I’ll speak to her later, Sky decided.
She thordered her own door closed and relaxed back into her recliner to enjoy the remainder of the tryst.
< Sorry to interrupt, ma’am… > It was Uncle Jesse, her Brain Operating System, < … but you’ve got a scanner case review in your inbox. >
‘I’ll pick it up Monday,’ she said.
< It’s a Priority One. >
Sky paused, then quit the freescan. The writhing bodies disappeared, much to her disappointment.
‘I didn’t know there was a Priority One,’ she said, tying back her dark corkscrew hair into a more professional double bun.
< There is now, ma’am. >
She opened the file. Sure enough, it read:
Priority One: Emergency.
Emergency? The word sounded archaic. Emergency. The whole point of thought-scanning was to identify a problem before it got anywhere near emerging. The last urgent matter she had dealt with was at the Academy, and that was purely for training purposes.
She heard the hissing of yet another hopper overhead.
Sky opened the rest of the file, probing with her mind until she found what she was looking for; the alleged patient was a farmer out in the sticks, somewhere up in the Federation’s north, Ontario province. Billy-Jay Renfield was his name, and he came with a hunting cap, complete with woollen earflaps. At first, she thought he was albino (judging by his chalky skin color) but then realized he must be a Caucasian. He had no prior mental infractions, and his present infraction—other than his weight—was thinking about flying to the Moon to meet telepaths.
Sky replayed the offending memories, linking in with the man’s senses, experiencing the moment from his perspective. He was on a farm, walking toward the hen house. He tripped and stumbled. He imagined arriving on the Moon in a homemade ship, greeting telepaths. He got up and hobbled to the hen house where he fed his chickens.
His actions did not suggest anything untoward, Sky thought. His fantasising might have been the result of his fall, perhaps a mild concussion.
Sky attempted to link with any cameras that were active at the time of Mr. Renfield’s infraction, in case there was something (or someone) in the area that might help explain the event. However, no cameras were available.
Strange, she thought. Most homes had cameras installed to capture your live image in order to transmit it in maya form.
Sky decided to resort to satellite footage. The satellites had a recording of the location; mountain ranges, a carpet of green trees, spattered with lakes like puddles after a rain. She zoomed the footage down into Mr. Renfield’s farm and found him flat on the ground. She rewound the footage and saw him trip and stumble. Nothing new.
‘Could be a daydream,’ Sky said. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s actively planning to contact telepaths. How is this a priority request?’
< Can’t say, ma’am. Scanners say Mr. Renfield’s a former astronautical engineer. He has enough know-how to build a space vessel, assumin’ he can get hold of the required materials. The scanners seem worried he’s gonna do some illegal space traveling. >
Perhaps, Sky thought. But it would take months to build a ship. It was certainly no “emergency”.
< Maybe the scanners weren’t happy with Mr. Renfield thinking about telepathy? Telepathy breeds neuroviruses, so they say. >
‘Could be. But there’s no indication he’s connected to a brain-to-brain network or that he has any intention to do so. If the scanners are picking up folks for just daydreaming about telepathy, then I can kiss my weekends goodbye.’
Sky poured over every aspect of the man’s file, but try as she might, she could not figure out why he had been flagged as a priority. She asked Uncle Jesse to probe the scanner database for an explanation.
< Sorry, ma’am, but this one’s above my security clearance. I’ll pass you on to the database AI. >
A curt woman’s voice announced, ‘This is Neuroscanner Central AI, how can I help you?’
‘Why is this case a priority?’ Sky asked.
‘Brain-to-brain telepath networking is a dangerous and illegal activity under Neural Code section—’
‘Yes, I understand that, but I’ve reviewed thousands of cases like this and none of them were classed a priority.’
After a pause the AI voice returned, ‘Search parameters of scanners have been widened to include all thoughts relating to telepathy.’
‘Since when?’
Another pause. ‘As of 3.03 am today.’
‘Reason?’
‘Classified.’
‘Classified?’
‘Correct.’
Wide search parameters like this would mean an increase in caseloads. Though fearful of what she might find, Sky checked her pending cases.
‘Thirty-three?’ She nearly fell out of her recliner. Sky could not remember a caseload this long.
The scanner database’s stilted voice returned: ‘Neuroscanner central computer recommends alleged patient Billy-Jay Renfield receive mandatory neuroprogramming. Do you concur?’
Sky thought it over. She wasn’t about to give someone a programming migraine unless absolutely necessary. Then again, she could not recall the last time the scanners had messed up.
Better safe than sorry, as they say. She approved the request and closed the file.
Instead of the usual sense of accomplishment after a scanner review, she felt something weighing her down.
< You seem a might unsettled there, ma’am. >
‘Uncle Jesse, how many matters have I reviewed?’
< Since when? >
‘Since I started.’
< Hell, let me think… in twenty-five-odd years of service, you’ve reviewed one hundred thousand, three hundred and sixty-two cases. >
‘How many have I sent to programming?’
< Ninety-three per cent. >
Sky frowned. ‘Really? I could have sworn I’d knocked back more than that.’
< You would have, but in the end you figured— >
‘Better safe than sorry.’
He chuckled the way her Great Uncle Jesse used to, like happy thunder. < Somethin’ like that, ma’am. >
Sky cast her eye along the column of pending cases. Eight more had arrived.
< All Priority One by the look of ’em. >
She slumped into her recliner and yawned. ‘I don’t know what’s got the system spooked, Uncle Jesse. But this morning has been as strange as ’36.’
< Might I suggest some stim to keep you focused? I’ll zap just a few neurals, promise. >
Sky nodded. So much for freescanning the night away, she thought, and opened her next file, hoping the stim would hit her soon.
< Uh, ma’am, you’ve got an urgent call coming’ in. >
‘What? Now? From who?’
< Detroit Neuroprogrammers. >
3:2
The caller ID read: “Neuroprogramming Officer Okiro Mohammed-Levi”.
Sky felt the air rush out of her lungs.
Okiro.
< Don’t forget to breathe, ma’am. >
She inhaled, her breath wavering. I’m confident. I’m capable. I’m welcoming. I’m personable. I’m perfectly socially healthy.
< The officer is requesting a visual call— >
‘Silhouette only,’ Sky said. ‘And make sure he can’t see me at all.’
< Yes, ma’am. >
Seconds later Sky heard his voice, ‘Sky?’ His silhouette appeared in maya form. He was taller than Sky, with narrow shoulders but wide upper arms.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
‘Sky?’
‘Yeah,’ she managed to answer.
‘No visual again?’
‘I’m… I…’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Sorry to call you at this hour, but we’ve all been dragged out of bed for this one. The captain has asked us to contact anyone in the precinct who can freescan.’
That would be a first, Sky thought. Freescanning was a perk of
the job, never part of it. ‘What for? Is this a drill? I’ve got a load of urgent scanner review cases—’
‘Forget them. We just got a call from the NIA—there’s a telepath loose in Detroit.’
Sky paused. ‘Telepath?’
‘That’s what I said. And no, it’s definitely not a drill. Worse, the scanners can’t find him.’
Sky’s mind reeled. ‘How is that even possible?’
‘The NIA think he’s blocking his mind somehow, so they’ve asked us to do city-wide manual scans.’
‘What about the cameras? Surely they would identify him?’
‘If the cameras could find him, I wouldn’t be asking for your help.’
Sky tried to wrap her mind around this news. The telepath was avoiding both cameras and neuroscanners. She had never heard of such a thing.
‘If he’s hacking himself out of existence, he must be a brainbender,’ Sky said.
‘Maybe.’
Telepaths were humans who linked their minds in a mutual network; a dangerous activity, prone to deadly neuroviruses. Brainbenders, on the other hand, were telepaths who could manipulate other minds.
That would explain why the scanners had expanded their search parameters, Sky thought, and why they were tagging anyone who even thought of telepathy regardless of their intentions.
An image of an old man appeared. He was thin and supported by a metal exoskeleton. ‘This is the guy the NIA are looking for,’ Okiro explained.
Beside the man’s image, a maya map of Detroit came into focus with the city separated into sectors. One sector lit up and expanded. ‘This is your patch,’ Okiro said. It covered an area north of Ambassador Bridge. A list of Neuronet connections appeared, which fluctuated more or less around the 50,000 mark.
‘If he’s linked to other telepaths, he has to be using the Neuronet; it’s the only network that extends offworld. One of these 50,000 connections might be our guy.’
‘You want me to tap into every connection?’ She said, half expecting him to laugh at her.
‘One at a time.’
It appeared he was serious. Sky humored him, ‘A telepath trying to evade authorities won’t just stick to one connection, he’ll switch every few minutes. I might as well be looking for a breeze in a hurricane.’
Okiro laughed. ‘I’m with you there, but orders are orders.’
*
It was eight in the morning and Sky had been freescanning for over three hours without success. She had only managed to tap into a couple of thousand connections, citizens communicating over the Neuronet, but as far as she could tell none were transferring thoughts like a telepath would.
‘This is useless, Uncle Jesse. If the brainbender was in this sector he’d be long gone by now.’
< You never know, ma’am. >
‘Well if he’s around, I’m not going to find him this way.’
Sky thordered the list of active connections aside. She zoomed out of her sector map to look at Detroit as a whole. ‘Let’s do some real freescanning.’
< Yes, ma’am. Here they come. >
She heard the thunder of millions of thoughts and feelings. Detroit’s inner voices and sensations clambered over one another.
What would I feel like if I were a runaway telepath? Feared. Hunted. Alone.
Sky dipped into those emotions. Feared. Hunted. Alone. The more she immersed herself in them, the better her chances of finding a kindred mind.
The thunder subsided to a rumble, and then the voices and sensations became clearer. She moved closer to one or another, testing the waters. Some of the people she tapped into were just playing simulations, watching other entertainment, or reading. Feared, hunted, alone. She found others who needed no artificial stimulation to feel that way, but none of them were the brainbender.
Another hour passed without any sign of a telepath.
What if he’s not scared? Sky thought. What if he’s confident? If he’s been able to avoid detection this long, he might feel superior, perhaps even superhuman.
She tried to imagine what this would feel like. It was an alien experience for her, to say the least. Soon the matching voices and sensations across Detroit came to her, more than she had expected.
‘There sure are a lot of blowhards in this town,’ Sky said to herself.
She focused again and again on her imaginary telepath personality. The minutes ticked away.
Then she picked up on a strange sensation… it was as if there was a presence, as if there was someone nearby. A real person. She fought the urge to look around the room. She knew she was being paranoid—the door was shut, she was still alone.
Yet the sensation of the other only grew.
The brainbender?
She told herself to stay calm. She told herself to hold onto the signal; it was her duty, after all, to find him. But the possibility of another mind inside her own sent her into a panic.
She disconnected from the freescan. Yet, the presence remained.
A shadow appeared in her periphery.
She jumped at the sight. It was in the shape of a man, his back turned. He appeared to be encased in some sort of metal exoskeleton.
Sky felt her shoulders against the wall. Her chest heaved. She looked for the subtle glimmer that would indicate the figure was actually a maya, but she could not find it. The man’s torso twisted and his exoskeleton whirred until he met her eyes. His face contorted in confusion, or anger; she could not tell.
‘Uncle Jesse, what’s going on?’
The office vanished.
Sky found herself somewhere else… in a vast cave, with houses and farms. She realized she was looking through a window. She saw a reflection, but it was not her own. It was a man, a decade or two older than her, thin with high cheekbones, hair and beard with a smattering of orange.
Sky gasped. She felt as if someone had yanked her by the solar plexus. She was falling. She heard her own scream. She found herself on the floor of her office, her heart bashing against her chest. She heard her name being called. She felt arms around her. She saw that it was her mother.
‘Sky, what happened?’ her mother panted, wide-eyed.
Sky looked around the room—the old man was gone.
3:3
‘Where is he?’ Sky stammered. She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the door to peer into the living room. There was no sign of the man in the exoskeleton.
‘Who?’ her mother asked.
‘I don’t know… maybe it was just a maya,’ Sky said, uncertain, hopeful.
‘It’s all these late nights, that’s what it is,’ her mother said, frustration in her voice. ‘It’s not helping your condition. You need to take care of yourself. Work or play or whatever it is you’re doing, you have to rest.’
Sky heard the words but her mind was busy looking for an explanation to what she had just experienced. ‘I’m okay, Ma,’ she said.
Her mother stared at her. She appeared on the verge of tears. ‘I’ll have to speak to Dr. Aquino about this, you know that don’t you?’
Sky nodded. ‘I have to report to the precinct first. After that I’ll rest,’ she reassured her.
Her mother’s eyes pleaded.
‘I promise, Ma.’ She embraced her mother, comforting her. Her mother’s arms returned the gesture.
‘I worry about you,’ Winona said.
‘I know.’
Eventually, her mother’s arms loosened. She turned away, and the door shut, leaving Sky alone in the office.
‘Uncle Jesse, tell me you’ve got something.’
< Ma’am, I’ve been analyzing your sense data and it weren’t no maya. But it weren’t no real person neither. I reckon it was either a natural hallucination or, worst-case scenario, a brain-to-brain connection. >
‘Telepathy? You mean with that… man?’
< Can’t say for sure. >
She hoped he was wrong. Telepathy breeds neuroviruses, everyone knew that. She calmed down when she realized the scanners would have pi
cked up an infection by now. No news was good news, she told herself.
She called Okiro and he appeared in silhouette again. She told him what had happened.
‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘I’m looking through your scanner history and there’s no indication of recent hallucinations. But I see you had a serious fear spike about ten minutes ago.’
‘I’m sure I saw something,’ Sky said, ‘I’m just not sure what it was.’
‘I’ll report it to the captain. Whatever it was, it almost sent you into shock. Your medical readout is recommending anti-trauma programming. Looks like I get to pay you a visit today.’
‘Can’t it wait until my monthly programming session? I could do without the headache.’
‘No can do. The system’s already booked you in for today,’ Okiro’s silhouetted face scanned the air, looking at whatever data was floating around him, ‘and it looks like they’ve brought forward your regular session to today as well. You’ll get twice the ramming headache, I’m afraid, but at least you won’t have to see me for another six weeks.’
Sky said nothing. What could she say? She had no choice in the matter.
‘One more thing,’ Okiro added, ‘the system’s taken you off freescanning and placed you back on scanner review duty.’
‘Why?’ She asked, feigning concern. In reality, she was relieved; she had no desire to keep looking for that brainbender, not after what had just happened.
‘Medical reasons; minor trauma,’ Okiro explained, ‘I think the system’s just looking out for you.’
*
After Okiro hung up, Sky opened her next case review file and began reading. None of it sank in—she was too wired. Her mind kept returning to the telepath, to the images she had seen in the cave.
She needed to blow off some steam, so she loaded her favorite jogging sim, Detroit Cityscape 9. Her recliner rolled into one corner. She walked, and the treadmill floor reacted to her steps so that she remained in the center of the room. She jogged, and the floor kept up with her. The room faded before her eyes as she immersed herself in a maya.
She stood on the banks of the Detroit River. The illusion extended to the rest of her senses; she could feel a cool breeze against her face, hear the lapping waters, and there was the fragrance of oaks and elms.
Neurotopia Page 2