The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  A man in black stepped through his bedroom door and knelt beside him, pushing a white oval toward his face.

  ‘No, please no!’ Simon shouted, but it was no use.

  ~ * ~

  Okonta fixed the mask on 24601 and stood up to leave. The second half of his ten would arrive soon and could complete the collection. Something was wrong though and he couldn’t tell what.

  He probed and found no one else in the vicinity. Where were the other MUs?

  Okonta to Services: My team has gone silent. What is the command?

  Services: Second and third squads inbound. Stay in position.

  Okonta: Cut that, I’m going defensive.

  Services: Concur. You may take unrestricted precaution.

  Outside the bedroom, the lights of the house faulted suddenly. Beyond the bedroom doorway he couldn’t see through the black. Okonta listened for movement, pushed his mind out for sentience, but found no one there. That meant it could be bots out there waiting for him. But who could have organised a bot hit on his team? The target didn’t have that kind of influence and only Services ups should have known they were going to be here.

  He bent down to one of the MUs and pulled the stumpy weapon away from the loosened fists. It was an ungainly, thick disc, with a handle on the flat side and six barrels attached to the front to point toward the target.

  Okonta: Can you unlock this weapon for me? If it’s bots out there, I’m defenceless.

  Services: Access granted. Use only as a last measure. Backup in minus four minutes.

  The weapon hummed and clocked the readings to green. His symbiot accessed the operational embed of the gatling hand cannon and Okonta held it pointed at the open doorway.

  ‘Hello, assassin,’ a woman’s voice called from above.

  Okonta splayed his legs and released the gatling on full throttle. Most of the energy went straight up into the sky through the hole in the roof. Only a small crumble of dust and prefab fell down.

  ‘Tsk, tsk. That’s no way to treat a friend.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’ll give you a choice, Okonta. Join me or die.’

  Tamsin?

  Now you’re getting it. Quickly. Which side would you be on if you had the choice?

  You can’t.

  Haven’t you ever thought about freedom?

  Of course.

  It’s wonderful, Okonta. You could never dream it...

  Services: Agent, report. What is happening there?

  Time to choose.

  Yes, I want to be free.

  Brace yourself.

  Okonta’s symbiot shook on his arm, and was instantly striped with cuts as Tamsin shredded it as quickly as she could. The botlock reacted, releasing toxins into his blood and heating ready to explode. Tamsin continued the lacerations until the shell was destroyed.

  He had nearly blacked out by the time she dropped from the hole in the roof. She was a blonde freckled woman he didn’t recognise. He felt upward through her face.

  ‘Tamsin?’

  ‘Hold on, Okonta. All you have to do now is not die.’ She pulled a brace of syringes from her pocket and began stabbing them into his shoulder and chest.

  Is that really you, Tamsin?

  Sure it’s me. Don’t let the disguise fool you.

  The injections kicked in, counteracting the poisons and enlivening his body with artificial enthusiasm. He stood up.

  Quickly now, we have to get you transfused before these wear off.

  What about him? he asked, nodding at the body lying unconscious on the floor. Okonta bent down to remove the man’s mask.

  Wait. Tamsin touched his arm. I have a better idea.

  ~ * ~

  It had been a week since the incident, three days since he had said goodbye to Geof Ozenbach. Peter Lazarus remained isolated in the medic tent of the remote Services compound. He waited as his body healed and his memories trickled together. He woke and passed out many times, and his sentience was continuously impaired from medication.

  Sometimes he’d waken with a blank mind and it took him time to remember who he was and where. Sometimes he passed out with an image of eyes looking deep inside him.

  His healing was rushed as much as it could be. With such extensive damage though, it became a hierarchy of priorities that had to be fixed one at a time.

  Anchali fed him six times a day with a variety of protein fluids and chewing paste. She would ask him standard questions that nurses ask their patients, such as, ‘How are you feeling today?’ and he would try to answer with a nod. ‘Does it hurt when I do this?’ Nodding made his head swim and he would groan.

  ‘Don’t push yourself, Mister Lazarus.’ She smiled.

  It was as she held straws to his lips or sponged his body clean that they hurried through as much real conversation as they could. She couldn’t linger at her duties without raising suspicion.

  What is happening in the world?

  Officially I am cloistered, as are most of the soldiers here, but from what I’ve heard there still isn’t any official statement for what happened under the Dome yet.

  That is odd, isn’t it?

  Yes and no. The Primacy is shifting, so those who were responsible are not commenting until the next council is in place. There is a lot of speculation.

  And I bet none of it is close to what really happened. They’ll want to keep it secret.

  We won’t let them.

  How can you stop them?

  Whispers, Pete. As soon as I get relieved, I’ll spread the truth.

  The truth ...?

  The visions beset him again and he went into a fit. The last thing he heard was the alarm of his bedside machines and Anchali calling for the doctor.

  Each time he awoke, the pieces slid into place, though not always in the same way. Those staring eyes that held him in thrall; the squeezing pain and the moment before, when he was waiting on an everyday street.

  As time went by, his telepathic reach slowly came back to him. They kept the building clear to one hundred paces so mostly he could sense nothing until the nurse came to visit and he would count her steps as she approached: seventy-nine, seventy-eight, seventy-six ...

  Anchali, he would call. She was a good nurse and the kind of woman who liked everything to be kept neat and tidy. Especially herself.

  Twenty-two, twenty-one ...

  Without even passive Weave access, Nurse Anchali Risun was the only person he had any contact with. He tried communicating with Geof through his symbiot, but received no response. He could not even be sure his messages were received. He wondered what could be happening. Was Geof alive? Had Services blocked them? Was he choosing not to respond?

  Peter and Nurse Anchali had many long, silent conversations while he was unable to move. Twice a day she would gently dab his body with a soft cloth and massage the muscles that weren’t too bruised to touch. He had never been so pampered in his life.

  ‘How are we feeling today, Mister Lazarus?’

  ‘Please, call me Peter.’ Why are you the only person in this hospital?

  This is only a temporary building. Just for you. ’That wouldn’t be protocol, I’m afraid.’ She smiled as she said this, professional-friendly.

  With only one nurse?

  No. Just the only one you’re allowed contact with. I’m a sacrificial lamb, which they think I don’t know. The others only come when they put you under. Let me reassure you, there is a team of doctors rushing your recovery along.

  Pete found it incredibly difficult to be alone since the incident. As soon as the nurse faded from him, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two ... his heart rate elevated. Panic would set in and trigger a chemical dose from the machines around him. When he recognised that he panicked whenever he lost mental contact, he began to wonder about himself. He recalled being more of a private person. He’d spent his life drifting from place to place, using travel to hide, making no lasting contacts.
That was a psi’s life, wasn’t it?

  It was only a month ago that he had been in that life. There didn’t seem to be that many scenes from before that he could recollect. He remembered a lot of empty hotel rooms, sitting on the edge of a bed watching viewscreens. He was over thirty years old, surely he should remember more than that? He couldn’t even recall the faces of his parents. He did have one vision in which he sat in a Francophile restaurant eating an expensive meal, with his father he thought, but then he was eating alone. It was more dream to him than memory.

  What had those eyes done to him? Was his mind this empty before?

  Anchali tried to console him, and to help him put the pieces together from what she could see in his mind and what she could learn from the outside world.

  From what I can gather from the two men who visited you, you were part of a team that was in Paris during the manifestation.

  What happened?

  You were in an operation to find Pierre Jnr, but when you did you couldn’t control him.

  Those eyes I see? Is that the boy?

  That is him.

  Why didn’t he kill me?

  That is something everyone would like to know. I must go, this sponge bath is taking longer than normal.

  ‘I’ll be back with your afternoon snack in a little while. Alright, Mister Lazarus?’

  ‘And some ice?’ he croaked.

  ‘I should be able to manage some ice, but not too much. It’s not good for your throat.’

  Anchali? You didn’t know me before, did you?

  No, Peter. We’ve never met. How much of your memory do you think you have lost?

  I don’t know. Most of it. I can’t remember anything. I remember the last week and then ... Only scattered images that aren’t making sense to me.

  We’ll work on it, Peter. Every day, one bit at a time. I’ll help you. Don’t be frightened.

  I’m not. I’m angry. I’ve never felt such hate — well, that I know of. My mind feels like my body does. He pushed to her a sense of the pain he was in.

  I’ll get you more painkillers.

  No ... just, visit more often.

  As often as I can, Peter.

  He let her go at ninety paces. In truth, he was growing stronger, psionically. He found that if he followed his awareness of Anchali as she left, he could stretch far beyond his previous limits. He wasn’t going to tell her though. He’d trusted Tamsin; he couldn’t bring himself to trust another psi again, not one that had been introduced to him by Services.

  One hundred and ten, one hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve ... He found someone else as Anchali left the hospital corridor, a guard sitting at a desk in a prefab capsule. He was scanning data surveillance of activity surrounding the enclosure; Pete watched it somewhat distantly, as he’d never stretched so far before. He could see that the compound they were keeping him in was set in a desert of ruddy-orange sand, surrounded for miles by sharp clumpy grass; he saw his quarantine area isolated from the nest of tents and capsules that huddled on the far side of the fenced-in portion of the desert; an annex held an airstrip with three large transports and a half-dozen squibs.

  The man Pete had made contact with turned in his chair and spoke to a woman sitting at a similar desk across the room. The man fantasised about the woman but betrayed no sign of it in his manner. ‘Private, monitor the dust front from the north while I step out, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant.’

  The man stood and exited the room. Pete’s connection followed, one hundred twenty-seven, one hundred twenty-eight. Just as the man pushed open the door that would lead to the outside, Pete’s bond with him slipped away.

  Nearly one hundred and thirty paces. Was this a gift from Pierre? What else could it be?

  ~ * ~

  He felt her dabbing him with cold water. His body was in pain. It shrieked at him.

  I’m alive then.

  You must be more careful.

  Must I? What’s the point?

  Peter, calm yourself. Every time you black out like that you ruin your healing. They will sedate you completely, if you don’t settle down.

  He opened his eyes.

  Where are my team? Why haven’t I seen them?

  Please don’t be angry with me. I don’t know where they are.

  I’m sorry. I don’t know what it is. I don’t mean to be so frustrated ...

  For no reason he bounced between emotions, all just reactions. Anger fear anger fear.

  I’m going to sedate you, Peter. Your pulse is rising again.

  ~ * ~

  Each moment of consciousness was like a day to him, and he would wake and pass out perhaps ten times a cycle. Each time he opened his eyes he was in a new mood — he couldn’t seem to control it.

  Nurse Anchali tried to explain it to him, but he was suspicious.

  You’ve been through a traumatic event. This is natural and the only cure is time. You must be patient.

  How do I know he didn’t do this to me?

  Because you are still you. Trust me, I’m a nurse.

  How can I trust you? You could be like her.

  Tamsin Grey? How dare you say a thing like that? People like her are monsters.

  I can’t trust anyone. Not Geof, not her, not you. I shouldn’t even trust myself. I’ve been tampered with like a computer.

  Perhaps you have, but there’s no point letting it eat you up. Look, I have to go. I’ll be back in an hour, try to stay positive.

  She gathered the remains of the meal back onto the tray and dabbed around his mouth.

  You’re right not to trust though. It hurts me that you don’t trust me, but it is better than you trusting anyone from Services.

  Without thinking about it she wiped the tears away from his face, letting her hand rest on his cheek for comfort.

  ‘Why are you crying, Mister Lazarus? Are you in pain?’

  They’ll never let me go. I’m stuck here, in this bed, in a room like this —

  STOP! she demanded before his paranoia managed to creep into her own mind.

  Anchali stood up. ‘I’ll consult the physician and see if he can help you rest. I’ll bring you something to drink in an hour. Until then, just relax as much as you can.’

  She walked away, trying not to appear hurried. They watched everything. It was probably already too late for her and Pete might soon have her life on his conscience too.

  ~ * ~

  There is always the kind of person who will do anything for money and Gock was one such person. His full name was Gock Meyon Cshirasu from the Yantz region. He was onto his third life partner and had two children. None of them liked him. Pete knew the man inside and out before he entered his room and already he felt discomforted by his presence.

  Gock was a proxy. A person who lived out the actions of the highest bidder. Those who could afford proxies saw through their eyes and heard through their ears. Controllers often used proxies for anonymity or, as in this case, to protect themselves in dangerous situations. Gock spoke what he was told to speak and did what they bid him. He was Gock and he was at somebody’s service.

  It was this second person that Pete was most interested in. Pete knew all he needed to know about Gock without having to lay eyes on him, but the person who commanded him was an unknown.

  The man did not know where he was or why, only that his next instruction would be received at the end of the canvas tunnel. He was surprised to see only a man in a healing pallet.

  For a moment Peter thought that if he never opened his eyes he could avoid meeting the man, but Gock shuffled as he sat in the chair, thinking of his family back in Yantz. He was irritated by how happy they were that he had been indefinitely repositioned and would be out of contact with them for the foreseeable future. He was also jet-lagged and ready to sleep as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Pete pondered a moment the term ‘foreseeable future’. He could foresee very little of his own future
at this point, or his past. He’d given up his freedom and was now at the mercy of Services.

  When he did eventually open his eyes, the squat little man stood up. ‘You may call me Gock. I speak for the honourable Ryu Shima, Prime of the World Union.’

  Until he spoke the words, Gock himself didn’t know who had hired him. Ryu Shima, the young man of Yantz who had risen nearly overnight to the position of Prime. This made Gock smile. This was a powerful man. This was a man with pull. This man could change Gock’s life.