The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  ‘Real Scotch? I’m not sure what there is to celebrate, but a good drink is cause enough for me.’

  ‘I’m not sure what there is to celebrate either,’ the Colonel grumbled as he broke the seal of the bottle and fumbled about for a matching pair of glasses.

  ‘Oh,’ Pete responded emptily, trawling through what was on his superior’s mind.

  ‘Don’t read ahead, Pete. Talking may be redundant to you people, but I still require the outlet.’

  ‘Of course. If I may ask, how did you know?’

  ‘You’re too obvious. Despite the assumption that a telepath is always reading your mind, you struggle to do two things at once.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

  ‘A good thing to practise in your line of work.’

  The Colonel poured two-finger measures into the crystal, watching the light playing through the caramel-gold liquid. ‘I was once stationed on the Skye Isle, some time ago, and became quite close with a young couple who had inherited a distillery. Every year they send me a bottle.’ There was more behind the story he didn’t speak of, but he had no intention of taking it further than the twitch of a smile he couldn’t control. ‘And every year,’ the Colonel continued, passing one of the glasses to Pete, ‘my wife and I would have the first drink together. It is a little tradition we have continued since we were married. This year, of course, we can’t be together and she has sent the bottle on.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not all your fault.’ The old man raised the glass to his nose and swirled the liquid about. His soft eyes melted a little more. ‘She’s chosen to be rejuvenated. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Yes.’ Pete decided he wouldn’t take a sip until the Colonel did. It was important for him to talk this through.

  ‘It means when I go back to her, she will effectively be forty years younger than me.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s not all bad?’

  ‘No, no ... of course not. She was a beautiful woman at that age. A most beautiful woman.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She insists that nothing will change between us, that she will still be my wife, but...’

  ‘She is going to suddenly be a young woman with her life ahead of her.’

  ‘And I will be an old man with a life behind him.’

  ‘You could rejuvenate.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his aged heavy head. ‘I don’t think I have it in me to be young again.’

  Pete was silent. He found older minds harder to read, memories overlapped so much and the consciousness switched between them almost without connection. The Colonel’s thoughts circled his options: divorcing his wife, or staying with her and growing older until he died, not being able to satisfy her. He could hardly blame her for wanting to live longer — most people wanted that. If only he did. Mixed with the present was his Serviceman life with all the horrors and victories he had been a part of.

  ‘You’re right. There really isn’t much to say.’ The Colonel bobbed his head until the thoughts passed, then lifted his glass slightly to meet with Pete’s own. ‘Here’s to a good drink then.’

  For a long time they were silent, each appreciating the fire of the drink and the associations brought by its taste. Pete had rarely experienced actual Scotch. The traditional distillery and fermentation drinks had been long ago replaced with synthetic reproductions that replaced the intoxicating effect of alcohol with a weak psychogenic or chemical manipulation. For him the taste was historical, like a museum or photographs, and he reflected on humanity’s past.

  Pete couldn’t make sense of the Colonel’s past. ‘You think a lot like my father,’ he commented, perhaps to share an intimacy, the way the Colonel had with him.

  ‘I thought I told you to keep out of here,’ the old man said, tapping at his temple in mock reprimand.

  ‘I can’t help it. It’s like sound to me. I can’t close my ears either.’

  The Colonel chuckled. I know, boy. I’m only teasing.

  ‘Hah! H—’

  Don’t give the game away, the Colonel thought with alarm. I can’t project or anything, but I’m smart enough to assume you’re listening. That gives us one-way communication at least.

  Pete retracted and corrected, ‘You are a lot like my father.’

  ‘We would be of an age, I believe.’ Pete nodded to this. ‘Services man, was he?’

  ‘Yes. All his life.’

  ‘How did he feel about you turning out atypical?’

  ‘He wasn’t too happy.’

  ‘And your sister. Doris, wasn’t it? Did he know about her?’

  ‘I won’t tell you her name and no, he passed before she showed any sign.’

  ‘Does my asking bother you?’ the Colonel inquired, somewhat gently though slightly rebuking. You know we still have no information on her. Are you sure you didn’t make her up?

  ’Didn’t you get everything from my file?’

  The Colonel nodded. ‘Of course, but I’ve never been one to think I know a man because I’ve read about him. Especially when the person in question has himself told me how easy it is to rewrite history.’

  Pete could see the wisdom in this and submitted to the discussion. The Colonel doled out another finger for each of them.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I respect my father for what he was, and I understand what he did for me.’

  ‘Didn’t he have you taken to be tested?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A good Services man.’

  ‘Yes, he was. I understand that he had no choice. In his mind, it was my duty to keep it from him, so I’m the one who failed.’

  ‘You can’t blame people for what they are. Their beliefs and reasoning are subject to the situation.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Pete agreed, ‘but before they took me, he told me that if I could get through the testing, then I could get through life. He thought it would challenge me.’

  ‘Yes, fly or fall,’ the Colonel said, stating the obvious, one of the clever adages Services were indoctrinated with.

  ‘I don’t hold with that principle.’

  The Colonel shrugged. ‘There are twenty billion people on greater Earth. What philosophy do you follow?’

  ‘I haven’t figured that out yet,’ Pete admitted.

  ‘Your problem isn’t with the fight, it’s with the kill.’ The Colonel looked deeply at him, the calm watery pools inviting him in. It became clear to Pete now that the Colonel’s need for a drinking companion was attached to other motives. ‘In basic training they teach us that our fear of killing is greatly linked to our own fear of dying.’

  ‘What right have we to take another life?’

  ‘Rights are the constructs of our civilisation, lad. They come and go.’

  ‘And we should respect them, or we are just animals.’

  ‘Aye, as far as we can. What about the matter at hand though? Have you thought about what you will do if you succeed in tracking down this boy?’ Unless you’re planning on joining with him.

  ‘I haven’t thought about that yet. Or I have, but I don’t want killing him to be the only answer.’

  ‘It so often is though. Much as we like to deny it — with these clothes, and rights, and tech — we are only animals, and sometimes animals have to be put down.’

  ‘That’s a harsh way of looking at it.’

  ‘It’s a harsh world.’

  ‘We don’t even know what he is.’

  ‘True enough, but we know some of what he is capable of.’

  ‘Capability is not a crime.’

  ‘I think I see where you stand, Pete. Thank you, I needed to know.’

  ‘You did, or Services did?’

  ‘There is no difference.’

  ‘And now we find ourselves returned to where we started.’ Pete stared hard at the Colonel, who stared only into his glass, thinking about the past. ‘Anyway, I had presumed Tamsin will take over once we have found him.’


  ‘Yes. She will hide and then provoke him. Our first move against an unfamiliar opponent is always a push, to see how he responds.’

  ‘You see, we start in opposition.’

  ‘Peter, what are you hoping for?’ Pinter put down his glass. ‘You saw what he did at the school and the farm ... to his parents. Are you hoping to reason with him?’

  ‘No, I just — I don’t understand him.’

  The Colonel had no answer that would help, and Pete sat there limply. ‘I think it is time we called it a night,’ Pinter suggested.

  Pete could see the Colonel wasn’t as bothered by the discussion as he was, and this only angered him more. ‘Yes. Alright. Goodnight, Colonel.’

  ‘Goodnight, Pete.’ And think about what I said.

  ~ * ~

  When pollution and climate change deformed the planet to a state where humans could hardly breathe without apparatus and the weather turned vicious, giant arches and cupolas of translucent plastic were hastily erected over buildings, communities and cities, and eventually grew into the greater domes that covered a continuous portion of the Eurasia continent, extending as close as is feasible to the Siberian Terminus and south toward the equator, to where the elevator rose into the stratosphere, a taut cable taking the intrepid and the desperate to the first staging point of their journeys.

  Civilisation builds on the past, and this was especially true for the Dome. Now, as the world was becoming breathable again, the tops of the domes were becoming the new fashionable locales for people to experience a natural breeze, with fine-weather cafés and eateries appearing in the more sheltered crevices and nooks, following the pattern of the resilient and adventurous flora that had also begun to colonise this new level.

  Squib traffic was kept to a minimum under the Dome, to protect the preservation area; just Services vehicles and the odd exception. Most transport was conducted by train, sky-rail and ground vehicles. It was never entirely dark in the Dome. The light of the cities below was bent and reflected so there was always a dulling of complete dark.

  They’d left the west coast at dawn and been in the air for about an hour when, all of a sudden, the cabin bristled with alert silence. The armsmen in the rear paused their chatting and weapons checks and straightened their backs. The Colonel and Geof closed their eyes while Tamsin stared straight ahead at nothing.

  ‘Geof, what is happening?’ Pete whispered.

  ‘We’re getting orders, Pete. We have movement on a possible target.’

  ‘Pierre?’

  ‘It looks like it. We’re tracking a siphon slow-cruising through trad-Paris. We have surveillance gaps and people breaking off from the Weave.’

  ‘So soon.’ Pete breathed out. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘We don’t know it’s him yet, Pete. It could be a hakka.’

  Maybe he’s just after information, Tamsin thought.

  What sort?

  It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? Pierre has been travelling the world brain-tapping in a pattern we can’t identify. It could be he’s just scouting.

  Learning? Pete suggested.

  Exactly. We have been telling ourselves not to think of him as a kid, even though he is. Not like any other, of course, and we can learn little from matching childlike behaviour to him. But doesn’t it seem that he’s simply finding his way around?

  ‘Black limousine, matched to the siphon pattern. Check your symbs for visual,’ Geof reported.

  Geof routed the available surveillance, and Pete and Tamsin watched an innocent-looking limo-style hover float through the metropolitan streets silently like a shadow, windows dark and impenetrable.

  ‘Nothing else, Geof?’ the Colonel asked.

  ‘This is my best guess.’ Take it or leave it.

  Pinter chuckled slightly. ‘Okay, let’s not change the surveillance pattern. We don’t want to tip him off, but if you can keep it monitored that’d be great. Let’s get a little closer, shall we?’

  Tamsin took a stern breath, sucking strength into herself. I’ll go under now. Is there anything else before we go in?

  What are you going to do?

  I’ll do what I have to, Pete.

  The rest of the squib was filled with clicks and twists of preparation. Pete and Tamsin just stared at each other, fathoming silently.

  I wish I’d learnt that trick of yours by now.

  It’s hard to teach an old dog, Pete. Luck to us.

  Pete looked directly into her eyes as Tamsin’s mind disappeared from him. Visually nothing altered — her eyes glistened and her smile kooked at the side — but he felt the disconnect as if a canyon now ran between them.

  ‘Colonel, what are the orders?’ she asked, just a voice and a face again.

  ‘Trap and subdue. We’ll try taking him alive first. Ozenbach, you’re on co-ord. The strat-mat will be piping to you when it’s complete. Pete, you and ... Pete?’

  ‘Colonel?’

  ‘You and Tamsin are up first. Get close, look him over. Do not let him have any warning and do not try to stop him yourself. Tamsin knows the drill, so let her work. Your job is to watch and let us know when to jump in. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Colonel.’

  ‘When do we jump in?’

  ‘When I say to,’ Pete replied.

  ‘At what point will you give the order?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then you don’t understand. Don’t say you do. Tamsin has sixty seconds to cripple him. We go in at precisely sixty-one seconds, or earlier if you tell us.’

  Pete stretched his mind out toward the sharp-eyed woman opposite. What are you going to do to him?

  She didn’t answer. Tamsin was closed, mask up. She smiled at him like a mannequin. White, clinical, a refined expression.

  Pete: This happened faster than I thought.

  Geof: What did? The operation? How long did you think it would take to find him?

  Pete: I don’t know.

  What happens to me after this? They won’t let me go.

  Tamsin turned to focus on him. You become like me, or you go to the islands.

  ~ * ~

  They landed an estimated ten minutes ahead of the target. Pete and Tamsin separated, keeping their locations and plans secret in case one of them was compromised. Tamsin had hidden herself in mind and body, but he presumed she was close, ready to strike.

  Pete stood by a light pole near the kerb and gazed down the street until he saw the silver and black nose come into view. He watched an overhead view of the approaching vehicle and a numerical countdown of disappearing metres.

  A silence surrounded it. The pedestrians paused as it passed, their steps hovering until they were out of reach. The closer it came, the more he could hear that interruption to the buzz of activity. It drifted closer and closer, pausing the pedestrian flow like a blood clot.

  It was an expensive model, stretched and elegant, with chrome edging and grilles wrapping beneath. It was raised a foot from the ground, gliding, it seemed, like a cloud. The windows were in a classic two-part halving, tinted and opaque. Pete could hardly believe that the boy might be inside.

  Pierre ...

  ~ * ~

  Pierre felt the call just before an invisible force squeezed the car inward on each side. He reacted immediately by pushing back and keeping the metal walls from crushing him. He tilted his head to look at his mother. She was broken and leaking fluid.

  Gail Pembroke gasped at the pain. The boy beside her floated away from the seat while she tumbled to the floor as it folded and opened. She could hardly react as the metal and plastic masticated her toes and the pain crushed her from above.

  ~ * ~

  Pete saw the limousine lurch into the air and compact inward; Tamsin’s attack, he presumed. The movement stopped just as suddenly, and the limo tilted forward until it stood on its nose.

  Everything in sight lurched. Plate-glass windows bulged and exploded
onto the street, announcing the cacophony that followed. Parked vehicles juddered toward the limo as if tugged by strings, then crumpled and lifted to create a wall around it.

  Pete didn’t know if this was part of the attack or not, but ran forward, probing with his mind for any sign of Pierre or Tamsin. Around him the ground simmered before cracking and lifting skyward. Light posts and street furniture twisted and dismembered themselves, adding to the growing mass of the manifestation.