The Psychonaut_Book 1

by Tom G. H. Adams

  He took the picture off the wall and scanned across the lines of gowned students. Most of them he’d lost touch with, but here was Pete—always the ladies’ man, often putting his foot in it. And there was Merrick Whyte, fresher faced than he was now, but the hairstyle was the same, and so was that cheeky grin. He remembered the night they’d met—fresher’s week, the usual excuse to get plastered and get off with whatever skirt made themselves available. They’d clustered around the bar of the Shakespeare and the ale-induced banter was in full flow. This owed more to their ebullience than it did to the supposed quality of their repartee. Merrick wasn’t as garrulous as most, but when he spoke, everyone listened. Whether it was his view on politics or a witty take on a candidate running for president of the student union, they listened with undisguised attention.

  Over the next few months an unspoken bond developed. This strengthened through the all-night poker games (which Merrick always seemed to win), and through the rucks and scrums of the rugby field (which he seemed to avoid). They’d seen each other through many a scrape and emotional wrangle, and had forged a friendship that endured beyond university days.

  Now he had to consider distancing himself from his life-long buddy. He’d become a bit flaky over the last week and now this latest pickle he’d landed himself in—so uncharacteristic. Merrick’s face had appeared every half hour on the TV news bulletin. From his days on the Met, Mike knew this was serious shit his friend had embroiled himself in. A heist followed by a spectacular bid for freedom from protective custody. His connection with such a person could seriously damage his reputation. He was beginning to ask whether Merrick Whyte was worth the aggro.

  His mobile sprung into life on the desk, vibrating its way to the edge. He caught it deftly and knew who it would be without needing to look at the display.

  “Merrick, what the hell—?”

  “Mike. Just hold your questions for the moment. I need you to come and pick me up.”

  “What? You’re a known felon. I ought to be turning you in.”

  “Suspected felon. Look, I’ll explain everything when you arrive.”

  “How do I know you’ll not have been spirited away by the time I get there? The lawyer I fixed up for you was spitting feathers once he found out you’d made a break for it. He’s charged me a time-wasting fee, which by the way, I’m putting on my expenses.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. But I need you to trust me. If it helps, I’m wiring through five K after we finish this call.”

  “Don’t be a plonker. They’ll trace the transaction and that will lead to me. In fact, you’d better lose your phone as soon as. Where are you?”

  Merrick gave him the address of a lockup in the north of the city. He jotted it down on the back of an envelope.

  “So, you’ll come?”

  “I must be insane, but yes.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  Merrick sounded desperate to Mike. He’d only heard that tone in his voice once before. He’d not abandoned him then and he wasn’t going to now.

  “Give me half an hour,” he said, “and lose the phone.”

  ~~~

  It was forty five minutes since he’d called Mike, and Merrick was starting to worry. Maybe the police had caught up with him or, worse still, Mike might have jettisoned any last vestige of loyalty and told them his location. He resolved to give it five more minutes. Then he’d have to split. He couldn’t afford to be caught again.

  The parting with Celestia tugged at him more than he thought it would. He’d shared his body with many a woman but only one had shared his mind. After dropping her off, she’d given him a perfunctory kiss and then spun on her heel to disappear into the traffic smog. He knew he was going to miss her.

  At that moment he heard a scratching on the other side of the lockup door.

  “Mike, is that you?”

  There was no reply. His mind worked frantically as he looked around for a weapon. He used the lockup to store a couple of old bikes and some tools. It was on a shelf next to him he found something that would suffice, and hefted an over-size wrench on his way to the door. Someone was shifting a wire or similar object in the door’s mechanism. The tumblers clicked and the swing door slowly lifted to reveal a silhouette.

  “Back off,” Merrick said. Cold resolve in his voice. “Whoever you are.” He swapped the wrench to his right hand and raised it above his head.

  “Don’t you think you’ve committed enough crimes for one day?” said a familiar voice. The figure stepped backwards into the sunlight.

  Merrick lowered the wrench. “Albany, I thought you were dead.”

  ~~~

  Chapter 19

  Neon Knights

  The hours telescoped into each other making the passing of time a disjointed mosaic of dreamscapes. Some might have been real, but Lotus couldn’t tell. She only knew she preferred oblivion.

  Someone or something visited her like an incubus in this ever changing kaleidoscope of half-consciousness. Sometimes it caressed her cheek, at others it spoke in whispers.

  “Sleep well, my butterfly,” it would say. “A day, a week or a month and you will be my scarlet concubine. Then you will know ecstasy entwined with serendipity, and we will drink deep of our passion’s argosies.”

  The words sounded like those of a lover, alluring and yet potent with danger. The temptation was, like her namesake, to bud open, allow her petals to greet the majestic sun. But the voice of reason and caution spoke sternly and she sank back into darkness’ embrace.

  Radice watched her stir on the bed, her head turning from side to side. “How long do you intend to keep her under?” he said.

  “Until we reach our sanctuary,” Shamon replied.

  “You were right. She is an exotic beauty. Do you think that ... ?”

  “It’s possible.” Shamon looked over at the unfurled parchment on the table. “The incantations will take many weeks to learn. Plenty of time to show her the wonders of our lewd and luminous world.”

  “Her bond with the Psychonaut appeared to be strong.”

  “I perceive it’s not so much strong, as hard and brittle. I intend to exploit the rift which has opened up between them.”

  “What if she proves uncooperative?”

  “There are others lined up for the conquest. If my butterfly fails me on her path to corruption, then at least I will enjoy enticing her along its twisted egress.”

  ~~~

  “I know a good psychiatrist. We could get a diagnosis of mental instability, bipolar disorder or just about any condition you like. At least it could get you a sentence in a secure hospital rather than Wandsworth.” Mike’s lack of sleep was catching up on him. Merrick observed the bags under his eyes and the uncombed hair as his friend paced up and down the floorboards.

  “I’m not insane, Mike.”

  “You bloody well better be, because the alternative is just too hard to take.”

  They had taken Mike’s car, Albany directing them to his hideaway over on the east of town. “I like to think of it as my den,” he’d said. “I’m a bit like an urban fox. Coming out at night, stealing scraps and tidbits from people’s refuse, then going to ground before dawn breaks.”

  Now in the den, Merrick looked at Albany. He leaned back on a battered wooden chair, his feet on the kitchen table.

  Yeah, the fox metaphor is about right. But foxes are known for their cunning and guile. I wonder who’s side you’re really on, my counterfeit acquaintance.

  “Sit down, Mike,” Merrick said. “You’re making me dizzy just watching you.”

  “You got any whisky in this hidey-hole?” Mike said to Albany.

  “A blended good enough for you?”

  “It’ll do.”

  Albany swung his feet down, rose to his feet and reached down a bottle and three tumblers from a cupboard. He sloshed a double measure into each one and placed them in front of his guests.

  “Okrzyki,�
�� he said, raising his glass in an East European toast.

  “Cheers,” said Mike, and threw the whisky to the back of his throat. Albany poured him another, which Mike sipped more delicately this time. “So let me get this straight. These guys you’ve been involved with profess to practice magic tricks, and have key people placed in every major company and public service in Britain?”

  “In Europe and the US too,” Albany said.

  Mike shook his head. “Merrick, I’ve known you for how long?”

  “Coming up to fifteen years now.”

  “Long enough to know that you wouldn’t fall for this occult mumbo-jumbo if you were of sound mind. Did they slip you a tab of LSD or something?”

  “Actually, it was mad honey.” The words sounded absurd even as they left his mouth.

  Mike threw back his head and laughed. “You’re cracking me up. Stop it.”

  “We’re losing time,” Albany said, face set like stone. Then, looking at Merrick, “Maybe you need to give him a demonstration.”

  Merrick looked down. His brain buzzed and the effort of keeping it in check was beginning to tell. Dare he use a mind-push on Mike given his recent lack of control? Mike left him no choice. He gathered his will as one would carry nitroglycerine.

  “Mike, do you like that whisky?”

  His friend’s laughter subsided. “It’s not bad. Why?”

  “Because I think you’re going to pour it away.”

  “In a pigs eye.” But his hand contradicted him. It raised the glass and then tipped the contents over the table.

  Mike recoiled and threw the glass on the floor.

  “What the hell was that?” he said. “Have you spiked my drink?”

  Merrick looked at Albany, who nodded back.

  “Why don’t you drop your trousers and sing Rule Britannia?” he said to Mike.

  “Look I don’t know what hypnotic scam you’re trying here, but that just ain’t going to happen,” he said, undoing his belt. His hands trembled in resistance but Merrick pushed harder.

  Mike ripped open the waist of his chinos and they fell to the floor in a heap. “What the f... Rule Britannia.” he croaked. “Britannia rules the w… waves—Oh God Merrick, whatever you’re doing stop it. My head hurts.”

  “I think that’ll do,” Albany said.

  Merrick closed down the insurgent mind-wave with some effort and looked up at his humiliated friend. Mike’s legs shook and his mouth was agape.

  “Convinced?” Merrick asked.

  “You bastard.”

  “My apologies. Here, sit down again. Albany, give him another whisky.

  Merrick looked at his friend with sympathy. “I’m sorry to have put you through that.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Okay, I deserved that, but don’t you see now? I can’t ignore this stuff. Nor can I overlook the fact that the syncretic orders are playing for keeps. Conventional routes of resistance won’t cut it, and I’ve now broken all ties with the Hierophants.

  Albany cleared his throat. “We kinda need to talk about that Merrick.”

  “Go on.”

  “You may have severed the ties but Karapetian will keep track of you. Believe me, I know this from experience. I had to fake my own death to get him off my back.”

  “Yeah, you said that. How did you do it?”

  “Like I told you before, I’m a counterfeiter. Currency, paintings, passports—you name it and I can produce it. But my greatest asset is genetic manipulation.”

  Mike rubbed both temples with his fingers.

  “You okay?” Albany asked.

  “I could do with some painkillers—and someone throwing a bucket of cold water over my head. Maybe that would wake me out of this dream.”

  Albany reached into his pocket and threw him a box of paracetamol. “Sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”

  “You were saying?” Merrick asked.

  “Yeah, my secret talent. Even Karapetian doesn’t know about it. Are you familiar with cell signalling and gene transcription?”

  “Just what I learned from biology class.”

  “Then you may remember that every cell in the human body contains the entire genetic blueprint. But only certain genes are switched on.”

  “I remember. A muscle cell only produces those proteins required for its function, a brain cell only translates genes needed for nervous transmission.”

  “That’s right. Now stem cells can produce any proteins in theory. You only have the most pluripotent cells as an embryo. But imagine if you had the ability to switch all genes on as you wanted?”

  “I guess you could program any cell to become what you wanted it to be.”

  “Exactly. Pancreas cells in a diabetic could be stimulated to produce insulin again, neurons could generate new cells by reanimating their cell cycle.”

  “God, and I suppose you can do this in your alchemy lab or something?” said Mike.

  “I don’t need a lab. I just need these.” He held up his hands and rubbed the fingertips together.

  “By touch?”

  “You got it. I can even re-arrange the base sequences, although I’ve still got a bit of perfecting to do in that department.

  “So, how did you use this skill?”

  “When Karapetian kicked me out the Hierophants, I raided one of the Ukurum body stores.”

  Merrick sat forward. “Body what?”

  “Shamon has various crypts and mortuaries where he stores organs, tissues and even whole bodies.”

  “This guy, Shamon,” Mike said. “I hate him already.”

  Merrick narrowed his eyes. “Makes me wonder why you would’ve sided with him, Albany. Has he got some kind of hold on you?”

  “Just a bit. But I’ll get to that.” He took another slug of whisky. “I broke into this mortuary Shamon used. He’d knocked off a couple of high society types and faked their disappearances. He hacked their offshore bank accounts and siphoned off the money to fund his expansion. Anyhow, I slipped one of the recent bodies away. I figured he’d not miss one—there’s so many in there he could form an army of the undead if he wanted.”

  “So, you used the body as a substitute? I can’t believe it fooled our forensic boys.”

  “It wasn’t that difficult. The body I chose was only ten hours cold so some of the cells were still dividing. That was all the gateway I needed. I manipulated the DNA to my own base sequences. Even managed to change the shape of the face to a certain degree. Problem was, the underlying muscle and bone were past redemption so I had to hack the head about a bit to fake mutilation.”

  Merrick’s expression mirrored his turning stomach.

  “Don’t give me that look. The guy was a goner, and I would be too if I hadn’t taken drastic steps.”

  “Steps like butchering the body into dozens of pieces?”

  “I had to make it look convincing. Then all I needed to do was tip off the filth.”

  “Hey, watch it,” Mike said.

  “No offence intended,” said Albany, holding up his hand. The team in charge of the crime scene took samples from the corpse and fed it through their database. Of course I had prior convictions, so it made the match straight away.”

  Merrick put down his empty glass and ran his finger around the rim. “Seems like it all ends up being hunky dory for you then. Oh, and thanks for tipping Shamon off about me, by the way.”

  “Hey, I’m not proud of that. But what would you do if he was holding your brother as insurance for your compliance?”

  Merrick read Albany’s cortex and saw innocence.

  “The third eye doesn’t lie,” Albany said.

  “What does he mean?” Mike asked.

  “Long story,” Merrick said. He got up and looked out of the kitchen window. A high wall surrounded the yard, which consisted of cracked cement and broken plant pots.

  “So he’s got his hooks in you too?”

  “He hacked of
f Destain’s little finger and sent it me in a box complete with a note.”

  “I’m liking this guy less and less,” put in Mike.

  Merrick scanned through the window. “How safe are we here?”

  “Good for twenty four hours at the most. I’ve stayed undercover on my own but your psychonautic signature broadcasts itself like a beacon every time you use it. That’s how I found you so easy at your lockup. I got one of the Outcasts living close by to cover this place with a concealment sigil, but it won’t bear up under focused psychic scrutiny.”

  “Outcasts? You mean there are others?”

  “Yep. Undesirables, malcontents and those who’s faces don’t fit. They’re scattered throughout the city trying their best to integrate into society. But we help each other out once in a while.”

  “How many?”

  “Thirty four at the last count.”

  “You know what I’m thinking don’t you?”

  “Enlist them to help save your girlfriend and my brother? Don’t get your hopes up. Most of them thank their lucky stars every new day they spend amputated from the Syncretic Orders.” Albany paused, a quizzical look on his face. “There is one guy though. He’d jump at the chance to get even with Shamon.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you there.”

  ~~~

  Merrick looked at himself in the mirror. The face of a hair-lipped, hook-nosed deviant stared back. Albany had remained true to his promise; the procedure had hurt—a lot.

  “I could have spread the process over a couple of hours, but we don’t have the time,” said Albany. “Genetic counterfeiting in ten minutes was never going to be painless.”

  Mike was less than empathetic. “I call it karma. Serves you right for taking a psychic shredder to my brain.”

  “Cheers, Mike. Now, if I could respectfully invite you to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, I’m going to grab an hour’s kip. I feel like my head’s been in a cement mixer.”