Convergence

by David M Henley

  No, please don’t. You’re right. But don’t trap me.

  Such suspicions, Charlotte. I thought you were on our side? Didn’t La Gréle send you to me? Why are you here?

  I was sent by the Prime. I don’t know if La Gréle made him do it or not. ‘For the record, Tamsin Grey asked me telepathically why I was here. In answer, I reply: my cause is peace. As the Citizen with the second largest share of the Will and support from the Prime, I am authorised to negotiate terms of cooperation.’

  ‘I apologise. I was only doing what was natural for me.’ Yes. The Scorpion is now Prime, that was planned. The question is, did he send you himself or under La Gréle’s direction?

  ‘This is very impressive, Tamsin. I can see what you are building here. It is truly marvellous, but what do you intend to do about the rest of the world?’

  ‘That’s a little beyond my control.’

  ‘You know what the Prime is asking for.’

  ‘I do. But he is offering us something we already have. As you can see, we are peaceful here. All we wish is to be left to determine our own destiny.’

  ‘The World Union can recognise your sovereignty. But if psi attacks continue to destabilise our society, the Will may change.’ You know what Pinter said to me?

  ‘I do not speak for all psis. I can only speak for the local population.’ Do you think I can, or would, control them? I’ve seen what happened to the psi island.

  ‘For the record, Tamsin Grey has asked me what happened to the psi island. I respond that it was an act of aggression by a rogue element. It was not an action supported by the Will.’

  ‘Then how does the World Union expect me to stop the acts of all psis on Earth when it cannot control its own Citizens?’ Are you asking us to take control of everyone?

  No! ‘We will take responsibility for the actions of our Citizens,’ Charlotte stated.

  ‘But not the denizens? And not those who defy the Will?’

  What are you doing?

  Don’t be so alarmed, Charlotte. If La Gréle sent you to us, then she must have decided this was how to forge the peace we want. And if Pinter is acting on his own, then these questions must be asked anyway.

  ‘It is against the directives of the World Union to enforce control over non-Citizens.’

  ‘And yet you are asking us to do exactly that for all people with psionic ability.’

  ‘If you do not …’

  ‘What? What will happen?’

  Tamsin watched her calmly, letting her lack of an answer dwindle to nothing and she closed her mouth.

  There is nothing to be done, Charlotte. I applaud your efforts in coming here. You give me hope. But I cannot stop the fighting any more than you can.

  ‘This is a revolution,’ Tamsin said. ‘Those who were oppressed will be free.’

  Surely there is a way we can live together?

  I have shown you the way.

  ‘Yes. We can agree on that —’

  ‘And equality?’

  ‘Of course. You can claim Citizenship, if you choose. The same rights as any human being.’

  You can’t promise that and neither can Pinter. The Primacy is not in control of the Will, the Will is in control of them. ‘Representative, ever since psis first appeared we have been less than Citizens. Can you promise any change to this? That we won’t be restricted? That our lives won’t be spent in a chemical prison? Can you promise me that the Will, will let us be?’

  ‘If you confine yourselves to the Cape and help us control the uprisings.’

  ‘Confinement and control? Yes, I see what the Prime has suggested to you. You wish me to remove the free agency of individuals. Is this not a double standard?’

  Is it not a small enough sacrifice for the whole? ‘It may be, but if you don’t, the people won’t ever feel safe. The Will won’t stand for it.’ Which is why neither you nor I can make peace.

  ‘Yes. I know that,’ Tamsin said. She turned from Charlotte and looked back into the gorge and the people toiling there. She sighed. Beautiful, isn’t it? ‘Despite what you think, I do not want war, but I don’t control every psi in the world and you don’t control the Citizens of the World Union. There is nothing any of us can do.’

  ‘So, we do not even try to change the minds of our two sides? Do we just stand back and let aggression blast us into a third Dark Age?’

  La Gréle had a plan to make the Will more favourable to us. But I don’t know if what is happening is the result of her plan working or failing … ‘We want peace, Representative, but the Prime is asking us to stop something that is beyond our control.’

  Do you speak of Pierre Jnr now? Charlotte asked.

  Yes. We have no power over him, nor would we exercise it if we did.

  He is destroying your chance at peace.

  Do not make a mistake in thinking you can make him a part of your plan. We are a part of his plan.

  What does he want?

  I don’t know. But he has made all this happen. Tamsin ushered more memories of psi cooperation and blissful synchronicity into Charlotte’s mind. She experienced the joy and hope of thousands for herself. She flushed with emotion.

  And what about us? What will happen to the rest of us?

  I do not know. Pierre has a plan for each of us.

  Do you really believe that?

  ‘Do you trust the Prime, Miz Betts?’

  What does that have to do with anything?

  It’s the same question you asked me. Do you trust the one who is controlling you?

  ‘He has always been honest. I have known him all my life.’ He isn’t controlling me. Besides, you and Gretel deliberately manipulated him.

  ‘Yes, but you haven’t known him for his whole life. He was alive long before you, and he did some terrible things.’ Tamsin grimaced. I’ve seen that man’s nightmares. It makes me worry having a man like that as the head of the Union. A man who would stop at nothing … I’m sorry, Representative. I have no reason to trust the World Union or the current Prime. The Will has not shown itself to be kind to psis.

  The Will can change.

  And it is changing, Representative.

  No. That’s not what I meant. You can’t do that.

  I cannot stop it either. Tamsin grinned. It’s a big world, Miz Betts. With thousands of psis who have had a lifetime suffering under the Will.

  ‘Perhaps an act of good faith from the Union could ease my mind. Would you consider bringing down the barricade?’

  ‘If monitoring of your people can be maintained.’

  ‘And the release of our brothers and sisters on the psi islands?’

  ‘That is acceptable.’

  ‘Then here is what we will do, I will broadcast a message inviting all psis to come to the Cape. If the Prime publicly assures them that they will have safe passage, then they will come.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘Then you can deal with them as you deem fit and necessary.’

  ‘Without retaliation?’

  ‘Not from me. Or any of the psis here.’

  ‘I think we can agree to that.’

  ‘Good.’ Tamsin smiled. ‘Here are my terms then. We will create our own nation in this territory, and create our own Citizens who will each have the same rights as other Citizens of the global Will. There will be an armistice and the World Union will guarantee there will be no attacks or collections of psis for a month, and people will have free passage to the Cape. Then, after that time has passed, any psis discovered outside of our territory can be considered as non-psi Citizens and the World Union can act as it sees fit without interference from us.’

  And what happens if the Will doesn’t accept it?

  I wouldn’t worry about that, Representative.

  You’re going to cheat, aren’t you?

  Cheat, Charlotte? I didn’t even know there were rules to this game.

  ‘Your time is up,’ Tamsin said. ‘You must return to the Prime and present our offer.’

  �
��Miz Grey …?’ A smile was pushed onto her face and she felt her arm being waved at the crowd. They were back at the dock. Somehow she was holding a large bouquet of flowers and strangers were shaking her hand …

  ‘Yes, Representative?’

  ‘I …’ She couldn’t think what she wanted to say, but words still formed. ‘Thank you for meeting with me. I hope this can be a precedent for future negotiations and a step towards peace.’

  ‘As do the people of the Cape. Go tell Pinter what I said. And tell him what you’ve seen here.’ Smile, Representative, Tamsin said inside her mind. Pierre Jnr is coming.

  Pete didn’t drown. He dropped into the ocean and swam as far as he could. He expected Services to scoop him up immediately and punish him anew, but it would be worth it for a moment in the cool water.

  They didn’t come for him. Who he had to thank for that was only a background question while he kept his head above water and swam. Perhaps Geof has finally found something within his power to do?

  His arms got tired, his legs wore out and he floated, facing the darkening sky, his brain transitioning into sleep just as the first stars peeked through … I am the water.

  He awoke choking out sand from his mouth. When the spasms passed and he could breath calmly, Pete stood up and looked around him. He was on an empty beach with no buildings in sight.

  His left arm hung heavy and he stroked his symbiot. They know where I am. Why haven’t they come to get me?

  The symb could only answer one of his questions, informing him in text that he was at four point six degrees north, seventy-five degrees west. The closest megapolis was Bogotá, to the northwest.

  Peter Lazarus found a trail of footprints in the sand, which led up the beach and into the scrub beyond. He walked until he found a trail that became a track that led to a path that stopped at a road. He followed it, keeping his mind looking out for a human mind.

  The weather was warm, but blustery. Spits of rain raised the odours around him and he smelt the change in flora as he walked over the hills, the salt scent of the ocean fading. His clothes dried out and began to irritate his skin.

  He felt weak, too tired to think and a hunger stronger than any he could remember. His symbiot arm weighed him down on one side and by the time he encountered people, he was barely able to lift his feet off the ground.

  The place he came to was a one-squib village. Homes were temporary and made from plexi remnants and bamboo.

  The villagers, in their alarm at being disconnected from the Weave, had closed their rusty storm fences and barricaded the main road with carts and lorries.

  They were afraid. He could sense their tension. Yesterday, a stranger had been shot. None of them could take their eyes off the body lying face down a few metres from their fence line. The stranger had approached from the jungle, as Pete was doing, and they had shouted for him to go back, but he had kept coming forward. And then Pasqual Camillo had shot him, and though they now wondered whether he had been right or not, none of them questioned his reaction out loud.

  Them or us, Pete thought. They didn’t aim their rifles at Pete. He brushed their eyes aside and made them switch their weapons to safety mode.

  He shuffled slowly forward and they opened the gate to let him through. The chief herself, Anita Montoba, put her rifle aside to help him inside one of the huts. He shouldn’t have done it, but he was sick of it. This opposition. This conflict. It doesn’t have to be this way.

  His body shivered as he passed into shade and he noticed himself shake as he sat down. I must be dehydrated. The villagers brought him food and water and when the first bite of the stir-fry hit his stomach he was overcome with dizziness — which the villagers felt and caused them to stumble. He had Anita help him until some of his strength returned.

  Pete would have liked to spend the night resting, but he knew he couldn’t risk falling asleep near people he was manipulating. It might give them the chance to reason out what he was and what he was doing to them.

  Instead, Pete had them bring new clothes and a day’s worth of food before he was taken to the driver of their only squib and the man was instructed to take him north to Bogotá.

  The squib was dusty and smelt of fertiliser and dried-out sugar cane. It was mainly used to ferry produce to market, but flew well enough. He could tell the driver wanted to ask him questions, but Peter compelled him to respectful silence. It was all too easy once you started.

  What will they do when I leave? Pete wondered. Will they go back to the way they were, or will they realise what I have done and come after me?

  And is this me, now? Have I become what they fear?

  I have to talk to Tamsin. But if Services were still paying attention to him, it would be hard to get to Atlantic. Why haven’t they come to collect me yet? Surely they wouldn’t risk me joining her? Or has Services completely collapsed? Or is this a trap of some sort?

  As they approached Bogotá, the jungle became subdivided and thinner, cut up by farms and roads and fences. Proper buildings began to appear and then the omnipoles and straight streets of a Union city.

  The driver bobbed higher in the air, showing to observers that he wasn’t hiding. Services hadn’t disappeared, not here at least. Armed drones rose up to meet them and guided them to land in an open field where they were directing all inbound traffic.

  When they touched down, Peter and the driver parted ways. He went towards the hub and left the villager to talk to the uniformed officials who had come out to meet him. One of the Servicemen tried to come after him, but Pete made her blink and turn her head to concentrate on the pilot, who claimed he had come looking for information to report back to his village.

  Just like that. Now, if only I could get this symbiot off me I would be free once more.

  The city was in lockdown, operating under martial law, to which the Citizens were mostly complying. From their thoughts, Pete read their worries and conjecture — Franny Denis, a young history tutor, was on her way to work, although she wasn’t sure any of her students would be there. She herself hadn’t slept for the last two days and was hungry because the apartment servitors didn’t deliver her meals, which forced her to go to one of the bistros.

  The restaurants and cafés were packed. Jason, who operated his own self-titled establishment, was worried about how fast his supply of coffee was depleting. He had more customers than ever, all of whom seemed to have nowhere better to be than in his small shop talking about the missing Weave. Come tomorrow, there would be nothing to serve them.

  Pete moved on down the street.

  The megapolis had had no more contact with the World Union than the village. Not even the Servicemen knew what was going on outside their areas. Information was on a need-to-know basis and nobody Pete got close to was of high enough rank to know anything useful.

  He pushed out, he stretched, he heard the chirp of thoughts around him. His mind swept around them, pulling in their thoughts as they entered his radius. He let them take no notice of him, even as they stepped aside to let him pass.

  The streets ran in an east–west, north–south grid, cut through with diagonals and crooked alleys. With so many people about, it was impossible for him to get lost. As he made his way north he began to sense a change; here, it seemed the people were less in line with Services policy. People wore the psi symbol and whispered to each other, ‘He is coming,’ or ‘Pierre Jnr will show us the way.’

  Then he heard music and strange laughter and was drawn towards a hall where the doors had been flung open and over a hundred people were dancing clumsily. The hall was part of a community centre designed for multiple uses. The floor was divided by lines for various sporting courts, and tables and chairs were hoisted out of the way into racks under the ceiling. At one end was a raised stage of matte-black blocks, where a small band of trumpeters and guitarists played under the direction of a teenage boy who was holding an open bottle of mesh syrup and spinning around.

  Everything about the boy was pubescent,
his sleeves and trousers too short for his limbs, his face alarmed by blemishes that were hidden under dark hair proudly spun into a tornado and swinging over his nose. ‘Dance, everybody, dance,’ he called to the crowd. The band began playing a little faster and the dancers hurried their steps.

  There was something fraught about their minds. They didn’t know how they came to be there, they didn’t want to be there, but they couldn’t stop dancing. Most of the partners didn’t even know each other. On the stage, the boy giggled and shouted out, ‘Now go the other way!’ Obediently they stopped and began reversing, spinning anticlockwise.

  Pete’s mind swelled out and he immersed himself into the boy. Elix … that was his name. In one hand a bottle, the other stuck into his pocket squeezing a psionic relay in his hand. He had been given it by a woman he didn’t know, about two hours ago. She walked up to him, dark skinned, moles on her neck, held out her hand and smiled at him. He reached out to shake her hand and … as soon as he touched it, his mind had accelerated like a dog off its leash. He could do anything. Today was freedom.

  Elix laughed and the people danced like drunk marionettes. Then he moved them around each other, swapping the partners, childishly mixing and shuffling them together.

  This is how some will use it, Pete thought to himself. This is what power will do to the psis. ‘Stop this!’ he shouted. But nobody who heard him could do anything without the psi’s permission.

  Elix continued his own drunken jig on the stage.

  Stop this, Pete projected into the boy.

  Elix looked over at him, but didn’t loosen his control over the dancers. Kutz off, weirdie. They’re dancing. They’re dancing because they’re happy.

  No. Don’t do this.

  Stay out of my head or I’ll make you dance. You can be happy too, he said. We can all be happy.

  You shouldn’t do this. They are people.

  But they are happy, see? I make them happy.

  It’s not real.

  It is real to them. Most of them have never felt such joy and bliss as they are feeling now.

  But how long can you keep it up? What about when you need to sleep?

  Then they will sleep.

  No, Elix. Don’t do this to them. Or yourself.