Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps (9 page)

“Wait a moment, if you please, Senator.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t want to do this.”

“What, for God’s sake?”

“A girl named Lena. A pregnancy. A threat to go to your wife and the papers. A lonely corpse in a block of concrete in the ooze at the bottom of Lake Baikal. I know where she is.”

Menshikov stared at him.

“You see, I don’t like you either, Senator. I don’t like old men who play with thirteen-year-old girls. I don’t like men who have their playmates killed because they become inconvenient. Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t like it. I ought to throw you to the wolves, because it’s what you deserve.”

“You can’t prove it. Damn you and your telepaths, anyway. But their testimony isn’t admissible in court.”

“It doesn’t have to be. I have the body. You were thoughtful enough to preserve that body in concrete, so I have a dead child, and inside that dead child another with your DNA. I have the sworn testimony of your goons, who weren’t quite as up on telepath court procedure as you. Even if you somehow beat the courts, you’re finished, Menshikov.”

“Unless I do what you say.”

“Yes.”

“And you do not think you have too much power.”

“Don’t you talk to me about power, you bastard. I don’t use my power to rape little girls and have them murdered.”

“Yet despite your outrage, you are willing to let me get away with it to further your own position.”

Lee just smiled bitterly and tilted his head. Menshikov shook his head and then laughed.

“You have beaten me. I concede.” He lifted the vodka. “Salute!” And they drank again.

“And now I go to my bed.”

“Tell your wife I said hello.” Menshikov shuffled off into the darkness, and Lee set his empty glass down and breathed in the night air, syrupy with honeysuckle, fresh-cut grass, mimosa blossoms. He looked back out toward where he was born, remembering the tiny cubicles, the missed meals. Who would have thought that a boy who lived in that place would ever own this one, would ever gather the reins of heaven into his very hands? But it was all failing into place.

“But you don’t have everything you need.”

He looked up. The vodka was just starting to flatten the world. The speaker was an attractive, dusky woman perhaps thirty years old, with almond eyes and hair that gleamed like obsidian. With her was a pale, long jointed man; a giant with almost black skin; a nervous-looking brunette; and a small redhead with a sarcastic smirk that seemed a permanent part of his face.

“Who are you? How did you get past my guards?”

The woman laughed without humor.

“We are the Night, the Wind, the Sorcerer.”

“Telepaths.”

“Indeed.”

“Did you come here to kill me? Did Tokash send you?”

Now the smirking man laughed.

“No,” the woman said. “We could, but what would be the point? No, we rather like what we’ve seen of you, Senator Crawford . Your exchange with the Russian senator just now. We liked that.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Blood, and this is my kith. My family.”

“And you say you have something I need?”

She nodded.

“We’ve been around and about. We’ve been to Geneva, where you keep your little stable of telepaths. Did you know that the best of us have escaped you? The strongest. We can end that, because we’re the best there is. You want your MRA to have the best and the brightest; it starts with us.”

Lee wished he hadn’t had so much to drink, now. He had thought his night over.

“Why? Why come to me?”

“I want my family to have a home. We’re tired of hiding. We want the same thing you want, Senator-a little power, a little control.”

“How do I know that?”

“You just have to trust me, I suppose.”

“Well,” said Lee, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the whippoorwills that had just begun to sing. “Well. Welcome, then.”

“That went well,” Teal said, as they made their way back to where they had parked the car.

“Yes, it did,” Blood said. But she noticed that Monkey had his blocks up. “Monkey? Do you have something to say?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not going.”

Surprise all around, exploding like firecrackers. Anger. “We all agreed-“

“No, you all agreed.”

“We’re a family, Monkey. We make decisions together.”

“Maybe it’s time I was orphaned then. I’m not going.”

“What’s the alternative?” Teal snapped. “Hiding for the rest of omomm our lives? Becoming military slaves like our brothers in the ConsoRium`!”

“I picked up that last from Menshikov, too,” Blood admitted. “Another reason to join the MRA. We can not only reveal things like that, but be in a position to do something about it.”

“Crawford doesn’t give a good damn about us, you all saw that. He wants to use us just like everyone else,” Monkey said.

“Not like everyone else. He doesn’t want to kill us, as many do. And we can use him.”

Monkey set his mouth stubbornly. “No machine was ever fixed from the inside. Don’t make that mistake, Blood. We belong out here, with our brothers and sisters. Normals can’t be allowed to tell teeps what to do. We can’t put our lives in the hands of mundanes.

11’Exactly. The MRA has to be a teep organization. It has to be ours. Who better to do that than us?”

“It shouldn’t exist at all,” Monkey said. “We can organize, build an army. People are going underground, going to the countries where they think we’re holy. We can-“

“Monkey dreams,” Blood said.

“Don’t confuse yourself with your namesake. You taunted me about The Man Who Would Be King, and you were right. But you want to be Sun Wu Kong, build up an army of monkeys, challenge the emperor of heaven, have your name stricken from the book of death.” We are too much alike, you and I. We are both too much like spoiled children. This is the real way, the realistic way. The Man Who Would Be King and Sun Wu Kong the Monkey King both ended badly. It’s a stupid dream. All that matters now is the family. Grow up. Better to serve in heaven than to reign in hell, eh Blood? I remember when you were better than that. I’m not going.

“I’m not going,” was all he repeated aloud, to the rest. “Who is coming with me?” No response. ” Mercy?” .

“I can’t. If they catch me, if they make me take an injection again-” She broke off. “I can’t.”

Monkey nodded, bitterly.

“I’m taking the kid,” he said. “I won’t let you drag him off to some fascist training camp.”

“Since when do you care about the kid’? Or about these ‘brothers ‘ you keep talking about us having?” Monkey lifted his chin, and for once he did not smile. “Maybe you’re wrong about me, Blood. Maybe I have grown up, just not the way you have. But I’m taking the kid. He doesn’t even test as a teep. I won’t let you give him up.”

“Monkey-” Mercy began, but she never finished. Something inside her shut her up.

“Go then,” Blood said, softly. “Go.” And Monkey went. That very night. Good luck, she sent, after he was gone, on their own private wind. I love you. But there was no reply. She knew there would not be.

None
*

CHAPTER I

He awoke choking off a scream, heart stumbling in his chest. The inchoate terror of his dream clung to him like a shroud, blinding him to where he was. The seat, the window, dim pools of light marching away from him. Where?

“Dad? Are you okay?” The shroud tore, and he peered through to see his son, a boy with twelve years, his mother’s blond hair, his own pointed chin. Beyond the boy he now recognized the darkened interior of a train, reading lamps, other passengers.

“It’s okay, Len,” he murmured. “Just a bit of a bad dream. Where are we?”

“I think we’re coming up to Prague soon.”

“We change trains there. I’m glad I woke up.” He rubbed his eyes and patted Len on the cheek. The boy looked tired and worried . “We’ll be okay. Is your mom awake?”

“Yah. She went back to the washroom,” he said. Dad, will we get to stay this time?

“Don’t do that, son. Especially don’t do that when we’re coming up to a station. Not until we get to India.”

“Will we get to stay in India?”

“Yes. We’ll have work permits there, and an apartment. You can go to school and make friends.” He nodded at the booklet in Len’s lap. “You’ve been checking it out?”

“Yah.” He didn’t sound very excited. “Tell me something about it, then.”

“Well-Calcutta is the third largest city in the world. And it has the tallest building, even though it was built fifty years ago …” He stumbled off. (confusion, sadness, anger) Didier leaned over and kissed his son on the head, wrapped him in a hug. “It’ll be all right this time. They can’t come for us there.”

They rode in silence for a time, and Didier tried to remember the dream that had awakened him. Their old house in Antwerp, the house where he had grown up, collapsing. A dark woman he did not know, standing in the doorway, telling him something … Them. It was faint, a whisper, but its triumph was undiminished by distance.

“Oh, no,” he murmured. His son looked at him again, questioning. (block) He couldn’t let him know. “I need to go do something,” he said. “I need you to be the man for a little while. Can you do that?”

“Where are you going?”

“Just up a few cars. You may have to change trains without me. It’s okay just tell your mother I’ll find you on the train. Don’t mindspeak. We’re almost there, son.”

“Okay, Dad.” But the boy was probing at his block.

“Don’t do that. It isn’t polite. Stay quiet.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“I love you.” He kissed him again and stood up, his belly feeling like a pit. As soon as he was out of the car, he let his block drop, opened his mind wide. Len wasn’t strong enough to hear him this far away. I’m alone. I’m scared. I’m in trouble. He kept that going in his mind, his very real panic sharpening it.

Alone. That was the important part. Someone was still touching him-very carefully, but he could feel it. He had an image of a skull, laughing, of a cat approaching. He went through the next car, wondering what time it was, missing his timepiece. It had been an heirloom, Japanese, more than a hundred years old. He’d sold it to buy their tickets. He looked at the info-strips, but they were busy advertising low, low rates to the Russian Consortium. But it must be well past midnight. He moved on through the eerily silent train, until at last a soft bell tone sounded and the train said, “Prague. Praha.”

He moved to the door. He could feel the triumph arriving like a storm, but from what direction he did not know. Maybe-maybe it was another refugee. Or a thief He suppressed hysterical laughter-at himself, that he would be relieved if it was a thief, or a simple murderer. What a world. What a world. The doors hissed open, and he stepped out onto the platform. The scents of city came to him on a chill wind, coppery and stale. He walked quickly, until he could almost feel the breath on his neck, and then he began to run. Got him! There! Three other minds exploded into motion, somewhere near, and he almost screamed. They were everywhere-they were nowhere. He ran faster. He was in good shapes-he was a runner, a Hash House Harrier. A runner. It had been okay at first the test hadn’t revealed him, as a boy.

Then he had met Mary. Mary had never been tested. Her father, a biochemist, had somehow faked the results. But he was gone now, and everyone knew the Mark came through the mother, and Len must have it. They had managed to avoid the test for twelve years, moving, running. And he had heard from a man that he should go to India, where they liked teeps, where they would look the other way. He leapt down onto the tracks. One of the voices was fading. He was outdistancing them! Maybe he could find a Catholic church, get sanctuary. Did Prague have many Catholic churches? He could find one. He ran hard up the tracks, and now there was a uniformed guard shouting at him, a normal, who thought his only crime was trying to get out of paying for something.

But no, his crime was deeper than that. His crime was existing. He emerged from the station beneath a coffee sky with a hint of cream stirred into the east. Nearly morning. The tracks were sunken three meters below ground level, but a maintenance ladder climbed up one side. Once in the city he could disappear into a million minds, erase himself. Alone. Lost. In trouble. Help! Mary knew what to do from here on out. He just had to lead them off, keep them away from Mary and Len. (block) Cursing himself. Had that slipped into his frontvoice?

“Stop!” the normal shouted. But he was up, onto a nearly empty street. And there she was, the woman from his dream, jet-and-argent hair bound in a tight queue, oriental eyes tightening with satisfaction . She wore black. No more running. I’m here to help you. He turned and ran the other way, just in time for him to see the flash of the guard’s neural collapser. It struck him in the chest. His limbs jerked, but he managed a few more steps back toward the retaining wail around the tracks. Flash, as the baton struck him again. Slow motion, as his legs folded, as the tracks rushed up, as something quietly snapped in his neck and momentum turned him over. He couldn’t move his head, but he could see the guard, looking down at him. He saw the angel of death join the normal.

“I got him for you,” the guard said, in English, as they began to fade. He felt her hatred. Normals. It was like a dagger. An instant later-he didn’t see what she did-the guard joined him on the tracks, his surprise fading into oblivion. He tried to move again. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Woman: (hint of sadness) Why did you run? He tried to stay focused. Was she really sending to him? How could she ask that? (resignation, defiance, brandy and ice) Because I want my life. Woman: You can’t have it, not around normals. You know that. They hate us, fear us. You can only be safe with us. (outrage) I’ve seen the camps. Woman: (exasperation, disdain) The camps are for fools. She appeared, kneeling next to him. Another voice piped in, slender as a reed. Reed voice: Will he make it? Woman: I don’t know. His neck is broken. Ambulance coming? Reed voice: Of course. Did he take out the normal? Woman; image: The normal shooting Didier, woman striking the guard hard in the throat, the guard feeling his larynx crushed, surprise, sucking for air, the sort qf !Pop! as his skull shattered against the concrete.