Two assistants led leashed dogs onto the stage. Both were roughly medium-sized mutts of varying colors, and Alex’s best guess was that one was a pit bull–boxer cross of some kind, along with a rottweiler that appeared to have a significant amount of German shepherd in it. Their handlers gave firm commands in what Alex thought was German, and the dogs settled fairly quickly and sat on their hind legs, looking out at the auditorium with reactions varying from hopeful friendliness to mild disdain. The pit mix, white in body with a black patch surrounding one eye and barrel-chested, sidled over next to Haley’s chair, and she immediately began to scratch him behind his ears.
“As you are doubtless aware,” Dr. Graaf continued, beaming out at the silent audience, “Haley Weathers is a rather unique remote viewer.”
Alex was aware. That information, along with a bunch of other stuff that had yet to prove itself useful, was part of the two weeks worth of drilling he had received from Miss Aoki regarding the capabilities of his fellow candidates. Most of it hadn’t been that interesting, and even the parts that had caught his attention, like the elasticity of Min-jun’s barrier protocol, or Katya’s affinity for removing very specific parts of the human anatomy, hadn’t really made any sense until he had seen them firsthand.
Most remote viewers basically were capable of surveying a certain spot, with varying restrictions in regard to range, or the nature of what was perceived. Vivik had described his own protocol as a form of telepathically augmented sight, which Alex always imagined as being similar to the video games that Vivik played on his laptop – strategy games with an overhead floating view, directing a battle as if it were a game of chess. Most of the advance intel that the Audits department’s remote viewers provided for the pre-operation briefings bore this out. Haley’s abilities, however, were quite a bit different.
As an F-Class remote viewer, Haley should have been the psychic equivalent of a reconnaissance satellite, capable of scouting a location without ever setting foot on it. Instead, her protocol was more telepathic in nature – in mundane terms, Haley could possess another person, relaying sensory information and executing commands. She had done this repeatedly during the Bohai Strait operation, introducing the device that sabotaged the Etheric interference generator, as well relaying information from the point of view of various security personnel. An added perk was her ability to transfer this information via a telepathic link. Alex had participated in such linkages during training exercises, and found the experience disorienting and voyeuristic. It was useful, certainly, as Haley’s remote viewing could be performed and her perspective altered in real time, but Alex had never felt that this was nearly as useful as standard remote viewing, lacking the “God” perspective.
He had initially suspected that the oddity of her ability was the reason that the Hegemony had been willing to assign her to Audits – like Katya, her abilities were viewed as intrinsically less than useful. It had been Katya herself who clarified the issue, pointing out that a first-person perspective from anyone inside of a compound was often much more valuable than a general mapping of the compound, or a detailed overhead view. Moreover, Haley’s ability to perceive auditory as well as visual information made her incredibly useful as a spy. Katya had explained to him that this was probably the reason that the Hegemony nominated her for Audits – chances were, she relayed everything that happened back to the them.
Alex figured that this must have made Haley’s romantic life extremely problematic.
“It was a happy accident that led to the discovery,” Dr. Graaf continued on pleasantly. “Miss Weathers has an affinity for animals, and brought her dogs along when she joined us here at the Far Shores. When visiting the biological laboratory one day, inspiration struck.”
The white pit bull had wriggled all the way over to Haley’s side, pressing its body against her leg and nuzzling her hand every time she stopped petting it. Dr. Graaf’s explanation struck Alex as phony – maybe it was Katya’s suspicion of the Far Shores coloring his thinking, but his own experience on the campus had not exactly been welcoming, and he certainly had not been invited to tour any of the facilities before today. Whatever Haley had been doing in the biological lab, Alex doubted that it was accidental.
“With permission from Miss Weathers, we gave these animals nanite injections. Two proved responsive. Miss Weathers was surprised to discover that she immediately gained access to the canine’s perspective via her remote viewing protocol. Additionally, this connection was not limited to visual information – Miss Weathers was able to relay the full spectrum of sensory input from the canine. This connection proved persistent, once the initial contact was made. Further exploration led to another revelation – with a neural structure less complicated than that of a human, Miss Weathers was able to assume direct control of both canines simultaneously. Further experiments including our own kennel of nanite-enhanced canines has established an upper limit of five, thus far.”
That got the first response of Dr. Graaf’s lecture, Michael stirring is his seat while Miss Gallow leaned across a row of seats to whisper something to Miss Aoki. Dr. Graaf seemed to be pleased with the reaction, as the little man puffed up slightly.
“That’s not quite it,” Haley said quietly, glancing briefly at the audience. “It’s voluntary. Cooperative. It doesn’t hurt Voltaire or Derrida at all.”
“Just as she said,” Dr. Graaf agreed with a chuckle. “We have since performed a number of trials with Derrida and Voltaire, as well as our other enhanced canines, and the results have been nothing short of remarkable. All of the dog’s typical sensory and locomotive powers, natural instincts, and inherent traits were preserved – Haley’s connection simply augmented its intelligence and created a sort of cooperative decision-making process. This revelation naturally expanded the usefulness of our canine-enhancement program.”
Dr. Graaf paused, and again the back rows of the room were consumed with muttering. Miss Gallow leaned forward and whispered something to Mr. Okoro, who nodded in agreement and then politely excused himself from the room.
“Well, then,” Dr. Graaf said, beaming, “any interest in a demonstration?”
***
Chike’s apport startled Vladimir from the unplanned nap he had been taking in the entirely too comfortable chair Gaul had insisted in installing in his laboratory, but the apport technician was too polite to notice. He nodded amiably at Vivik, who was working as an intern and lab assistant for Vlad, who returned the greeting silently, continuing his work with an arcane arrangement of lenses and circuit boards.
“You’re back, Chike,” Vladimir remarked unnecessarily, straightening his beard, relieved that he had not drooled in his sleep. “How did it go?”
“Exactly as planned,” Chike said, his voice soft and his accent reflecting his time in a British boarding school. “The technology you designed worked perfectly.”
“Excellent,” Vladimir said, reaching across his desk for the secure line. “I will inform the Director that our efforts were successful.”
Chike Okoro nodded slowly.
“Vladimir, if I may...”
“Please do.”
“I cannot help but wonder,” Chike admitted, “why the Director was so concerned with the augmentation of Haley’s dogs. Is it really so important?”
Vladimir laughed, pushing his chair back and standing with difficulty. He patted the lanky apport technician affably on the back.
“I think you will find that this is the central frustration inherent in working for a precognitive,” Vladimir observed wryly. “There is every chance that even the Director does not know why such a trivial project was deserving of so much time and energy – only that it must be done, in the service of or to prevent the occurrence of a specific future.”
Chike shrugged bashfully.
“I am afraid that I do not fully understand.”
“Exactly.” Vladimir nodded his agreement. “Likely, none of us will, until the day that Central is saved by Haley Weathers and
her amazing psychic dogs. Now, Chike, if you will give me a moment to inform Gaul, perhaps you would like to join me for lunch?”
***
“That was pretty cool, Haley,” Alex said while he peeled an orange. He meant it, too – he had been legitimately impressed by the demonstration. “I’m sorta jealous. I never had a dog or anything.”
Privately, he wondered if that was true. He couldn’t remember having a dog, but lately he wasn’t sure if that actually meant anything. Following that line of thought would inevitably lead to one of his headaches, though, and he had already suffered through one the night before, so he turned his mind to lunch.
“Thanks,” Haley said, with a shake of her head. “I’m glad you thought so, because I was so embarrassed…”
Alex could sympathize. He wouldn’t have wanted to occupy a stage in front of Miss Aoki and Miss Gallow, either.
The presentation had been interesting, though. They had watched a number of live video feeds on monitors that were placed to be visible to the audience, but not Haley. They broadcast from an adjoining dog-training facility, while Haley ran several dogs through a number of different trials and obstacle courses, demonstrating her ability to control their movements, relay sensory data, and the like – even provoking the dogs to “attack” an appropriately suited handler, and preventing the dogs from responding to stimuli varying from dog whistles and commands from other trainers all the way to an unguarded steak.
The whole experience reinforced Alex’s tendency to associate the remote-viewing experience with video games. Assuming he ever got a chance to hang out with Vivik again, Alex sort of wanted to ask him if there were any games that gave you equivalent control over a virtual dog. It had looked like fun.
“You can make the dogs do pretty much anything, right?”
Haley stirred her soup disinterestedly. She hadn’t eaten much of anything, probably still too worked up from the stress of the presentation.
“I don’t tell them what to do at all,” she said, shaking her head. “It really is a cooperative process. Once I establish the connection, I can make suggestions, but they are free to do whatever they like. They always want to help, though. I’ve never had one of the dogs refuse a request. I wouldn’t make them do something they didn’t want to, though, even if I could.”
Alex couldn’t help but notice that left open the possibility that Haley could make them do something, if she decided to force the issue, and then wondered if the Program was making him cynical. It shouldn’t have surprised him, though – her ability to possess enemies in the field was one of Haley’s most valued traits.
“Do all the dogs have such silly names?”
“Yes. I wanted to name at least one, but my brother named all four when we adopted them, because he paid the fees,” Haley explained, with obvious regret. “You guys were watching Voltaire and Derrida, but Kant and Nietzsche are here, too. I tried reading all of their books, but I just couldn’t get into most of it.”
“That’s alright,” Katya said, reassuring her. “Philosophy doesn’t really mean anything anyway. It’s mostly just a way for guys who don’t know anything useful to stay in college forever, or to sound smart in front of girls.”
Alex had the feeling that if Vivik were here, he might have interjected passionately with a heartfelt defense of philosophy. But he wasn’t, and Alex certainly wasn’t in any position to disagree. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read anything that wasn’t either a comic book or on the Internet.
“You always have such an interesting perspective, Katya,” Min-jun remarked.
“That is part of what makes me so fascinating, oppa,” Katya agreed.
“Hey,” Alex interjected, “why do you always call him that? Oppa, or whatever?”
“Why do you always butt into things that are none of your business?”
Everyone laughed. Alex decided it would be diplomatic to join in.
After all, he could just look it up later online.
***
Renton was exhausted. It wasn’t just the strain of the seemingly endless meetings and conspiracies that were daily life in the insular and paranoid world of the Committee-at-Large. The awareness of the events of New York, of Anastasia’s absence and the uncertainty of her fate, weighed on him, and none of his various responsibilities provided him any comfort. He finished the last of the documentation that was required as Anastasia’s official representative to the Committee, stood and stretched his back, then pushed in the chair behind the smaller desk in Anastasia’s office and prepared to leave for the night, which was already hours old.
The knock on the door that stopped him from leaving was soft and purposeful. He sighed deeply and then sat back down, well aware the person outside intended to let themselves in regardless.
“Renton Hall,” Lóa Thule said, pulling back the Weir-fur-lined hood that confined her shining curls of strawberry-blonde hair. “I would like a word with you.”
Renton sat back and motioned for her to take a chair from one of the set arrayed in front of the desk. He rested his other hand on the arm of his own chair, instinctively close to the grip of his Beretta.
“Lóa Thule. A pleasure,” he offered, giving her a smile generally reserved for girls he intended to coax into his bed. “One I have anticipated for some time, I might add. The recent actions of the Thule Cartel have tongues wagging all across Central. I assumed that it could only be a matter of time until you took issue with the Black Sun.”
Lóa Thule smiled and took off her coat, hanging it on the tree by the door, before walking to the chair, running nails painted the color of port wine through her hair as she sat.
“You assume hostile intent on our part,” Lóa Thule objected mildly, her speech clipped and a bit jumbled together. “I see myself as the barer of glad tidings.”
Renton braced himself. He was fairly certain he knew what was coming, but feared a nasty surprise from the Thule Cartel nonetheless. Their reputation, in that sense, preceded them.
“Oh? Then by all means,” Renton said ingratiatingly, admiring her form in the shimmering green dress, “gladden my heart.”
“Rather forward, don’t you think?” Lóa Thule opened a small hand purse, and removed a cigarette from a pack of Dunhill Reds. Renton reached over the table with a silver-plated lighter and did the gentlemanly thing. “I’m nearly old enough to be your mother, Mr. Hall.”
“I doubt that very much. Appearances can be deceiving, and age isn’t everything.” Renton felt slightly ill behind his smarmy expression. He wanted to reach across the desk and throttle the woman, to demand Anastasia’s whereabouts, but forced himself to flirt instead. It was critical that his appearance match his reputation. “Even if that were true, it would hardly be a first as far as I am concerned.”
“And if it were, for me?”
“When we run out of novelty, the world has nothing left to offer us.”
Lóa Thule’s blush was timed perfectly, though he suspected it was manufactured for his benefit. Renton’s empathic gifts were very limited, as his protocol trended heavily toward the telepathic, but he could feel the emotional chill that the woman radiated. It was the inverse of lust, a dispassion that bordered on apathy.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, exhaling smoke. “I will take your words under consideration. As for the business at hand, I trust you will not be offended if I am frank?”
Again, he had to put the brakes on his temper. The slightest show of eagerness on his part, the least apprehension, and the tables would be abruptly turned, and whatever advantage he currently held would disappear. Renton shrugged as if disappointed.
“As you will, Miss Thule.”
“Very well,” she said, tapping ash into the tray he offered her. “You must be aware by now what has occurred.”
“I am aware of a great many things,” Renton said, leaning his cheek against his palm, doing his best to channel Anastasia’s preternatural boredom. “I’m afraid you will have to be more specific.”
>
Lóa Thule smiled, but she didn’t appear to Renton to be at all amused. Her mildly flirtatious act was rapidly disintegrating in the face of what looked very much like impatience.
“We have Anastasia Martynova.” Her voice was harsh, her words hurried. “Is that specific enough for you, Mr. Hall?”
“Quite,” he answered, his tone measured and chilly. He leaned back in his chair, toyed with the gilded Meisterstuck Signature fountain pen that Anastasia had given him as a Christmas present three years earlier. “You will have to provide some sort of proof before I can consider your claim, however.”
It was a careful gambit. There was no point in pretending that all was well – the destruction of Anastasia’s convoy had been relayed to him only moments after it had happened, though not soon enough for a successful recovery – but it was important to emphasize that he doubted her.
“Of course. I anticipated your desire.” Lóa Thule responded with rapid-fire diction, releasing the clasp on her metallic purse, then offering him a folded square of expensive paper. “And I believe I fulfilled it, as well.”
She followed that remark with a nasty smile that Renton didn’t understand until he looked at the photo. Then it required a supreme effort to prevent his simmering anger from boiling over on the spot, to keep his fury from showing in his expression. Renton was so genuinely incensed that he couldn’t be sure he succeeded.
The paper had two color photographs printed on it. Both were of Anastasia laid out in some sort of metal table. The focus was deliberately narrow, without a background or surrounding details that might provide a hint as to her location. She appeared to be unharmed and unconscious.
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 28