. Surely you could track us with your all-seeing Satellite.”

  “I’m just the president of Developmental Projects. Mayor Ray Shine is the big cheese. He doesn’t even know we’re working together.”

  Again Stefan was stunned. “Now we’re working together?”

  “Of course, you didn’t know it. You’ve been taking care of the city’s infestation problem, or so we thought.”

  Aha, thought Cosmo. Here comes the reason why we’re not in pain right now.

  “Infestation?” said Stefan innocently.

  Faustino smiled. “Oh, come on now, Stefan. Don’t play dumb with me. I see them too, you know.”

  “See who? See what?”

  Ellie Faustino crossed to her desk and activated a 3D projector set on the floor. She transferred the Stromberg footage from the ceiling screen, and a 3D high-resolution rendering of the Supernaturalists sprang into life in the center of the room. Shot from above, they resembled characters in a video game. A single Parasite crawled along an adjacent wall. Faustino froze the footage, manipulating the video until only the Parasite remained.

  “I see them, Stefan. Un-spec four. The life-eaters.”

  For the third time in as many minutes Stefan was stunned. “You see them? Unspeck what?”

  Faustino enlarged the Parasite’s image. “Un-spec four. Uncategorized species four. The other three are deep-sea creatures that we’re pretty sure exist, but haven’t been able to capture yet. A species is not considered to be categorized until it can be captured and examined. Of course, not everyone can see this. To a normal person, we’re looking at a blank projection, but to a select few, your little group included, the truth is all too clear.”

  Faustino turned to the security guards. “Out. All of you.”

  The team leader took a step forward. “President Faustino, that’s against regulations.”

  Ellen said nothing, just stared into the man’s lenses. The two-hundred-plus-pound gorilla backed down in less than five seconds.

  “Very well, Madam President. We’ll be in the elevator.”

  Ellen perched on the desktop, remaining silent until the elevator door slid shut. “When I joined the force, before I began teaching, Booshka was my beat. Back then there was still a semblance of order down there. One night I took a knife in the ribs, breaking up a domestic. I nearly died; out of body, into the light, the whole thing. The paramedics brought me back. But I saw something that night. Something I’ve been able to see ever since . . .”

  Cosmo sat bolt upright. “You’re a Spotter. Like me.”

  Stefan sighed through his nose. “Why don’t you just sign a confession, Cosmo?”

  “I kept it to myself,” continued Ellie. “These sightings, convinced that I was crazy. But then I heard about someone else who raved about blue creatures. You, Stefan, after the accident. You were quite a joke in the police academy for a while. Section eight, everybody said. As your personal tutor, and a family friend, I tried to help you through the trauma. I hoped you would open up to me.”

  Stefan’s eyes widened. “All those therapy sessions. All those questions about post-traumatic stress and hallucinations.”

  Ellie sighed. “But you wouldn’t open up to me. Apparently you had realized that nobody wanted to listen.”

  “Al
l that time in the academy together, and we both had the same problem. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “I should have, I know, but I was afraid that it would get out, and my career would be finished.” She lowered her eyes. “I didn’t trust you, I’m sorry. After you left the academy to set up your vigilante squad, I finished my second doctorate and came to work for Myishi, in research and development. One of my jobs was a low-budget project to trace tiny power surges that were striking on the Satellite’s dish from the planet’s surface. Nothing serious. Small charges, not enough to cause interference. I figured out in about ten minutes where the charges were coming from. Un-spec four were venting them. Naturally I never revealed my findings. I had a career to think of. Eventually the charges were attributed to industrial discharge from Satellite City. I went on with my work, trying to make things better in my own small way. But then, a few years ago the charges began to increase. Slowly at first, but then at an alarming rate, so much so that they began to damage the dish plates. Now the discharge is so great that it’s a constant stream. We’re losing links with the surface. People are dying. It’s a red-light crisis for the corporation.”

  “People have been dying in Satellite City for years, and Myishi has done nothing about it. Now, when there’s money involved, suddenly they’re interested.”

  For the first time Ellen Faustino’s voice took on a hard quality. “Don’t be so naive, Stefan. Money gets things done. As soon as the Satellite lost its first linkup, all developmental projects were frozen. I had two hospitals and a rehab center in the pipeline. Gone now, unless we can sort out our Unspec problem.” Faustino’s temper disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ve been handling the creatures for years. Destroying them very efficiently. There was no need to start up a team, or so I thought.”

  Stefan sat up. “What does that mean?”

  “The lightning rods. Very clever, the residual charge itself gets the creature.”

  “Parasites,” interrupted Cosmo. “We call them Parasites.”

  Ellen nodded. “Parasites. That’s good. You were wiping out the Parasites with a single-mindedness that Myishi employees could never match, so I kept an eye on you and left you alone to do your work—our work. But after the recent increase in charges, I put together a small team to investigate. There are the two factors that bring on the second sight, in my opinion: near-death experiences, coupled with a lifelong exposure to Satellite City’s chemical smog. The computer ran a search in the Myishi personnel files, and I interviewed everyone on the list. I found three other Spotters, all under twenty-five. I am the only one over forty. We began an in-depth study of the Parasites, especially what happens to them after you shoot them. And we found out something you might like to know. . . .”