"Anderson here, Control. Receiving. Over."
"Psychic incident at Sissy Spacek Block. Judges on the scene request urgent Psi Division backup. Sounds like they've got a rogue psychic on the loose. You're the closest, Anderson. Can you respond? Over."
For an instant she hesitated. Then, she noticed Weller looking at her.
"Take the call, Anderson," he said. "I'll continue the investigation alone until you can catch up. You said it yourself, right now we aren't doing much more than sitting around twiddling our thumbs."
"Confirmed on that, Control." With a quick nod to Weller, she called up a route map to Sissy Spacek on the screen of her Lawmaster computer and hit the accelerator to roar off into the night. "Judge Anderson responding. Current location is outside the Sector House. ETA to Sissy Spacek: ten minutes. "Tell the Judges on the scene I'm on my way."
THIRTEEN
BAD NIGHT AT SISSY SPACEK
Something was wrong at Sissy Spacek Block. Approaching the block forecourt along the De Palma pedway, William saw a scene of utter pandemonium happening in front of his eyes. There were Judges everywhere, busily shepherding confused and frightened residents away from the block, holding the gathering crowds of gawkers back; Med-Judges tending to apparently comatose victims and rushing them to waiting ambulances. The whole area around the block was crawling with Judges. Watching the unfolding drama from a safe distance, William felt a sudden seething annoyance build silently within him.
With so many Judges surrounding Sissy Spacek, there was no way he could go inside the block and start his work. He had promised himself he would begin the night with Marjorie Kulack. He had promised himself she would be his seventh victim. Now, courtesy of some previously unforeseen disaster, his plans lay in ruins. Admittedly, he could put Marjorie aside for the moment, go on to the next name on the list, and come back later after things had quietened down. Still, that was hardly the issue.
The Grey Man had been adamant that William should work through the names on the list in the precise order in which they appeared. It was part of their bargain. Besides which, what was the point of having a list full of people to kill if you just chose the names at random? The very idea of it offended William's own concept of order.
He felt stymied, frustrated, aggravated almost beyond his endurance.
Then, he saw her.
Sounding her siren as the crowd parted before her, a female Psi-Judge drove her Lawmaster towards the block and parked it on the forecourt. She was beautiful. Her flowing hair was long and blonde, her body lean and attractive beneath the intimidating exterior of her Judge's uniform. To William, though, it was the colour of her soul that was most compelling.
It was red, so very, very red.
In all the years of his life, he had never seen its like. The Psi-Judge's aura was a burning corona pulsating with resonant and dynamic shades of crimson and scarlet. It was so bright, so vibrant. It hurt his eyes to look at it. It was like staring at the sun. Even as he closed his eyes it seemed to burn through his eyelids, transfixing him with its glare, its imprint scorched onto his retinas. He felt humbled, in awe. It was like a moment of religious awakening. In all the world, he had never known a human being could be so red. He felt a stabbing pain behind his eyes. He felt a terrible desire rising within him. He was like a moth to the flame. He wanted to draw nearer. He wanted to touch her, to kill her. He had to have her.
"Hey, you know, I think that's Judge Anderson," he heard a voice say among the crowd of bystanders standing nearby. "The Psi-Judge? I saw her on the Channel 109 news report this morning. You know, the one with that guy... What's-his-name?"
"Whatsisname?" another voice answered. "You mean the thin guy? Ralph something? Or is it Matt?"
"Yeah, anyway, they said she was working a serial killer case, right here in this very sector. I wonder if this whole commotion has got something to do with it?"
The conversation continued, but, already, William had stopped listening. In place of the idiot murmurings of the crowd, a single word whispered itself endlessly in his mind with a frenetic rhythm born of dawning obsession. Anderson. He liked the sound of it. Anderson. He had seen her. Anderson. He had her name now. Anderson.
Soon, he would have so much more.
"Vital signs are slow but normal," the Med-Judge said, as they stood beside a young woman drooling on a stretcher. "Pupils are unfocused but reactive. No sign of physical trauma or for that matter any physical symptom beyond the complete loss of bowel and bladder control. Patient is unresponsive. You ask her name or if she knows where she is, she just keeps staring into space. It's the same with the rest of them." He indicated the victims being loaded onto ambulances by other Med-Judges nearby. "It's like they don't even know we're here."
It had taken Anderson exactly ten minutes to reach Sissy Spacek Block after receiving the call from Control. Ten minutes, in which the situation had apparently grown worse. Arriving on the scene, Anderson had been instantly greeted with all the usual things she expected to see at a crisis in progress: Street Judges working crowd control in the block forecourt outside to give their fellow Judges inside the block the time and space they needed to try and contain the threat, Med-Judges tending to the victims, Tri-D news crews jostling with their rivals from other stations as they attempted to find the perfect angle from which to shoot footage, and a growing crowd of gawkers as citizens unaffected by the crisis gathered to see what was going on.
Depending on how long the whole thing took to reach some kind of resolution, it was only a matter of time before the first of the licensed street hawkers arrived to sell newly printed "I Was At Sissy Spacek" T-shirts. As a Psi-Judge in Mega-City One, Anderson had seen the same drama play itself out more times than she cared to count.
"How many casualties so far?" she asked the Med-Judge.
"Fifteen, for sure." The Med-Judge's face was grim. "But for all we know, it could be twice that number. So far, the Street Judges have the psychic contained on the fifteen floor, but without Psi Division backup, the only thing they could do was establish a perimeter and try to evacuate the residents."
"Yeah, well, the backup's here now. Still, before I go one-on-one with a rogue psychic, I'd like to know what I'm up against."
Glancing down once more into the vacant staring eyes of the drooling young woman on the stretcher, Anderson removed her glove and pressed her hand to the woman's forehead. But as she attempted to scan the victim's memories, she found that they were missing. The woman's mind felt like a vast and barren void. Every trace of memory or personality was gone, wiped clean, leaving only a blank and empty slate behind.
"She's been mind-wiped," Anderson said. "Looks like our rogue psychic is a telepath, and a powerful one, given that he was able to wipe the victim's mind so completely. Feels like even her motor skills are gone. Sometimes the memories of mind-wipe victims can spontaneously regenerate, but I get the feeling that isn't going to be the case here. Chances are that the victim's condition will be permanent."
"She," the Med-Judge said. When Anderson raised an eyebrow at him, he continued. "A couple of eyewitnesses have tentatively identified the psychic as a block resident. Marjorie Kulack. I thought the name might be helpful, you know, in case you had to try to talk her down."
"Yeah, I figured it would be at that." Anderson glanced up at the block building beside them. "All right, the fifteenth floor, you said? Ask Control to radio to the Judges up there and tell them to maintain their perimeter. We've got enough casualties already: we don't want some hotshot fresh from the Academy getting turned into a basket case because he tried to grab himself some glory. I'll bring her down alone." She turned and walked towards the block.
"Either that, or I'll end up having to get myself fitted for a new set of diapers."
As the elevator doors opened it soon became clear that the fifteenth floor was all but deserted. Drawing her Lawgiver pistol as she stepped out into the corridor, Anderson saw that the majority of the doors of the apartments on either si
de of her were already open. In a city whose citizens showed an almost religious devotion to keeping their homes locked and bolted for fear of intruders, it was an unsettling sight. She found herself hoping it meant most of the residents had fled when the rogue psychic first went on the rampage. Equally, she was aware that there was probably a more sinister explanation. A corridor full of open doorways probably meant that the psychic had gone door-to-door, leaving a trail of mind-wiped victims in the apartments behind her. If that was the case, it only made the need to subdue her all the more urgent.
Careful, Cass, Anderson told herself. You don't want to get ahead of yourself here by thinking of the victims. Marjorie Kulack could be anywhere. You have to take it slow and careful - go apartment by apartment if you have to, until you find her. You rush it and you could walk right into an ambush. Baby steps, Cass, baby steps. Go slow and careful.
Despite her own good counsel, Anderson began to wonder if there was a way to shorten the process: a way to find the psychic sooner rather than later, before she had the chance to claim more victims. It occurred to her that if she opened herself to the psi-flux she might be able to detect the ripples in the flux's currents caused by Marjorie Kulack's apparently phenomenal psi-talent and home in on them. In theory it could work, the only drawback being that by tuning in to the psi-flux she would have to risk briefly losing her awareness of the physical world around her. There would be a certain dark irony to it if, having entered the psychic world to track Marjorie Kulack's psi-talent, Anderson instead found the woman lurking around a corner in the physical world waiting to brain her with an entirely mundane weapon like a metal bar. Risky or not, given the situation, Anderson did not see that she had any other choice.
She heard a scream.
Recognising it as a man's voice crying out in pain, Anderson hurried towards the sound. Turning a corner in the corridor, she realised that the scream was coming from an apartment whose closed door stood out in marked contrast to the other open doorways around it. Slowing her pace, she approached the door cautiously from the side as, inside the apartment, the screaming ended and she heard voices raised in conversation.
"Did you like that, Herv?" A woman's voice, bitter and vengeful. "That's the pain I felt when I was seven years old and my brother accidentally slammed my fingers in the door. At least, he said it was an accident..."
"Marj, please-" A man's voice, pleading, desperate.
"They say you don't remember pain," the woman's voice cut him off. "I saw a doctor talking about it once on Tri-D. He said we remember the incidents where pain occurred, but not the actual sensation of pain itself. Not me, though. Not anymore. Now, I can perfectly remember the sensation of every pain I ever felt. What's more, I can transmit the memory of it to you without even touching you. Pretty good, don't you think? And I've got plenty of stored-up pain I want you to enjoy, Herv, The time I broke my ankle tripping down the stairs, the time I cut my hand open with the munce-slicer when I was preparing your dinner. Most of all, I want you to feel every moment of the pain I felt when you left me for Betsy Winters and her plasteen tits. You'll find out soon enough, Herv that that was the worst pain of all."
"Marj... Please... I'm sorry..."
"Sorry?" The woman's voice rose, becoming more strident. "Sorry for what, Herv? Sorry for banging that slut behind my back? Sorry for leaving me? Or just sorry 'cause you realise it's time for payback. I'll make you sorry, Herv. I'll make you sorry you were ever born!"
Hearing the man's voice scream once more, Anderson kicked the door open and pushed into the apartment with her Lawgiver at the ready.
"Anderson! Psi Division!" she shouted as she burst into the apartment. "Marjorie Kulack, you are under arrest."
Inside, taking the scene in with a glance, Anderson saw a florid-faced woman in a shapeless smock standing over a man tied to a chair. The difference in their physical sizes was disproportionate: the woman was tall and heavily built, while the man's skinny frame and lack of stature were emphasised by the fact that he was naked except for a posing pouch and a pair of socks. Nearby, Anderson caught a glimpse of a second woman in the corner of the room, lying curled in a foetal position on her side and apparently unconscious.
"A Judge? Oh sweet Grud, thank you!" Struggling vainly against his bonds, the man called out to Anderson. "Help me! She's crazy, Judge. She hurt Betsy. Help me."
"No!" Beside him the tall woman screamed out in anger and defiance. Anderson felt a powerful wave of psychic force surge through the psi-flux towards her. Raising her psychic defences to counter it, she felt the woman's attack crash against the barrier. The ferocity of the assault was almost overwhelming. It was as though Marjorie Kulack was releasing all her inner reservoirs of rage and pain in a continuous and brutal storm akin to some form of psychic hurricane. Her defences beginning to crack under the strain, it was all Anderson could do to hold her own. Suddenly, she felt a distant pain in her ankle, and then another pain joined it in her left hand. Marjorie's psychic assault was starting to break through. Concentrating hard, Anderson pushed more of her resources into maintaining her psychic shield, shoring up her defences and trying to prevent Marjorie's attack from reaching her in earnest.
"Pretty bitch!" Turning towards a nearby lamp, Marjorie grabbed it and smashed it against the side of a table. Then, picking through the debris for a long jagged piece of plasteen, she advanced towards Anderson with murder in her eyes. "You think I ain't seen your kind before? The world is full of pretty bitches who think they can take whatever they want! But not this time! This time, frumpy old Marjy is going to kill a pretty bitch."
Fighting to take careful aim as the psychic storm emanating from the woman continued, Anderson flicked the selector switch on her Lawgiver to stun-shot. She pulled the trigger, unleashing a bright pulse of energy carrying tens of thousands of volts of electricity from the barrel of the gun into Marjorie's body. Incredibly, the woman kept coming.
"Pretty bitch!" she heard Marjorie shouting to herself, the psychic storm around her growing more intense. "Pretty bitch! Pretty bitch! Pretty bitch!"
Barely believing that the woman was able to maintain the psychic assault, and attack physically at the same time, never mind shrugging off a stun shot, Anderson fired another pulse. Still, Marjorie continued her relentless advance. She fired again. The repeated pulses barely seemed to have any effect. Majorie was coming closer. In a split second, Anderson would be within range of Marjorie's makeshift knife. She needed to make a decision. The woman's eyes were mad and staring, boiling with incoherent hatred. Anderson heard her shouting "pretty bitch" over and over again. Barely able to withstand the continuing psychic assault, Anderson realised that if it came to a hand-to-hand fight with Marjorie, she would be as good as dead. She thought of Marjorie's former husband, tied to the chair. She thought of the unconscious woman lying curled in the corner. She thought of all the other victims Marjorie would claim if someone did not stop her. She saw Marjorie lift the jagged piece of plasteen, ready to strike. The decision was made. It was now or never. Anderson had no choice.
Switching the ammunition selector on her Lawgiver to execution rounds, she pulled the trigger.
FOURTEEN
THE SEVENTH VICTIM
"It shouldn't have happened," Anderson said afterwards as she walked out of the block onto the forecourt.
"You can't blame yourself," a Street Judge called Crosetti said as he walked out beside her. Anderson had met him immediately after Marjorie Kulack's death, as the Street Judges inside the block advanced to secure the scene in the wake of the crisis. "You didn't have any other choice. It had to be done. Last I heard, the Med-Judges were saying the casualty count was up to thirty-three. Grud knows how many other people the Kulack woman would have mind-wiped if you hadn't stopped her."
"I know." She nodded sadly. "Believe me, I've gone through all the justifications in my own head already. Not that it makes much difference."
Pausing to look at Crosetti for a moment as she reached the part of th
e forecourt where her Lawmaster was parked, Anderson was struck by the fact that he seemed unusually sympathetic for a Street Judge. Upstairs, while Herv Kulack had sat tied half-naked to a chair and the other Judges had smirked at his predicament, Crosetti had cut the man free at once and fetched a blanket to cover him up. A small gesture of kindness perhaps, but in a city where Judges so often showed a callous disregard for any human emotion it revealed him as a breed apart.
"Still, that wasn't what I meant," Anderson continued. "When I said it shouldn't have happened, I was talking about this entire situation. One of the reasons the Justice Department runs screening programs to identify potential psychics is to stop things like this from happening. Yet, somehow, Marjorie Kulack seems to have slipped through the net."
"Maybe she was good at hiding her psi-talent?" Crosetti suggested. "Or maybe, until recently, her powers were only latent. I hear the screening procedure can have a hard time detecting psychics if they're tested before their powers have manifested for the first time."
"She was a latent, all right. I got the feeling she was only just learning to use her psi-talent, as though it had just manifested in the last few days. That's a strange enough thing in itself. Usually a psychic's powers appear in childhood or early adolescence, but Marjorie Kulack was forty years old. It's virtually unheard of for a person that age to suddenly wake up one day and discover she has psychic powers."
"There could be a drug angle," Crosetti said. "Some idiot tries to create a new designer narcotic and ends up mixing a batch of psi-booster by mistake. Then, he sells it on the street to the wrong customer and boom - instant psi-powers."
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