Marked (13 page)

I rose out of Mindspace slowly, very slowly, ever so careful to follow the path I'd left behind. It was fading, almost gone, and without it I might lose track of up and down, and wander forever. Slow steps forward, forward, up, ever up, as I scratched against the pain of the deep and prayed for direction.

I was drenched in sweat by the time I surfaced, my hands shaking from excessive adrenaline. I felt lightheaded and strange.

But I'd done it. I'd surfaced, with the shape of the space in my mind.

Years of practice among the normals let me map the real space to the mind space; I walked over to the one spot the ripples had emanated from. The headboard. There was a painting over the headboard.

The back of the painting over the bed had a discolored place about the size of a golf ball, square, with a tear in the paper backing at the top and a notch in the upper frame, like something had been attached with wire and glue and then ripped away too quickly.

I checked. The mirror and the paintings along the right wall all had a layer of dust on top of them. The print over the bed, not so much. Nowhere else did a frame have a tear in the back of the paper.

“Gotcha,” I said.

Someone had planted some kind of device, and I was betting it was an influencer, something that had made Meyers's mind continue to see visions even after he took such extreme steps to end their possibility. I'd seen plenty over the last year, plenty enough to make me believe the Guild had this kind of technology.

And the same someone who knew the Guild well enough to sabotage the shielding system without burning down the building—well, that someone probably also knew the Guild well enough to get to the hidden technology.

When I opened the door Stone and Gustolf were laughing about a rugby game, laughing a little too hard with suppressed tension.

I waited until the laughter died down. “Let me show you both what I found.”

•   •   •

Stone closed the clamshell-shaped case. It held various small compartments, the largest containing the usual latex gloves I'd seen everywhere in the cop world, others with tweezers, spray-bandage, and other assorted things too folded to see clearly. At the top of the clamshell were three flat things with inlaid designs, each no bigger than a pack of gum, two of which had flashing lights. He'd pulled out one and taken readings of the area around the painting. Now, he folded everything up and put it away.

“That's it?” Gustolf asked.

“That's it. This was good work,” Stone added.

“Chain of evidence rules—”

“Oh.” Stone cut me off. “No, we don't have those. You take a photo, you take a reading, and that's usually plenty. Investigators have to explain conclusions to Nelson, not a jury. Nelson's pretty quick on the uptake.”

That was assuming he wasn't covering anything up. “What's a reading?”

Stone pointed to the upper section of the clamshell. “Fingerprint fluorescer and imager, camera with multiple light frequencies, Mindspace field reader. Not that the last doesn't act up in cases like these, with so much noise. Research is still working on it. To be honest, I've never had a reading be all that useful in the field. The mind's a lot more useful tool. But Nelson likes documentation.”

He was toting around probably the most complex—and likely illegal—computer-based technology I'd seen since pictures of pre–Tech War life in history class. “Those are very sophisticated devices there,” I observed.

“Don't worry. We have a secure storage facility for when the normals send their inspector. We're careful,” Stone said.

Wow. I took a moment and absorbed the ethics of that, especially as Gustolf didn't seem to blink an eye.

“Well.” I explained what I suspected about the device. “I'd like you both to put out feelers. We need to know who makes these things and who would have access to them.”

“I'll make some inquiries, but it will take a while,” Stone said. “Getting access to Research takes Nelson and a hell of a lot of paperwork.”

“Oh,” I said, now worried. If Nelson was behind it . . .

“I'll ask,” Gustolf said. “We have cousins in the lab in Chicago who might be able to find out. I will contact you if they know anything.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I looked around again, at the physical location, the unmade bed, the stain on the floor, the burn marks, the smell. Trying to figure out if I'd missed anything.

My stomach rumbled, loudly. I was used to skipping meals under Cherabino's driving pace, but it was maybe three in the afternoon and I hadn't eaten since early this morning. “Food?” I asked. Was it odd that the smell wasn't damping my appetite?

“If you want,” Stone said. “We were just leaving anyway.”

•   •   •

I pushed the elevator button for Level Five, the skybridge. The doors closed.

“Good work in there,” Stone repeated.

“Thanks.” Unable to help myself, I added, “Seems like way too much trouble for a regular suicide, don't you think? Especially from a guy who'd throw out half his apartment to keep a suicide from happening?”

“Yeah,” he said, not happy.

The elevator stopped on Level Four, someone pushing through into the elevator. Stone was already off, too late.

I followed. A long line of people stretched around the side wall, some standing, some sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. One guy near the end scratched at his face too hard, over and over, and the people standing near him were pulled away as scratches spread through the whole line, one person after another scratching face, hands, arms absently.

An overwhelming fear feeling came from the man at the end of the line, and I shielded up to my gills. Suicide or homicide, the Guild still had the Madness contagion to worry about. And me—well, I had that to worry about too.

Stone studied the line, and the sign that said
MENTAL HEALTH
, not twenty feet away to our left. The line was on the way to there.

It was all I could do to force myself to stay there, in the middle of it, as the door closed with a
ding
behind me. Telepaths were suggestible, I told myself, as the itchy feeling started to settle on me too. Telepaths were highly suggestible, and the best thing I could do for myself was simply not to believe any of it. Not believing would help the crowd too; the more discordant notes in the symphony, the weaker its global effects.

Then why did I feel so damn itchy all of a sudden?

Johanna moved out of the double doors marked
MENTAL HEALTH
, a stack of forms in hand. That's right, she worked for the health division, and they'd likely need all hands on deck for something like this. Two guard types came behind her, their entire arms covered by thick long gloves.

She raised her voice, mental and physical, and boomed, “Attention please!”

The entire line quieted. A scratch here. A scratch there.

“You did the right thing by coming here, and we will get you checked out as soon as possible. In the meantime, please fill out these detailed questionnaires. I've included a form at the back of the packet for you to write down everyone you've been in contact with for the last thirty-six hours. Please be precise. The Guild's future depends on your honesty.”

The man scratching at his face was now bleeding, the skin abrading under his fingernails. But still he scratched.
Bugs, get them off me, get them off me,
came from him across the space. The people around him gave him another few feet.

“Sir,” Johanna said, only out loud, but specifically in his direction. “Sir, I'll need you to come with us!”

The guards advanced, and I pushed past Stone.

“Let's take the stairs,” I said, and rushed out of there as quickly as my legs would take me.

Stone followed, his concern emanating like strong cologne.

I took careful stock when I left—I didn't
feel
itchy. I didn't feel mad. Did that mean anything?

CHAPTER 12

At the bottom
of the stairwell I ran into someone—literally.

I corrected, and apologized. It was Green, the guy who'd accused me of violating his privacy and gotten me thrown in the cell.

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” I said.

He pulled back. “You! Why is a criminal still walking around like free people? You should be in a cell.”

“And the case was dismissed,” I said rudely, which might be true. Maybe.

Green looked at Stone. “You're coming with me while I file a protest. You can explain to Diaz why you're letting a criminal free in the building.”

“Your boss hired me,” I said, petty anger floating to the surface. “Check with Rex. It's already done.” I had no idea who Diaz was, but Rex seemed like the kind of guy who was senior to everyone else.

Green stood there while his shields leaked disapproval and contempt. “Be sure I'll check that.”

“Go on, Adam, I'll handle this,” Stone said.

“Fine.” I added silently,
Weren't you going to follow up with Kara, or Hawk?

I'll do that after I take Green to Nelson. It's his department and he's signed off on it. He can deal with the fallout.

I didn't envy Nelson all of a sudden.

“Are you coming with me or should I go to your boss?” Green said. “I can pull your voting privileges if you irritate me, you know.”

I wasn't sure if that was a real threat or not. When I was here last, voting wasn't something you lost once you'd gained it. Guild membership might have been compulsory, but voting privileges for Council positions and the occasional policy legislation were not. You got them if you were both born with Guild parents and had a certain Ability rating, or if you hit certain high-level marks in your career. Practically no one still in school—even advanced schooling—would be able to hit those marks if they didn't have a vote by inheritance. In practice, only about forty percent of the Guild had the right to vote, and only a third of those hadn't been born into the privilege. Once you'd gotten votes, you had them forever.

“Can he really do that?” I asked.

“Let's ask Nelson,” Stone said. Then, to Green: “After you?”

Green turned on his heel and walked out through the stairwell door. His mind muttered behind him about political power and biased charges.

You know your way?
Stone asked as he hustled to catch up.

Yes,
I said, but he was already gone.

•   •   •

The rest of the Guild felt deserted, hollow, with Mindspace and reality curiously empty of minds. The main atrium, which was nearly always full of people, had one student on an errand and a guard. That was it. It was eerie.

I wondered how Cherabino was doing right now. I worried at the thought, trying to figure out if I would really ask her out as Swartz said. It would change everything, but maybe for the better. Or maybe he'd been right the first time.

Now I walked along the skybridge between the living quarters building (luxury apartments at the top, of course) and the “work” building, which housed pretty much any work the Guild did on-site with the exception of the school and research. I'd worked in the school, so while I'd seen the admin building through Kara's eyes—in the smallest, least important areas—I hadn't had much cause to go into the high-security bigwigs area.

Fortunately I had just the excuse to do that today.

The skybridge was beautiful and warm, light and airy with frost-tinged glass on every side, a pleasant cross breeze of plant-scented air, while below the small formal winter garden beckoned. All pollution-resistant plants, and most taller and more deeply colored as a result. Insect-eating flowers shared space with more normal bushes and trees. It was an oasis even in November.

A student sat in the middle of the bridge, on one of the low seats on the side built for that purpose. He was fourteen, maybe, and awkward, tall and thin with zits all over his face and misery written on his mind. A Seven, maybe, in telepathy, by the feel of his mind, though it could be another similar Ability. He was upset, and afraid of something, hiding out from the rest of the Guild in this relatively isolated spot.

I thought of stopping; I'd been a professor once, and this kind of thing happened more often than you'd expect. You took kids out of their family homes and lumped them in together with little training, and hurts happened. Hurts happened a lot; I'd found out the last year I was here that some of those hurts were encouraged, so as better to toughen people up.

“You lost, mister?” the kid asked me. I'd hesitated too long.

“I used to work here,” I said, to cover whatever I might have projected into Mindspace. “It's hard to know sometimes what to do when you come back after a long time away. Are you okay?”

I saw a series of lies flit across his brain, then a decision. “No,” he said, “but I don't want to talk about it.” His mind leaked a roommate who was yelling about Guild First, a girlfriend who wouldn't stop talking about everyone going mad, and a teacher who did nothing to stop the chatter. And his classmates, his hallmates, who were convinced he was a carrier of the madness even though he'd passed the screening. They wouldn't talk to him anymore. They ran when they saw him coming. And now his girlfriend was starting to believe them. He wanted time to sit, and be, and pretend things were normal again, pretend the shame of it didn't matter. He hadn't done anything. But the shame still burned.

“Fair enough,” I said, keeping my mind calm, responding only to the verbal thoughts. I didn't think he realized he'd spilled, and I wasn't the person to offer comfort, not now. Helpless, I asked, “Can you tell me how to get to the employment administrative offices?”

He straightened. “Yeah. Sure.” He told me detailed directions twice and then forced a smile. “Hope you find your way.”

“Me too,” I said, and left. The memory of my own hurts from my school days echoed too, made that much worse by this idea of contagion. His fellows might never let him back. Never. Over some imagined idea that spread like wildfire. There were downsides to a life among telepaths. There were downsides to a life among humans.

•   •   •

As I entered the cafeteria, I felt a familiar mind emerge close by. I followed the mental sense around the corner and all the way across the room, to the section where you emptied your trays.

“Jamie!” I called, genuinely pleased. One of the strongest minds at the Guild and impossible to miss, but I was glad to see her. Her presence made all the madness seem far away. If anyone in the building was least likely to get infected, it was her. She had the willpower—and the numbers—to disbelieve anyone around her, to be the influencer and not the influenced.

She looked around, confused, before spotting me. Jamie was one of a handful of Level Ten telepaths in the world, her mind impacting Mindspace like a stone dropped in a pond even when she was controlling it. She was a sixty-something woman now, with graying hair pulled into a chignon (she insisted on the term) and a silk skirt suit at the moment. She had two older-teenager students behind her, a Latina with very long hair and a dress at maybe sixteen years old, and a short Indian-looking male student in slacks and a button-up shirt at maybe seventeen.

Why are you guys out despite the lockdown?
I asked, still ten feet away.

Adam,
her thought hit me in return.
Meet Marta and Rohan.
She pulled my mind into an open rapport with their minds, easily and smoothly. There were reasons why Jamie was one of the best mentors in the Guild.

I stopped about three feet from them, a comfortable distance.
Hello, Marta. Hello, Rohan.
I sent a small packet of the me-sense to both, a greeting among close friends or colleagues. I received their return greetings and mental signatures with formality. They both seemed nervous in body language and mental signature. I sent a quiet calm in return.

They're about to take their Eleventh Hour testing,
Jamie explained.

“Ah,” I said out loud. “Good luck. I know you'll do very well. Jamie's one of the best telepathy mentors in the Guild. She mentored me back in the day, you know.”

“Did you pass the first time?” Marta asked in a high, hesitant voice.

“Top marks in every category but one,” I said.

“You always did struggle with distraction.” Jamie smiled.
Is there a reason you pulled back from the connection?
She sent on a private channel to me.

I blinked. I hadn't realized I'd done that.
Around normals too long,
I said. And then added subtext that I was worried about something.

You work with normals?
Rohan's mental voice put in.
You don't seem like a Minder.

I blinked at him, shocked. That had been a private sending, laser-targeted to Jamie's mind and hers alone.

Oh. Forgot to warn you,
Jamie said, a trace of amusement in her voice.
Rohan is . . . well, we call it ‘seeing around corners.' There's not much he can't interpret in Mindspace. My hope is that we'll get him involved in some heavy-monitoring situations.

Military?
I asked. Then, to Rohan:
Sorry I startled. No, I'm not a Minder. Once upon a time, I worked Structure.
I leaked in all the layers of what I was: professor, etc.
I've been . . . away from the Guild for a while and work for the police now. How do you ‘see around corners'?

The kid looked at me.
How do you see in Mindspace?

Um . . .
I thought about it.
Good point. You just do.
That was the one thing you couldn't quite teach somebody; I'd tried. Either you could “see” the space between the minds, like me, or you couldn't, like Stone. You could be a good telepath either way, but the difference could not be taught.

Yeah. I just kinda do. Jamie saw me doing it and pulled me out of the regular class. I was getting into trouble anyways.

I could imagine people would be very bent out of shape to have their private conversations public.
Maybe sometime you'll let me ‘piggyback' and see what you do,
I offered.
Sometimes I can learn techniques that way so we could teach others.
It startled me that I'd used the “we,” but it felt natural here.

Maybe,
he said, but I felt a reluctance, partly because he liked being unique, and partly because I was betting he didn't feel quite comfortable around me. Good call, kid, I thought quietly behind a shield. Stranger danger and all that.

We need to go,
Jamie said on a wide band. Even controlled, she was loud enough in Mindspace that people sitting at tables ten feet away looked up. Or, well, about sixty-five percent of them, the usual percentage of listening-telepaths in the crowd.

Good luck,
I told them both.
Don't let the proctors intimidate you.

They took their leave then and headed off. I wondered if I should have kept my distance.

Jamie sent a small, quiet laser-tight sending to me after they'd already turned away:
Let me drop off the kids. Then I'll meet you back here?
She sent a quiet welcome and a request to catch up.

Sure,
I said, but I'd had to put way too much power behind the sending, enough power to make my head hurt. They were only a hundred feet away down the hall now.
I'll be here.

Seeing her brought it all back, those days when I was on top of the world, a part of something greater than myself. When I was happy with Kara, and happy teaching, and happy following in Jamie's footsteps. The world seemed so clear then. The memory cut me now, like a blade.

I would never be what I was, never again. And now, I had to work all too hard to send a decent distance-message. It was afternoon, when my brain was tired, and I was still recovering from a mind injury. I'd probably overstrained finding my way back from Mindspace in Meyers's apartment. That's all it was, just a little overstrain. But deep inside, I doubted. It was just one more thing that made me different, made me less, than what I had been.

•   •   •

At nearly four o'clock on a Saturday, you took what you could get from the Guild cafeteria. In this case, it was a three-bean chili they'd set out with corn bread and some greens in the entryway; the main food line was, of course, closed at this hour. I was hungry enough not to care about content, and ladled plenty of everything.

When Jamie showed up, I was in the long, brightly lit seating area, in a booth toward the back under a picture of Gabriela Gee, the original firestarter back at the founding of the Guild. I'd always mistrusted something about her eyes in pictures, but the booth was clean and quiet, with privacy awnings set up with enough low-level electrical fields to prevent accidental thought spillage into other booths. Now that I'd had some time to think about it, I regretted talking to the kids mind-to-mind; I felt fine, but if I'd been exposed to madness, I had no business spreading it. I was out of my league here, and unsure. What risk was there, if any?

I'd warn Jamie to look out for signs, I decided.

I'd finished about half the bowl of chili, enjoying the spice, and most of the greens and corn bread, when I saw her.

Jamie smiled and slid into the booth, a sense of tiredness and apprehension for the students coming through. She had a cup of tea in her hands, the strong smell of chamomile flavoring the air. The feel of her mind, like sunshine and ozone over baked grass on a summer's day, complemented the smell of the tea and reminded me of days long past. Even the ebb and flow of Mindspace around her impossibly strong mind felt comforting, familiar.

Every time I looked at her these days, I blinked. It was like she'd aged ten years in a day. She hadn't, of course; I'd aged the ten years too. But I'd been there for that part. For her—well, it was new.