Variant Evasion: Trilogy (Variant Trilogy Book 2)

by J. Q. Baldwin

  The Lahrbug would haemorrhage information from the host to my own device, currently hidden in my dumpy apartment. Once I retrieved it, after I absconded, I’d trail the best lead to Daniel, Kuroyuri and her captor.

  The suite darkened as the holo-screen bent reality in a bubble that confused the mind as to which was the ‘real’ event. The surveillance cameras, within the wing-back chairs garnered a view of the other attendants tonight. I fell into the calm of Carne’s mind absent-mindedly but I stayed, allowed him to protect me as I utilised the only talent not disabled in some capacity.

  The host entered, the lighting weighing his heavy brow down. He was rough, with a stubbled jaw and barrel like chest. He was not what I anticipated. I confirmed my suspicions when he spoke bluntly and without the smooth cadence of a salesman.

  “Evening, you know why we’re here. First on the block is:” - The plasma glowed translucent from the open case travelling around the AR bubble’s border, under the steady arms of a butler-styled male employee. Stolen blood, stolen lives, paraded around the reality for the rich.

  Gauging silent auctions required focus and practised technique and relying on those techniques was like an ingrained muscle memory or an autonomous function my brain performed without real conscious forethought, like braking or indicating while driving. Ven, who’d been my mentor worked across from me, as we shared our observations and tried to make any connections between the attendants and the data already compiled.

  He gave me silent nod. ‘Was I ready?’

  I nodded back.

  I estimated three out of the six groups attending put in an offer.

  François was easily recognised. The memory of his perverted excitement was enough to turn my gut. We now had intel on him and his business dealings. We could track all his dealings with Cercek as a majority shareholder but his main place of residence remained undiscovered. It proved he was paranoid sonofabitch and had reason to be. His base profile was watchful until the plasma elicited a current of that dirty excitement, quickly hidden.

  Perhaps it was simply that with this first item, it validated the great cost he’d expended to attend but after being in his physical presence I knew that was not the whole truth. Frankie was a scab upon the human race, laying waste with a furtive and malignant infection that knew no bounds.

  And it scared me.

  His presence poisoned me, unbidden and debasing, it repulsed me to recall just how quickly my identity had been eaten.

  I had to start concentrating on profiling the other guests, assess them throughout each parade of items lending an idea to their agenda or future intentions. I scanned them continuously, uploading and amalgamating.

  I was drawn to the shrewd block of a man with a uniform so crisp he could be nothing but a merc or PM solider. He wafted with nausea as he took in the appearance of the other attendants. Nuva and Roake, as well as a man with many sycophants surrounding him garnered the most hostility. He resented the rich, or perhaps the spoiled natures he perceived. He was there for practical business, not personal pleasure.

  Carne turned his attention to the man but he let go of the possessive burn before it caught fire. He shouldn’t begrudge me the fact that I was drawn to clean cut military types.

  I don’t, he said smugly.

  Our host directed the first test tube of plasma off his concentric stage. The price was an exorbitant amount for that tiny vial and I suspected the cost would jump from there.

  The host, who’d not be revealing any title tonight, gave the impression of a man thrown into an aspect of a job he was not accustomed. Again, I wondered why a charming, silver-tongued host was not present to up-sell the products. Had there been a coup? Or had his predecessor met with foul play.

  The host waved through the next item and his thick waist bunched under his suit outlining a few soft rolls. Supposedly plump from either overindulgence or a comfortable life. What was his usual occupation in the company running tonight’s show?

  The thud in the glass distracted me.

  Organs - heart and lungs, Carne agreed as the next product was wheeled around inside a clear tank. The heart pumped even as the lungs expanded in the light turquoise gel.

  “We have varying degrees of genetically pure products available for purchase tonight. Some of the organs are grown with tissue from donors. These were a... donation. You’ve all just received the genetic test results confirming authenticity.”

  He had to look down at his tablet for his notes for a moment. “You will also note, anti-rejection medication will not be necessary for a transplant; a viable investment.” I suspected someone spoke in the man’s ear aiding his speech.

  Both Frankie, and a man I noted to be some sort of physician I hadn’t encountered anywhere, took keen interest in the heart and lungs. The man was purely clinical, constantly taking notes, appearing to gauge the health of said organs. Frankie revealed more of a passionate gleam to his aged features and his hands revealed age spots, even further deteriorated as if his body was ageing faster than it should. Health was tied to his narcissism. And it was narcissism, in its truest form.

  Another player turned to confer with the man beside him. Both tried to emanate a military dynamism but fell short because their black uniforms were just short of faded and slightly ill fitting for both men.

  The primary stood with ascendancy and his salt and pepper manicured hair projected wearying experience but he readily turned off to the side to confer with his associate. And worse, looked out from the Aug Reality to, I would assume, the real authority in their team. Their entourage also seemed to be a medley of interested parties with an almost religious glean to their interest.

  In comparison a spoiled and entitled kid in his twenties had an expression that encompassed horror as his cheeks ballooned out on a hard won breath. He had an ‘oh, shit, this is some serious shit right here’ expression turning him sickly pale. He slid a nervous glance to his closest groupie, as if to say:‘The fuck we come into?’

  I scratched him off my list for potential targets propagating the harvest or enslavement of Variants. This punk just shat himself. And he should. Onyxeal would find him now. It didn’t matter in the slightest that he was here by an arrogant mistake. Biometrics were running as we sat, identifying our targets.

  AI’s algorithms were just shy of guaranteed when distinguishing between a target with self-serving or vacuous motives from targets with potential for further commerce or connecting to labyrinths of networks centered around human greed.

  A number of products passed and I took note of any discrepancies in the player base profiles. Frankie the rich, appeared to be vain and searching for life enhancers, including both blood and organs to supersede the poor boy I already had plans to rescue.

  The medical professional, I suspected was from Cercek, but I did not recognise him from any of the previous files I’d reviewed even though I’d just rescanned on the off chance I missed him. He was not on the board nor in attendance at Cercek’s AGM. He did not display much interest in organs grown from tissue, nor in Frankie, whom I presumed he knew in some capacity. The products did not receive the copious note taking the heart and lungs had and his notice never strayed towards any other attendant.

  Rich boy was going for bored arrogance now as he shucked his soft camel fringe from his baby face. I’d lip synced his groupie advising him the contract forbade leaving early. I had thought a tantrum imminent but the boy surprised me by calming his cake down and digging in for the long haul, almost swigging on his flute of bubbles.

  Both PMC teams interested me for different reasons. Clean cut solider was looking for an edge for his enterprise. The other fidgeted with his collar at the blood and plasma items twice now. The motive felt like self-serving but there was a real desperation lacing the eye contact shifting around the five members in view. Were funds sparse?

  Out of the six teams attending the auction I now had four viable directions for the filtering of products. I used deduction and statistical probabi
lity to define each of the four into groups: Self-serving and enterprising.

  Frankie and PMC2 fell into the first category. Cercek and PM1 accounted for the enterprising. Nuva and Roake were exempt and rich kid would run but I didn’t like his chances. Ven had verified his ID and circulated further information through our network as the auction ran.

  Who had the propensity to onsale or traffic Variants? I hadn’t seen any evidence of live subjects despite our host’s mention of donors.

  That changed so swiftly it whipped a sick buzz through the attendants and a creeping cold dread snuck around our apartment as a malnutritioned child was paraded before people she could clearly see.

  Chapter Eight

  However skeletal, her freshly washed blonde hair and clean face gave a vibrant view of stony eyes, way too old for this earth. Sharp, high cheekbones, missing any childlike roundness lent a haughtiness I immediately admired.

  The abhorrence suddenly exhibited by PM2 put them squarely out of my traffickers list. PM1 appeared nauseated but resolve straightened his shoulders back. He was here for a reason, a means to an end.... but not a trafficker.

  Cercek was the likely candidate but I could not discount Frankie. He was vain yes, but he had to be affiliated with resources capable of feeding what was likely a long standing habit. Also, Frankie lent forward for the first time. He scrutinised the girl’s skinny arms then down her side.

  Her t-shirt was too small and her bony hip protruded above her pants. Coding could be seen. Cercek scribbled hard. Frankie’s reaching fingers almost shook before he let them fall.

  I knew her Variant status before I saw the coding. Only a Variant child could look so starved in a human world. She was about ten years old but I glanced my own memories in her cynical gaze.

  Nuva and Roake made half-hearted bids. Anything large would be counter-productive. Carne’s team were eager to spread like black death on urban streets after the highest bidder. Priority recognised, I felt Ella, Keota and Cory gearing up mentally as they packed and loaded.

  I grieved the collective captives as they grew in number. Could we save them all? I wish I had no understanding of the applied math.

  Carne inspected the little spitfire. He was blocking me from his deeper thoughts and only let me see his commitment to retrieving the child. Deeper machinations toiled though, and I could sense a growing decisiveness that worried me. What was he up to that it had me innately afraid? He’d always simply given me what I needed: space. ‘Game changer’ spun circles in my mind’s eye. Carne had warned me the rules had changed.

  I pawed at his emotions, trying to garner a deeper meaning, but all I found was that lulling expanse he kept roiling and unending. He’d learnt long ago to soothe a skeletal waif, vicious and brash, who lashed out violently as a child and hid in a destructive numbness that had needled with alertness and an invasive awareness as she grew.

  The cheeky rascal with apples rounds for cheeks had slowly morphed into someone very serious. Someone who had little qualm extorting control over me psychically if he deemed it protection for me and from me. The telekinesis brought that history to the fore. It had been years since he’d called me ‘Honey’. I had not missed the endearment. It was a name he used so readily while saddened by my fragility.

  Carne and I both visited the past the moment we caught on the child. Was I now being warned of the impending reconstruction he’d temper in response to the greater risk from this GMT auction? Was he regrouping? Modifying his battlements to ensure I’d be safe behind them?

  Ven quirked an eyebrow in my direction, sensing my unease. I was foolish, surely. Paranoia, that’s all it was. Looking at Ven grounded me in the reality I knew. He was steady and reasonable. Ven forced me to remember Troy. ‘Its just life, Delilah, don’t worry so,’ he’d tease.

  Sneaking cognitive vines tapped me, acknowledging my search. He could always tell when I was reaching for more. He’d always opened, the way he did his arms when I crawled beneath his sheets.

  Why hide something now?

  I swatted back . Are you hiding something from me? I asked plainly.

  Yes, he admitted just as plainly. Without apology.

  What? I asked, ponderous now as I edged away from fear. He was distracted as he now gave directives to his team, syncing their intelligence and readying for departure.

  He toyed with me. And it annoyed me to no end as a familiar blanket wrapped as if around my shoulders. An equivalent of a goodbye hug.

  I assumed he’d leave with his team. I was right to assume also that he’d not take me on a mission while he viewed me as deficient or too high a risk. That actually hurt, though history proved it inevitable.

  Einstein’s insanity: committing actions over and over expecting different results.

  So I was crazy; I slept ill, I killed easily, was selfish in distancing from everyone else’s warped kaleidoscope of emotions. Why did I expect a different result now?

  Carne should know me better. I’d be retrieving that girl tonight, with or without him and his team.

  The haunting girl floated about the ring. What had she learned to expect? She stared through each man and woman as if they should kneel simply from the power she exuded. Was her confidence born of power? Was she kept weak for that very reason? Her wrists showed profane chafing and bruising, both raw and mottled.

  She was a danger to herself and her keepers.

  Weren’t we all.

  Was she a TpK-Kinetic, TPC - PreCog, or TP - Pyrokinetic?

  I pulled a screen, thumbing it to zoom in as the girl cut through like an army was felled as she did. Her coding was new to me but it delineated two distinct traits, one of which was telepathy. The other, I’d never seen.

  My own coding as a TpK had always confused me. Until recently I’d never experienced kinetic cognitive energy. Well never thought I had, but maybe it was some inborn defence mechanism for an empathy that peeled me. Surely there was some logical explanation for the dual natured abilities, and some way for them to coexist?

  Also, a brain that functioned so highly might be capable of shutting down an element not beneficial to continuation or propagation; the agenda of the universe. Perhaps I did not need Carne as much as he professed and nature would work it out. Eventually.

  She was a pretty child. Gaunt, but fierce. Was this foundling filled to the brim with malignant intent born of talent, intelligence, and poor circumstance instead of the shy, reluctant and depraved entity I harboured at her age?

  I grew irrational as her feathered lengths lifted as if a breeze caught them. Her eerie gaze met mine despite the fact I was not perceived physically through the AR Bubble. I felt power twisting up my body. I spilled an outpouring promise of rescue and retribution. Of safety and freedom: We would come.

  She shrugged as if it was of no consequence to her, then a pitying sadness cloyed her face. It said, what can you do poor rabbit?

  I suddenly pounced from my seat like a crazed woman, my chair flinging out behind me, whether from strength or mind I did not know.

  Lulling, that’s what he did. Lie, he did that too.

  Everyone but Nuva and Roake were disrupted. I glanced about wildly as if I’d garner help from some corner of the room. I would not, I realised, as I spun but only saw Carne, braced for war.

  None of them had any idea.

  He wasn’t like a bear, he was a wolf; dangerous and concealed as he hunted.

  I began to panic, to pant.

  Escape. I had to escape before he rendered me useless. Could no one see the determination, the cruel intent laughing out toward me?

  Calm, Honey. He annulled the lash of Tk I whipped out recklessly. He stepped closer, hands raised, trying to capture an animal, hurt and panicked.

  I bolted for the door. Could I make it. Would I? His plans - steel doors and no sunlight. All I could sense was his assuredness, his deep satisfaction. Would he bury me too?

  Spartan blocked my way. My energy splintered out, tearing about the room. Ven called out
to me. Chaos reigned though I heard nothing through the cotton wool tangling my dread.

  Spartan stumbled back a step as something unseen pummelled his shoulder. He grunted. Hard, dark eyes latched onto mine, momentarily stifling my scattered thoughts.

  “You have her courage, remember that.” What kind of fucking riddle was that? I had no courage. I was worn from acting purely on instinct and fear my whole life.

  The giant side stepped away from the door. Confused, I flung myself through, sprinting even as I looked back to see him step back to block the door, before kicking it shut behind him.

  I wouldn’t waste Spartan’s... assistance? I flew down stairs, across landings and through grand reception rooms until I burst from the mansion, massive and white. I felt as if I escaped a tomb or a future.

  I slammed into the closest hover vehicle almost forgetting to open the door. I fumbled as I typed in the override to start the engine.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid Delilah.” I smacked the wheel. Later I might regret the white eyed escape in front of everyone, but right now that noose Carne had been tightening began to strangle. I had to get further away! I punched the vehicle up a couple notches and watched the scenery blur.

  “Of course he was going to lock me down, hadn’t he already admitted that?” If that happened it could be years, literally years before I had complete autonomy again. He’d take everything, leech me down to nothing but his renfield.

  I was now in no position to help the haunting child. She’d known it. That tiny girl had pitied me. SkyHawkI would retrieve the child and Daniel. I had to believe that. But Kuroyuri? I’d be stretched evading Carne, but I had to keep Kuroyuri as a priority.

  I understood the justification riding Carne. It had taken into adulthood to simply live precariously beside a world of emotions not my own. I don’t even think I truly recognised or was able to separate my own emotions from Carne’s (And he had always tried to keep separate!) let alone the rest of the people I came into contact with. But who would find Kuroyuri if not me?