The Hunt for Pierre Jnr

by David M Henley

  ‘You know, you’re a lot more fun out here, out of classes.’

  ‘Perhaps if you came to classes you might know me better.’ Her smile was small, but he liked it. He thought that smiles on girls were like flowers first stretching their petals. They grew broader and brighter with age, until they started to wrinkle, like his mum.

  ‘Huh?’ He felt a light finger of pressure on his lips. ‘What?!’ he repeated, more alarmed and swatting at his face.

  Myf pulled back quickly, hugging her knees in front of her and peeking at him over the top. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What? What are you sorry for? I just thought I felt something on me.’ He could see she was shaking a little. ‘It’s okay, Myf, it was nothing. It’s stopped.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be, it ... was that you?’

  Myf’s breathing was becoming fast and shallow, skin paling like rainfall. Her eyes were large and unblinking.

  He put his hand out slowly, resting his fingers on her arm. ‘It’s okay, Myf. It really is. It’s cool.’

  ‘Are you ...?’

  ‘Me? No. But that doesn’t mean you have to worry.’

  ‘You won’t turn me in?’

  ‘No. Of course I won’t.’

  She managed to exhale, dabbed her sleeve around her eyes and regained a bit of control. She stayed as she was though, knees up to her chest.

  ‘Can you read my mind?’

  Myf shook her head. ‘No, I can just push stuff a bit. Look.’ She pointed down at the sand.

  At his feet a pebble was sliding in a curve. At snail-pace it completed an unsteady circle and he looked up at her. ‘That’s pretty cool. I can see how that would come in handy.’ He thought of small screws in places where his fingers couldn’t fit.

  From directly above, a spotlight hit the block they were sitting on and a ring of bulky figures dropped down around them. Myf screamed.

  ‘Glue ‘em,’ one ordered and instantly three of the soldiers pumped their guns, hurtling gloop-shots that hit their legs and arms, sticking them to each other and where they sat.

  ‘Drop her and mask her, Seven.’

  One of the soldiers took another step forward, holding a different gun that shot a smaller blob of white adhesive at Myf’s face. His head jerked backward as if struck and the goggles cracked on his helmet, but the soldier didn’t pause and in one more step he was lifting a white mask to her face.

  Stefan felt once more a softness against his lips and saw Myf’s frightened eyes before they were blocked from view. As the mask went on, her touch faded.

  ‘Lights.’ Shoulder lights flared up on each of the squad. They were tall, around twelve feet, and encased in battle suits. These guys were heavy duty — ‘marauders’ was the Services term and Stefan was puny beneath them.

  ‘What about this one, Ten?’

  The one they called Ten must be their commander, though whichever one it was, he was physically indistinguishable from the others ... and Stefan didn’t have the right clearance to see the strategic overlay in his visuals.

  ‘You got enough ice in your tank to get you home, Citizen?’

  Stefan nodded mutely.

  ‘Then go home.’

  ~ * ~

  Ryu Shima marked the collection as closed and successful, logging it to his record for all to see. The target’s stream was confiscated and her connections were marked for higher monitoring, so he sent a motion to increase training and acceleration of the remote operators program.

  ~ * ~

  Ryu Shima was not the only one to be thrust into the limelight by the political shifts. When Charlotte Betts’s door rang early one morning, she couldn’t believe who it was.

  His face brought back a lot of memories. She had built a new life since she last saw him, a spiritual life, and Charlotte only referred to that earlier period, when pushed, as the time when she was her mother’s daughter.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte.’

  In her shock at seeing him, one of her cats rushed to escape through her legs and the man bent down to grab it before it could get too far.

  ‘Come inside, quick, before they all try to get out and Miz Robertson has something to say about it.’ In thirty years, Maximillian had become grey and paunchy. ‘Max ... what are you doing here?’

  ‘What am I doing here? What do you think I’m doing here? Are you not plugged in?’

  ‘No, I haven’t today. I was up late.’

  ‘And you still didn’t hear?’

  The truth was she had hosted a gathering of the Lingua Pax. They were a rather benign group, deconstructing languages to identify word-concepts, or lexemes, that had potentially negative impacts on the human mind. It was a fun group that spent many evenings in idle speculation over the harmful effects of such terms as ‘perfection’, ‘entitlement’ and ‘fate’. They wasted the whole night determined to remain inconsequential.

  ‘I can’t believe you are still into that wabi sabi nonsense.’

  ‘Max, if you came here to insult me —’

  ‘I didn’t. I promise.’

  ‘Well, whatever you came here for, please, just make it quick.’

  ‘You’ve got to listen to me, Charlotte. This is big, and you’re going to need someone you can trust.’

  ‘I have thousands of people I trust, Max. You are not one of them.’

  ‘Well, now just listen to what I have to say and plug yourself into the Weave. The world is shifting and your name is on the rise.’

  ‘Me? But I hate all that stuff.’

  At Max’s urging she pulled on a visor, warmed with bright crochet from a long-forgotten guest. He sat watching the bottom half of her face react to the news of the disturbance that caused the dissolution of the Primacy and how she, Charlotte Betts, had become a person of interest in the civic hierarchy.

  ‘How did this happen?’ she wondered aloud, plaintively.

  ‘There is a void in the new structure and it’s looking for people to fill it. Let me break it down for you,’ Max began, counting points on his fingers. ‘An explosion has damaged a part of the Dome and the majority believes it was a psionic attack. There are two ways people are reacting to this: one is with a reinstatement of authoritarian rule, and the other is ... looking for another way.’

  ‘And that other way is what? Why should they think I can help?’ To go from writing a few columns about psi tolerance to entering the Primacy race overnight, the world must be upside-down, she thought.

  Max clasped his hands and spoke to the sky. ‘Oh, why could I never get you to read any of my books?’

  ‘Have you read any of mine?’ she asked back.

  ‘I’ve read them all, but that doesn’t matter. And you know why? Because there’s a bunch of people out there who agree with you. They don’t think that locking up every psionic on the planet is a good thing. There are people who don’t even think psionics are a threat.’

  ‘Yes, I’m one of them.’

  ‘I know that, Charlie. That’s why I’m here.’ Max’s face was redder with frustration than when he had come in, very excited, a moment ago.

  ‘Did I always annoy you this easily?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but my heart isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘Oh, Max. Is whatever it is worth all this arguing?’

  ‘It’s the world, Charlie. It’s humanity. It’s everything you care about.’

  ‘But why me, Max?’

  ‘Because there aren’t many out there saying what you’ve been saying.’

  ‘Max ... as I said, I really hate this stuff. I hate civics. It does terrible things to people.’

  Max twisted in his seat, biting his lip. ‘Are you trying to insult me now?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, no. I forgot.’

  Max was a civics professional. He taught, and also consulted, on civic matters. He was a politician for hire and exactly the kind of person she swore she would no longer abide.

/>   ‘No, you didn’t, but let me not lie to you. I know you’ve had experiences with people manipulating you to enhance their own influence, but that is how it is in this world. Civics doesn’t make people bad: selfish people can find a way to manipulate any system. When one person has power, another wants it. You think your new friends aren’t interested in you for what you can do for them? That’s what friendship is ... it’s allegiance, it’s helping. You can look at it with your soft-glow light if you want, but when it comes down to it, it is people who are useful to you.’

  ‘Max! Get out. Get out now.’

  ‘No, Charlotte. You wanted honesty. Don’t reward me by throwing me out.’

  Silence fumed between them.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea then? I find it very relaxing.’

  ‘What kind of tea?’ Max asked.

  ‘Just normal tea. Unless you wanted something more experiential?’

  ‘Normal is fine for me.’ He followed her to the kitchen. Charlotte didn’t keep a servitor to cook and clean, and the collected porcelain, mostly teacups and saucers, were in disorder in the sink. She ran a tap and gave a few of them a quick rinse.

  ‘I apologise for what I said.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ Charlotte replied.

  ‘I don’t know why I frustrate you so,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, for the same reason I frustrate you. One of us always wants something the other doesn’t want to give. Which by your definition makes us not friends.’

  ‘Let’s not go backward, Charlotte.’

  ‘Ah, but seeing you is going backward. You are the stepping stone between my two worlds.’

  ‘You don’t have to go back to that world.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re trying to get me to do?’

  ‘Not in the way you think. You’re a Citizen, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘Bear with me. When you’re a Citizen, you’re always a part of the world. In your head you’ve divided it up into your mother’s world versus this island of spiritual fulfilment you’ve created. But they are still part of the same world.’

  ‘They are very different.’

  ‘Yes, they are. But multiplicity is what the World Union is founded on. There is a plurality to the system that makes you one of many voices, even when you choose to be silent. The only thing that has changed is that more people are listening to you now. The question is, do you want this? Do you believe in what you’ve been saying all these years, or is it just made up?’

  ‘No, Max, you’re being cruel again.’

  ‘Look around you. This room contains your whole life, but the world is asking you to speak. And if you do nothing, it will pass.’

  ‘Why does it have to be now?’

  ‘Because now is an extraordinary opportunity. You have a following who are curious as to your perspective on recent events. This may come as a surprise to you, but there are very few voices advocating tolerance for a class of people who can control our thoughts.’

  ‘That is scaremongering, and there are many ways our thoughts are controlled.’

  ‘Th-that’s good,’ he stuttered. ‘That’s what we need to get ahead of this. I want to make you the face and voice for tolerance. But you have to act quickly to keep them interested in you.’

  ‘Don’t pressure me. I can’t decide like that. I only awoke a few minutes ago to find my opinion suddenly mattered.’

  ‘Then do nothing, just let it go.’ He threw his hands up. ‘I just thought ...’

  ‘What? It’s infuriating when you don’t finish your sentences.’

  ‘I thought that you might like to have your say.’

  ‘You mean your say,’ she said.

  ‘No.’ Max hesitated. ‘Perhaps,’ he confessed and sat down at the junktique kitchen table.

  ‘We’re old, Max.’ She put a cup of tea in front of him and patted his hand.

  ‘Yes. This could be our last chance to make a difference.’

  ‘We are old.’

  ‘You said that already.’

  ‘It just crept up on me is all. The last time we had this argument was after my first book. Do you remember? We were young; you wanted to agent for me.’

  ‘I wanted to sleep with you.’

  ‘Well,’ she patted his hand again, ‘it wasn’t bad for me either.’ She stroked the skin of his fingers, drier, thicker and more creased than in the days of their dalliance. ‘You can tell them I’m going active. For now, you speak for me. I can’t handle all that direct contact. Bring me your best candidates and let’s build a team.’ Resolve settled in her belly. ‘Imagine what it would have been like if I’d listened to you last time.’

  ~ * ~

  As soon as she announced her acceptance of candidacy, Charlotte’s life changed, like a pot of water leaping to boiling point.

  With Max and her new assistant, Amy Watson, a younger woman Max had worked with previously — and she wondered how closely — advising her, she worked through the influx of writing commissions, guest speaker invitations and right of responses that were clamouring for her attention. Most had to be declined for strategic reasons or due to time constraints.

  She had never written so much in her life, nor given so many interviews. It was hard to stay on top of everything that followed on from the events. The day before last she had been cornered by a questioner about a psi hate group that she had never heard of and now she was about to appear in front of a bunch of irate avatars to explain her position.

  Max and Amy waited by the immersion couch for her to be ready. Though her physical form wouldn’t be seen, for her own peace of mind she had dressed as if it would be. Respectable, professional, representative.

  ‘What are you smiling at, Max?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have never looked so much like your mother than you do right now.’

  ‘I should slap you for that. She would never wear this much colour.’

  ‘Okay, you two. Enough silver-haired flirting. I just want to do a little prep before you go in,’ Amy said.

  ‘If you must.’ Charlotte loosened her shoulders and lay down on the long black lounge.

  Amy sat on a rolling stool and wheeled close to her. ‘Okay, they call themselves the Anti Psi League and their leader is a man called Nigel Westgate. Formerly involved with the Sapien Brethren and Minors’ Rights. He’s built his career on being a troublemaker.’

  ‘He looks like a wet berry too.’ Charlotte was flicking through snaps of his career.

  ‘Oh, he is. Now, Miz Betts, I need you to remember one thing and one thing only.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He is smaller than you. In terms of influence, in terms of civic ranking, he isn’t in your class.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He’s not even breathing the same atmosphere as you. So just remember that when he starts shouting at you.’

  ‘He’s small and I’m big,’ Charlotte repeated, nodding.

  ‘You got it. You’ve got to dive in three minutes. Are you ready?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You’ve had some water? Gone to the bathroom?’

  ‘Okay, Amy. Let’s give Representative Betts some space.’

  Amy smiled and moved to her desk, instantly clicking back into the stream that was growing around Charlotte’s campaign.

  ‘She is very efficient.’

  ‘She is. Sorry if she’s a little overzealous,’ Max said.

  ‘And she talks strangely. Young people!’

  ‘You should hear her son.’

  ‘She has a son?’

  ‘A ten-year-old. His slang is incomprehensible.’ Max put a professional hand on her shoulder. He knew she was nervous. ‘Now, focus for a minute. There’s something I picked up that I think you should be ready for.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘This Westgate guy has been maki
ng accusations that your sudden rise is an act of psi manipulation.’

  ‘How can he suggest such a thing? Just because there are more people in the world who think like I do than he does ...’

  ‘Of course. But it’s the kind of seed that might spread.’