idea those two were in Paris. The Blip we were looking for was you. Did I happen to mention that you are under arrest?”
Chapter 6
Al straightened his uniform and tried not to appear nervous. He stared at the heavy door for a moment, steadied his breathing, forced the rhythm of his heart to slow from improvised jazz to a brisk march. He pushed the door open and stepped into a room he had never yet had the misfortune to see. Most of the classrooms and dorms were spare, white, clean, designed to keep the mind free from distraction.
This room was just as minimal-starkly so-but was weighty and dark, as if cut and burnished from a basalt cave. A single shaft of light awaited him, and beyond-raised above, behind a long bench-he could make out the five members of the review board, faces spectral in the dim, amber light of reading lamps.
“Alfred Bester, come forward.”
He stepped into the light, resisting the urge to squint. Of those regarding him, he recognized only two. One was Dr. Hatathli, the principal of the Minor Academy; the other was Rebbekah Chance, the ranking Teeptown Psi Cop. Seated in the center was a third, who looked familiar, butAl couldn’t quite place him. Someone important, probably from the director’s office. Maybe even one of the assistant directors.
“Mr. Bester,” Dr. Hatathli began, “is accused of unregistered and unsanctioned travel. He applied for and was granted a two - day leave in the Alps. At the end of those two days, instead of returning on schedule, he purchased a one-way ticket to Paris.”
Ms. Chance cleared her throat.
“This fact registered with our monitoring system, but as he is an exemplary cadet we gave Mr. Bester the benefit of the doubt. When - after several hours - he did not contact us, we dispatched a special detail to investigate. An officer with the Paris office went to the train terminal to meet Mr. Bester. He was found murdered a day later. We suspect he was killed by rogue telepaths or their agents.”
Dr. Hatathli took all this in, glancing down occasionally at the display in front of him. Now he turned his craggy, square face toward Al. In the dim lighting, he resembled vids Al had seen of the statues on Easter Island, his eyes invisible in shadowed sockets.
“Mr. Bester?”
“Yes, sir. I did apply for a two-day leave to go hiking with my old cadre. When we were coming home, at the train station, I recognized Lara Brazg.”
“And why didn’t you report this immediately?” Hatathli replied.
Al started to answer, but the man in the center cut him off with a raised finger.
“I have a better question. Mr. Bester, how did you so easily recognize this rogue telepath?”
AI suddenly remembered himself, long ago, when he and Cadre Prime had played that fateful game of cops and blips. The normal in a military uniform, at the statue of William Karges. Al remembered speaking to him. He remembered the flash of hatred… This was that man. Al took a deep breath.
“Sir, I hope to be a Psi Cop one day. I like to go to the West End station and look at the hunt lists.”
Ms. Chance nodded.
“That’s confirmed by the officers there.”
The normal didn’t turn toward her. His voice, however, was of deep winter.
“When I require information, Ms. Chance, I will ask for it.
“Yes, Director.”
Al felt his face twitch and damned himself. It’s the director himself. And not the one I knew. He remembered his conversation with Director Vacit only vaguely, but it had seemed to be some sort of warning, about things to come. About this man?
“Mr. Bester. Let us dispense with parceling out details. You went AWOL. You did so in the apparent company of a rogue telepath. The security officer of the train was found bound and gagged, and the Psi Cop who was to arrest you at the Lyon station murdered. You disappeared for several hours in Paris and were found, wounded, in the company of not one rogue telepath, but two. A scan while you were unconscious revealed that you
Chapter 6
Al straightened his uniform and tried not to appear nervous. He stared at the heavy door for a moment, steadied his breathing, forced the rhythm of his heart to slow from improvised jazz to a brisk march. He pushed the door open and stepped into a room he had never yet had the misfortune to see. Most of the classrooms and dorms were spare, white, clean, designed to keep the mind free from distraction.
This room was just as minimal-starkly so-but was weighty and dark, as if cut and burnished from a basalt cave. A single shaft of light awaited him, and beyond-raised above, behind a long bench-he could make out the five members of the review board, faces spectral in the dim, amber light of reading lamps.
“Alfred Bester, come forward.”
He stepped into the light, resisting the urge to squint. Of those regarding him, he recognized only two. One was Dr. Hatathli, the principal of the Minor Academy; the other was Rebbekah Chance, the ranking Teeptown Psi Cop. Seated in the center was a third, who looked familiar, butAl couldn’t quite place him. Someone important, probably from the director’s office. Maybe even one of the assistant directors.
“Mr. Bester,” Dr. Hatathli began, “is accused of unregistered and unsanctioned travel. He applied for and was granted a two - day leave in the Alps. At the end of those two days, instead of returning on schedule, he purchased a one-way ticket to Paris.”
Ms. Chance cleared her throat.
“This fact registered with our monitoring system, but as he is an exemplary cadet we gave Mr. Bester the benefit of the doubt. When - after several hours - he did not contact us, we dispatched a special detail to investigate. An officer with the Paris office went to the train terminal to meet Mr. Bester. He was found murdered a day later. We suspect he was killed by rogue telepaths or their agents.”
Dr. Hatathli took all this in, glancing down occasionally at the display in front of him. Now he turned his craggy, square face toward Al. In the dim lighting, he resembled vids Al had seen of the statues on Easter Island, his eyes invisible in shadowed sockets.
“Mr. Bester?”
“Yes, sir. I did apply for a two-day leave to go hiking with my old cadre. When we were coming home, at the train station, I recognized Lara Brazg.”
“And why didn’t you report this immediately?” Hatathli replied.
Al started to answer, but the man in the center cut him off with a raised finger.
“I have a better question. Mr. Bester, how did you so easily recognize this rogue telepath?”
AI suddenly remembered himself, long ago, when he and Cadre Prime had played that fateful game of cops and blips. The normal in a military uniform, at the statue of William Karges. Al remembered speaking to him. He remembered the flash of hatred… This was that man. Al took a deep breath.
“Sir, I hope to be a Psi Cop one day. I like to go to the West End station and look at the hunt lists.”
Ms. Chance nodded.
“That’s confirmed by the officers there.”
The normal didn’t turn toward her. His voice, however, was of deep winter.
“When I require information, Ms. Chance, I will ask for it.
“Yes, Director.”
Al felt his face twitch and damned himself. It’s the director himself. And not the one I knew. He remembered his conversation with Director Vacit only vaguely, but it had seemed to be some sort of warning, about things to come. About this man?
“Mr. Bester. Let us dispense with parceling out details. You went AWOL. You did so in the apparent company of a rogue telepath. The security officer of the train was found bound and gagged, and the Psi Cop who was to arrest you at the Lyon station murdered. You disappeared for several hours in Paris and were found, wounded, in the company of not one rogue telepath, but two. A scan while you were unconscious revealed that you
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