Memory Hunter

by Frank Morin

  Shouting and the chatter of small arms fire filled the brief pauses between thunderous concussions from the bombing. The stench of dust mixed with the smell of broken stone and gunpowder. Underneath the rest, fear and hopelessness clung to the streets, an invisible odor like distant burning trash. Every breath dragged more of the filth into his lungs, but he didn’t plan to wear that body much longer, so its long-term health didn’t concern him.

  Few civilians ventured outside even here in the heart of the city. They hid all around, many seeking shelter in the imposing government buildings. Most were wise enough to avoid drawing attention to themselves in the streets flooded with the last of the city’s defenders.

  Some were just unfortunate.

  As a squad of soldiers approached through the blowing haze, a woman scurried out from under a burned-out truck. She wore a wool coat that might have once been tan, but was layered with so much filth it looked black. With one hand she clutched a five-year-old girl close, and with the other she held a baby boy to her chest with fingers clamped over his mouth to keep him silent. Their fear-filled eyes stood out in sharp contrast to their smudged faces.

  The woman nearly ran into Gregorios before she noticed him and yelped with fear.

  “Find a place to hide,” he urged, but she wasn’t listening. As she sprinted away, Gregorios wanted to call out after her, to warn her to go the other way, but her fatal fear would drive her on regardless.

  Behind her, one of the soldiers shouted, “Halt!”

  She ran faster.

  A ragged band of battered soldiers emerged from the haze, rifles at the ready, but they too paused when they saw Gregorios.

  He adjusted his long, black trench coat and fedora, the unofficial uniform of the Gestapo. The soldiers scurried past like the woman had. Several glanced in his direction but looked away before making eye contact.

  The obersoldat who had issued the challenge muttered a quick apology and followed his men without waiting for a reply. Abuses by the Gestapo were rampant and although the disguise presented some risk of getting shot in the back, it was so much better than the alternative.

  In addition to his clothing, he wore the body of a perfect Aryan specimen, which added to his authority. No one would tempt fate by asking his purpose. If they did learn his plan, some would kill him on the spot, although he suspected more would volunteer to help.

  He glanced back at the ragged band. Many of the soldiers were boys drafted from the Hitler Youth Corps in too-big uniforms and eyes that shone white against their dirt-streaked faces. Trailing them came old men who had stood valiant during the first World War, called to serve again in the hour of ultimate need. At the end of successful first lives, those men should have been allowed to die in peace.

  He made a point of not glancing farther down the street to where the poor woman still ran, her bare feet leaving soft tracks in the thick dust. He might not have looked, but he couldn’t block out the shriek of the descending mortar.

  The explosion rocked the street and sent the soldiers diving for cover. A blast of hot air, sprinkled with stinging debris pelted Gregorios in the back. The wind moaned as it passed through the nearby husk of a truck and despite how many times he had heard it, he still shivered. It sounded like the final accusing breath from the tiny family just ripped from the world.

  Gregorios turned off the main street and hurried around a towering office building pockmarked with shrapnel that left it looking diseased. At the bitter end, the city finally reflected the rot that had consumed its leadership.

  His shame for having allowed that rot to fester for so long still burned as bright as ever. Gregorios allowed it to pulse through him, strengthening his resolve. The choice he was about to make would be a turning point in his life. The cost would be high, but the only thing he regretted was not making it sooner.

  He paused when he entered the expansive gardens of the Reich Chancellery. The distant sounds of fighting trailed away inside this oasis of tranquility set in the cancerous heart of Berlin. Gregorios allowed himself a deep breath to center his mind for what was to come, and to enjoy for the last time what had been his favorite place in the city.

  Gregorios strode south across the carefully manicured lawns and threaded around craters of blasted dirt and splintered trees. Here the air smelled of green grass and scorched earth. He turned east again to face the rear of the Reichskanzlei and the Old Chancellery building. Situated just behind those white-walled edifices huddled a nondescript concrete cube of a structure. It spanned only twelve feet per side, with a single thick, iron door. To the right of the building stood a cone-shaped sentry pillbox.

  Gregorios ignored the sentry outpost and made for the door in the cube building. The guard would recognize him from previous visits and Gregorios did not have time to waste.

  To his right, just as expected, a dozen soldiers dressed in SS uniforms burst out of a concealing hedgerow a couple hundred yards to the south. They raced in his direction, led by Asoka, his long-time friend and soon-to-be betrayer.

  The jaws of the trap were closing.

  So be it.

  Gregorios pointedly turned his back on the approaching threat and strode up to the heavy door. It allowed the only entry to the underground bunker dug under the gardens. The door felt cold under his fingers. He brushed the layer of fine dust from the handle and pushed it open.

  Darkness exploded out of the doorway in a physical wave that catapulted him off his feet. The unexpected blow consumed every sense and tore him from the dream.

  Gregorios surged upright in bed, shocked awake by the startling ending to an already unpleasant dream. Sweat-soaked blankets fell from his torso as he blew out a long breath. It took a moment to dissipate the tension knotting his shoulders, and he used the time to rub at his throbbing temples.

  He should have gone with Eirene. Beating up a rogue facetaker would’ve been so much more fun. He hadn’t suffered that dream in months, and it had never ended that way before.

  It was not a good omen.

  When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been Cui Dashi and tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it-always.

  ~Mahatma Gandhi

  Chapter Three

  Eirene entered the Queen’s Court hotel with a casual stride. She paused in the beautifully restored lobby to admire the elegant salon. Padded chairs and fine couches clustered around expensive area rugs that floated on the emerald tile of the floor, forming little islands of tranquility without interrupting the flow of humanity.

  She worked through the moderate crowd of hotel guests, curious window shoppers, and spa clients as she scanned for defensive measures. The basic hotel security systems were in place as expected, but those didn’t concern her.

  Wearing her fit young form, she blended right in. With her pretty face and thick brown hair, she could have easily headed for the spa or, with her business attire, accessed the offices.

  A pair of men lounged near the elevators. They lacked the look of impatient husbands waiting for their wives and stood a little too far from the elevators to be waiting to board. The sports coats they wore were a little much for the heat of New Orleans even in the early autumn, and undoubtedly served the same purpose as her blazer.

  Eirene slipped into a chatty bridal party that swept through the lobby, and easily reached the stairway unnoticed. Eyes in the main floor were pretty standard, but whoever was in charge of security didn’t even bother to post another watcher in the stairwell. She trotted up to the third floor, then took the elevator up to the twentieth. From there she returned to the stairwell for the final two flights.

  It took only seconds to bypass the locked security gate blocking access to the top floor presidential suite. Still no guards. Sloppy. When she had been running operational security for Suntara, such lapses would have resulted in severe reprimands. Then again, it wasn’t the most dramatic shi
ft in the world since she had returned from years living in a box.

  Although thick carpeting covered the last flight of steps, the stairway still smelled of cement dust and stale air. The fire door at the top lacked an alarm, but sealed tight all around. Eirene turned the handle with exquisite care and eased it open just a crack until she could slip a thin wire through the opening.

  Using a small display connected to the other end of the wire, which held a miniature video camera, she studied the entrance to the presidential suite. A long, narrow entrance faced the stairs and nearby elevator. A pair of armed guards flanked the ornate wooden outer door of the suite.

  Eirene had made no sound, and had moved the door so slowly that neither of the guards appeared to have noticed it open a fraction of an inch. That lapse was understandable, but they should have had video surveillance set up to monitor the stairwell. Were security breaches so rare these days?

  Time to teach.

  Eirene drew a double-barreled, semi-automatic dart gun from a shoulder holster. She dropped to one knee, braced her shoulder against the door frame, and used her leading foot to push the door open.

  The guards noticed the door swinging wide and their hands moved to their sidearms, but they didn’t draw until they saw her crouched, pistol aimed. The delay was more than long enough. Eirene caressed the trigger and the little gun made the tiniest whooshing sound as it spat chemical-filled darts thirty feet to the first target before his gun cleared the holster.

  She shot the second guard as he was swinging his gun to bear. He was fast, but her darts worked faster. The first dart delivered an electric jolt that disrupted muscle control for a critical three seconds. The second delivered a fast-acting drug cocktail, including a paralytic and a tranquilizer, that dropped the guards to the floor before the electric shock wore off.

  Eirene slipped into the hall, gun trained on the motionless forms as she slowly advanced. She kicked their fallen sidearms out of reach. When neither guard moved, she patted their lower backs but found no telltale bulge of concealed soul packs.

  She did not expect them to withstand the darts, but it always paid to be sure. Although she appreciated the lax security, she hated such sloppy work. Enough facetakers had died over the centuries to prove the need for constant vigilance, and she cringed to see the new generation making the same stupid mistakes.

  Before entering the suite, Eirene replaced the magazine with a fresh one. The marvelous little gun was quickly becoming her favorite tool. During the Great War they had thought the new drugs available back then incredible, but in those days they still needed precious seconds to incapacitate. Coupling potent modern drugs with compressed air technology was brilliant. The gun worked like a charm. The new equipment Gregorios had obtained completely changed the operational considerations.

  Eirene cuffed the fallen guards with steel-mesh zip ties and gagged them. Although they showed no signs of enhancement, it always paid to keep a free avenue for escape. She doubted Tereza would give her much trouble, but she planned to enjoy this new life a long time. She wouldn’t start by making foolish assumptions.

  The door to the suite opened without a sound under her touch. Eirene slipped inside, gun at the ready, but found the entryway clear. The short hallway was hung with several pieces of art, including originals from local artists. She paused to admire the reproduction of Dance in the City by Pierre Auguste Renoir. She had always loved that one, and had told Pierre in 1883 when he completed it that he’d produced a masterpiece.

  The suite opened into the living room and a gourmet kitchen. The dining room on the far side of the kitchen held an antique dining set and crystal chandelier. Italian marble flooring there triggered an unexpected sense of nostalgia for the long-distant home of her first life.

  She passed the library and paused in the entryway to the grand salon with its museum-quality artwork and grand piano. Such opulence was standard for facetaker clients, who lived well and could afford to buy the risky miracle of another life. The floor plan she had studied before beginning her infiltration had shown the suite spanned three thousand square feet.

  The salon was empty so she crossed to the wall behind the piano. The master bedroom shared that wall and she pressed a listening device to it. After the tiniest wave of static, clear voices spoke from her earpiece.

  “I am happy you approve of the transfer vehicle.” Eirene recognized Tereza’s slight New England accent. Although their intel had been pretty solid, she always loved final confirmation.

  “How does this work exactly?” a shaky old man asked.

  “Just relax,” Tereza said. It sounded like she was moving, probably getting into position behind the client. The transfer would begin shortly.

  Perfect.

  Eirene listened for another minute until Tereza began the transfer. A whisper of feeling across her skin like a distant breeze confirmed the woman had embraced her nevra core, the heart of her soul powers.

  Eirene tucked the listening device into her pocket, checked the pistol, and drew a Taser. After a slow count to five, she moved to the bedroom door, gently turned the latch, and slipped into the room.

  You only get one life - unless you can afford a second.

  ~Hernan Cortes, Conquistador. 1542

  Chapter Four

  The master bedroom was huge, with an enormous bed, vaulted ceilings, and a full sitting area. Tereza stood near the bed, behind a reclined chair upon which lay the fat old client.

  Tereza’s eyes blazed like amethysts, and purple fire rimmed her hands as she drove burning fingers into the skin along the old man’s jaw. His expression looked serene, his body slumped absolutely still. She had already severed the soul points linking him to the host body and begun removing his soulmask.

  The client’s face began pulling away at the jaw. Skin sloughed off to either side as it leveraged higher, revealing the shimmering soulmask underneath as it separated from the underlying bone structure. It came free abruptly with a wet, sucking sound like a boot lifting out of the mud.

  The soulmask of the old man was the tangible manifestation of his soul. It was shaped like his face, but as it rose above his skull, it flattened somewhat. The translucent soulmask shimmered with internal light. Streamers of rainbow smoke floated below it, dangling in wispy coils.

  Tereza threw her head back in silent ecstasy, embracing that moment experienced only by facetakers taking another’s soul.

  The skin of the client’s skull settled into a smooth sheet, like a shopping store mannequin. It stretched in a blank canvas but for a tiny slit where the nose should be. The bone structure remained in place, although a little less pronounced than before. When embedded into the skull, the soulmask meshed into the bones, shaping them to fit its profile.

  Like Eirene, Tereza possessed the rare ability to embrace her nevra core, the active power source of her soul, and direct the energy generated by it, known as nevron, to overpower the soul of simple mortals. Removing another’s soul by extracting their soulmask was the heart of the facetaker powers, and a service that wealthy clients had paid handsomely for throughout the ages.

  On the bed lay the body of a fit young man, the transfer vehicle, its mannequin-blank face revealing that its previous owner’s soul had already been removed. Tereza would fuse the client’s soulmask into that host, restoring the client to mortality to enjoy a new life, a new youth. It was a good match. The client would look quite natural there. At least some aspects of the modern day operation still ran smoothly.

  Tereza blinked a couple times and the glow of her eyes faded. She noticed Eirene standing in the doorway, but instead of looking surprised, the mousy little woman greeted her with a curt nod.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment.” Tereza glanced at Eirene’s weapons. “You won’t interfere with council-sanctioned work, will you?”

  That was not the response Eirene expected.

  She didn’t need centuries of finely-honed instincts to recognize that her carefully planned surprise had been e
xpected. The most galling part was that the woman was still grounded in her first life, for love of the gods.

  Eirene squashed her surprise. “By all means, finish what you’ve started.”

  As Tereza turned toward the bed to complete the transfer process, Eirene nearly triggered the Taser. It would have felt good, but if Tereza really was working on a council-sanctioned transfer, Eirene couldn’t afford to incur any more of their wrath.

  So she turned and bolted for the exit. She would plan a different interrogation scenario later, but first she had to extract. Tereza must have back-up ready to counter her surprise and she didn’t want to meet them.

  Eirene crossed the suite without encountering resistance, but the two guards she had left outside near the elevator were gone.

  Not good.

  The elevator chimed.

  Before the doors opened, Eirene sprinted for the stairs. She caught a glimpse of several armed men piling out of the elevator before she crashed through the door into the stairwell. Voices shouted an alarm, and she plunged down the stairs at a full sprint. At least two of the newcomers wore tactical vests that left their muscular arms bare. The dark runes tattooed there had shone against their pale skin.

  Eirene felt flickers of fear. The entire situation had been a trap and she had walked right into it. Maybe her long absence from the real world had left her rustier than she thought.

  She could beat herself up about the mistake later. The enhanced warriors were most likely enforcers. It wasn’t a surprise she hadn’t recognized any of them, but she knew all too well their deadly skills. Had Tereza played her hand with a little more care, Eirene would have lingered a few more fatal seconds in the suite.