Homecoming (Karma Police Book 6)

by Sean Platt

  I stare up at the small vent in the ceiling, wishing I could shrink myself and escape.

  But there is no escape.

  I’m here as long as Fairchild wants me to be. Here as long as he wants me alive.

  I wonder how many of my comrades are in similar rooms, being interrogated for information they don’t have. I wonder how long before Fairchild comes to torture me.

  As if on cue, I hear the tumblers in the vault door slide into place.

  I consider standing to attack whoever’s coming in, but I know better. Whoever has come for me has taken precautions.

  The door slides open.

  It’s Fairchild himself. And Irina.

  I can feel her assault on my brain the moment she enters, paralyzing my limbs.

  I get up and try to stand, to move toward them, but my body freezes in a sitting position. Irina has severed my brain’s connection to my extremities.

  I imagine she’s also squelching my ability to fight psychically, so that I won’t try anything. Yet.

  Fairchild steps in then signals to one of his agents in black to shut the door. I imagine he’s got a secret knock to indicate when to open it again, which limits my ability to escape, even if I could somehow disable both of my tormentors.

  I sit up in bed, watching them both, sizing up the situation, looking for any moment to escape.

  He steps toward me, a pitying look as if to say, “My boy, how did we ever come to this?”

  He stops five feet in front of me, folds his hands and meets my gaze. “I hope the accommodations aren’t too uncomfortable, but I’m figuring what with your little war against me, you can understand the …” he looks around the sterile chamber, “extreme precautions.”

  I just stare at him.

  I don’t even look at Irina, standing just outside my field of vision, over to my right near the toilet and sink.

  “We don’t need to be enemies, Ben.”

  There’s one thing on my mind, the accusation that I’ve wanted to level at him ever since I went into hiding, the secret I learned from Eden.

  But I hold it close, for now, because once I say it, I’m not sure I’ll be able to gird myself against the emotions that are certain to follow.

  Fairchild speaks again, “Where is he?”

  “You’ll never find him.”

  Irina practically growls, “Let me at him.”

  I don’t look at her. Not that I’m afraid, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, as I’m sure she’s only grown in power since the last time I saw her. But mostly I don’t look at Irina because I don’t want to provoke her.

  Irina wants her brother back. I’m not sure what lies Fairchild has filled her head with, but to her, I am the enemy. The one thing keeping her from a reunion with Niko. Whatever remains of that scared little girl that came into my office five years ago seeking help is gone, replaced by an angry young woman desperate for justice.

  But I have no fight with her, only the old man smugly smiling like some sinister puppeteer.

  Fairchild raises a hand to calm Irina. “No need to let things get ugly, my dear. I’m sure Ben will cooperate. He’s not a bad man. He’s just confused. He needs to understand the situation better. We can help him.”

  Irina harrumphs.

  Fairchild asks, “What is it that you want with Niko?”

  “I think the better question is what do you want with him? Have you told AD your plans? Have you told Irina?”

  I look at the girl and see the smallest seed of doubt in her eyes. Of course, she tries to hide it.

  Fairchild says nothing.

  “Did he tell you?” I ask Irina.

  She says nothing.

  “Okay, well since the cat has both of your tongues, why don’t I just tell you. Fairchild is going to use your brother to unleash a psychic virus that will more or less kill everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” Fairchild corrects me. “Just our enemies. The people who want us dead.”

  “It’ll wipe out most of humanity, rendering them more or less braindead. You can’t think that’s a good idea, Irina. Your brother certainly doesn’t. He wants no part of this. He begged me to help him escape.”

  I look at Irina, still staring me down like she wants to rip me apart. If I’m getting through, I can’t tell. Is she even listening to me or does Fairchild have her so brainwashed that every word from my lips is some evil ploy? Her poker face is unflinching, and I have to hope that she’s hiding any doubts she might have as a matter of self-preservation.

  Fairchild, still looking as calm as he did when he stepped into The Cage, says, “Niko doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know what they’ve been doing to our kind. Hell, I don’t think you even know, Ben. Are you aware of what’s going on in Russia, in Europe?”

  He shakes his head as if to pity my ignorance, then keeps right on talking.

  “Their Deviant programs have been shut down. And now the governments have been killing us or putting us in camps, just like the Nazis did in World War Two. There is a war being fought, and our side is going to lose unless we do something. I’ve seen the future, Ben. I’ve seen you, me, Irina, Niko, all of us Deviants, rounded up, tortured, experimented on like lab animals. Killed. Humans won’t tolerate what they fear. They see us as a threat. We are the next phase of humanity, and they know their days are numbered. This is a war.”

  “That’s not the vision I see.”

  Fairchild laughs, hands still folded tightly before him, “And what is it that you see, son?”

  “A world where we can grow together, evolve together.”

  He laughs again. “Such an optimist! How is it that you think people are going to change suddenly? When have humans ever allowed a threat to go unchecked? Humans think nothing of genocide or wars over religion, fear, and dwindling resources. You act like they’re a benevolent species, but history disagrees. History tells us that this can only end one way. And I refuse to be on the losing side, or to watch the extermination of my people.”

  His eyes glow, borderline maniacal.

  “Did you ever consider that you might be wrong?”

  “Not even once,” Fairchild says. “I’ve seen the future, Ben. I’ve seen it ever since I was a child, and as much as I hoped it wouldn’t happen, the pieces are all falling into place. This is happening. This war is coming. And I won’t sit idly by when we can still save ourselves.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” I look at Fairchild then turn to Irina. For the first time, I see her resolve start to falter. She’s also looking at him, waiting for an answer.

  “It’s not just me. Eden has seen this, too.”

  “Eden? Eden is dead.”

  “No, Ben. After you fled the scene and used the time to kidnap Niko, I was frantically working with our best people to save Eden. She’s alive, no thanks to you. I was shocked. If someone would’ve told me that you’d run off with Niko, I would have doubted it, but seen the remote possibility. But if they had said that you’d kidnap my daughter — your wife’s twin no less — then leave her alone on a street to die, I would never have believed them.”

  Fairchild sneers.

  And that’s when I realize that Eden must’ve lied to him. She didn’t tell him that she was trying to get me to take her. How could she?

  I say nothing, preserving her lie. It might be the only thing that keeps him from killing her or shutting her off.

  Fairchild continues, “Eden isn’t subject to the fears or biases that I am, or that we are. She sees things strictly in data. And all of the data prove my vision, not yours. She’s also had these visions. If we sit by and do nothing, then the humans will end us all. And then it’s only a matter of time before they wipe out each other. This — all of the atrocities in the world today — can’t continue. They’ll kill each other, or hell, the planet.”

  He suddenly smiles, looking almost hopeful.

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way,” he continues. “We can take a stand and do the right thing. We ca
n evolve the species, bringing humanity to its next phase, one where we’re not warring against one another. One where there’s enough for all. One where we can live indefinitely, in peace.”

  It’s hard to suffer his righteous indignation when I know that he’s a selfish man who will kill anyone in his way.

  “So, start a war and kill a bunch of people to avoid war?” I laugh. “Gotta love that logic.”

  Fairchild shakes his head. “Start a war to prevent one that we’ll lose? Yes, Ben. A thousand times yes. Sometimes the greater good requires sacrifice.”

  “Funny how the people who tout the need for sacrifice are talking about their own greater good, which someone else must sacrifice for.”

  “Lest you forget, I’ve sacrificed more than anyone. And I would do it all again because it’s the right thing to do.”

  I feel it coming, the accusation with its weight and velocity, too much for me to hold back.

  “Yeah? Was killing my father one of your sacrifices? How about Ella? Or Anders?”

  He nods as if he’d been expecting this since we started speaking, then purses his lips. “Your father was one of a few unfortunate victims in all of this, yes. But his sacrifice will pave the way for us all.”

  “Bullshit. You killed him to keep me from leaving, so I could fulfill whatever vision you had where I saved Willow. Tell me, Nostra-fucking-damus, how did that vision turn out?”

  Fairchild’s composure explodes into a fiery rage. A psychic blast flies from him to me, like a blade to my brain.

  I scream, falling back in my bed, trying to defend myself.

  But it’s hopeless. I can’t prevent this.

  The pain is too—

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  Ella

  I’m exhausted, but they won’t let me sleep.

  I’m restrained in a chair, my arms, feet, and even my head (so I don’t bash my skull in again) is held in place. The metal is cruel and looks like a torture device.

  There’s a button on the chair, right near my fingers. I was told to ring if I need food or drink, or to use the toilet in the far corner of this dimly lit eight by eight mirrored cell.

  But I haven’t touched it yet.

  I’ve lost track of time, but it feels like a good twelve hours I’ve been here. Clifton’s body is in pain, a slight tingling in the legs. I need to get up soon to not only use the toilet but to stretch his limbs.

  But I don’t want to press the button.

  I don’t want the indignity of calling my captors or requesting their aid in any way. It’s bad enough that I can sense them behind the mirrors, watching me.

  I want to shrink into nothingness to escape their gaze.

  My host’s body is aching. Stomach rumbling. Throat raw and dry.

  I refuse to press your button.

  Instead, I focus on the pain, honing my hate, using it as fuel to prepare me for the moment I can escape, do something to help my father. Or Chelsea.

  He’s not your father. You’re not even real.

  My inner voice chides me, trying to remind me of my reality.

  But it’s hard to divorce your identity. I only recently learned the name Ella, before having the carpet pulled out from under me, but Ella is all I know. She’s the constant through it all, the framework that everything else orbits around.

  And yet I’m a lie.

  A captured collection of memories, created by a computer. Or a cyborg if you’re being specific. A cyborg which also houses the memories of my mother and her sister, Eden.

  I’m a lie created to console a father who doesn’t even want me.

  A lie without a body or a home.

  A lie in a tired body that only wants to shut its eyes.

  I do.

  Lights surge on overhead with the force of a dozen helicopter spotlights on a starless night. And with them comes the loud music. Not even rock, because rock has a beat. This is an industrial cacophony designed to keep someone awake.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I wish I could do the same with my ears.

  After thirty excruciating seconds, the lights dim and the sound start to die, leaving a high-pitched whistle behind them.

  Suddenly, a sound from behind me, the one wall that isn’t mirrored.

  The door starts to open. It’s the first time anybody’s opened it since three men strapped me down in this chair.

  My heart races as I wait for the visitor to step into view.

  And then my heart sinks when I see Fairchild’s beady eyes.

  “Hello, my dear Ella.”

  “I’m not your dear,” I say back, throat, and voice, cracking.

  “No?” he asks as he closes the door softly. “Are you rejecting your name or me?”

  “Both.”

  “I can understand rejecting me. It hurts, but I get it. But rejecting your name? That I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not her. I’m not anything.”

  He circles me. “Oh, that’s not true at all. What are any of us? Are we our bodies? What is a body without a soul? Are we our souls? What is a soul without a body? And what is any of it without our memories to make us who we are?”

  “I’m not interested in a philosophical discussion with a murderer.”

  He chuckles like he’s talking to a child who doesn’t quite grasp the conversation. Then I feel him inside my head, invading my memories, and I can’t do anything to kick him out.

  He’s prodding, not just the past that’s recently come to light, but in dark areas I can’t even access.

  “For the longest time, man has wanted to live for eternity. And science has come so close. I’ve come so close. But something always gets in the way. And for a long time, I didn’t understand why. But then I saw it. I’ve been clinging to an outdated belief of what life is. What identity is. I was trying to put memories and soul into a body, but what if I had it all wrong? What if Eden got it right, bypassing what we know and creating something altogether different? Not body, nor soul, nor AI, but something alive all the same? An energy with memories, with a past you’ve adopted as your own.”

  I say nothing, though I’d been dwelling on some of these very things before he came into the room.

  He continues, “A soul can maintain memories, at least for brief moments of time. If our Jumpers were to be outside of their own bodies for too long, they’d forget everything. The soul isn’t equipped for long-term memory storage. We’ve had several Jumpers lose themselves after being gone too long. But you, your memories — Ella’s memories — are still there, preserved without a body to house them. That shouldn’t be possible.”

  He stops.

  “What’s this?” he says, his voice a near whisper.

  My curiosity gets the better of me, wondering what he’s found inside me. I can’t see what he’s doing. “What?”

  “From what I see here, you’ve regained access to a fair share of your memories.”

  “Yes. And what’s your point?”

  “But there are still some dark areas you’ve yet to see. I remember before that you were shocked when I mentioned that five years had passed, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I think I’ve found those memories, but I can’t get through. It’s like a storm of clouds around it.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t even see the clouds.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Like to what?”

  “See them, and get all of your memories back?”

  “How?”

  “I’ll have my best remote viewer go inside. If there’s something there, she’ll find it.”

  And before he can even say her name, I can see her image in his mind — Chelsea.

  “Okay,” I say.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  Ella

  I’m all alone, still strapped to the terrible chair, waiting to see what happens next.

  Are they going to bring me to Chelsea to have her Jump into me? Or are they g
oing to leave me here and she’ll just pop in and start rooting around my psyche?

  I can’t wait to talk to her again, though I doubt our reunion will be a private affair. Knowing Fairchild, he’ll likely send someone else to keep tabs. Or maybe have Irina monitor us from afar? If so, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to ask Chelsea for help.

  Hell, I don’t even know if Chelsea can help. She’s trapped here, too. But maybe she knows someone. Maybe the assassin I’ve run into a few times will step forward and help — assuming they’re a friend and not foe.

  Assuming anything with so little knowledge is dangerous.

  I keep my hopes realistic. It’s the only way I’ll find a way out of this.

  I need to find a way to Jump. And given that they’re not letting me sleep, and nobody’s going to kindly wheel me to a Jump Chamber and invite me to leave, I’ll have to recruit — or have Chelsea recruit — someone to knock me out.

  But who?

  And then what?

  So much unknown.

  And then suddenly I’m no longer alone.

  I feel her inside me, then hear her voice.

  “Hello?”

  Chelsea?

  I close my eyes, hoping to see her.

  And as they close, I flinch, opening them again, quickly, bracing for the assault of light and sound. Thankfully, it never comes.

  I close my eyes again, but now there’s just darkness.

  I can’t see you.

  “Here,” she says, “I’ll make a mindscape.”

  The darkness is replaced by a small bedroom — the one I remember from my time in her body. And here she is, standing in front of me just as if she were physically in the room.

  I look down at my hands, finding myself no longer in Clifton.

  I’m in my body. And in this mindscape, as she called it, Chelsea is younger again. I’m not sure if this is her creating a persona for me, or if my mind is filling in the gaps, making her appear as I remember.

  I go to her, arms outstretched.

  She hugs me.

  I’m surprised to feel her embrace as if we are actually in a room rather than some mental projection. I feel her warmth, and smell the shampoo in her hair. This is all so real, and being here in a room, safe with her, I don’t want the real world.