"You getting anything?" Bryson asked her. She noticed he was still standing in the apartment doorway, as though he was wary of getting too close while she did her voodoo.
"You'll have to give me a minute," she told him. "Before I start the scan, it would help if we could find something that's special to the perp. If I scan the apartment cold, I'm just as likely to pick up random thoughts about what he had for dinner last night. I need something that belongs to him. Something personal. It'll help me get a better lock on him."
"Uh-huh." Pulling back the edge of the gauntlet on his left hand Bryson checked his watch, then tapped its face. "Not trying to tell you your business, Anderson. But the clock's ticking on this one."
"I know it is, Bryson," Anderson pursed her lips, trying to keep her temper. "But you're the one who called for a Psi-Judge. If you want me to find you any leads, you're going to have to let me do things my way."
Sighing inwardly, Anderson returned her attention to the apartment's interior. Bryson's attitude was wearingly familiar to her. In common with most street Judges, he seemed to have no concept of the difficulties involved in a psychometric scan. She could understand the reasons. By the nature of their job, street Judges tended to be well grounded in everyday reality: they were accustomed to a world of hard and fast rules, where the answer to every question was unequivocally yes or no. Psi-Judges inhabited a different world. The psychic realm was vague and mysterious, almost by definition: its answers often far from clear-cut. From experience, she knew it was no good trying to tell a street Judge that. They did not seem to have the equipment to cope with a world without easy answers.
In course of her twenty-odd years as a Psi-Judge, Anderson had performed literally thousands of psychometric scans. She was all too aware of the problems of the technique, and how hard it could be to achieve a worthwhile result. She had not been joking when she told Bryson she might end up with nothing more useful than the perp's memories of what he had had for dinner. Scanning a person's home would frequently reveal little to aid an investigation: a welter of trivial and inconsequential thoughts crowding out anything that might be of value. Her chances of conducting a successful scan would be much improved if she could find one of the perp's belongings - something he cared about - to help her link more directly with the things that were important to him. The kind of things which might have persuaded him to kidnap a child in the first place.
Then, she saw it. Set carefully apart from the clutter disfiguring the apartment, she noticed an old leather-bound Bible lying open on a table beside the sofa. It stood out at once: in an age where every book was available as a data-slug or in downloadable format on the Megaweb, no one owned the real thing anymore. Much less leather-bound, with cloth ribbons inside it to mark out favoured pages. It had the look of an ancient and valuable family heirloom, passed down through the generations. Skimming through the book, she saw a series of names written on the first page: some of them faded and worn with age. They all had the surname 'Verne', with Lucas Verne's name written in blocky letters below the others at the bottom of the page. Running a hand over it, Anderson knew instinctively she had found exactly what she was looking for. If there was a way into the world of Lucas Verne, this would be it.
It must have been in Verne's family for generations, she thought. It's probably his most treasured possession. And, given his religious views, it's obvious he reads it all the time. I doubt there's anything more important to him in the world than what's in this book.
Closing the book's cover, Anderson removed one of her gloves before placing her hand on the Bible once more. She felt the coolness of the leather beneath her palm and the richness of its grain. Drawing a deep breath, she began to steel herself for what lay ahead.
There were dangers, always, in attempting to pick up the psychic impressions from a disturbed mind. Madness could be contagious: the human mind was fragile, and even a highly trained Psi-Judge like Anderson had reason to fear becoming too closely embroiled with the damaged psyche of a madman. Granted, the impressions experienced through a psychometric scan were rarely that powerful, but sometimes insanity could make a mind burn more brightly. It was entirely possible Lucas Verne had left more of himself imprinted in the pages of the book than a well-adjusted person might do. By scanning it, Anderson would be running the risk of direct exposure to his delusions. With the life of a child at stake though, she did not see how she had any other choice.
All right, Cass, here goes nothing, she told herself. Let's see if you can get through this one without getting a free trip to the funny farm thrown in as a bonus.
Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes. She stilled her mind, narrowing her perceptions with a practiced ease, letting the sounds and sensations of the physical world around her fade away. In its place, she concentrated on her breathing first. She counted deep breaths, in and out, focussing on the steady rhythmic contractions of her lungs. Withdrawing even more from the physical world, she went to a small quiet place inside her own mind. There was nothing in there of the world and its concerns. There was nothing within it of her fears and anxieties. There was only a sense of calm. A sense of peace. She felt the trance state come over her and, at last, she was ready to begin.
She was ready. Extending her perceptions once more, she expanded her mind past the discrete shapes of physical reality to the shifting and more vital shades of the unseen psychic world around her. As a child taking her first lessons in Psi-School, they had taught her to call it the "psi-flux". It was a place of infinite possibilities: a mysterious and endlessly fluctuating realm of pure energy that co-existed with the physical world yet, at the same time, was separate and outside it.
It was the source of every psychic's powers. Its subtle energies allowed telekinetics to move objects with their minds; it allowed precogs to see the future; it let pyrokines start fires through no other cause than the force of their wills. Anderson was a telepath, her powers trained and honed by her years as a Psi-Judge. Her connection to the psi-flux allowed her to read minds, send and receive thoughts, sense psychic vibrations, and utilise other powers besides. Now, she reached out to it, seeking the imprint of Lucas Verne among the shifts and modulations of the currents around her. She gave herself up to the psi-flux. It was like drifting in a dark and ever-changing sea. She reached out. Feeling the elusive traces of Lucas Verne, she tried to home in on them. She let the psi-flux's currents pull her closer. Following the tide, she let it lead her to her destination. The psi-flux moved, and she went with it.
Ready or not, Lucas: here I come.
She let it lead her, slowly, effortlessly, inexorably, into the mind of a madman.
She was in his head, as he worried and fretted at the world outside. She was in his head as he paced his apartment, stalking its bounds like some caged and raging beast. She was in his head as he watched the Tri-D news stations each night, the sound turned down low as images of chaos and disorder played out in the air before him. Sometimes, the news was so bad he sat crying in his chair for hours, his tears staining the pages of the Bible open in his lap.
She was Lucas Verne. She was inside his head.
It had started when he lost his job. In the wake of unemployment he had begun to spend most of his time in his apartment, watching the news on the Tri-D. There were a dozen twenty-four-hour news stations in Mega-City One. He had watched them all, obsessively flicking the channel from one crisis to the next whenever they cut to commercials.
The state of the world had troubled him. It did not take a genius to see that things were steadily getting worse. The Great Atom War had transformed ninety per cent of the Earth into a radioactive wasteland. The seas had been poisoned. The cities were overcrowded. Crime was on the increase. Mutation had become commonplace. Every day on the Tri-D there were reports of fresh horrors: wars and riots, plagues and famines, ecological catastrophes and strange new monsters. Alone in his apartment, Lucas Verne had experienced a growing feeling of foreboding. The world seemed terrifying. Nothing
made sense anymore. It was like everything was going to hell and nobody cared. He had begun to fear the future. It was as though the entire world was in a downward spiral, caught helpless in the grip of a frightening and unstoppable process of decline.
Slowly, understanding had dawned on him. He had resisted it at first, but eventually he had come to the realisation there was a reason why things were so awful. There was a reason why he had lost his job. A reason why the world had started to go wrong. A reason why everything in his life had turned to shit.
It was all in the Bible, in the pages of the Book of Revelations. For years Lucas had turned to the Good Book for comfort. He had leafed through its wisdoms, following the example set by generations of his forefathers before him. When times were hard, he had turned to the word of the Lord Grud for answers. Now, by virtue of his belief in Grud, he saw past the outward symptoms of the world's ills to the darker cause hidden beneath them. Finally, the truth was revealed.
The world was coming to an end.
It was all in his Bible. He saw that the Great Atom War and the Apocalypse War had only been the beginning. The True Apocalypse was at hand. He lived in an age of signs and wonders. The Four Horseman of War, Pestilence, Famine and Death were at work in the world. The Mark of the Beast was the sign of mutation. The Whore of Babylon was the sexual promiscuity he saw in his neighbours and in the programmes on the Tri-D entertainment channels. He realised he was living through the Time of Tribulation: the period when the faith of the righteous would be put to the test. Soon, the nations of the Earth would turn against each other. The Great Beast would walk among them. The countdown to Armageddon had already begun. These were the Final Days.
The truth had frightened and appalled him in equal measure. All his life Lucas had tried to live by Grud's Commandments, but now he felt a deepening unease about the state of his own soul. He wondered whether he was truly one of the righteous. He worried about the Last Judgement. When it came to separating the wheat from the chaff, would Grud assign him a place in heaven or cast him with the other sinners into the fiery pits of hell?
Even as such thoughts plagued him though, he realised it was not within his power to do anything about it. Most likely, the shape of his destiny had already been decided. It was too late to buy his salvation with last-minute prayers and frenzied devotions. For all he knew, he was as doomed to damnation as every other sinner in Mega-City One. Brooding, Lucas realised he was utterly powerless to avert his fate. Armageddon was coming, and there was nothing he could do to change it.
Or, at least, that was how it seemed until he saw the child.
It had happened in the hallway outside his apartment. Lucas had just returned home after a long day spent preaching of the wrath of Grud to the heedless masses in Speakers Square - the one place in the city where he could hold forth on his views without the Judges throwing him in the cubes. Lost in his own thoughts, he had passed the Cooley woman from apartment 37-A as she stood outside the elevators talking to one of the neighbours. She was showing off her new baby. A boy. She said his name was Garret. Largely indifferent to the lives of his fellow block residents, at first Lucas had ignored them. Until, from the corner of his eye, he had spotted a glint of light come from the direction of the baby. Then, gazing closer, Lucas had seen something remarkable. Something extraordinary...
A halo.
The baby's head had been surrounded by a radiating nimbus of divine light. His blue eyes had sparkled. His face had been angelic. Staring dumbstruck, Lucas had blinked his eyes in disbelief. When he had opened them again, the halo had been gone. The moment had passed. Noticing the mother was looking at him strangely, Lucas had hurried to his door and retreated inside his apartment.
It had been clear, whatever the nature of the vision he had experienced, Lucas had been the only one to see it. The memory of it had stayed with him. It was imprinted on his retinas when he closed his eyes. It lingered in his dreams when he fell asleep.
A halo.
The fact of it had astounded him. In his apartment, Lucas had considered the meaning of the vision for days. On the surface the Cooleys were a perfectly ordinary family, little different from the millions of other similar families throughout the city. Yet, Lucas was sure of what he had seen. The baby's features had shone with such a perfect and saintly light.
No, not saintly. The brilliance of the halo had been of an entirely different and higher order. It had been like staring at the sun. It had been unearthly, with the glow of a divinity reborn into human flesh.
A halo.
Slowly, the true significance of the vision had dawned on him. It was hard to believe, but he realised there was only one explanation. Lucas had checked his facts. He had checked the names of the Cooley baby's parents in the block's register of tenants. It had been there in black and white. Their names were listed as Joseph and Mary.
Joseph and Mary. It could not be a coincidence. Whether through some twist of fate or quirk of the divine order, Lucas realised he had been granted an opportunity beyond all his wildest dreams. The realisation filled him with a new sense of purpose. Suddenly, a new mission in life was clear to him. A small voice inside tried to dissuade him, but he refused to let it tame him. He would not waste this chance. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Lucas had known exactly what to do next.
Banishing his last misgivings, he had decided to kill the Messiah.
"You're telling me the perp saw a halo around the Cooley kid's head?" Bryson said. They were standing in the apartment, and Anderson had just relayed the results of her psychometric scan. "But that's just crazy..."
"Of course it is. He's a psych-case, remember?" Anderson replied. "If you want an explanation, then maybe it was a trick of the light or simply a hallucination brought on by the perp's delusions. Either way, it doesn't matter. All that matters now is that Lucas Verne believes the Cooley baby is the new Messiah. That's why he kidnapped him. He thinks by killing the baby he can prevent the Second Coming and stop the Apocalypse from happening."
"Grud..." Bryson shook his head in disbelief. "You were right when you said the Psycho Unit dropped the ball on this one. Even by the standards of MC-1, this drokker sounds as crazy as it gets."
"I wouldn't disagree," Anderson smiled grimly as she echoed the street Judge's earlier words. Taking her hand from the Bible before her, she began to pull her glove on once more. "The psychic traces he left in his Bible were pretty strong. At times it was like I was right there in his head with him. Believe me, it's not an experience I'd like to repeat anytime soon."
"What about new leads? Did you pick up anything that might tells us where he took the kid?"
"Nothing," Anderson sighed. "It was all about his delusions. Armageddon. The Last Judgement. The Second Coming. Wait a minute..."
She fell silent for a moment, trying to concentrate on the vague memory of a fleeting image she had seen during the scan.
"There was one thing," she said. "It seemed out of place among all the religious malarkey, but I caught a brief glimpse of something weird. It was some kind of cartoon character. It looked like a man wearing top hats and tails, with a burger where his head should have been..."
"Mayor McMunce's McMarvellous Burgers!" Bryson suddenly cut her off excitedly. "It's an old munce-burger factory, right in this sector. The place is derelict. It got closed down years ago. There's a big plasteen statue of the character you described on the factory roof! Grud... And you know what else?"
Bryson's voice went hoarse as he made the connection.
"Lucas Verne used to work there."
TWO
ON THE SHOULDERS OF GIANTS
Maybe it was a sign he was as slow on the uptake, but Leonard had been in the sewers beneath Mega-City One for a full ten minutes before he noticed the smell. It was the lack of it that surprised him. He was wading knee-deep through raw sewerage, and it seemed to him the stink should have been strong enough to burn the eyes from his sockets and choke his throat. Instead, the smell was
kind of damp and mouldy, but nowhere near as bad as he would have expected. It was another one of the city's many mysteries, he figured: like robots, and doors that talked, or any of the other wondrous magical things he had seen since he had come there from the Cursed Earth. Somehow, the people of the city had discovered a secret way to stop their shit from stinking.
"It's the germs that do it," his friend Daniel said. The little boy was sitting perched high up on Leonard's shoulders. Since they were alone, with no one around to hear them, Daniel said the words aloud instead of whispering them into Leonard's mind directly, his high-pitched voice echoing through the tunnels. "They put germs in the water to break down the sewerage and stop the smell. It only works at the top levels, though. If we were going deeper you'd need a gas mask, and a body suit, and all kinds of stuff. I saw it on the Tri-D once." The explanation over, he pointed at something ahead of them. "There's a loose stone in the roof over there, Leonard. Watch you don't bang your head."
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