Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps (20 page)

“Sir,” Natasha began hesitantly, “are you certain you want to proceed? I don’t realty think the director of Psi Corps should risk-“

“Thank for your concern, Ms. Alexander. If this becomes too taxing physically, I will let you know.”

“Yes, Sir.”

They descended through the narrowing tunnel, and after a time, heard singing. Again, Kevin experienced an odd sense of displacement . The song-and the language of the song-was unknown to him. But the rhythm of it, the intervals between its four notes, struck sparks in his oldest memories. Shalako spirits, dancing into the square to the sound of rattles and chanting. The taste of fresh bread, the crisp scent of … an open cooler full of ice and soft drinks in a general store. Fumes of old-style gasoline engines. His mother dying. The dark waters. The dance hall of the dead. The gift … He blinked, and the tunnel had widened into a chamber. The singing stopped, and he heard their guide begin speaking in a language he did not know. He could circumvent language to get to meaning with a scan, but was reluctant to do so. As it turned out, there was no need. The singer was a wrinkled tnan of many years. He wore a colorful headdress something like a turban, and a red loincloth. The rest of his body was bare, and black with tattoos. In one hand swung a censer, from which the pungent copal stroke drifted. He squinted into the electric torches.

“Put out the lights,” Kevin ordered.

In the gentler glow of candles clustered on a sort of altar, the old man’s eyes were opalescent.

“You come for me?” he croaked, in English, reaching to finger Natasha’s Psi Corps badge. She backed up a pace.

“We came to ask questions,” Kevin replied. “May I ask your name?”

“I am the priest. This place is in my care.”

“I am Kevin Vacit. This is Natasha Alexander, a telepath with Psi Corps.”

“He’s a teep, too, sir,” Natasha said. She turned toward the priest. “Are you aware, sir, that you are required by law to register with EarthGov and Psi Corps?”

“I am aware. I did not do so. I am registered with a higher authority.”

“There is no=’ Natasha began, but Kevin waved her to silence.

“The priest before you. Was he a telepath, too?”

“Yes. And him before him, and so on-back to when time began.”

“And how do you know this?”

The priest cocked his head.

“It is spoken, it is written. These things remember themselves.”

“You have written records of every priest of this place back to the beginning of time?” Natasha asked, skeptically.

“Yes.”

“May I see?”

The priest flushed darker, but then he shrugged and went to a wooden box. He lifted from it a folding-screen book, opened it, and pointed to columns of hieroglyphic characters. “That is Blood Woman, the first,” he said, “Then Cedar Jaguar, Jaguar Night—2’

“I only count seven names,” Kevin interrupted.

“Yes. I am the seventh priest.”

“I don’t understand-“

“Excuse me, sir, if I may?”

“Go ahead, Ms. Alexander.”

She turned back to the priest.

“When did time begin?”

The priest consulted his book.

“It began six katun, seven tun, two uinal, seven kin ago.”

“What? In English, please.”

“Time began May 11, 2055,” the priest replied, with what might have been a sneer.

Kevin blinked. “I see.” He glanced at Natasha. “Consonant with the beginnings of your cults.”

“Yes.”

He again confronted the priest.

“What else do you have in these caves? Any workrooms, laboratories, storage rooms?”

“Below here, nothing, only the dark of Xibalba where live the lords of death. Perhaps it is the place for you.”

“Is he telling the truth, Ms. Alexander?”

“He’s blocking me, sir.”

“Sir!” It was one of the Psi Cops, a very dark young man named Okonkwo. “Sir, I’m getting other teeps, somewhere near-“

“How many?”

“Hard to say. Something was hiding them before, but-“

Okonkwo suddenly froze in place as a chant began, this time sounding from many throats. The priest was suddenly transformed , a thing part man and part jaguar, and from the deeper depths of the cave came more things. With them blew a dark wind of power, the greatest Kevin had ever felt.

CHAPTER 7

They came for Fiona early in the night, two women with shotguns . They took her to the showers, cleaned her up, and put her in a crisp cotton dress, dark green. After that they escorted her to one of the larger buildings—one that the prisoners were never allowed near, though it was still within the gate. She noted the small helicopter outside-a Foyle 350, with ground effect jets-,as black as the starless sky. The air was heavy with the scent of gathering monsoon rains. Her guards walked her to the door, rapped, and stepped back.

Come in. It was a strong voice, one she recognized. A gust of cool air met her as she opened the door, the breath of a benevolent god after days in the stifling dormitory buildings.

“Ms. Temple. Come in.” The Psi Cop was a tall man with an equally long face, pleasing to the eye. He motioned her toward a couch.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Wine? Sake?” She didn’t answer. “I think I’ll have some wine, myself.” He considered, taking a decanter from the small table in front of the couch and pouring a glass of deep red. “You’re sure you won’t join me?”

“I would sooner drink with Adolf Hitler, Pot Pot, or Hiriam Tower,” she said, sweetly.

The Psi Cop shrugged, and indicated the couch again.

“Sit. Please.” She did, and he took the chair on the other side of the table, swirled his wine and sniffed it, took a small sip.

“Aren’t you on duty?” Fiona asked.

He lifted a hand in a “so what” sort of gesture.

“Not as such. I’m not out performing genocide at the moment, which–by your references-you seem to think is my business. For the moment I’m here to chat with you, and in that capacity I’m inclined to indulge myself. But I’ve been rude, haven’t I? My name is Joseph TealMontoya.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe. Again.”

“You recognize me. I’m pleased.”

“How could I forget your little brainwashing operation? Tell me, what do you wear when you’ve got a girl trapped in a tube, poking at her mind? What’s appropriate for rape?” She glanced significantly at his uniform. “But I suppose I’m about to find that out, aren’t IT’ She thought she caught a glimmer of discomfort from him, but he covered it well.

“Ms. Temple, I do not enjoy that part of my job, but I do it because I must. Do you think I like letting these-these normals torture my people? Because that’s whose hands you are in. Normals. And not just any normals, but the ones who hate our kind so much that they volunteer to torture them. Do you understand ? It’s part of a very old compromise in the EA. Telepaths get two chances to escape the persecution of the ignorant, Ms. Temple. If they take the sleeper injections, deny their heritage , and become part of the cowlike herd, they get left atone. If they join the Corps, they get to live, love, and serve among their own kind. Besides that, there is only this. Normals cannot bear the thought of us hiding among them. They will not tolerate it, and when they catch you, this is what they do to you.”

“I remember being captured by Psi Cops.”

He made a face.

“Yes. You’ve committed crimes, Ms. Temple. Even Psi Corps must mollify the government.”

“Just tell me why I’m here.”

“Because you are a P12, of course, and I think you know that. You are, whether you like it or not, special, and so we are allowed extra latitude in trying to teach you reason. Your crimes won’t be remitted, but you can serve your time as parole, study, learn to use your talents more effectively. In time, you can begin to serve. I offered you this once, and I admit that I did so in a dishonest way. But, Ms. Temple, I’ve seen too many of my brothers and sisters slip away-dying filthy deaths in these camps-from malaria, infection , at the hands of these thugs they call guards. I wilt do everything in my power to save who I can. With you, I failed once. I get one more chance. Won’t you please help me?”

Fiona leaned back and clapped her hands lightly.

“Very moving . Have you ever thought of doing Shakespeare?” She leaned forward intently. “Let’s get a few things clear, shall we? I am not `your kind.’ I am not your sister. I’ve spent my life fighting you jackboots, and I’m not about to stop now. And this good-cog-bad-cop drivel isn’t fooling me. But you know what? I don’t think you got me all spiffed up and poured into this dress so you could invite me to be one of your storm troopers. So why don’t we skip the vacuum and get straight to Mars?”

He took another sip of his wine and set it down.

“I was afraid that would be your response. O’Hannlon had nineteen years to condition you, and next to that I have had very little time to make you see the truth.”

“O’ Hannlon?”

He smiled.

“You never even knew his name. Monkey, he called himself. I believe he took the name from Sun Wu Kong, the Monkey King of Chinese legend. Monkey, the brash trickster, who thumbed his nose at all gods, all conventions, all law, who fought heaven and hell and won for a time. It was a grandiose appellation your grandfather took, disguised as a joke. But if you’ve read the story of Sun Wu Kong, you know that that brashness and pride finally led the Monkey King to ruin, to face himself, to at last submit to his better angels, seek wisdom and service to others. The true story of the Monkey King is that he abandoned his selfish nature . Our old friend O’Hannlon never learned that” He took another sip of wine. “Perhaps he got bored with that part of the book and quit reading it. You-you, Fiona, are his legacy. You are the part of him that continues-who can at last learn the wisdom that eluded him.”

Fiona smiled.

“Strike two.”

He shrugged.

“For you, not me. Very well, Ms. Temple. You will go back to the camp, as you seem to wish, and doubtless die young. That should give you a great deal of satisfaction. First, however, you will repay your crimes. Many in the Corps lost their lives due to your actions-oh, I don’t think you killed anyone directly , but everyone in your resistance cell is equally guilty.”

“Isn’t my rotting in this camp good enough for you?”

“Good enough for the normals, yes, but not for the Corps. We require a different sort of payment A life for a life, if you will. Ms. Temple, as a P12 your life is very dear to us. You wish to throw it away-that is your prerogative. I cannot stop you. But your genes are another matter. They belong to us all.” He clasped his hands over one knee. “Again, you have two choices. One involves certain mechanical devices. The other is much more pleasant, and would probably require you staying here, in comfort, for quite some time.”

“With you, you mean.”

“Yes. I am a P 12 also, of course. I’ve had the genetics run. Our child would be a PI l or P12.”

“No.”

“Understand. Either way, you will have my child. This is not my choice nor yours, but the choice of the Corps. The Corps is mother, the Corps is father. They were to me, and they will be to my child. Our child.”

“No.”

“You cannot say no. You can be restrained, you can be sedated, you can be artificially inseminated-but none of these would be very pleasant for you. I can make things very nice for you indeed. I would prefer it.”

“No.”

He sighed.

“Let me add just one more, very small incentive before I give up. I can be very persistent, you see.” He clapped loudly, and the door opened again. Two Hounds pushed through, holding a man she had never seen before between them. He was emaciated, filthy, his black hair long, tangled, hiding his face. Fiona? Oh my God, she thought. Matthew! She watched as they pushed Matthew roughly into a chair.

“Yes, we discovered your little liaisons,” TealMontoya said, returning to his chair. “Not, unfortunately, in time. I was puzzled by your resistance—and his. After we gave up on you and pulled you out, he eventually succumbed to a scan. His feelings about you were quite plain.”

“But he wouldn’t join you, either.”

“No. And do not worry-he will also make his contribution to the gene pool. There are a variety of ways he might do so, some very unpleasant indeed. I think I will leave it up to you to decide exactly how unpleasant it gets for him.

” Fiona. It was Matthew. Fiona. Don’t … His mind dissolved into chaos as the nearest guard struck him with a shock stick.

“You bastard!” Fiona snarled, standing, hurling hate and pain at the Psi Cop with every ampere of will she possessed. His eyes widened, and he dropped his glass, reeling back. Then he recovered , his blocks shutting against her, a grim look appearing on his face.

“Perhaps, after all, this is dust a waste of my time,” he said. “You two=”

He gestured toward his Hounds, froze, and looked extremely puzzled as he toppled and fell. First one, then the other Hound followed him to the floor. Fiona stared, not quite understanding , and then noticed the thin sliver of bamboo, ending in a little cone of latex, standing out from TealMontoya’s carotid artery. Then a motion beyond the half-open window. A moment later, Stephen Walters eased through the door. In his hand he carried a bamboo tube a few feet long.

“What-‘ she started.

“No, shh. Time to go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because he might have picked it up from you, and then we would have both been done.”

“But you said you needed me.”

“Yes. They wouldn’t have brought anybody but a P12 in here. And after they brought you in here, and I got this far-I needed you on my side.”

“What. What do you need me for?”

He pointed to the downed Psi Cop.

“He isn’t dead. I hit him with a nerve toxin.”

“Where in the hell did you get a nerve toxin?”

“Modified cobra venom-plenty of those around here. Fiona, I’ll explain in detail later. Right now I need to know if you can do something.”

“What?”

“His chopper won’t work without him at the stick-unless he authorizes a change in bioident. We need that to happen. I’ve heard some wild stuff about what P12’s can do. Can you plant a suggestion in him that he turn his chopper over to me?”