Cybershot_An Empathic Detective Novel

by Jaxon Reed

  Yes, we have come a long way from MUDs, he thought, grinning to himself.

  As the autocab descended to the rooftop of his hotel, he ran through a mental list of things he needed to do. He would vacate this metropolis and move his character back to Europe, out of reach of Grunge and his friends. He doubted they would try to track him down in a foreign city. Grunge was evidently a native Texan, and had given no indication of a desire to travel in-game. Hopefully his friends were the same. Cybershot would go to Rome for now, where non-locals were often murdered right outside the airport. Unlike in the real city, tourists were not welcome in Metro-X Rome. At all.

  The doors popped open and he climbed out. Sophie Charvet’s avatar stood nearby waiting for him, arms crossed.

  “I’m busy,” he snapped, brushing past her on his way to the entrance.

  “I have new information for you, Simon.”

  “Not interested.”

  “It’s about Phoebe Renard and her son. We believe they will head for Texas soon.”

  -+-

  Renard tensed as the autocab neared the airport and began its descent. Jacques reached over and squeezed her hand, sensing her discomfort.

  “Don’t worry, Mama,” he said. “It’ll be alright. I’ll have us on a plane to Texas in no time.”

  The vehicle landed in a large parking area facing the main entrance of the airport grounds. Flying cars were not permitted beyond that point, for obvious reasons, Phoebe thought. Nothing could interfere with the take-offs and landings of the transcontinental scram-jets that hopped around the globe in a matter of hours. The major airports all had large no-fly zones around them, and the terminals had to be approached from the ground level.

  Their first hurdle, as far as Renard could tell, would be the armed gendarmes guarding the main entrance. No doubt they were on the lookout for her and her son. And even if the guards did not recognize them, the electronic security system’s facial recognition system almost certainly would.

  Still, Jacques felt confident. And, if she were honest with herself, she had little choice but to go along with her son. His control over her was nearly absolute.

  They exited the autocab and approached the entrance, lined with electronic sensors and armed guards. A handful of security bots stood inside the fence, mostly for intimidation purposes, Phoebe hoped. The ten-meter-tall silver combat units stood on two sturdy, articulated legs. For arms, 25 mm cannons jutted out at their sides. Blank-eyed holograms of an artificial man’s face served as the units’ “heads” floating above their bodies. They scanned and processed faces as people passed.

  These bots, primarily designed to thwart terrorist attacks and protect the airport from ground assault, worried Renard the most. But Jacques’s controlling calm soothed away her fears, so complete was his mental grip. Her emotions fell under his control. She stood in line patiently with her son as they proceeded to the checkpoint.

  Half a dozen human police officers stood nearby, bored. Submachine guns hung loosely at their sides. The gendarme in charge of the gate looked them over when their turn came. Late 20s, military build, powerful and muscular. Short, clipped brown hair. Clean-shaven.

  Jacques stared at him with some interest, having never seen a gendarme in the flesh before. He had only witnessed the electronic representation of one occasionally walking by his artificial “window.”

  The gendarme said, “Identification, s’il vous plaît. Retinal, chip, or DNA.”

  Jacques said, “We don’t need identification.”

  The officer looked up sharply, then his pupils dilated. He seemed to deflate physically, no longer in charge of the situation.

  He said, “But of course, monsieur. Proceed.”

  They passed through the gate and into the airport area. Various people lined up to wait for the next hyperloop car heading to the terminal, its clear vacuum tube stretching off into the distance.

  “Halt! Phoebe Renard! Jacques Renard! Place your hands above your head!”

  They turned and found one of the security bots looking their way, its huge side cannons pointed menacingly at them, the hologram face on top wearing a stern expression.

  “I repeat. Place your hands above your head. You are under arrest!”

  Phoebe said, “It’s quasi-sentient, Jacques. You can’t control it.”

  “Maybe I can’t control its will. But it’s just a machine. I can still control it.”

  He reached his hand toward the security bot, palm out. He focused. A huge bolt of energy shot out from his arm, slamming into the unit’s chest, knocking it backward and off its feet. It landed with a loud crunch to the pavement. The hologram face on top flickered out.

  Several people screamed.

  Jacques lifted up his other hand, and all sound stopped. Everyone looked at him, but said nothing. They all remained completely still. In the distance, a scramjet engine roared as a plane took off, heading up in a long, low-angle ascent to the stratosphere.

  The hyperloop car shot up from the terminal, moving fast and silent. It slowed on a cushion of air, took the curve and stopped at its designated spot. The door hissed open and several people exited. They furrowed their brows at the silence, the seemingly frozen pedestrians, and the toppled security bot. Most of them shrugged and moved to the airport’s exit, heading to the waiting autocabs and personal vehicles beyond the gate.

  Jacques said, “Come on, Mama. Let’s get on a plane.”

  Together, mother and child boarded the hyperloop car, and took a seat. Everyone else remained motionless. Those who faced them watched stunned, with frightened eyes.

  A pleasant female voice said, “Please clear the doorway and secure yourself. Next stop, Terminal A.”

  The door hissed closed, and the tube car eased forward smoothly, picking up speed and rapidly covering the distance to Terminal A.

  Phoebe looked back at the gate, and saw people moving around again, as if waking up from a spell.

  -+-

  Bryce walked into the office and found Parker at her desk. She smiled at him as he took a seat and waved in the air to fire up his secure terminal.

  The office door along the far wall opened and Captain Cassandra Kim stuck her head out. Crow’s feet ringed her eyes, but other than that her face revealed few wrinkles. Rumor had it she would be retiring soon. Bryce rather doubted it. Despite the inherent stress in the job, Kim seemed to enjoy it. She had taken over after Justin Wilton finally retired, and she showed no interest in leaving.

  “Bryce! Parker! Come in here, please!”

  Bryce looked at Emily again and raised a questioning eyebrow. She shrugged. They both stood and made their way toward Kim’s office.

  Inside, several holograms floated about, showing some full bodies and some from the waist up. Bryce recognized Jeremiah Jones, Chief of Police, and Nathanial Nguyen. Somebody he did not recognize also floated nearby. The virtual nameplate hovering below the middle-aged man read, “Hector Oldham, Central Texas Emergency Management Coordinator.”

  Finally, he noticed an attractive young woman from the Governor’s office staring at him. The nameplate below her hologram read “Ms. Monica Joyce, Assistant to Governor Nix.”

  Kim said, “You need to be in on this, Detective. Director Nguyen insisted.”

  Nguyen’s hologram looked at Bryce and nodded. He said, “This video was forwarded to us by Interpol a short while ago.”

  Bryce and Parker looked at the virtual screen floating in the front of the room. They watched Jacques knock over the security bot and board the hyperloop car with Phoebe. The video jumped to inside the airport. Everybody froze in place as the two walked past all the lines and headed toward a gate with people lined up ready to board a plane.

  All remained motionless as the two passed the line and walked into the enclosed passenger boarding bridge alone. The final shots showed a scramjet, presumably the one they were on, taking off on a runway.

  Parker said, “What was that all about?”

  Nguyen said, “Interp
ol is telling us we are dealing with a ‘Class A Psychic Terrorist.’”

  Bryce said, “We?”

  “The plane is headed here. It lands within the hour.”

  “A ‘psychic terrorist.’” Parker said. “That’s a new one.”

  Nguyen said, “That’s their official designation. I guess we could say the same thing about Desiree Dubois Lamont a few years back. If I recall correctly, your department worked with the Europeans on that one, correct Chief?”

  Chief Jones nodded. A handsome black man, he had aged nicely, looking even more distinguished with the passage of time. His hair had changed to a nice salt and paper shade, Bryce thought.

  Jones said, “Europol sent an agent. Her expertise was helpful in the Lamont matter.”

  He glanced at Bryce, who did not say anything. Jones was always diplomatic, Bryce thought. The fact that the agent in question assaulted him and stole a semen sample was diplomatically omitted from the Chief’s comments.

  Nguyen said, “Well, they have a person prepositioned here in Texas. Evidently, they had some concern that their subject would head this way. I’ve communicated through the proper channels my disappointment in just now finding out about it.

  “Captain Kim if you could spare Detectives Bryce and Parker to assist their agent, I’d greatly appreciate it. As for the imminent arrival of our visitors from France, I think we need to put the airport in lockdown and evacuate all non-essential personnel. Since that’s a federal decision, I’ll take responsibility for it.

  “Chief Jones, I’m activating J-LEAP, the Joint Law Enforcement Agencies Protocol. The FBI will be the lead. Be prepared to have as many people as you can muster to surround that airport. If we cannot contain the suspect, we’re going to have considerable difficulty when he makes it to the city. We need to bring every person we can spare and stop this in its tracks.

  “Mr. Oldham, please upgrade the threat profile for our region to Level Three. If the suspect escapes from the airport’s perimeter, we’ll need to move it up to Level Four.

  “Ms. Joyce, please forward my request to Governor Nix that she activate the National Guard. We’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. It might also be prudent if the Governor were to leave town for the time being.”

  Joyce said, “I will speak to the Governor, but I can tell you she will not want to activate the National Guard without more information. What exactly are we dealing with, and why is it important to contain this individual?”

  Nguyen looked over at Bryce and said, “You want to take this one, Detective?”

  Bryce nodded. Rather than pointing out the video they all just watched, and its obvious implications, he said, “Ms. Joyce, do you remember the incident at the Governor’s Mansion about 15, 16 years ago? The one where Desiree Lamont took Governor Zavala hostage and controlled his every move? Threatened his life?”

  Joyce nodded, and frowned at Bryce. He could feel her annoyance flit across the conference call connection. Judging by her age, Joyce would have been about ten years old when Zavala was in office, and probably not paying much attention to events in the news at the time. She obviously disliked having things explained to her, even though she asked . . .

  Bryce said, “Then you will recall the type of individual Lamont was. She had remarkable powers of persuasion. She made a beeline for the Governor, and pretty much ruined his life. Even after she was taken out . . .” he nodded at Chief Jones who nodded back.

  Jones completed the thought and said, “Zavala never fully recovered from a health and mental standpoint. Nor a political one, either.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Joyce said. “I’m familiar with all that happened.”

  “Good,” Bryce said. “Then you will understand when I tell you the need for Governor Nix’s immediate attention regarding this matter, and why she should take it seriously. The young man with all the destructive power we just witnessed, the one whose arrival at our airport is imminent . . . that is Desiree Lamont’s son.”

  7

  As soon as the call ended, Kim called up reserve officers and alerted SWAT teams. She watched on her office terminal as people reported in. Police cars from around the city rushed southeast of town toward the airport.

  Kim decided to head for the airport, too.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” she said. “Wilton always said that. I never thought I’d say it, but I really am getting too old for this. Bryce, let’s take your car.”

  Bryce, Parker and Kim took the elevator down and headed for a parking area across the street. Several squad cars and unmarked vehicles were already lifting off and heading south.

  Kim said, “You’ve got extra artillery in your trunk, right Detective?”

  “Yes ma’am. I don’t think it’s going to help much in this instance, though.”

  “Extra firepower always helps.”

  Bryce took over manual control, lifted his car up into the sky and headed south.

  The air above the old I-35 corridor flashed red, and Bryce noted with some satisfaction that traffic had been diverted around the city. Nobody could get in on the main highways. Alert Level 3 automatically rerouted traffic away from populated areas.

  That did not help the poor souls left below, he thought. But at least there would not be a steady supply of victims if his son escaped the airport perimeter.

  Bryce’s vehicle registered with AI traffic control as a police car, and he sailed down the deserted airspace. South of the city he took a left, turning east toward the airport.

  The main parking field at the entrance appeared to be stuffed with vehicles. Several garages looked to be full, too, and terrestrial traffic clogged the streets in and around the airport.

  A voice crackled over his car’s radio.

  “J-LEAP Channel One activated. This is the FBI. All law enforcement units be advised, the no-fly zone around the airport is temporarily deactivated for emergency vehicles. Please proceed to the parking zone on your virtual display to enter our deployment area. Further instructions will be given by J-LEAP Command when you are onsite.”

  Bryce headed toward the flashing zone on his holographic navigation map, ignoring the no-fly warnings buzzing through the cabin.

  The huge terminal featuring giant granite statues of cowboy boots and a lone star grew steadily larger in the windshield. Bryce veered to the right as they came closer, and found an open space in a large parking lot filled with police vehicles. He settled the car down and its feet popped out before touching the ground. Its doors opened and they crawled out of the car.

  Around them, several uniformed officers hurried to the front of the parking area. Kim, Bryce and Parker fell behind a group and headed in the same direction.

  People clustered around a focal point near the lot’s edge. Somebody wearing an FBI jacket, a woman who looked about 30 years old with brown hair swept back in a ponytail, directed everybody into lines for the administration of injections.

  The officers were being dosed with Hexenhammer, Bryce realized. This was the same emotion-damping drug from Europe they had used when fighting Lamont so many years ago. With no emotions to control them, the drugged officers could more easily resist psychic powers.

  Nguyen climbed up on a police vehicle with a bullhorn and addressed the crowd. He said, “We are going to direct the subject to Terminal Two, Gate Sixteen. We want a layered cordon around the gate and the terminal. You will be given individual instructions before heading over there. Right now, I’d like to introduce you to Europol Agent Noam Friedman. He will be advising us in this situation.”

  A man Bryce judged to be in his early- to mid-40s climbed up on the car next to the director and took the bullhorn. Friedman stood head and shoulders above the diminutive Nguyen. He had a prominent nose, and thick brown hair.

  Bryce overheard one of the nearby officers say quietly, “Are we sure he’s not from Mossad?”

  Friedman’s amplified voice traveled out over the crowd. He said, “What we are about to face is unprec
edented for your city, your state, and your country. This young man has enormous powers, and all the emotional claptrap of a teenager. If you have the opportunity to eliminate this threat, do so without hesitation. Our frontline people will need to dose up on the special anti-mind control drugs we have available. For the rest of you, fall back to the outer perimeter as our last-ditch line of defense. I will leave the logistics up to the FBI.”

  He paused and scanned the crowd.

  He said, “The threat is real. I understand this all seems very ‘last minute.’ But if that boy escapes the airport . . . everyone in your state will be at risk.”

  -+-

  The scramjet landed in a routine manner, easing its wheels down on the long runway as the pilot expertly guided it in. The control tower’s AI directed them to Terminal 2, Gate 16. They followed the signs. The tarmac had been cleared, with no other traffic.

  Alone in the first class section, Jacques made a motion with his hand and a flight attendant rushed over. He had amused himself on the hour-long flight by making the attendants cater to his every whim. Most of the time he had them dance in the aisle for him.

  Of the six women in the crew, only one had irritated him, trying to resist his mental control. Her body rested in the rear of the plane, the neck twisted at an odd angle.

  The attendant knelt and helped Jacques unbuckle. He looked her over and once again liked what he saw. She was the youngest and most attractive out of the group, a 20-something brunette.

  She said, “May I help you with anything else, monsieur?”

  “No.”

  As she straightened and turned he slapped her bottom, making the young woman jump and squeal as she walked away.

  “Jacques, you should be more respectful toward women.”

  “Shut up, Mama.”

  He raised a hand to mentally enforce the command and silently berated himself for letting his control slip. He had focused so much on the beautiful flight attendant that he momentarily allowed the others onboard to think for themselves.