Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps (13 page)

When asked for his comment, Senator Lee Crawford, the head of the Senate oversight committee for MRA, said,

“T’he loss of Ms. Alexander was a terrible one. She was like the daughter I never had, and my grief is too private and strong to commit to public record. As for Senator Lai, I’m only happy that the MRA was able to perform its function; without her metasensory powers, Desa would never have been able to detect and react to the assassin in time. Senator Lai is as bright a young man as the Senate has seen in a long time, and his concern is evident. If he will agree, I’d like to have him on board the oversight committee-the MRA needs men like him.

Those who killed Desa, I must admit, make me very angry, but I try to control my anger. Desa Alexander would have wanted me to. What she wanted for her fellow telepaths was a life that was free of fear and violence. a productive and fulfilled life like her own.

It is truly sad when people fight with such animal violence the very things that are best for them. They deserve our pity and our compassion.”

Lee closed his eyes against the bright sun and savored the perfume of forest and water. The delta of the Kinabatangan River was perhaps his favorite in the world, its rickety stilt villages and dense mangroves somehow evoking the Mississippi of Mark Twain in a way that the modern Father of Waters could not. He journeyed halfway around the world to reconnect with the past of his own homeland. How odd, how myriad the ways men and women moved themselves through time.

“You did a good job, son,” he told Kevin. “You had it figured close to the bone, close enough for old Blood to do what she needed to do. I will miss her, damn her eyes.”

“Thanks, Lee. I wish I had figured it out quickly enough to save her*

Lee shrugged.

“Better this way, really. More dramatic. And Blood was a loose cannon, would’ve gotten us in more trouble down the road. This problem is just sleepin’ for a while, not going away. People have short memories, that much I’ve learned. In a few years, they’ll make another try, don’t you worry. Until we have the clout to make it global and uniform, the MRA is always going to have its enemies.”

“Maybe now, while Blood is still a hero=’

“No. She’s popular, but people are still a little too leery of the Authority. The Russian and Indonesian consortiums won’t let go of their own teeps until they’re forced to. This won’t change that, and we’d just raise issues best left under the loam for the time bein’.” He paused, took a sip of his tea. “I got pretty drunk the other night. Might’ve said some crazy things.”

Kevin smiled, very slightly.

“To tell you the truth, you were too drunk for me to make out anything you said. Your southern accent gets pretty thick when you drink.”

Lee scratched his chin.

“That’s a fact? You know, they used us as code speakers in the Kamchatka war, like they used the Navajo in W W Two.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Lee nodded, then shaded his eyes and looked directly at him.

“Anyway, thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Lee watched the flight of a rare hornbill, at peace for the moment.

CHAPTER 5

Solar System Today, 18 January 2148

Interplanetary Expeditions spokesperson Ezinma Roberts today reported the successful completion of an eighth experimental station on Mars, near Syria Planum. The IPX station was built to explore the Martian permafrost and refine the process of creating arable soil.

“This takes us another step closer to the permanent colonization of Mars,” Roberts proclaimed , “but we’re still a long way off. Making a home for humanity on another planet will require the sustained will of the entire world.”

“Kind of-as they say-a stuffed shirt, are you not?” Kevin Vacit glanced sideways at the speaker, a young woman in her midtwenties seated to the left of him on the plane. In the right frame of mind, he might have summoned a mild admiration for her bronze hair, startling jade eyes, and generous lips. At the moment, he felt instead a mild irritation.

“Officer-Davion, is it?”

“Elle-meme. That is absolutely correct. Ninon Davion, at your service.”

“Yes. Well, Ms. Nina Davion-“

“Ninon. Use your nose, you know? Ninon.”

Suppressing a sigh, he tried another tack.

“I’m attempting to read, Ms. Davion.”

“And I’m bothering you?”

“You are-distracting me.”

“What you are reading-it is important?”

“It is entertaining.”

“Ah. As I am not, I suppose.” She lifted the corner of his book and peered at the title. “The Demolished Man. Yes, it sounds very entertaining.” She shrugged looking away. “It is true, I suppose. They told me this trip would be no fun at all. I said, no one can be no fun at all, but they said-“

“Who are `they,’ Ms. Davion?”

“Now you ask me a question? Yet how can someone so unentertaining as I provide an amusing answer? No, no please. Go back to your book. I will sit here, silently.”

He blinked. “Thank you.” He tried to read a few more lines, then closed the book. “Do they really say those things about me?”

She hesitated a moment.

“You are speaking to me?”

“Ms. Davion, you know I am.”

She turned back to him.

“Well, they say you are very efficient, very serious, very dedicated-“

“Ana is there something wrong with that?”

“No, no, of course not.” She rolled her eyes.

“But look, have you ever been to San Diego before?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Neither have I. And what do you intend to do there?”

“I intend to solve the problem that you and I have been sent to solve.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“I’ve heard San Diego is a beautiful place. Food. Wine. Tijuana a very short trolley ride away …”

“You do understand, Ms. Davion, that we are on a mission involving EA security? At the highest level?”

“I’m afraid that the level of security is so high that I have no idea why we are going there,” she replied. “I certainly hope you do. I am just-as you say–the `muscle.”’

“For muscle, you certainly talk a lot.”

“Well! I was keeping silent until you-“

“Sorry. You’re right. Look, I promise to debrief you when we reach San Diego.”

She placed her hand on her chest.

“Sir! I apologize for my opinion of you. You are very forward indeed!”

He actually felt his face warm. He was blushing. With a little frown he returned to his book, silently cursing Lee Crawford, who had surely done this to him on purpose.

Phillip Stoddard, the head of research for Interplanetary Expeditions , fingered his rusty beard and addressed them with a sort of benign amusement.

“I don’t really understand what all of the fuss is about,” he said. “When the incident was reported, we imagined an officer of the Authority would drop by, but to have Senator Crawford’s own aide here—maybe you fellows know something I don’t.”

Kevin smiled briefly.

“That’s always possible, I suppose. But the MRA always takes the death of one of its own seriously. That, coupled with the security breach in-” He stopped abruptly. “Doctor, is this a safe area?”

“Hmm? Yes, of course. The security breach was in lab 16, where the artifacts are housed. But that turned out to be nothing.”

Davion cleared her throat, and to Kevin’s vast surprise, her words came out very crisp, very professional.

“Nothing? Yet it coincided so closely with Mr. Raskov’s death.”

“Look, I know you guys are paid to be suspicious-but you aren’t serious, are you?”

“We would not be here otherwise,” Davion said. “Well, look. The autopsy confirms Mr. Raskov died of a stroke, and as for the security breach, that must have been some sort of glitch.”

“I’m sure it was,” Kevin soothed. “But we have to check it out, you see. Orders. Anything involving the artifacts-“

“Of course. Would you like to see them?”

“Very much so,” Kevin replied.

Lab 16 was spacious, clean, white, probably as near the platonic ideal of “lab” as could be reached in reality. Stoddard talked about security as they moved through it.

“Getting into the IPX building without authorization would be a problem,” he informed them. “Reaching the thirtieth floor would be essentially impossible . Entering this lab-and these vaults-would require the direct intervention of an omnipotent deity.”

As he spoke, the vault in question sighed open. What was within reminded Kevin vaguely of a reptile house; a dark, cool corridor faced by brightly lit windows for the first thirty feet or so.

“When we aren’t studying them, the artifacts are kept in the vacuum vaults,” Stoddard said, gesturing toward the end of the corridor and a series of sealed lockers. “But you can see some on the tables, the ones we’re working on now.”

Kevin peered through the nearest window. On the table rested a rough torus mottled by raised bumps. In the next window there was an essentially cylindrical object exhibiting several knoblike protrusions.

“And these were found on Mars?” Davion asked.

“Yes, buried in Syria Planum.”

“What have you discovered about them?”

“Nothing new, I’m afraid. They are clearly manufactured, though the method of manufacture isn’t obvious. They don’t seem to be cast, or riveted, or welded together. They are made of highly organized alloys, some unknown. Some pieces, despite their appearance , are permeable to visible light, while others are almost opaque even to neutrinos.” He smiled broadly. “In other words, we still don’t know a damn thing about them except that they are of alien manufacture.”

Kevin nodded, still staring. He was struck by an odd and impossible sense of familiarity.

“And the breach-“

“As I said, it must have been a glitch. None of the artifacts are missing-EA security cataloged them independently and prior to us, so I can prove that-nor have they been disturbed in any way.”

“Yet the security system registers that there was a breakin.”

“A ghost, perhaps. Nothing the cameras recorded.”

“Well.” With a growing sense of disquiet, Kevin surveyed the rest of the artifacts on display. “I think 1 would like to see Mr. Raskov’s quarters, now.”

They broke the security seal and entered Raskov’s room. It was a jumbled mess, clearly the product of a disorganized mind.

“The quarters have been sealed since his death?”

“Other than to remove the body, yes.”

Kevin paced about as Davion conducted her inspection, taking photographs from various angles, opening drawers.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Stoddard asked, mildly.

“Dr. Stoddard,” Davion replied, “I wonder if you don’t have more important things to do?”

He colored slightly and drew himself up.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. Buzz my link if you need me.”

He left. When he was gone, Davion smiled.

“He is hiding something, you know.”

“Did you scan him?”

“Not a deep scan, no. But his surface thoughts showed some agitation and nervousness. Especially when he was talking about the artifacts. Most especially when he said that they had discovered nothing new.”

“That’s interesting.”

He shuffled though some papers on the desk. Among them there was a sketch pad, which he flipped open. The first ten pages or so were landscapes, impressionistic, drawn with pencils and pastels. Halfway through the book, however, the theme abruptly changed. First came numerous sketches of insects-a dragonfly, several beetles, many others Kevin did not recognize. On the second page was a beetle done in pastels-a species he did recognize, though he didn’t know its name-one of those iridescent green bugs that looked almost as if it were made of colored chrome. It was very well rendered. The rest of the notebook was filled with similar drawings. Pushing through the loose papers on the desk, he found a few more. And then another notebook full.

“Was Mr. Raskov an entomologist, professional or otherwise?” he asked.

Davion shrugged.

“I still have my briefs on, when it comes to that. There was nothing in the record you gave me to indicate it.” She peered over his shoulder, her body just touching his. “It seems a recent interest. You see? He has dated his drawings.”

Kevin flipped back through. While the landscapes had been done over a three-month period, the bug sketches had all been done in three days-May 3 through May 5.

“He must have drawn almost nonstop, those three days.”

“The security breach in the lab was May 5. Raskov died on May 5.”

“So you think he became so obsessed with bugs that he had a stroke?” Davion said.

“I don’t know. A stroke is one of the easiest things to fake.”

“You think he was murdered for an abrupt interest in bugs?” Kevin tapped his finger in the pad. “Let’s finish up here. I want to interview Mr. Raskov’s supervisor.”

“He was one of our most professional business telepaths,” Freda Noy said. Her nearly round face pinched into a broad suggestion of sorrow. “It was such a terrible thing. Did you know him?”

“I did not,” Kevin replied.

“Nor I,” Davion added. “But can you tell us what friends he might have had here?”

“Not many, the poor man. He kept largely to himself. Telepath, you know.” Her olive skin darkened a shade. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean-well, of course you know.”

“Actually,” Davion said, “Mr. Vacit is, of course, not a telepath. I am, but I take no offense. Many who work outside tend to be introverted. It becomes tiring, trying to avoid learning other people’s secrets.”

Kevin felt a certain inward appreciation. Davion played her bad cop part very well; she kept their interviewees off-balance with consummate skill. People were worried by teeps, anyway, and by making certain her role was clear, she cast Kevin, by contrast, as the one the normals could identify with, perhaps even confide in. Now if only he could play his part better …

“Ms. Noy,” he said, softly. “I have here a record of the transactions Mr. Raskov monitored from the early part of May, and I thank you very much for providing it. There is only one I don’t really understand-Kuchinsky-Behn?”

“Oh. It’s a small biotech firm out of Canada.”