Manifestations (25 page)

‘My only aim is the survival of the World Union, Prime. And I believe that peace is the only way to achieve that.’

He turned away from her. ‘Colonel Pinter, I want a response plan worked up within the hour,’ Ryu told him. ‘General Zim, you are dismissed.’

‘I’ll go when the Will tells me to,’ he said.

In the background, the Prime and his moguls were already pulling their support and the General’s value was declining steeply while Pinter’s rose. He would be out of the council in seconds. ‘So be it,’ Ryu said.

Zim’s avatar began to fade out as he demersed, but stopped in his exiting and turned to face Colonel Pinter. The young Abercrombie Pinter. Once they had been comrades. Without another glance at Ryu, he saluted to the Colonel.

‘I’ll await your orders, Colonel.’

Pinter straightened and returned the salute. Zim’s avatar disappeared.

‘What about Kronos, sir? Do you wish me to oversee both operations?’

‘Promote Ozenbach. He’s running the research now anyway, it seems.’

‘It is his specialty,’ Pinter said.

‘We have to establish an embassy in Atlantic as quickly as we can.’

‘That won’t do you any good,’ Colonel Pinter said. ‘Invading will simply create a larger and more hostile opposition.’

‘What do you suggest, Colonel?’ Representative Betts asked, reminding them she was there.

‘We could just take the hit. The World Union is stronger than two minor compounds, and we want the Weave to see the psis as the aggressors. I believe we can turn this to our advantage.’

Ryu paused. The Colonel was right.
Do
not react. Respond.
‘We make a statement deploring the recent violence?’

Pinter nodded. ‘And then re-establish a diplomatic embassy through invitation.’

‘It might look like weakness,’ Ryu said.

‘Or a Prime in control. If you hit back, the psis will retaliate, forcing you to strike harder each time.’

‘Ah yes, the single strike. Never give an enemy the chance to strike you back.’

‘Dare you argue with history?’ Pinter smiled and spread his hands.

Ryu thought a moment. Gladys was giving him rapid updates on the shifting sands of the Will. Zim had crashed. He wouldn’t be back. Betts was third, but would make second. Pinter had risen, benefitting from the exodus of Zim, but so had Ryu. The Colonel was off the lower rungs though and would have to be watched.

He shared with them both a dossier of recordings and files collected from the Weave. A series of clips leapt up to surround them.

‘I want you both to see these.’

In one clip a crowd of a hundred people marched through narrow antique streets, carrying banners with the psi symbol on them, chanting slogans of support.

‘This group have a man they call a “priest” leading them. He is preaching that we must submit to the will of Pierre Jnr.’

Ryu flipped his hand, pushing to the next clip. This one showed a crowd in Hanoi piling supplies into air transports.

‘These are groups of so-called peace fighters preparing to break the blockade and join the psis in the Cape. What do these scenes indicate to you?’

‘That not everyone supports your segregation of psi and non-psi,’ Representative Betts came in at once.

Ryu chose to ignore that. ‘I fear there is an induced psychosis being placed upon the Will.’

‘Oh, come on, Prime. You are going too far,’ she said.

‘Perhaps.’ He held up a finger. ‘But if it was true, when would we recognise that it was the case? Imagine that I am right. How could we ever know if the Will was being telepathically influenced?’

‘This is sheer paranoia.’

‘How can you say that? It is the natural conclusion for what we are seeing.’

‘If that is the Will…’

‘Yes?’ he asked, giving her plenty of time to come to a conclusion. Instead, Colonel Pinter answered.

‘The World Union was never intended to be an instrument of war.’

‘It was founded by war,’ Ryu said.

‘No. It was founded in war, not for it. There is a difference. The WU is intended to prevent conflicts.’

‘But there is a conflict before us. How else can we stop it?’

‘I think we can combine the plans. The preparations Zim has outlined and the proposal from Representative Betts.’

“‘I don’t believe you can make love and war at the same time. Unless you love war.’”

It was a quote from his memoir. Representative Betts must have come armed with a select range of phrases so the Colonel’s words could be thrown in his face.

‘You misunderstand me, Charlotte. We will establish the embassy but instead of sending Zim, we will send you as our emissary.’

‘Me?’

‘Who better?’ Pinter smiled. ‘We must let the people of the Cape join us.’

Ryu caught onto the plan. By sending Charlotte to psi territory, she would be out of the way and saddled with a commission that was doomed to failure.

‘Yes. Who else would they listen to?’ he asked.

‘So, you both support my proposal?’ Obviously, she had been expecting opposition. Ryu detected elements of disappointment.

‘The honourable Representative Betts is right.’ It was perfect. He felt as happy as the fool who swatted six flies at once. The Cape would tear itself apart and attention would be drawn away from their psi restriction operations. If the psis willingly registered themselves, their activities would be monitored and tempered by the Will as any Citizen’s actions were.

Ryu stepped forward. ‘You have brought an injustice before us. I must thank you for doing so. It must not have been easy ... If you will agree to act as ambassador, then I will support your motion to create a permanent position on the Primacy council, to speak for the unspoken.’

~ * ~

Can’t remember where you were last night? You may be a victim of a psi-crime!

Do you sometimes find yourself doing something and not knowing why?

The Anti-Psi League pushed out multiple videos and pamphlets and automated response avatars (ARAs), which a confused public began accepting into their streams.

In one film they showed dense crowds of pedestrians, with close-ups showing their everyday faces.

‘They look like you,’ a strong, masculine voice read out.

The footage of the crowd began to slow, making the pedestrians move at an eerily slow speed.

‘Your thoughts can never be safe.’

The view slowed again and cut closer so that only the eyes of the people were showing.

‘Have you ever felt that someone has been promoted above you unfairly? Or seen a person that doesn’t deserve the status they have? Register your concern now, on the APL watch list.’

They published handy guides on how to know if your brain had been interfered with, and what to do if you suspected your neighbour of being a telepath, or if your child was controlling you.

‘Psionic manipulation is a growing problem in our society and one that every Citizen should be aware of. If you’re a concerned Citizen, then you should investigate. Contact the Anti-Psi League because: With psis, we can never be sure.’

~ * ~

The World Union was, ostensibly, an open system that any could join and become a Citizen. Becoming a Citizen involved a declaration of personal responsibility and a commitment to the preservation of civilisation. There were those who never took up Citizenship, denizens, and those who were denied membership, criminals.

Criminals, by definition, were ones who actively rejected the mandate of the WU and fought against it. Terrorism, hakking and destabilisation actions were enough to strip a person of Citizenship and have them isolated on the man-made islands of polyplastic, far from the shores of the continents, botlocked and mood-controlled.

The Will determined what was and wasn’t a crime. The Will decided what was anathema. Most infringements of proper behaviour were treated with conditioning and rehabilitation, which brought aberrant Citizens back into proper behavioural alignment, so there was very little crime. Social engineering had removed most of the motivators for antisocial behaviour, as base services had for deprivation, removing the desperate motivations of the underprivileged.

It was a crime just to be a psi. It was a crime to use mental powers. Psis were the biggest criminal sector and one that had been steadily growing. But, as Tamsin explained to him — as La Gréle had explained to her — all they had to do was change what was and wasn’t a crime.

During the confusion of the blockade attack, Risom had escaped the confines of the Cape. Mere days ago he was trudging through the basement of Atlantic; now he sat with his feet resting on a low wooden table, sampling vintage alcohol that had been collected over a lifetime. His new hand couldn’t feel the cold of the glass.

Blair Butler, the owner of the estate, was returning from a walk; Risom could feel him approaching. He heard the door slide open and then the footsteps. A rucksack was dropped to the ground, an overcoat hung in the airing cupboard.

Come join me.
He compelled the man forward. Walking him to his seat on the porch. He kept Blair facing him and watched as the man’s eyes jumped around in their sockets.

‘Are you scared?’ Risom asked him. The man didn’t nod voluntarily so Risom forced the man’s head up and down.

‘Who are you?’ Blair asked.

‘Now, does that really matter? You didn’t ask who I was when you collected me.’

‘I’ve never been a —’

Risom smacked his jaw up, cracking his teeth together.

‘No. You never
did
it. You’re not the type that
does
things for themselves. You voice your opinion and let others do the work. But I don’t blame them, Senator Blair. They do what they do, they do what they are told. You though, you push them into it. You say what you say and think it ends there.’

‘You people are a menace. And when I get out of here I’m going to tell everyone what you’ve done to me.’

‘Senator, senator ...’ Risom snapped the man’s middle finger back. Blair Butler whimpered, but couldn’t move to staunch the pain. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be telling anyone anything ever again.’

‘Please,’ the senator dribbled, tears and spit wetting his face.

‘Do you see this, Senator?’ He lifted his silver arm up towards the man. ‘It’s because of people like you that I have this.’ He squeezed his hand and the wine glass cracked into shards. ‘I didn’t even feel that.’

‘Please. Don’t kill me. I’ll do anything,’ Butler cried.

‘Anything?’ A happy smile appeared on Risom’s face. ‘Would you run for me?’

‘What?’

‘For your life, would you run?’

‘I don’t understand ...?’

‘You said you’d do anything and I want you to run. Now. For your life. I’ll even give you a head start.’ Risom lifted the man to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the forest. Blair Butler looked back and forth from the steps to Risom, then bolted as fast as he could.

The landscape was untended, as nature intended. Scrub and sticks tripped him up and he stumbled every time he twisted back to see if Risom was chasing him. Risom watched the senator scrabble through the gardens. His property was deep in the wilderness zone, out of sight of the closest dome.

A branch whipped around and struck Blair in the mouth. The man tripped, but picked himself up.

‘Sorry about that,’ Risom called.

A tree fell in Blair’s path. He jumped it and started scrambling down a hill. Rocks leapt after him, bouncing higher than would be natural towards his head. He couldn’t dodge them all. One hit the back of his head and he fell to his knees. His hand felt for the cracks in his skull. The rocks continued to land on him, cracking his ribs and pummelling him until he blacked out with the pain and Risom left him to die under the cairn.

~ * ~

Peter Lazarus woke again.

At first he couldn’t remember where he was. He sat up in bed and looked around. Ah, the white place. The clean room.

In some ways, he didn’t mind waking up here. It was a more pleasant memory than the desert hospital, or the mud, or darkness in the grip of Pierre. He was calm in the white place.

It always smelt fresh in the morning. They must clean it while he slept. Silent bots with precision movements covertly tidying his room and wiping down the surfaces.

A new set of clothes waited for him on the slide-out table and he followed the line on the floor to the shower and back, then sat before the mirror looking at his reflection.

The soft pinkish lights glowed up from around the frame and the gentle woman’s voice spoke to him.

‘How are you feeling today, Mister Lazarus?’

He no longer looked around for the speaker, wondering where it came from. He was used to her by now. Every day was the same. He woke and followed the line to where it put him. He cleaned himself and then sat before the mirror where it would talk at him.

‘Mister Lazarus, are you okay?’ The voice emanated from the mirror.

He asked it the same questions every day: ‘What do you want from me?’ ‘How can I get out of here?’ ‘Who is speaking?’