The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  ‘You have left me no choice but to obey.’

  ‘I did not intend to. You could try to escape if you wanted. Tamsin Grey has proven it can be done.’

  Ryu to Gock: Smile.

  The Prime ordered Pete’s symbiot to give him a loving squeeze. It tightened on his arm, the blood pressure rising toward the pain threshold and Peter’s fingers mottling to purple.

  ‘Okay.’ He gave out. ‘I’ll do as you say.’

  Ryu allowed the symbiot to relax and Pete flexed his hand to restore the feeling.

  ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  ‘Geof Ozenbach will make contact with you. I’ll wait for his recommendation on what to do with Grimaldi. Prime out.’

  ~ * ~

  Geof and Peter had their first direct connection while both were immersed in the surveillance streams of Grimaldi’s lockup. Pete watched Arthur through symb-overlay. Geof was doing the same from wherever in the world he was. It was a strange way to remeet.

  ‘Hello, Geof.’

  ‘Hello, Pete.’

  ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Much the same. Working for the Will.’

  ‘And the Colonel?’ Pete asked.

  ‘No contact for twenty-six days now.’

  ‘Any parting message?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘Nor to me.’

  ‘He’s on another team,’ Geof added.

  ‘Oh.’

  Pete wished he could talk properly with Geof, without the interpretations of Services oversight. It felt like Geof was standoffish, but how else could he act? He switched to message mode, which was less personal anyway.

  Pete: What do you think of this guy then?

  They turned their attentions to Arthur Grimaldi. He had been cleaned up and dressed in a wrap shirt, drawstring pants and a thick pocketed obi; standard accoutrements gratuits that were available to any Citizen who needed them. He could blend into a crowd in any of the megapolises now.

  Geof: He seems calmer. Perhaps the medications are working.

  Pete: We won’t know for sure until there is a live person in there.

  Geof: True. Who should we send in?

  Pete: Gock?

  Geof: Larks. No, it has to be you.

  Pete: Why me?

  Geof: Because you’ve already been exposed and you seem to have found a way to resist the effect. Have you managed to develop the psychic block you were jealous of Grey for?

  Pete: I think so. Are you really Geof? This is sounding a lot like how the Prime cross-examines.

  Geof: I apologise. Since I have been put in charge of the investigation, I have been trying to make my decisions carefully. It all rests on me now.

  Pete: I understand. But you can trust me.

  Geof: I appreciate that. Now what about Arthur Grimaldi?

  Peter sighed. That Geof had changed his attitude to him couldn’t be more obvious.

  Pete: He is unique. But his ability to leave an impression is the same as any other telepath.

  Geof: How do you mean?

  Pete: He affects the mind, but in a different way. It is more emotion than thought.

  Geof: And I thought mind control was bad enough.

  Pete: You admit then, that you have lost trust in me?

  Geof: Not in the way you think.

  Pete: You don’t have to be a telepath to spread fear, or ideas. That has been happening for centuries.

  Geof: We can debate this later. Is he of any use to us?

  Arthur hadn’t moved. He sat in his chair, one hand resting on the symbiot he had been fitted with.

  Pete: If he can be kept under control, his sensitivity could help us find Pierre.

  Geof: That is what I hoped. I have a lead on Sullivan St Clare. We could test him on a collection.

  Pete: Do you still think delving into Pierre’s origins will help us understand what he has become?

  Geof: We follow the leads we have. We have a shortage of information so anything helps make a picture.

  Geof had patterned a set of unconnected reports of a denizen who regularly appeared on the outskirts of Seaboard, driving a beat-up hover that was covered in mud and dust. Every year before winter he appeared in town, buying portable batteries, fertiliser and boxes of general dose. Each year the same reports were recorded of an untrimmed, unwashed denny with a bank of cash.

  The hover was found five hundred kilometres toward the red centre, at the mouth of a narrow valley, covered over with sheets and leaves. The area was meant to be uninhabited.

  Geof: It could just be a bushcracker, but the height and age match Sullivan’s profile. I want you and your squad to go into the valley and find him.

  Pete: Into the bush? On foot?

  Geof: The squad knows its business. And you have passed enough tests for the Prime to trust you.

  Pete: Can’t we just do a fly-through?

  Geof: It’s too narrow and dense for squibs. Eyes have been through but not thoroughly enough.

  Pete: Hasn’t anyone looked for Sullivan before? Surely if he was there, Services would have found him by now.

  Geof: You’re misunderstanding the Will. Not enough people wanted to find him. Some attempt was made eight years ago, but after such a long time hidden, not causing anyone any trouble, most wanted to forget the PDP ever happened.

  Pete: Like Pierre? The world just wanted to forget?

  Geof: It wasn’t a priority.

  Pete: The Prime suggested I may have been controlled by Pierre. That he may have pushed me to volunteer for the hunt.

  Geof: And?

  Pete: There is still no evidence that I had a sister.

  Geof: And?

  Pete: I have doubts.

  Geof: Ah.

  ‘I wish you knew my mentor. If Shen doesn’t already have a wise saying for every topic, he has the knack for coining new ones.’ Geof had switched to audio. ‘Do you know what you do when you have doubts?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Keep going. A man with doubts is like a ship in a storm; the fastest way out is to keep sailing.’

  ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find the answers you seek, Peter.’

  Pete nodded and thought about this for a moment. He took a long look at the projection of the prisoner. He hadn’t realised before how old Arthur looked, how close to starvation. Liquids were being drip-fed into his body as he sat stroking the symbiot that was new to his arm.

  Pete: How physically demanding is this trip you have planned for us?

  Geof: You’re right. If you want him, we should wait a couple days for him to stabilise.

  Pete: You still think we should take him?

  Geof: I haven’t been exposed to his field, Pete. I think we need some sort of detector. Why don’t you see how he is now?

  Pete: Is that an order?

  Geof: I don’t like this belligerence you’ve developed. You and I both have the same goals.

  Pete: You’re right.

  Pete entered the box Grimaldi was being held in and stood waiting.

  Geof: Are you feeling anything?

  Pete: Something. Not much. Not like before.

  Hello, Peter. I can hear everything you are saying to your friend.

  ‘Hello, Arthur. Do you remember me?’

  ‘Peter Lazarus.’

  ‘That’s good. You seem much better than you were a few hours ago.’ Arthur shrugged happily and continued stroking the back of the symbiot. ‘You seem to like that thing,’ Pete said.

  ‘It tells me everything will be alright.’

  Pete couldn’t help thinking about the chemical control it was also distilling to keep Arthur calm. Arthur only smiled at the thought. ‘I don’t mind, Mister Lazarus. I haven’t felt this happy in ... as long as I can remember.’

  ‘How long is that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I should know that kind of thing.�
��

  You spoke of a taint before. Can you tell me more about that?

  ‘Hmm? Oh, I did?’ He leaves his mark wherever he goes. Yes. I can tell when someone has had contact with him.

  And I have it?

  Yes. But it is okay. He did not bring the darkness upon you like he did for me. He likes you.

  Pete shuddered.

  ‘Would you like to take a trip with us, Arthur? We are looking for a man.’

  ‘Sully St Clare. I knew him well.’

  ‘We think he is in the wilds.’

  ‘We can go camping. I’ve never been camping.’

  ‘Will you help us find him?’ Pete asked.

  ‘I am happy to try.’

  What is your reach?

  Higher than I care to count. Perhaps four or five hundred paces.

  Pete looked hard at him. ‘I need to know something.’

  ‘You may ask.’

  ‘How do you feel about what we are doing?’

  ‘Trying to stop Pierre Jnr? It doesn’t matter. It may be the narcotic combo in my veins, but I feel happy being here. This feeling will come with us, won’t it?’

  You could feel that way on an island.

  I’d like to go camping.

  ~ * ~

  Arthur, Pete, Risom, Gock and the ten had been ambling through the bush for eight days. The twins were left behind at the mouth of the valley, where Sullivan, presumably, had hidden the old hover. They waited ready to ambush, in case the fugitive tried to escape.

  Ten had the search team maintain a strict pattern, making sure Arthur covered as much territory in one day as was possible while the rest of the team took their symbs and close-range camera flies with them to look for signs of habitation.

  The ten were dressed in soft armour. This area was meant to be pristine and a squad of MUs would make a trail and a lot of noise. The men seemed happy out of their suits with nothing but the arms and shoulders sheathed.

  Everyone’s symbs were plugged with data and procedures to review. Topographic maps and recorded fly-throughs, including an index of the local plant and wildlife.

  The trees were too tall for a squib flyover to get Arthur close enough to detect anything. So far he had detected nothing. They followed a clean creek, thinking that at least Sullivan must need water to survive.

  Rations were air-dropped to them each day. They only had to carry water and equipment. Each night they camped out, finding a gap in the tree canopy for supplies to be dropped down and where the embers from the fire didn’t rise into the branches.

  The camp was organised with the psis in the centre by the campfire and the ten in a protective ring around them. There wasn’t much chatter. Even the soldiers seemed content to watch the fire and the smoke rise up to the stars.

  They were far enough from Seaboard, the megapolis of the east Australian coast, that the stars came out and put on a show every night. The Milky Way was spilt across the sky as though a child had been playing with glitter and meteors, and space trash scratched the sky often enough to keep them watching. The closer layer of dots that traced over the sky was the ‘rocky road’ of the satellite layer.

  Since Arthur’s capture, the Prime had had him worked over by a psychologist and was medicating him to keep him calm. Even so, being around him for more than five minutes allowed his mood to affect everyone in the group. It was a good thing he was enjoying the outdoors.

  Peter wondered if this peace was the result of being near Arthur when he was in a good mood or from the nature-effect he had heard some of the soldiers thinking about: the sounds of the bush, the thick crick of insects, the carrying buzz of cicadas. Both Pete and Arthur found it unfamiliar, but only the latter was calmed by it.

  I am. Thank you. I didn’t want to come, but you made me.

  I am sorry we collected you so roughly.

  I know, Peter. I know.

  You’re the most sensitive I’ve ever met.

  I was touched by him. Like you were. He changed you too.

  Pete couldn’t help reacting: his eyes widened and he looked at the back of Arthur’s head. Arthur did not turn around — he was doped enough or smart enough. Gock would know they were communicating.

  Don’t worry so much. You should presume they assume.

  I can’t trust them.

  Nobody can trust anybody.

  Can I trust you?

  You can try. Arthur was slightly amused. I’m sorry. I haven’t felt this good in years. Do you think they’ll let me stay out here?

  Not very likely.

  ~ * ~

  On their ninth day, as they were tracking further into the valley, Arthur’s arm raised and pointed forward. He himself didn’t look where his finger went, he kept his head down.

  ‘What is it, Grimaldi?’ Ten asked.

  ‘There is something.’

  The squad went active on Ten’s signal. The insect sounds were interrupted by hums and chimes as they powered up their weapons. It was like an orchestra warming up, each member starting their instrument and ramping to check its sanctity, before they even began putting them on.

  Following Arthur’s pointed arm, they went another hundred metres before one of the team found a trash pile behind a small rise.

  They circled around, surveying and recording the area. The small pile seemed to be compost. Food scraps were dotted inside a yard of turned earth. Up the hill a short way was a path of chipped shale that led to an overhang. A quick peek with a drone showed that the rock pile concealed a natural tunnel entrance. Arthur’s finger was pointing directly at it.

  ‘What have you got in there, Arthur?’

  ‘There is a man.’

  ‘Is it St Clare?’ Ten asked.

  ‘H-he may not be alone,’ Arthur stammered.

  What is it, Arthur?

  I don’t know. His mind is —

  ‘Is it him?’ Ten insisted.

  ‘I can’t be sure. Whoever it is, is odd.’

  ‘Let’s give it a wait. See what happens.’

  ~ * ~

  An hour passed in which the team held their position and communicated through symb only. They discussed contingencies. It was ‘a job for ups’, but Ten let the team indulge themselves. How deep do the caves go? What if it isn’t Sullivan? What if Pierre is in there?

  The command came down on the last tick of the hour.

  ‘Okay. Let’s go in.’ Ten picked the odds — Nine, Seven, Five, Three and One — and they prepared themselves to go in. From their packs they pulled out stick-on lumens and placed them on their foreheads, the undersides of their wrists and the sides of their boots.

  ‘Drop a booster before you go too deep. We don’t want to lose contact.’ Ten read through a stream of orders that were duplicated in their symb mission overlays. ‘You don’t have dead man’s handles so if you feel anything out of the ordinary, if you think anything out of the ordinary, if you sense anything that isn’t there, or even if your imagination goes hyperactive, report it through your symb.’

  Each order was met with a co-ordinated, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Nine, ping me every two metres. Everyone go silent.’

  In normal operation mode the marauders let off occasional compression sounds, mechanical ticks and the whirr and flex of their actuators. Now they flicked to a dampened stealth mode that made them perfectly silent.

  ‘Alright, good luck.’

  The odds saluted and went into the cave, Nine first.

  Nine: We are just beyond the opening. No movement. Floor looks scuffed. There is a crevice at the east rear. We should be able to get through.

  Outside, the rest of the squad waited. Arthur paced back and forth. Pete could feel his peace becoming unsettled.

  Pete to Ten: Arthur’s meds aren’t coping with the stress.

  Nine: We are through the crevice. It is a scrape, but it opens up after three metres. This room has signs of habitation. Boxes and crates, some farming tools. We a
re dropping the first booster.