Pete sat forward and let the man talk it out.
‘I’d never seen a surgical before, not even a real birth, but I know there’s supposed to be crying. It had to be a surgical because we knew about Junior’s head already. There was no way he was going to fit through. When Mary was opened up, it was dead silent in the room. Even the operating team was silent. I watched from the viewing room and nobody spoke, only the machines moved ... and then they lifted him out. There wasn’t a sound from him ...
‘And they were right about that head. It was big. He couldn’t turn it. I know most babies can’t, but the doctor holding him took him around the room, stopping so the baby could have a look at everybody present. I didn’t even think they could really see at that stage, no?’
‘I don’t know. I could check.’ Pete began to interface with the symbiot.
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s just how things were I’m trying to tell. That’s what you wanted. Junior didn’t cry. Ever. But we all did for him. If he was cold, we wrapped him in a blanket. If he was hungry, he got fed. If he wanted to look out the window or cross the room, the nearest person would pick him up and take him. Do you understand? We knew what we were doing, but we weren’t the ones doing it. It was incredible. Like a dream where things happen and you just watch. Do you understand?’
‘I think I follow, but I’ve never experienced it.’
‘Good.’ Sandro’s blue eyes stared wildly into Pete’s. ‘I hope you never do.’
‘What happened to the mother after the birth? Miz ... Kastonovich?’
‘She was worst off. Mary had been under his control for the longest. When he left, she just dropped to the floor.’ His eyes lost their edge, and dropped back to an obsessive study of the tabletop. ‘They had her on intravenous right up until she had the strength to kill herself.’
‘I didn’t know she died,’ Pete said, and he ran a query through the symbiot. It confirmed his prior information that Mary Kastonovich was alive and living on a nearby estate. ‘I have an appointment with her later today.’
‘That woman — that thing — is an abomination, a clone so the researchers could continue their studies.’
It was clear that Sandro believed what he was saying, but the Weave said otherwise. Pete sent a missive to Geof to check it out. ‘Tell me, Mister Sandro ... didn’t anyone in the project, one of the readers, sense that she was going to kill herself? Couldn’t somebody have stopped her?’
‘Stopped her? Perhaps, if we weren’t all thinking the same thing. Those were bad days. The project was over. Everyone knew it. Even the docs were wasted. You don’t know what it was like.’
‘I’m sorry to bring back such memories for you.’
‘It’s okay. I know you’re under instruction. But you’ve got to know what he took from us, Mister Lazarus. He ruined any chance we psis had. Mary was the best of us. She was a beautiful lady, and she had the most amazing abilities. I don’t want you confusing that clone with her. That thing never went through what she went through.’
‘I understand.’ Pete thanked Pierre Snr for his time, watched from his chair as the man exited, and waited for the diode above the door to flick to safe before looking toward the mirror. Are you there?
He stared at his reflection, waiting for a response. It would be just like her to sit there and not respond. And just as likely for her to have left and not told him.
I’m here.
What were your impressions of Pierre Snr?
The same as yours. He’s of no use to us.
Where’s Sullivan? He and Junior seemed close.
Missing.
Missing?
Would you prefer ‘in the grey’?
Is Mary a clone?
There is no basis for that claim. Pierre Snr must have created that delusion.
I’d believe it. Then again, I’d believe almost anything. Pete sighed and stood up, stretching his back. ‘I can neither see you nor sense you.’
Tamsin chose to respond over the intercom. ‘Does that frustrate you, Pete?’
‘It certainly does. I’m not used to it. It’s like you only half-exist.’
‘Oh, I exist, Pete. You can be sure of that.’
‘How?’ he asked the mirror.
Silence was the only response.
How? he asked again.
~ * ~
‘We spent our days training.’
‘Training? How did you train?’
‘Oh, you know, party tricks mostly, at first. Card reading, putting out matches from across the room. Later it became a real gymnasium, lifting tables up and down, talking over distances.’
‘Was it hard?’
‘For some.’ She shrugged. It was to her the plain truth; she couldn’t help that she was skilled. According to the records, she had once managed to communicate a coded sequence over five hundred metres. ‘They worked on developing stimulants.’
‘Did any of them work?’
‘They seemed to, but it could have just been placebo.’
‘And now, can you still ... do some of those things?’
She hummed to herself and rolled her head. ‘On good days. The islands are covered in the black noise, which makes it annoying. Not debilitating, just annoying. And they lace the water too, you know. It’s hard to focus, but it keeps us happy.’
A miniature breeze evaporated on Pete’s cheek. ‘Was that you?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘After eight years, even that was hard.’
Pete looked Mary over again. She was still a beautiful woman, dark-haired and athletic, a dancer out of training. He couldn’t quite credit Pierre Snr’s statement; her sadness was embedded deep. ‘What was it like when you were pregnant?’ Her eyes and mind glazed over at the question. ‘Do you remem—’
‘Sleep,’ she answered. ‘It was like sleeping.’
‘Like a dream?’
‘Sort of. But with no real dreaming. It’s hard to remember.’
Pete could see she really didn’t recall much from those months, just a vague sense of existence. Maybe Pierre Snr was right, though the memory gap could be explained just as easily by contact with Junior.
‘Do you think memory is tied to consciousness?’ Mary asked quietly.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’
‘I just wonder if the reason I can’t remember is because I wasn’t really aware. I can’t remember much from the time he controlled me.’
‘That’s an interesting thought.’
‘Is it? I don’t know.’ She smiled and looked blankly at him.
‘You aren’t resentful at all? He used you, Miz Kastonovich.’
‘He didn’t create himself, Mister Lazarus. I did that. Me, Pierre and that whole institution.’ Her gaze quickened as she spoke. ‘Are you going to try and stop him?’ Her dull lips rounded in amusement. ‘Peter?’ He looked at her without answering. His symbiot informed him that no answer was permitted. ‘You can’t, you know? He’s a force of nature. I gave birth to a god.’ Her face was bright with excitement. ‘He will save us.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Doubt? I have doubted a great many things that have come to pass.’ Now she looked straight at him and stretched: I notice you haven’t touched your water. But then she was gone again, pupils dilating and energy fading away.
‘If you find him, you’ll just disappear like I did ... Can I go now?’
~ * ~
The halls were floored with synthetic panels of grey-blue and white. There was a murmur from each door they passed: children learning, out of sight.
‘I’m sure you’ll be happy here, Pierre,’ piped the Matron touring them. Pierre said nothing and the woman took this for shyness. He seemed such a lovely boy. She chose to speak to his mother. ‘We use only the most contemporary techniques: mixed classes, no symbiots until sixteen — but that’s a while away for you, Pierre.’ The boy’s placid smile flickered.
‘That sounds fine,�
� Gail answered.
The boy has no bot. A boy his age should have a bot. Maybe it’s small, hidden in his pocket perhaps. Or, the mother might hold with some more traditional beliefs. Unless he is wired already ... it has been known to happen. The Matron shuddered with thoughts until her worries disappeared and she looked down at the most darling child she had ever seen.
‘Can we see the lower grades, please?’ Gail asked. ‘Just to see.’
‘Of course. They are just down this way.’
~ * ~
As they took off from the islands, Geof reported a mass collapse at a school in the Dakotas, and they were redirected toward the midlands.
Pete: What’s the connection? He was only just getting comfortable with querying through his bot.
Geof: Gail Pembroke is recorded as being a visitor at the time of the syncopation, but there is no record of her leaving. She and her husband, Newton, disappeared from the Weave nearly two weeks ago; no recordings of children.
Pete: So where are you sending us?
Geof: We have the squib Mistress Pembroke was travelling in, and from its log we can deduce her itinerary over the last fortnight. Services are covering each drop, but you’re going to a farm, out past the brushes. That’s where I think Pierre has been hiding all this time.
Tamsin: Okay, send us what you know — who owns the place, who should be there, and any other missing people who might be involved.
Geof: Already compiled and streaming.
Tamsin: A step ahead as usual.
Pete: Have you seen the interviews?
Geof: Most of them.
Pete: What do you think?
Geof: I think we need to find this kid before he starts up again.
Pete: And Mary? About what Pierre Snr said, is she a clone?
Geof: I have nothing that says she is.
Pete: Okay.
Tamsin deigned to raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Why does it bother you so much if she’s a clone or not?’
‘It would be interesting if it was true.’
‘I don’t see the relevance.’
‘How do you hide your mind from me like that?’
‘That would take time to explain, and I don’t think you could stand me for that long.’
It is unfortunate that I can’t hide my mind from you.
‘What? You don’t like it? I imagine this must feel pretty uncomfortable for you.’
…
‘Yep. Not used to playing without the advantage, are you?’
…
‘What’s my body language saying to you? Do you know how to read body language, Pete?’
…
‘What are you gleaning from the timbre of my voice?’
…
‘Why, Peter. Those are quite mixed emotions. I don’t know how you stand the conflict.’
…
‘Would you like a peek?’
…
Below them, the mottle of the landscape cascaded into shapes and lines. Old fields, scratched with the torn and toppled structures of bankrupt endeavours, divided by weather breakers of all sorts and quality. Barns, farmhouses, the spinal remnants of long fences, wrecked turbines and a generation of people beyond repair.
Few properties were managing to establish their prescribed micro-climates, but those that did dotted the land with their productive greens and golds.
Pete and Tamsin’s squib banked south, momentarily tipping their view toward the gigantic black funnels of a windeater — flexible piping that transduced wind to electricity. They worked to serve two purposes, but they didn’t work enough.
The midlands was a waste. Only evangelists and recidivists stuck it out for long. A great place for Pierre to hide out — one of Geof’s grey areas — but not the ideal environment for a growing mind.
‘You shouldn’t think of him that way,’ Tamsin told Pete.
‘Why not?’
‘He chose it.’
‘He was an infant. He fled without direction.’
‘You don’t know that. And besides, he stayed.’
Pete left it alone. She was right, but she didn’t know for certain either. He saw her smirk. I hate telepaths, he thought, and she laughed.
~ * ~
Beneath them a sepia yard wavered in the wind. Farming tools lay collapsed and overcome by the patchy crab grass. Window shutters shifted slowly back and forth. All the buildings were covered in the same faded dust.
The squibs settled facing the farmhouse. Pete watched through the screen, looking for any sign of life. The escorts unpacked their servitors, who then arrayed themselves on either side of the vehicle, waiting for Pete and Tamsin to lead them in.
‘What a great place to grow up.’
‘Exactly what I was going to say.’ Tamsin grinned. ‘Shall we?’
‘Do you think he’s in there?’ asked Pete.
‘No. It’s quiet. If he was in there, I’d be able to tell by now, and so would you.’
‘Unless he knows your trick. There’s something in there.’
‘Don’t be so nervous.’ Tamsin popped the hatch. ‘He’s long gone, Pete — if he was ever here in the first place.’
Pete took a deep breath and climbed out after her, keeping a watch on the homestead. ‘Your power for doubt is incredible. You saw his parents.’
‘All I saw were two unreliable witnesses.’
Geof: Any time you two feel like heading in ... We’re all waiting here.
Pete nodded and looked at Tamsin. ‘Ladies first.’
‘I’ll watch your back.’
‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.’
‘It’ll keep you on your toes then.’
Geof: Pete! Just go in. I’ve got your back too.
There was no more excuse to delay, and Pete approached the creaking house. The path was dry under his feet, and the wood of the steps bowed under his weight.
‘Hello?’ he called out as he climbed the stairs, and then once more when he got to the porch. ‘Hello? Is anyone at home?’
‘Try knocking,’ Tamsin suggested.
Begrudgingly, he hammered his fist on the door frame and called out again.
They waited for something to happen. The shutters swept back and forth, and the structure whimpered under the growing wind.
Pete: Let’s send a servitor in.
‘Coward,’ Tamsin accused.
Geof: He’s right. Move aside so I can send a bot through.
‘Forget that.’ Tamsin pushed the door open and stepped inside. ‘Hello, householders. Services are entering your premises. Do not even attempt to resist.’
Pete followed her in, a grey sort of darkness thickening a few steps from the doorway.
‘Lazarus, get in here,’ Tamsin called, more emotionless than ever.
He found her in a lounging room, nearly full of dilapidated couches and armchairs, everything covered in dusty crochet and piles of discarded clothing.
‘Not clothes, Pete. They’re breathing.’
He looked closer and recognised them as bodies. There were four of them, two on chairs and two on the floor. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘I’m not sure. Is this what your sister was like?’
Pete shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t this blatant.’
Tamsin knelt beside the closest of the crumpled forms. ‘I’m not reading anything from them. You?’
‘Something, but it’s odd. Stray thoughts. Incomplete —’
Arms shot up and suddenly fingers were clawing at Tamsin’s neck, dragging her down.
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ the body rasped. ‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
Before Pete could help her, two more of the bodies had awakened and grabbed at him from behind. In his mind he heard one thought, you shouldn’t have come here, echoed by four dry voices repeating the mantra as one.
‘You shouldn’t have come here.’
The Hunt for Pierre Jnr Page 5
