The Ninth (2 page)

“It’s a baby, Jack.”  Nathan answered Jack’s questioning gaze.

“All this for a baby?”

“A baby found at the center of an explosion powerful enough to take out an entire planet.”

“
This
is what you brought me here for?”

“You know your unusual abilities don’t bother me, but the fact remains.  Of all the Weavers, you are the strongest.  If anyone stands a chance of reaching that child, it’s you.”

“It’s a Weaver?”

“Doubtful.  We can’t get any closer than this, but it is not an emotional thing.  It’s almost like there is a wall around it we can’t detect that inhibits movement.”

“If that’s the case, then what do you expect me to do?”

“We can’t get any closer, but you can.  Maybe you can calm it down, or just see what it’s feeling.  Anything would be an improvement.”

Jack stared at Nathan for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, took a step toward the dome.  Nathan, the scientists, and every trooper in the tents held their breath.  Reaching outward, Jack started sifting through the minds and feelings, separating those around him from the target.  Stretching his awareness farther in, Jack closed in on the infant.  Suddenly it reached out for him.  Jack could feel its presence, but there were no emotions, only the overwhelming sensation of something watching him.  Jack tried to explore deeper, but the presence disappeared, the dome collapsed.

Walking down the street, Jack scanned the blue sky overhead with its light cloud cover.  Tricra was a perfect world, never too hot, never too cold, and never any bad weather.  Maybe that was why Jack hated it.  Jack had lived his life on the edge of the Commonwealth, his assignments taking him from one rim world to the next.  Sometimes the seasons were harsher than he expected, or the days longer, or the temperatures extreme, but it all gave the world personality.  Not Tricra.  Every day was the same.  Of course it was a formed world; all the core worlds were, completely altered by the machines of the Commonwealth from barely habitable rocks into approximations of perfection.  Or perhaps Jack hated Tricra because it reminded him of the child, perfect at first glance, but somehow hollow.

Jack rounded a corner and made his way up the steps of the institute.  It had been nearly eleven years since the child was recovered, and it was still an enigma.  At first the military had tried to get a hold of the child, but the Lazarus facility had been under the jurisdiction of the government.  It had been a short custody battle, the troopers of the military against the lawyers of the Commonwealth.  The lawyers won.  To appease the higher-ups in the military, a representative was chosen to oversee every aspect of the child’s existence, from examinations to potty training – not exactly the highest point in Jack’s career.

Jack presented his identification to the guards of the institute and made his way to his office.  The institute was technically a hospital dealing with mental breakdowns.  In truth, it was more of a retreat for the privileged who would stop by when they felt overly stressed.  Jack was listed as a physician, of all things, but the title granted him access to any test he wanted to run on the child with a minimum of questions, so Jack endured it.  Jack sat at his desk and pulled up a report from the last gambit of tests that he had ordered.  Just as the countless ones before them, the results were disappointing.  No matter what test Jack ran, it always ended the same way, not one defect or abnormality.  The child was just a normal little boy.

“You are late.  You are always late.  Why is that?” a small voice asked from behind Jack

Startled, Jack jumped out of his chair and swung around to face the voice.  It was the child from Lazarus, staring innocently at him from the windowsill.  In the eleven years Jack had held this assignment, he had never gotten used to the child’s ability to sneak up on him.  As a Weaver, Jack took for granted knowing where every emotional being was within a certain distance, but this boy gave Jack nothing to sense.

“I’ve asked you not to sneak up on me,” Jack said irritably as he returned to his seat.

“I seem to scare you even when I try not to,” the boy said, rounding Jack’s desk and taking a seat that was too big for him.

“So you
were
trying to sneak up on me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Now, Brent, we’ve talked about this.”

“Why are you always late?”

“Because I don’t take the mass transit system like the others.”

“Why is that?”

“Let’s just say I have a thing with crowds and leave it at that.”

“Are we going to run more tests today?”

“Yes, Brent, we are.  Is that a problem?”

“Not really, but it would not be nice to skip the party.”

“Party? What party?”

“The going away party for that sad doctor, the one who gives me shots.”

“Well we can’t miss a party, now can we, Brent.”

“It would not be polite.”

“All right then, for today, just today, we’ll skip the tests.”

With that, Brent got up from his seat, saluted Jack, and calmly walked out into the hallway.  Jack had never seen the boy run or play like a normal child, always moving in a cool and collected manner.  At first they had simply called the child Lazarus after the project, but when the child grew old enough to speak, he protested the name.  He said that people acted strangely when they learned his name, and he wanted a better one.  The doctors on call gave dozens of suggestions, but the child turned down each.  The child then stared at Jack expectantly.  The only name that Jack could bring to mind was that of his late father, Brent Davis.  The child nodded and asked everyone to call him Brent from that point on.

Following in the direction of Brent’s departure, Jack made his way to the doctor’s lounge.  Jack wondered why no one had told him about Doctor Humphrey’s departure.  He wasn’t really part of the staff, but he had been around long enough to get on the good side of most of the real physicians.  Jack had already sensed the large group of people and their merriment, but at a facility like this, it wasn’t so out of place to draw attention to itself.  Entering the lounge, Jack found the majority of the staff chatting to one another over various sweets.  The varying emotions of the group were starting to give Jack a small headache.  Jack was used to the headaches, but something else was bothering him, something he couldn’t put his finger on.  Deciding to get to the heart of the matter, Jack made his way through the crowd to Doctor Humphrey.  She was smiling and laughing with the rest of the staff.

“So, I hear you are leaving us.”  Jack tried to sound pleasant.

“I am.  Sorry to say it, but this is my last day.  Sorry for not telling you.  It was a sudden reassignment.”  Doctor Humphrey was honestly disappointed to be leaving.

“It’s no problem.  I understand . . .”

“Of course he does,” a man shouted over Jack, his emotions jumbled enough to indicate intoxication.  “A rugged sailor of the stars!  Never staying in one port for more than a night!”

“I think Richard is drunk!”  Doctor Humphrey giggled.

“I am not!  I assure you I’m perfectly fine.  It’s the rest of you.  You are all
far
too sober.”

The group broke into laughter.  Jack made his way to an edge of the room and took a seat.  Searching the room, he found Brent sitting on the other side of the room, watching the doctors and staff members enjoy their party.

“I’m going to miss Janet.”  Jack overheard a group of nearby nurses.

“I never would have thought it; she was so cold when she first got here.”

“I know, but she really warmed up to this place.”

“Just when we are really getting to know her, she has to leave.  It’s not fair.”

With sudden inspiration Jack jumped from his seat.  The nearby doctors turned to look at the commotion.  Jack recognized the faces, but they were different somehow.  That thing that had been tugging at him since he entered the lounge was now literally staring him in the face – the doctors had changed.

Running back to his office, Jack pulled up classified personnel files.  Scanning through them as quickly as possible, he found what he was looking for.  This facility was basically a retreat, not just for patients but also for doctors.  Mental fatigue, stress, breakdowns, and depression – half the staff were in worse condition than the patients.  Doctor Humphrey was leaving the facility because she was cured.  She had been transferred into the facility after an attempted suicide.  The women Jack had just talked to would never commit suicide.  In fact, Jack would swear she
couldn’t
commit suicide; it wasn’t possible for her anymore.  Those kinds of emotions simply weren’t in her. Searching through the personnel files, Jack found one case after another of complete reversals, doctors and nurses at the end of their ropes in a better mental condition than they had ever been before.  Brent’s comment rang in Jack’s head, “that sad doctor.”

“You know I would not be able to sneak up on you if you arrived as early as the others,” Brent said, entering Jack’s office.

“You mean the other doctors.”

“You are not a doctor.”

“Oh?  What makes you say that, Brent?”

“You can’t be a doctor; I like you.”  The boy smiled.

Jack was forced to blink.  Brent had smiled.  He couldn’t feel any emotions, but somehow Jack knew the boy’s gesture was genuine.  For the first time in a very long time, Jack felt fear.

“I’m not that scary, am I?”  Brent asked sincerely.

Jack was lost for words; a shiver ran down his spine.  What was Brent capable of?

Unforgivable.  To make Jack wait this long when he had such important news.  In the last six years
everything
had changed.  Brent was growing in unexpected ways, and Jack knew that action must be taken quickly before it was too late.  Above the entryway a view screen sprung to life; Jack was finally being allowed to see the council.  The eight council members were seated in a semicircle behind a raised desk that elevated them above the platform Jack was to speak from.  A cute trick officials often employed to give them a psychological advantage; looking down on the speaker reinforced their power.  Tricks like this were pointless with Jack; he could feel their anxiety and they knew that.

“Weaver Davis, we have granted you this audience out of respect for the accord reached over the handling of the Lazarus child.”  A council member sitting in the center of the semicircle started, apparently the leader of the group.

“What urgent matter do you bring before us today, Weaver?” The council member on the far right asked.  There was a strange worry in him.

“The Lazarus child, the one we call Brent, must be relocated
immediately
.”  Jack wasted no more time getting to the point.

“Relocated where?”  The head council member did not trust Jack.

“Brent is to be moved to an academy.  This must be done immediately; time is short.” Jack answered.

“Why are you intent on this?  Trying to get the child into the hands of the military?”

“Squabbles over the child’s ownership are pointless.  He
must
be moved to an academy; it is the only place we can teach him.”

“Teach him what?  We’ve granted you access to the full resources of Tricra.  Are you saying that an
academy
has better instructors than Tricra?”

“In certain fields, yes.”

“So you want to teach the boy how to kill, is that it?”

“No, council member, I want to teach the boy control, so he
doesn’t
kill.”

“Is the boy dangerous?”  The far right council member broke into the conversation, his fear increasing.

“Not yet, council member, but I fear he may be soon.”  Jack wondered at the fear of the far right council member; he knew something.

“What makes you think that, Weaver?”  The head council member disliked being interrupted.  “We’ve reviewed your findings and there is no indication the boy is dangerous in any way.”

“I believe Brent is a Weaver, but not like any we have seen before.  If I’m right, he could be more dangerous than any weapon.”

The council was shocked by the news, save for the far right member.  How could he have known?  Jack had been careful to omit any mention of Weaver-like abilities in his reports.  The only thing people feared and misunderstood more than jump drives were Weavers.

“That is disturbing news, Weaver.  However, the military doesn’t hold monopoly over Weavers.”  The head council member felt sure of his decision; the others were starting to worry.  “If this Brent, as you call him, is a Weaver, he will be sent to a government facility for his further development.”

“An academy is the
only
choice,” Jack asserted.  “Brent feels uneasy around the scientists of the institute as it is.  If they learned he is a Weaver it would only get worse.  He must be moved to an academy, one where Weavers are commonplace.”

“Hold on a minute, Weaver.  Did you say Brent
feels
?” a council member to the left asked.  “I had gathered from your reports the child has no emotions.”