The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  I don’t remember that. Did they hurt him?

  I don’t know. I only know what you know.

  What does it mean?

  I can’t be sure. Memory is not perfect. Your father is trying to project an emotion upon you, but you are just getting sadder and sadder.

  It sounds like ‘sad’.

  No, it is more complicated than that. It is like a sadness over something that can never be, or never was. It is the feeling of loss when nothing has been lost.

  And my mother? Where is she? Can I see her?

  You don’t have any memories of her. I’m sorry.

  It’s okay. Just take me away. I can’t bear it.

  ‘Saudade,’ her father said, tapping at his chest.

  The memory faded away to be replaced by another.

  They stood at a window in a stone wall. They were one body with two minds peeking out.

  It’s about to happen.

  Tamsin watched as the nose of a black limousine floated into her line of sight. She regulated her breath. Slowly the limo came forward, a languorous pace. It seemed to linger more than it progressed. The wait was unbearable.

  Pierre ...?

  She didn’t mean to. She wished she could take it back, but she needed to know what was inside.

  In shock, she punched at the car, knocking it in from both sides, but it was already too late. A ravine opened between her and the target, fountains of dust shooting in every direction. The cloud came straight at her, tore the window in two and darkness took over ...

  You warned him?

  I didn’t know if it was him or not. I wasn’t even sure he existed.

  But now you put your faith in him?

  Yes.

  And what does he intend?

  I don’t know ... Can you help me remember my time with him?

  No. There seem to be no memories of your days together. Only this moment...

  Tamsin was walking down a linoleum corridor, black and white tiles, black white, black white. She had just left Peter Lazarus, telling him that she was going to escape. She felt annoyed and upset and then there was a small hand holding hers.

  That is where it ends.

  Pierre ...

  He is real.

  You weren’t sure?

  How can one be sure of that? My network has reported nothing.

  Their thoughts seemed more distinguishable now.

  You can feel us separating?

  Yes.

  Good. We’ll go slow. I want you to know how to end a commune. It’s important. Imagine a rope’s threads, bound and entwined. The threads unfurling, spreading apart.

  I can’t believe you have been able to hide from Services for so long.

  Right under their noses.

  Will you help me?

  I won’t risk everything, but I will help.

  Thank you ... Thank you for showing me my father.

  ~ * ~

  Tamsin woke calm.

  La Grêle was standing beside her, adjusting her drapery back into position. ‘Now you and I are not so different.’

  Yes. Tamsin had absorbed some of her colour. She knew La Grêle’s past, but it wasn’t just a sharing of knowledge; she had felt her emotions and experienced how she thought. She was changed. ‘I never knew about that.’

  ‘We have never had the chance to grow our own culture. It makes me very angry,’ La Grêle said.

  ‘Angry enough?’

  ‘I took some of yours.’ La Grêle smiled and stroked Tamsin’s cheek gently. ‘It’s good to know you are human.’

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. You haven’t had it so easy yourself.’

  ‘But at least I was able to be myself. Now you must do that. Your life cannot just be about the fight.’

  ‘It will have to be for now.’

  Tamsin reached up to let her finger touch the soft and downy skin of the older woman. They had been one.

  We know what we must do.

  We know what we must do.

  ~ * ~

  That night Tamsin couldn’t sleep. She was excited. The adrenalin of the day hadn’t worn off and her visions of what was to come filled her with trepidation and bliss. A place for psis to exist and learn. It hadn’t occurred to her until it had been said.

  In the dark she held her hand out. Are you there, Pierre? She could picture him. She could. But then she couldn’t. Was he there and hiding from her? Or had he left her? Why are you doing this? Why are you silent? Am I doing what you want?

  Then she thought of Pete. Why was she thinking of a man she’d only known for a few days ... she really didn’t want to know. She had enjoyed taunting him, that much she could admit.

  What is he thinking of me now? she wondered. Probably trying to decide if she was a traitor or a puppet. She didn’t feel like a puppet. And how could she be betraying something she hated? Or was he right about Pierre?

  Please, Pierre. Just let me know.

  ~ * ~

  The Sullivan expedition and the interviews left Pete exhausted and disturbed.

  He rewound the conversations in his head. Everything Sullivan had said was touched with unreality, probably from long-term drug use, but his insights into how psionics worked presented Pete with a new framework. He’d never previously questioned how his abilities worked; he had them, he used them. He understood now why Tamsin’s trick was so hard to comprehend at first and then so easy after.

  ‘Just a puppet.’ Sullivan didn’t even know him and he’d managed to pinpoint Pete’s worry. Tamsin had warned him of the same thing. ‘Don’t be a puppet, Pete.’ He had been so determined not to come under Pierre’s control that he had put himself in the hands of others. I walked right in off the street. Services just used me as a decoy and I let myself be used.

  He remembered his last day. A motel room. A restaurant and an empty chair. The sand of the beach under his toes. A last swim. Nothing before that.

  Peter Lazarus, the puppet. Next to him in the squib was Gock. The proxy and the puppet. Not so different after all.

  There was no exit from his thought spiral. Everything twisted back in on itself. Was he a real person or not? Had Pierre reprogrammed him? How could a man go through thirty-five years and not develop any relationships? He closed his eyes and saw those staring eyes. Tranquillity in the midst of a huge scarred head. What have you done to me?

  Pete felt every metre of the tower as they ascended rapidly in the elevator, his stomach dropping further into his feet and the pain of his weary muscles pulsing.

  He knew someone was in the needle before the doors opened, and then he found her standing at the window in the crescent lounge. She was besotted with the view and he had a moment to admire her before she noticed him. He had never seen her with her hair loose. It ended in the small of her back, tips curling in.

  Anchali?

  Peter?

  ‘Nurse Anchali, what are you doing here?’ he asked out loud.

  ‘I’ve come to —’ She collapsed into his arms and started shaking.

  ‘What’s wrong? It’s okay.’ He held her close. He sent soothing messages to her through the bond.

  It came out in drips how she was removed from the outpost when he’d left. After he and the others were gone, they put the compound back into storage. Anchali thought she was being transported to her next assignment but found herself in a black box and the next thing she knew there was a voice offering her a choice between going to the islands or doing what they wanted.

  Which kind of island did they mean?

  ‘They know, Pete. Oh, the gods, they know.’ She sobbed, barely getting her words out.

  He hushed her and sat with her on the couch, ordering water from the kitchen.

  Did you get word out?

  I never had a chance.

  What about the friends you told me about? Are they safe?

  I haven’t told Services anything, I swear.

  Of course you
didn’t, but can they help you escape?

  Maybe, but they wouldn’t expose themselves just for me. It would be too risky. They don’t even know where I am.

  ‘It’s okay. It will be alright,’ he repeated. Why have they brought you here? What do they want from you?

  They haven’t told me. I was just told that you would be here.

  I think you might be a reward for good behaviour.

  What do you mean?

  It’s part of their process, Anchali. This reorientation is just behavioural conditioning. That’s what they’ve been doing since I left the hospital, teaching me to follow orders. If I do wrong, I get punished. If I do well, I get rewarded.

  She pulled away from him and retreated back to the window. What do they think I am?

  I think they just know how I feel about you.

  Pete tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away. Did you tell them about me?

  Anchali, no. I would never. Look inside me, you can see I haven’t betrayed you.

  She looked directly into his eyes and took both of his hands in her small fingers. Did you tell Services about me?

  ‘No,’ Pete answered.

  Her eyes were still wet, and she blinked to clear them. My life is over, she realised and collapsed into deeper misery. Pete steadied her wavering balance until she managed to take hold of herself again.

  Who is that man?

  Gock had been standing behind them the whole time. Greasy smile and fondling eyes sliding over Anchali’s backside.

  ‘Let’s go to my room.’ That one is always near me. He is the Prime’s proxy.

  I don’t like him.

  I’m not sure it is possible to like him.

  ‘How long will you be here?’ he asked when they were alone, though aware that he was still watched in his room.

  ‘I don’t know. I know that you’re leaving again tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ He needed rest. He is wearing me down, Anchali. Since you saw me ... ‘It seems you know more than I.’ I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.

  You must be strong, Peter. Don’t let them break you.

  It may be too late for that.

  No. I can see you have changed since I saw you last. But you are still strong. Still you.

  I have done things that I regret. I’ve turned against my own kind, just to earn the trust of the Prime. I do everything he asks me to and he only becomes more suspicious.

  Peter, you don’t gain trust by doing what people say. It is only when you put your trust in them that they may start trusting you. If you want his trust, you have to give him something.

  You mean, something that gives him more power over me?

  That is how it works.

  It doesn’t matter now.

  What do you mean?

  He’s done it already. I am full of doubt now. What if he is right? What if Pierre Jnr is not the only threat? What if this psi rebellion is just as bad? Whose side will you be on?

  You have to ask?

  They had lain down next to each other for their silent conversation. Her eyes were so close to his, soft as butter, her mouth near enough to feel her exhales on his lips.

  ‘You are beautiful.’

  ‘Shhh, Peter.’ Don’t let them see you weak.

  ‘Oh, why not? He knows my weaknesses. Don’t you, Prime?’ Pete snarled at the ceiling. ‘He’s got me all figured out. That’s why you’re here.’

  ‘Please stop.’ At least I am happy to see you.

  But he knows now. He knows you are a psi and he’ll never let you go.

  Who knows how long they have known?

  And what does he expect of you?

  Does it matter? Forget the Prime. Forget everything. It may not be the best circumstance, but we are together. I care for you. And I know you care for me.

  Of course I do. I wish I didn’t. I wish he didn’t know how much I needed someone.

  Peter. The reasons why don’t matter. You don’t have to be alone.

  You were an excellent nurse.

  She kissed him softly and then deeply. Peter didn’t resist. He was so hungry for contact.

  ~ * ~

  It was the final morning of Peter Lazarus’s scheduled reorientation, the day after he had accepted his reward so readily. Ryu did not watch the ménage, leaving that for Takashi to peruse.

  Ryu had Gock waiting for him to wake. Gock was a loyal and accurate messenger and watched his subject like a toad.

  Whenever he spoke to Peter Lazarus, he put the surveillance feeds from the needle and his proxy’s eyes up on the wall screen of his command room. A spread of six cameras and microphones that gave the discussions a near-sensorium experience. It was much more visceral than talking face to face with somebody. The close-up shots revealed so much more than was possible in person; so much more intimate, but still objective and perfectly one-sided.

  Ryu studied Peter as he waited for Gock to speak. Gock was waiting for Ryu to tell him what to say. Everyone waited for the Prime to speak first. He started brushing his hair for washing.

  Divide each problem into two steps: definition and solution. Which for the psi problem meant: identification then pacification.

  These were the principles that had got him through thus far. Confine the problem, Ryu told himself. The first step in complex problem solving is to clarify and identify all components.

  But he knew that that wasn’t the only way of understanding. And it wasn’t the right way to understand a systemic problem that required a holistic approach; holism didn’t allow such separation of factors. The psionic situation had certainly gone beyond reducible components.

  A grave fear was creeping up on Ryu. The testimonies and abilities of Sullivan St Clare and Arthur Grimaldi had given this situation a new worst-case scenario. The Will was under threat of being artificially manipulated. Although the Will was the Will and it was always manipulated, this was different.

  Geof’s contagion theory, the infection model, was on his mind and Ryu couldn’t help now being suspicious of anyone who came near him. Any of them could be a psi, or could have come into contact with Pierre Jnr. He wondered if he could reduce his human contact even further, for security.

  It had been six weeks since he had taken the psi under his control. That was the standard reorientation period for a normal Citizen who had fallen into antisocial behaviour. He had taught him to respond to his orders, he had engaged his abilities in self-defence and he had him aid in the collection of two fugitive psis. Ryu did not, and would never, trust him. But as long as Pete was under control, he would use him.

  ‘I would like you to tell me about your nightmares. Do you dream of him?’

  ‘Is that you asking, Gock? Or your master?’ Peter replied, still resistant.

  ‘Gock does not ask, Mister Lazarus. You must know that by now. Please answer.’

  Pete, still dressed in his bed clothes, sat across the island bench, looking the bald man in the eyes. This was the masterful stroke that Ryu Shima had made by acting through a proxy. No telepath could get a read on what the other person would say next, and they would be distracted by the thoughts of the person reciting. He felt sorry for Gock in some ways, but he knew he was being handsomely rewarded.

  ‘Yes,’ Peter answered, pausing to order a biscuit, caf and juice; the symbiot was second nature to him now. ‘I dream of him.’

  ‘I am glad you have not denied it.’

  ‘I know you’ve got sensors on me all the time, so you must know when I’m dreaming something. For all I know, you might have another spy like Tamsin Grey hidden in the walls, reading my every thought.’

  ‘Please, there is no cause for paranoia. Tell me what happens in your dreams.’

  ‘To be honest, there isn’t a lot to tell. He just holds me there, in front of him. His eyes burn into mine. That’s all. At least, that’s all I ever remember.’

  ‘And you have been having these dreams since the
manifestation?’

  ‘Yes. Most nights I have the same dream.’

  ‘And how do they make you feel? Please, answer honestly.’ ‘Scared. Helpless.’