Dark Genesis: The Birth of the Psi Corps (5 page)

“Plenty of precedent for that. Specific exclusions were spelled out for the use of the radar tap, too, when it was invented.”

“These are people, not listening devices.”

“They are both, I’m afraid, which makes regulation all the more necessary. People won’t stop killing telepaths-and people they suspect of being telepaths-until they stop feeling threatened by them. That won’t happen without regulation.”

She nodded.

“I know. But you agree, as matters stand, that the hearings are only making things worse-you daily present potential abuses that most people haven’t even thought of. The fact that you regulate these abuses is meaningless-“

“-because we still have no way of knowing who the telepaths are. Exactly. And so we worry people more and more without giving them any tangible hope. But what else is there to do?”

She was silent for a moment, taking a significant drink of her new scotch. He leaned forward and said, very softly,

“You know what we can do, don’t you?”

She stared hard at the table.

“I’m going to lose my job,” she said very simply. “I’ll never work in academia again if I do this. I need some guarantees.”

“You’ll have them. You want a job, you’ve got it. Money.”

She suddenly seemed very young, very vulnerable.

“I have money, Senator-how do you think I got to the Moon? That’s not my concern. I want to know that this will be handled right. I don’t want to place another loaded gun in the wrong hands. I…”

“You came to me because you thought I would do the right thing.”

She nodded.

“A paper just came across my desk. It involves gene sequencing-“

“The telepathy gene?”

“It’s not so simple as that. No one has found any gene that seems to control for telepathy. It appears to be like intelligence, an emergent property found in many different genes. But the author of this paper did find a marker.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

“Most of us are now postulating that telepathic ability is either a recent mutation or the result of an isolated one that has only recently entered the global gene pool. For instance, one of the Highland New Guinea groups may have had telepaths for a thousand years, but since they were isolated from the rest of the world until relatively recently, the genes didn’t get around.”

“I follow you. That would explain a lot.”

“Yes, it would. Unfortunately, as it turns out, it isn’t true. The mitochondria) DNA of fifty demonstrated telepaths was analyzed and correlated with their family histories and other genetic tests of relatedness. As I’m sure you know, mitochondria) DNA is passed only through the mother’s line—it isn’t affected by the father’s at all, but only by very gradual random mutation—the rate of which is known. A brother and sister have virtually identical MDNA, cousins slightly divergent sequences, and so on. Initially, there were some problems with mutation rates, but that was all corrected for by the Vasquer calibration-“

“Yes, I’m aware of all of this. So this analysis did not indicate that these telepaths have a common heritage?”

“On the contrary. More than half of them had MDNA that were near perfect matches. Too perfect. Other genetic data–and that the individuals have no ancestors in common in recorded history.”

He shrugged.

“Good records on most of humanity weren’t available until a hundred years ago. I don’t see the point “

“The point is, this mutation they all share seems to be less than a hundred years old.”

He stared at her for perhaps ten heartbeats as that sank in.

“Holy shit,” he said. He looked around. “Okay, you were right, I was wrong. Press be damned, let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you said the reporters aren’t listening?”

“I doubt they are. I doubt anyone is-I come to this place because they keep a randomly modulated interference wave going that jams most peepers. But there is an old art called ‘lipreading ‘-come on. We’ll finish this in my room, which I know is safe.” The train arrived with a faint vibration, but no sound-the tube it traveled in was at the Moon’s surface pressure. As the car doors kissed their gaskets against the entry ports, Lee gave one of the private cars his personal code that let them in. Once they were inside , he confirmed it for billing via a retinal scan.

“That’s better,” he said, as the train glided into motion. “Now. Who else knows this?”

“I’m not sure. The authors of the paper, of course, and anyone they’ve told. I haven’t told anyone else. I gather from your reaction you understand the implications.”

“Yep. Our telepath friends were engineered. The question now is-by whom? The old United States? That’s where most of them have turned up.”

“Only because that’s where the original testing was done. We’ve got a good worldwide distribution, now.”

“That might be meaningless-they might form some elaborate spy network, or something. Or it could be corporate. Or-frik.” He felt the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up. “I need time to think about this.”

“Where are we going?”

“Hmm? My room is near Malibu Station. Maybe ten minutes from here.”

“I would have thought things would be closer together.”

“Never been to the Moon before? Grissom is a mining colony, so buildings tend to sprawl a bit, mostly along this line, toward the water mines at Malibu. Ever since the depressurization of the old dome, nobody wants to be in the basket with all of the rest of the eggs.”

“I should think you would be particularly wary,” she said.

He shook his head in grim agreement.

“I’ve seen enough people die of explosive decompression in one lifetime, thank you. And been too close, myself.”

“Is that why you left the colony?”

“That’s part of it,” he said.

“Your wife died in the accident.”

“No offense, Dr. Kimbrell, but this is a little personal for me.”

“None taken. And I’m sorry.” They continued in silence for a moment.

“I’m glad you brought this to me,” he said at last, reaching to grip her hand. “You did the right thing.”

“I hope so.” She did not move his hand. The train sighed to a stop, and unexpectedly, their door slid open.

“Excuse me,” Lee told the man who stood framed in the entry. “This is a private car, and as you can see=’ Then it hit him. The door shouldn’t even have opened. He was bolting up from his seat when the man stepped quickly in, a nine-millimeter pistol trained on his heart.

“Sit back down, Senator,” the man said, softly.

CHAPTER 3

“Don’t point that at me, son,” Lee said. “In fact, don’t point it at anything. Do you understand what will happen if you rupture the coach wall?”

The young man nodded solemnly. He had a softly rounded face and a thin mustache, very black hair. A faint accent-Eastern European?

“Yes,” he said, “the train will stop and emergency membranes will close the tube so they can pump air in. That will make things tricky for me, but I can deal with it. Did you expect I thought the car would explode, or something?”

“What do you want with me, son?”

“It’s not really important that you know that, Senator, only that you do what I say. Right now, we’re going to change our destination , but you have to do it. If you don’t, I will shoot Dr. Kimbrell, and if you still refuse, I will shoot you, too.”

“Why can’t you do it yourself? You faked my personal code, so= Then he understood.

He leaned up to the retinal scanner.

“Fine. Train, personal code Crawford-“

“Stop,” the man snapped, stepping quickly to Lee and placing the muzzle of the weapon against his head. “Don’t do that.”

“I was doing what you said.”

“No you weren’t, you were going to order an emergency stop. If you do that, I’ll shoot you.”

“You’re going to kill us anyway!” Lee retorted. “That’s why you want me to make the destination change, so it’ll go on record.” He paused a moment, and then said, “Why me, son? I’m only trying to help your kind.”

The man smiled indulgently.

“Yes, of course you are. Change the destination.”

“To where?”

“Not far different. Malibu Station. And now that you know what I am, you know not to try and trick me.”

Lee changed the destination, and eyed the man speculatively.

“What’s it like?” he asked. “Can you hear all of my thoughts? Can you feel my emotions? How will it feel to you when you kill us?”

The young man’s face changed, then, quite without his consent.

“Shut up,” he demanded.

“You see, you do intend to kill us, but you want to make it look like an accident, am I right? So you aren’t a terrorist.”

“He was in the restaurant,” Alice said. “Across the room.”

Lee nodded.

“He’s been following me for months. I thought he was a reporter.”

“So you `overheard’ us,” Alice said. “You know about the genetic marker.”

“Yes.”

“Then surely you know this information can’t be suppressed for long.”

“Oh, but it can, Dr. Kimbrell. The people I work for can do it, and they will. I already know from you who the authors were. They will be dealt with, and the paper will quietly vanish.”

“Nonsense. Even if you succeed, someone else will come up with the same results any day now.”

“Yes,” Lee said, nodding thoughtfully, “And I think I know who. Am I right?”

“Sorry, Senator. Go fish.”

“Sure, son. Sure I’m wrong. You can read my mind, so you know how much you’ve convinced me.”

“I know you’re bluffing.” But his face was pinched in irritation. He sat back against the wall, the gun quite level. “I know you still hope to escape by upsetting me. But here we are.” The doors slid open. “Get out.”

Lee looked around hopefully as they exited the car, but the man and woman waiting for them did not look like ice miners-they looked like Vikings. Lee mentally dubbed them Hans and Greta. Their captor-one of the newcomers called him Piotr-spoke to the two in a language Lee did not know, then motioned them down the corridor toward one of the industrial-sized air locks.

“You’re gonna space us?” Lee asked. “Heck, that won’t look suspicious at all, will it? `Senator and noted doctor take stroll on Moon without pressure suits.’ That’ll make a plausible headline. Grissom is a small place. We’ll be missed fast, and you’ll be found fast.”

“Give me a little credit,” Piotr said. “That’s why the two of you are going hiking. Regrettable accident, of course, but then you were never known for your caution, Senator. And the record will say you reserved both of these early this morning.” He motioned at the two bright yellow sport-hiking pressure suits Hans was pulling from a nearby locker. “If you would now be so kind as to put them on. . : ‘

Lee pursed his lips angrily, and then began unbuttoning his shirt. Blushing, Alice did the same. When she was down to her underwear , Hans gave an appreciative whistle. She slapped him, hard. He never saw it coming, but only reddened and frowned. Lee tensed, but Piotr’s gun never wavered from him.

“Enough,” Piotr said, quietly. Grumbling, Hans began donning his own suit-heavy mining armor, much heavier than their lightweight climbing suits. As Alice Kimbrell put on her helmet, she shot Lee a small triumphant smile. He smiled back, to let her know he understood.

“Put on your helmet, Senator,” Piotr said.

“What’s the matter?” Lee asked. “Aren’t you comin’ along? Can’t stomach `hearing’ us die? Or will you hear it anyway?” He stepped toward the gun muzzle. “Look at me, boy. Look me in the eye.” Piotr had some difficulty doing that. “You tell me why I have to die, why Dr. Kimbrell has to die. We deserve that. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell us what lab you were made in? Who created you? Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

The young man’s dark eyes flashed with some anger, then.

“I was born of man and woman just like you, Senator. I have no more idea why I can do this than you do, nor did I ask for it. And as for the rest-I don’t feel compelled to explain anything to you. Good day.” And then, to Hans, “We’ll wait for you here.”

The big man nodded, and once they were suited and pressurized , motioned them into the lock. They cycled through it into a bowlful of night. The sky was ink sprinkled with powdered sugar, and the sickle Earth stuck up in the south like a blue horn. But of the Sun, there was no sign, nor would there ever be, day or night. Over a billion years, a lot of water had fallen on the Moon, ephemeral oceans of ice, but it only stayed where the Sun never came to lick it up. It was here, beneath his feet, the stuff of life-water, oxygen, hydrogen for fusion engines. A thin powder in the regolith at the Moon’s north pole. Hans flipped on his lamp and gestured toward the crater rim, maybe a mile away, visible thanks to light generated by Grissom colony. And they trudged in silence. The links had been disabled, of course. Hans stayed behind them, armed. And so the Earth pulled across the near horizon like God’s own plow, and after a while they began to climb, higher and higher. They would, Lee supposed, have a fall of some sort. The rim was nearly sheer toward the top-perhaps having shattered in some geologically recent moonquake. A trail had been worked up a talus slope, though, and they went up that. Hans’ light shone occasionally through Alice’s helmet and Lee saw her face. Not frightened, but determined, and he felt a hard knot of admiration form.

They reached the ridge of the crater, which rose and fell in an irregular line around the mines. South, the jagged silhouettes of mountains rose, as if cut from the star field by a deranged god with a razor. North, more shadowed ranges, except that the summit of a single, high peak blazed in the light of the unseen Sun, giving the eerie impression of an island in low orbit. On the Moon, the line between light and dark was never blurred. Where would Hans do it? Would he shatter their faceplates with something first, or simply march them up the ridge until the drop was enough to kill them?

He looked down at a straight drop of perhaps two hundred feet. Don’t think about it. He didn’t. He jumped. On the way down he worked on the math. On Earth, one fell about thirty-two feet per second squared. Multiply that by mass, and that told you how much force you hit the ground with. He was falling with maybe a sixth that acceleration, so it was as if he had jumped only fifty feet. With the recreational suit he probably massed two hundred pounds. He weighed less here, but the mass was all still there … He hit, flexed his legs, and rolled, just like a parachute drop. It felt just like a parachute drop, too, except with a skeleton almost twenty years older than when he had last done that. His helmet cracked against a rock, sounding a sharp note in his ear-as if someone had thumped a champagne glass. But it did not break. A light fell from above, hit the ground, bounced, creating a crazy cone in the dust his fall had kicked up, now this long, now that long, and finally it stopped, spotlighting a boulder as if it were some piece of found art or geological specimen. Cursing, he went for it. And got it. Holding it well out to one side, he turned it around, sweeping it over the ground.