by Eoin Colfer
Faustino crossed to the elevator door, checking to see that it was closed. She then ran a bug sweeper over the walls and phones, looking for surveillance devices. When she was certain that nobody had an eye or ear on the observatory, she took a crystal video chip from her wallet, pressing it into the 3D projector. “Next-generation technology,” she explained. “We can get two hundred hours of video on one crystal chip. Myishi will kick Phonetix’s butt next quarter.”
A life-size 3D representation of a Parasite materialized in the room. Stefan automatically reached inside his jacket for a lightning rod.
Faustino laughed. “Relax, Stefan. Amazing quality, I know. These are the first generation of lenses that can even photograph Un-spec four. What I’m about to show you is the result of months of surveillance. I’d say it was classified, but who are you going to tell?”
The Parasite began its curious lope along a projected wall. “Un-spec four seems to made of pure energy, which it obviously expends through activity. We observe the Parasite’s luminosity fades the farther it travels.” Faustino switched on a laser pointer. “This glowing center here is Unspec four’s equivalent of a heart. As it runs out of energy the heart pulsates more slowly. Eventually the heart will feed on the creature’s body, absorbing it in order to keep beating.”
The 3D Parasite faded to a pastel blue. Its skin lost coherence, and shortly after that, the heart itself did not have enough energy to keep itself intact. It disappeared in a blue flash.
“That flash,” said Cosmo. “Is that what Myishi is worried about?”
Faustino shook her head. “I wish. Those flashes barely register on our meters. No, Un-spec four only lets real sparks fly after absorbing energy.”
The picture changed. This time a Parasite was crouched on the chest of a fallen fireman. A stream of white-gold energy flowed into the creature’s palms. The Parasite glowed like a bag of stars, then drifted up a nearby wall. The camera followed the creature to a windowsill, where it rested briefly. The absorbed energy ran through its organs with increasing speed and agitation. After several seconds of unrest, an energy discharge burst through the pores of the creature’s skin, spiraling skyward.
“Now, that, I’ve never seen before,” said Stefan.
“We believe that the Parasite’s organs scrub the energy, then release completely clean power.”
Cosmo’s adolescent mind got it first. “So, you’re saying all this trouble is being caused by Parasite poop?”
Ellen smiled. “Exactly. People have tried to say it better, and couldn’t. It’s a bit like trees taking in carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen. Nature’s filters. This next clip is the part you’ll be really interested in. We only got it last month. Since then I’ve been trying to track you down.”
A new clip appeared in the projector ray. This one showed an obsessed-looking Stefan Bashkir in the middle of a disaster zone. Emergency vehicles were converging from all sides, and Parasites were feeding on the victims of a riot. “I remember that,” said the Russian. “Food riot in Booshka, near the blockade. Nasty.”
In the projection, Stefan was letting fly with his lightning rod, blasting Parasites from their perches. The camera caught one Parasite at the moment it exploded into a dozen shimmering spheres. The satellite camera tracked a single sphere for several minutes, following its rise into the atmosphere.
“Have you any idea how much it cost to get this footage? I had to buy camera time for an entire day.”
Stefan didn’t even hear the complaint, too focused on the sphere. It stopped rising after more than a mile, drifting slightly in the prevailing wind. The camera zoomed in until the sphere was the size of a basketball, hovering between land and space.
“In order to photograph the Parasites, our new lenses are coated with a chemical compound,” said Faustino. “It took my team months to find the right solution. We told head office it was antiglare spray.”
Stefan did not respond. His eyes were glued to the projection.
The sphere’s surface began to ripple slightly, as inside the energy coiled itself into a rope, chasing its tail into intricate knots.
“What’s happening?” asked Cosmo.
Stefan reached out his hands, sinking them into the projection. “No,” he breathed.
The ropes solidified, becoming more complex. A silver star shone at their center. “It can’t be. Not after all this.” Two round eyes appeared. Then blue fingers, pushing against the sphere’s surface, forcing the skin. “What have I done?”
The sphere’s surface split, and a brand new Parasite appeared, fully formed, and ready to siphon life from a human in pain. It spread its arms and drifted earthward on the wind.
Stefan’s face was a mask of anguish. “All this time! All this time, I’ve been helping them. Not destroying them. Helping them to reproduce.”
Faustino switched off the projector. “It’s not your fault, Stefan. How could you know? All you saw were creatures who had destroyed your life. You fought them the same way I would have.” She helped Stefan onto the sofa. “What we need to decide now is how to continue the fight.”
“There is no fight,” said Stefan glumly. “They win. It’s over. How can I go on? It would take me ten lifetimes just to undo the damage I’ve done.”
“Not necessarily,” said Faustino. “To defeat Un-spec four you have to understand them. Let me fill you in on what my team has learned after hundreds of hours of satellite surveillance. Un-spec four are a parasitic species that feed on energy, preferably human life force, hiding their activities by feeding on the sick and injured. They absorb energy by osmosis, scrubbing it through bodily filters, then venting the clean energy. These ventings have grown to dangerous proportions because of the increased number of Parasites. Generally the Parasites split into two entities after several years, when they have accumulated enough energy, but due to your efforts, they are reproducing instantaneously and in huge numbers. Thus contributing to the energy-burst problem. It’s a vicious circle.”
Stefan’s scar stretched his mouth into the cruel facsimile of a grin. “You forgot to mention that there’s no way to kill them.”
Faustino couldn’t resist a little smile of her own. “Oh, I didn’t say that.”
She reactivated the projector, fast-forwarding to a different file. Another Parasite appeared in the light beams. This one was colorless and almost completely transparent, its starburst heart reduced to a flickering ember. “This one is dying.”
Stefan’s enthusiasm returned in a rush. “How? What caused it?”
“We did,” replied Faustino. “Unintentionally. A starved Parasite will sometimes resort to electrical energy, not their meal of choice, you understand, but sometimes there isn’t enough misery to go round. This one latched onto a uranium rod from a nuclear generator in one of our disassembling plants. There was too much contaminated energy. The creature couldn’t recycle it and it clogged up its system. This is security-camera footage; we only got it by accident. Nobody objected—after all, to them there’s nothing on the screen except old equipment. Luckily for us a new lens had been installed during a routine upgrade.”
“So all we have to do . . .” said Stefan, thinking aloud.
“Is pump them full of contaminated energy,” completed Cosmo.
“Exactly,” said Faustino, clapping her hands. She took an aluminium briefcase from under the sofa, laying it carefully on the coffee table. “This is our proposed solution.” She flipped open the case, revealing a metallic cuboid cradled in a gel coolant pack. The cuboid was connected to a digital timer. “Not very pretty, I know. But we’re not trying to sell it on the mass market.”
Stefan studied the device. “Some kind of pulse device. The police riot squad use these to knock out power in the buildings they’re raiding. They take out mains and local generators.”
Faustino nodded. “Energy pulse. Effective up to five hundred meters. The battery has been radioactively charged. Nothing serious. Safe for humans, but lethal for Un-spec fou
r. If you could set one of these off where they live, you could do some major damage to our invisible friends.”
“Have you tracked them to their lair?” asked Stefan.
“No such luck,” sighed Faustino. “They disperse faster than we can track them. That’s what we’re working on.”
“Then we’re back where we started.”
Ellen closed the case, sliding it across the table to Stefan. “No, Stefan, we’re a long way from where we started. From this night on, you and your band have a new mission. Find out where they live, and when you do, give them a little present from me.”
Stefan took the case. “I’ll hunt them down, Professor. From now on that’s all we do. But it won’t be easy, and it will take time.”
Ellen Faustino came around the table, embracing Stefan tightly. “I’ve missed you, my young student. And I miss your mother, every day. She brought light to this city.”
Stefan returned the hug. “I miss her too,” he said.
CHAPTER 7
HALO
Abracadabra Street
Ditto was torn by guilt. He was the closest thing to an adult the group had, and yet he had fled the old factory, leaving Stefan and Cosmo to make their own way out. Stefan would never have abandoned him if the situation were reversed, he was sure of it. Maybe there wasn’t much someone of his size could have done against Myishi tanks, but that didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse, because Stefan had gone up against a tank to save him and Mona.
But there was another reason for Ditto’s guilt. There were things Stefan needed to know about him. Certain talents that he had. He should have confessed to his friend years ago, but the time had never been right. And he had become so accustomed to keeping his gifts a secret. In comic books, people with gifts became superheroes; in real life they became outcasts. And Ditto did not want to be an outcast from the only group of people who had ever cared for him.
Lucien Bonn had been christened Ditto by a sharp-tongued girl in the Bartoli institute. It wasn’t a very smart nickname. Obvious, really. Ditto had a habit of repeating whatever people said to him. This gave him a moment to think of a reply. Not that he was slow—quite the opposite in fact. He just wanted to be sure that whatever he said didn’t give anything away about his special talents. It was bad enough being a Bartoli baby without everyone thinking you were crazy too. Hey, did you hear? The midget thinks he can see ghosts. No, thank you.
Ditto’s suspicions that he was abnormal were confirmed on his ninth birthday. Until then he had hoped that he was merely short for his age. But by nine years of age it was getting pretty obvious that the arrested physical development mutation so common among Bartoli babies was beginning to affect him.
Doctor Bartoli himself had called Ditto into his office for his monthly measurements. Ditto stood inside the great man’s door, shivering in his paper jumpsuit. Doctor Bartoli liked to keep the air conditioning at forty-five degrees Farenheit. He said that cold was good for the intellect. “Well, now, Lucien,” said Bartoli, opening Ditto’s file on his computer. “Let’s see how you are progressing. Stand on the spot.”
Ditto positioned himself on a red circle in the center of the floor. Bartoli circled him with a measuring tape and cranium calipers. He hemmed and hawed as he measured each of Ditto’s limbs, his trunk, and his head size.
“Another failure,” he said eventually, slumping into his office chair. “Just like the rest. Where did I go wrong?”
Ditto didn’t answer. The doctor was talking to himself as he always did. Eventually Bartoli addressed the small shivering boy. “Well, Lucien. I am sorry to tell you that you will in all likelihood grow no taller. Your head is one quarter the length of your person; by nine years, it should be only one fifth. The Bartoli bug has bitten.”
Ditto felt his heart sink. He had been so hoping for a normal life outside the Institute.
“But all is not lost. Perhaps you have other gifts. Something to elevate you above us normal humans. Perhaps Dr. Bartoli opened a door somewhere in your mind? Eh, Lucien? Do you have other gifts?”
Bartoli was pretending that the question was a casual one, but his entire body was tense, waiting for the boy’s answer.
Ditto was only nine years old, but he was no fool. Years of smart drugs and intelligence exercises had left him quite perceptive. He knew the importance of this question. He also knew what happened to Bartoli babies who admitted to having gifts. They were moved to another wing of the Institute and observed twenty-four hours a day. They were medicated, injected, and interrogated for as long as Bartoli could hold on to them.
The doctor leaned forward in his chair. “Do you see things, Lucien? Some of the other children claim to see strange beings. Do you see beings, Lucien?”
Ditto could have told the truth then. Yes, Doctor, I see them all around us. The blue creatures. They can see me too. Sometimes they visit. And that’s not all. I can help people. Make them feel better just by touching them.
He could have said all of that, but he didn’t, for to reveal his talents would have meant spending the rest of his life as an experiment.
So Ditto looked Bartoli straight in the eye and said: “Do I see things? Well, I saw a werewolf once, outside my window. I thought it was a dream.”
The doctor sighed. “Very well, Lucien. There is nothing special about you. As a special favor I will personally see to it that you are sent to a state school and not to Clarissa Frayne. You can go.”
And that was it. No apology. No compensation for being born a mutant. Within six months, Ditto had been moved out of the Institute into a state school, where he stayed until the age of sixteen. In all that time he never told anybody about any of his gifts. His secrets stayed secret until Stefan came into his life. And even Stefan did not know everything. But soon he would, and there would be hell to pay when his friend found out.
Ellen Faustino sent Cosmo and Stefan home in a Myishi Prestige Stretch. The luxury ten-wheeler car was half the length of a city block, and boasted a TV window, fully stocked fridge, and sofa bed. Stefan was not impressed. He hunched forward in his seat, kneading his forehead as if that could make the ideas come faster.
“Miss Faustino was right, you know,” said Cosmo tentatively. “It isn’t your fault, Stefan. You were just doing your best. How could you possibly know that the electricity was making them reproduce?”
Stefan did not respond. After saying good-bye to his old tutor, guilt and helplessness had dealt him a double blow. It was a combination that would be hard to shake.
So Cosmo did what any teenager would do. He raided the fridge, stuffing his pockets with as many snacks as he could cram in. Whatever wouldn’t fit, he ate. Fourteen years in Clarissa Frayne had taught him never to leave food behind. It was quite possible that the combination of the acid vat and the junk food would have him throwing up for the next day or two, but if he left any food behind, he would regret it for years.
Stefan broke his silence six streets west of Abracadabra Street. “Anywhere here is fine.”
“President Faustino said I was to drop you at your door,” objected the driver.
“Maybe she did,” said Stefan. “But I’m not ready to give up the location of my headquarters just yet.”
The driver laughed. “1405 Abracadabra Street. I’ve already sent the coordinates to the Satellite.”
Stefan sank even deeper into his foul mood. The Supernaturalists were no longer a secret organization. There were adults involved now. The corporations were involving them in their schemes. The next thing you knew, they’d all have dental plans and pensions.
* * *
Mona and Ditto were waiting anxiously when Cosmo and Stefan emerged from the elevator. Mona ran to greet them, but Ditto hung back, uncharacteristically quiet, without so much as a sarcastic crack to welcome the returning pair. His secret was fermenting inside him, bursting to be released.
“Where have you been?” demanded Mona, wrapping one arm around Stefan’s shoulders
and the other around Cosmo. “We thought you two were in jail for sure.”
Stefan shrugged her off. “Set up the Parabola on the roof. I want it running twenty-four-seven.”
Mona stepped back from the pair as though she had been slapped. “We were worried, Stefan, about the two of you. Don’t we deserve an explanation? Aren’t we supposed to be a team?”
Stefan almost talked then. He nearly shared his burden, but the guilt and the helplessness were still too strong. “Not now, Mona. Okay? Just set up the dish.”
“The Parabola?” said Mona. “That never worked before. I don’t even know if it’s charged.”
“Just set it up, Mona,” said Stefan, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Please.”
The youth stumbled toward his cubicle without another word. With each step he seemed shorter. The group watched him go in silence.
“What happened to him?” asked Mona, when the echo of Stefan’s footfalls had faded. “I’ve seen him upset before, but not like this. It’s like his life is over.”
“Not over,” Cosmo replied. “He just has to start it again.” He explained what had happened at Myishi Tower. How blasting Parasites just speeded up their reproduction process. Three years of helping your enemies to populate the planet. The words seemed to hang in the warehouse air. Damning their actions. How many people had had their life force drained because of the Supernaturalists?