Cybershot: An Empathic Detective Novel (The Empathic Detective Book 3)

by Jaxon Reed

  The woman in front of her held her arms up high, swaying with the music. Perfect.

  Charvet pulled the knife from her sleeve and slipped it between the woman’s ribs in one swift motion. The woman screamed, but the music drowned her voice out. Charvet pulled out a rag and quickly wiped the blood off the knife as the woman collapsed. She turned away and pushed back through the crowd, heading for the periphery. Those around her ignored the dying woman. They focused only on the stage, oblivious to everything, just as Sophie had hoped.

  At last free from the press of bodies, she picked up her pace as she made her way back to the autocab. When she climbed in and the door shut, an indicator pinged in her status window: one new kill.

  She said, “Finally!”

  The cab took off and headed for the hotel where Simon’s avatar waited.

  Passing the NPC guard was perfunctory, and soon she stood before Cybershot in his luxury penthouse suite, at long last reaching her goal.

  She allowed her irritation to get the better of her.

  “These are stupid rules for contact, Simon. Do you know how difficult it is to just randomly kill another player? It’s not easy and I’ve lost a day I desperately needed to give you this information.”

  Cybershot smiled. His avatar featured a beautiful tanned face with perfect teeth and bright sparkling eyes. Tight curls of thick hair wrapped his scalp like a Grecian statue. She knew the hair alone must have cost him a small fortune, in a land where a black market knife cost 150 credits.

  “I like the rule,” he said. “It makes things more fun. Besides, no one bothers me with trivial things if they have to work in order to see me.”

  “It’s stupid and I don’t have time for your games. The Courts wish to convey to you that Phoebe Renard is no longer with us. She has been expelled. They have issued an edict and we would like a contract on her and her son. Expedited.”

  The perfect smile on his perfect face faltered. He said, “When did this happen?”

  “Three days ago. I’ve been trying to make contact, but your stupid rules . . .”

  He held up a hand, dismissing her comments. He said, “Renard contacted me two days ago and ordered a hit on Michel Caron. She said he violated his oaths.”

  “We ordered no such contract. If we wanted Caron taken out, he would not have been allowed to leave Europe.”

  “This is very troubling. I presumed Renard maintained her position within your organization when I accepted the contract.”

  “We might have been able to prevent the mistake had it not been for your stupid rules on initiating contact in this . . . this fantasy world.”

  Cybershot chuckled. He stood up and walked to the balcony, placing his hands behind his back as he looked out toward the bell tower in the distance.

  “This ‘fantasy world’ is one of the only places we can hold truly private electronic conversations, Sophie. And I could be anywhere right now. Perhaps I’m in Texas. Perhaps Germany. This neural gaming network is one of the most secure systems of communication ever devised.”

  “You killed an innocent man, Simon.”

  “Was he truly innocent? Why was he contacting one of the most powerful living cunning folk? And what have the Courts been doing these last dozen years? I’ve been hearing rumors the boy has gotten out of control, that his powers exceeded your imagination.”

  “What we are doing is none of your concern, Simon. Please let me know if Phoebe contacts you again. And don’t make me go through this stupid protocol to see you, either.”

  Cybershot made another dismissive motion with his hand. He said, “Killing in this game is nothing. You should try doing it in real life.”

  5

  Bryce pulled Melody closer and buried his face in her hair. He breathed in deep, delighting in her scent. They were wrapped together on his couch, holding each other tight. Tonight was their weekly date night, and he intended to savor the limited time with her as much as possible.

  Melody had not stayed in quite as good physical condition as he had. In her late 40s, the stress and time commitments of running a successful defense technology company simply precluded exercise.

  She tried to eat well, but in fact she was dreadfully out of shape, and some pounds in inconvenient places made themselves increasingly evident. No business dress, no matter how well-tailored, could hide everything.

  Bryce didn’t care. He still loved her.

  As a precog, Melody’s powers were triggered by prolonged proximity to him. Visions and dreams became overwhelming when they spent too much time together. So they had divorced and lived separate lives. But neither had dated anyone else over the years.

  Over time, their agreed upon separation periods grew shorter in duration. Several years ago, she experimented with seeing him weekly. Her visions and dreams were manageable, and the arrangement persisted.

  Bryce let out a long sigh as recent events came rushing back to his thoughts.

  Melody said, “What?”

  He paused, trying to figure out the best way to phrase things. Then he started talking. He explained everything he had learned in the days since Caron’s murder.

  When he finished, Melody untangled herself from him, and sat up straight on the couch.

  “So, you have a son. And Desiree Lamont is the mother, but Agent Renard was his surrogate. And this organization . . . they did all that without telling you?”

  Bryce nodded. “I don’t know what I could have done about it if I had known. I guess I was naïve to think they wanted my DNA and Desiree’s body for research. But what kind of people do that?”

  “The kind of people who are responsible for starting wars.”

  Bryce nodded and said, “I suspect, in some misguided way, they think they are going to stop wars with this boy. If Nguyen is right, there is a faction within the organization that thinks they can control him. They want to use him to try and guide the world to a better place or something.”

  Melody snorted. “With a cross between you and that woman? They’ve got another thing coming. That is not a good messiah recipe.”

  “I know. And that’s got me worried. From what the FBI understands, nobody knows where Renard and the boy are at the moment. But, they think he wants to come find me in Texas. What’s going to happen if he gets on a plane and flies over here?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Melody said. “Security is too tight in airports. If this . . . Westphalian Courts or whoever they are, are half as good as it seems they have been over the centuries, he’s not getting anywhere near an airport.”

  Melody pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She said, “You know, in the past when we’ve been together too long, and I’ve gotten dreams about our boy and what he’d be like . . . he was always horrible. Killing people. Destroying things. I knew what would happen if we had kids. The crossing of bloodlines would lead to death and mayhem. Our children would be incredibly powerful. And corrupt. And those dreams . . . they always kept me from wanting to have a baby, knowing our children would grow up like that.

  “But now, I’m beginning to wonder if they were actual visions of the future. Not just potential events if we had children, but actual events. Because you already had a son.”

  He grimaced and said, “The boy in your dreams was pretty bad, wasn’t he? I remember you waking up screaming sometimes.”

  Melody nodded, and her face grew pale. She said, “Jerry, I’m starting to get worried. Those dreams showed events taking place here. In Texas. Maybe he does figure out a way to get on a plane.”

  Bryce threw an arm around her and squeezed reassuringly. He said, “Look, why don’t you move in for a while? If things are going to start happening, maybe it’d be a good thing to know what’s coming.”

  She melted into his hug and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Softly she said, “Okay.”

  -+-

  In real life, this particular downtown hotel was very old and famous, Charvet thought. Originally built by
a cattle baron in 1886, many notable people had graced its doors over the decades. But its current owners would not allow the use of its name within Metro-X. No signage appeared above its virtual door, and the historic title never appeared on any in-game maps.

  The players called it by its real-world name, though. Out-of-towners unfamiliar with the area might get confused, but a conversation with a local quickly resolved matters. Such was the case in all the metropolitan areas recreated in virtual space. Some companies refused to play along, leading to creative adaptations and work-arounds by the players.

  Charvet sat in the faithfully recreated historic hotel bar sipping a gin and tonic. She still found herself amazed at how well sensory reception worked in the game. The drink tasted just like a real one. If she drank enough alcohol, she knew, she would get just as drunk in-game as she would in real life. The only difference was, there would be no hangover once she logged out.

  She thought to herself, No wonder people spend so much time here. You can be bad all you want and suffer no consequences. Well, besides loss of time in the real world. And money.

  A motion to the right caught her eye. Phoebe Renard arrived. At least Charvet presumed it was Phoebe. The avatar resembled her somewhat, and this was the requested time and place to meet. She sat on the stool next to Charvet and signaled the NPC bartender. When he approached she asked for a margarita, then opened a credit window in the air above her face and transferred over the required amount. He nodded and moved to make the drink.

  “Hello, Sophie. How are you? I received your email.”

  Charvet guffawed and downed the rest of her drink. Using the in-game messaging system to set up a meeting was a long shot. On the one hand, she was glad it worked. On the other, she felt personally disgusted with Renard.

  She said, “You are in so much trouble right now.”

  Renard smiled as the bartender delivered her drink. She licked salt off the rim and took a sip through the straw, smacking her lips as the concoction rolled down her virtual throat.

  She said, “I rather doubt that. This system is untraceable. You have no idea where I am at the moment.”

  “We’ll find you. And the boy.”

  “Jacques. His name is Jacques.”

  “We will find you, and we will find Jacques, and we will put an end to this experiment. It has gone on far too long.”

  “Nonsense. It’s just beginning. We’re going to change the world, Sophie. Or had you forgotten?”

  “Are you and Jacques going to change the world? Or destroy it? I’ve seen the videos of what he can do, Phoebe.”

  “He’s misunderstood. He’s been a prisoner for years. Of course he’s going to lash out.”

  “You are under his control, Phoebe. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “He’s my son!”

  The anger transmitted fully through the interface, Charvet thought. The face on Renard’s avatar grew red. Her nostrils flared as she stared back angrily at Sophie.

  “Phoebe . . .” Charvet spoke in calm tones. “The full Court has met, and a judgment has been rendered.”

  The color quickly drained from Renard’s virtual face, just as her actual face must be reacting to the news in the real world.

  Charvet pressed on. “I fought for you, Phoebe. I really did. They appointed me your advocate in abstentia. I convinced them to give you 48 hours to hand over the boy. If you do, they will go easy on you. You might even live. If you don’t . . . If you don’t, Phoebe, you will unequivocally fall under the same sentence as your son.”

  Renard pushed the drink away and seemed to slump on the barstool. Charvet watched her carefully.

  “Phoebe? Phoebe, it’s not too late. Turn yourself in. Where are you? Let me come get you. I can help you, Phoebe.”

  Renard straightened suddenly and looked back at Charvet. She climbed off her seat and stood up.

  “Have a good day, Sophie.”

  Her avatar disappeared as she logged out of the game.

  -+-

  Renard woke up, all of her senses returning to “meat space” as VIR nerds like to call the real world. She pulled the magnetic cord from the implant below her ear and opened her eyes. In a corner, an unlicensed prostitute she had lured to the safehouse whimpered as Jacques touched her again. Her arms and legs were bound, and he had her propped up in a corner.

  He was very curious, and at the exploration phase. Finding a prostitute without a cellphone implant had been relatively easy. Many of the young immigrants in this neighborhood were either poor or simply not interested in modern conveniences. She found one, offered her money, and took her home.

  Renard sighed, looking at the blood that had pooled on the floor.

  “Don’t make too big of a mess, dear. I’ll have to clean that up.”

  Jacques did not acknowledge her. Instead he reached over and squeezed the prostitute’s neck, fascinated with the girl’s body.

  The girl choked and broke into sobs. She said, “You’re a monster!”

  Jacques’s brows furrowed in irritation. He made a twisting motion in the air with his hand, and the girl’s head spun all the way around.

  As her body slumped to the floor, Jacques stood up and approached his mother.

  He said, “What’d you learn? I want to go to that world, too.”

  “You need a neural implant in order to go online, dear. We can’t buy one for you right now without revealing our location to everybody.”

  “But you went online. Won’t they know where you are?”

  “No. I’ve removed the phone features from my implant. Nobody can see where I am. And the gaming world is covered by some of the strictest privacy laws in the world. But we can’t afford the risk involved with getting you an implant right now.

  “In fact,” she glanced over at the mutilated body of the prostitute in the corner, “we need to leave here soon. It’s not safe to stay in one place too long. I have learned they are looking for us, and there has been an edict.”

  “An edict? What’s that?”

  “The Vehm Gericht has decided to execute us.”

  His eyes seemed to flicker red, as if a flash bulb went off in his head. She instantly felt angry. Self-righteous, burning indignation bubbled up within her.

  These people had kept her boy locked up for years, studying him. Analyzing him. Depriving him of his freedom. Now they had signed his death warrant.

  In a detached corner of her mind, she realized he was feeding her these emotions, but she could no more control them than if they were her own deep-seated feelings of rage and hopelessness.

  Jacques turned away suddenly, and the feelings vanished as if somebody flicked off a light switch.

  He said, “Forget them. And France, and all the rest. I want to go to Texas.”

  “I want to go Texas, too. I want you to meet your father, just like you do. But sweetheart, there is no way for us to get there. The security at the airports, the police . . . you don’t even have a passport, and there’s no way to get you one.”

  He turned and looked at her again. This time his eyes flashed blue.

  “Get us to the airport, Mama, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  -+-

  “This is the interface. It’s just a magnetic cord. It attaches to your neural implant here.”

  Bryce demonstrated the attachment to Melody in the privacy of his apartment. They sat on the couch together, a virtual reality unit resting on his coffee table. The small, shiny black box sported “VIR-1” in embossed white letters on top.

  Melody said, “What happens after I hook it up?”

  Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know. All the activity takes place in your mind. But a coworker is supposed to meet us in there. He’s played it quite a while and is something of an expert. Emily will be there, too, so we’ll have tour guides. They’re meeting us at the airport, in the game.”

  “Okay.”

  Melody held the magnetic tip under her ear and it connected with the implant. She sat back
on the couch and zoned out, appearing to sleep. Bryce made himself comfortable, then attached his cord and zoned out, too.

  He felt himself falling downward, as if dropping from the sky. A huge platform below seemed to float in the ether, with openings on the edges leading to different places. People milled about. Some walked around in the middle of the wide-open area. Most were lined up at one of the portals, waiting to move on.

  He landed lightly in the middle of the platform, and found himself facing a plain avatar, devoid of any distinguishing features.

  “Is that you, Melody?”

  The avatar smiled and said, “Hi, Jerry!”

  Bryce took her by the hand and they surveyed the doorways.

  Melody said, “Each one leads to a different game?”

  Bryce nodded and pointed at the longest queue. “That one says Metro-X. They’re supposed to meet us inside there.”

  They walked over together and joined the line. Within minutes, their turn at the doorway came.

  As soon as he walked through, Bryce found himself floating in a sea of inky blackness. Before him, a large globe slowly rotated. Major cities were highlighted in large red dots, pulsating and beckoning. Berlin, Rome, London, Paris. Slowly the globe turned and as the east coast of North America appeared, more cities showed up. Huge urban swathes represented by single monikers appeared, then Atlanta, Chicago, and finally the Texas cities. A large red circle roughly in the middle of the state was marked “Central Texas Metro.” He reached up and touched the spot on the globe.

  Everything melted away, and stars seemed to rush by his face like the old movies showing faster than light space travel. Then the contours of a familiar airport gelled all around him.

  A voice on a loudspeaker said, “Howdy, and welcome to the Greater Central Texas Metropolitan Area. Please enjoy your visit!”

  Ahead and slightly to the right, he found Melody’s avatar. Standing next to her was a large, handsome young black man, and next to him, a supermodel. She sported luscious blonde hair cascading down below her waist.