The Supernaturalist (11 page)

Cosmo was lifted from the back of an assault truck and dumped bodily into an enormous plasti-glass vat full of yellow viscous dissolving agent. Cosmo had been in a vat before at the Institute. The agent would have him puking for hours once it got into his system. Cosmo’s nose and mouth were kept above the liquid by a plunger-like device attached to the top of his head. If that was removed before the dissolving agent did its work, he could get plunger burn and end up with a large circular bald patch. But there was no point worrying about that now. There
wasn’t anything he could do, even if the sedative allowed him to summon some willpower. The best thing to do was float here and keep his breathing regular. Short, even breaths that put no pressure on his ribcage.

In a way, it was a relief to have nothing to do. No crazy missions, no death-defying midnight antics and no supernatural creatures staring at him through round eyes.

Then a Parasite did attach itself to the outside of the vat, staring through the plasti-glass. But Cosmo was safe in here. The creatures could not brave the liquid.

Any other time, it would have been unnerving to have the demon so close. The sparkling blue pads of its four-fingered hands stuck to the plasti-glass. They stared at each other, boy and creature, through a yellow haze. In Cosmo’s mind, the Parasite’s eyes spoke volumes.
There is no escape from me,
they said.

After several minutes’ implacable staring, the Parasite detached itself from the plasti-glass. Doubtless there was life to be siphoned elsewhere.

Cosmo sank into a near trance-like state. The events of the past few days bounced around his head like blobs of oil in a lava lamp. Who was he now? Cosmo Hill, fugitive no-sponsor, or Cosmo Hill, Supernaturalist? Who was Cosmo Hill anyhow? A product of Clarissa Frayne, with no personality to speak of. Fourteen years old and he had never kissed a girl.

Mona Vasquez. What was it about her that made his stomach lurch? Cosmo had once been injected with a mild
strain of malaria as part of a vaccine test. The malaria had pretty much the same effect on him as Mona had. It was a pity really. His feelings were pointless. What girl in her right mind would notice Cosmo, even if he was standing on a birthday cake wearing a neon heart?

Nevertheless, Mona’s image grew in Cosmo’s head until it displaced all others. Her smile, the black hair curling over her collar. Those dark eyes like two chocolate buttons. She seemed to float in the liquid before him, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek.

The sedative made Cosmo speak.
Might as well,
he reasoned.
It’s just an hallucination.

‘Mona,’ he said, and strangely there was no cellophane covering his face any more. ‘I really like you.’

‘Is that so?’ said the large bearded vat man, who was winching Cosmo’s plunger. ‘I really like you too, sweetie.’

‘Adieu,
my prince, until we meet again.’

Cosmo was too busy throwing up into the aluminium trough to respond. Not that he would say anything even if he could. In Clarissa Frayne you learned to keep your mouth shut. Every one of the no-sponsors had known that, except Ziplock.

When he had recovered sufficiently, Cosmo tore some paper from a wall-mounted roll and wiped himself down.
Then he dragged a steel cot across the room until it was directly beneath the warm air vent, and lay down.

His orphanage habits were returning, as if he’d never been away. After all, what was a few days in fourteen years. Not even one per cent. Nowhere close. And yet, he felt he had lived more in the past few days than in all those years combined.

When they threw you in the hole at Clarissa Frayne, there were certain survival methods the no-sponsors all knew. First of all: sleep as much as possible. That took your mind off food and your situation in general. A seasoned orphan could sleep for as much as sixteen hours a day.

Secondly, don’t think about freedom. Wishing the days away just makes them seem longer. And finally, try not to want anything, especially parents. That will just break your heart.

Cosmo lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep would not come. There was too much happening inside his head. Supernaturalists, Parasites, Sweethearts, Bulldogs, a Bartoli Baby and of course, Mona.

Thank goodness he had only declared his affection to a vat man. Mona would probably laugh in his face. Probably. Not that he would ever see her again. Cosmo had no doubt that once they DNA-typed him and found out who he was, he’d be on the first tube back to Clarissa Frayne and Marshal Redwood.

‘OK, sweetheart,’ he said, scratching a patch of stubble between two drooping chins. ‘On your feet. Someone wants to talk to you.’

‘Who?’ asked Cosmo, swinging his damp boots to the floor.

The vat man lifted Cosmo’s chin with a baton. ‘What did you say? Did you just ask me a question?’

‘No,’ said Cosmo hurriedly. ‘I mean, no, sir.’

‘Better,’ said the jailer, turning his back. ‘Follow me and stay between the yellow lines or one of the guards will wrap you again.’

The vat man led him down a long corridor to a bank of elevators. There were two solid yellow lines on the floor, with scuffed linoleum between. The lino on either side was unblemished.

Cosmo stopped before the first lift.

‘No, no, sweetheart,’ said the vat man. ‘You’re going to the
Observatory.’
He said it reverentially. Like it was a big deal. Cosmo followed him to the last elevator in the bank, a gold block with no call button, just a video intercom.

The vat attendant stood before the camera, smoothing his hair with one licked hand. ‘I got the kid here. The one who junked the tank.’

There was no reply, but the door slid open noiselessly.

‘In you go, sweetheart,’ said the man, pushing Cosmo inside.

‘Miss you already,’ said Cosmo as the door closed. Why not. It was unlikely he would see the man again. One way or the other.

The elevator rose so quickly that it appeared to stay absolutely still. Cosmo didn’t realize he was moving until one wall slid back to reveal a crystal window. The lift was on the outside of the building and shooting upwards like a projectile from a cannon. Outside, the city flashed past in speed-blurred lines of light. Soon the golden box had outstripped the other buildings and was sailing upwards towards the heavens. Cosmo felt that if the elevator stopped now, he would continue upwards, losing himself in the universe.

There was no time to consider escape, and nowhere to escape to. You might as well talk about escaping from a parachute. Before the notion had even occurred to him, the lift began decelerating, eventually coming to a halt somewhere near the edge of the atmosphere. It seemed that if Cosmo reached up a hand he would be able to touch the Myishi Satellite.

The door slid open and a very large hand reached in, grabbing Cosmo by the throat. He was dragged into the most opulent room he had ever seen in his life. Illegal stuffed animal heads were mounted on the walls. Elephants, bears, a gorilla and hundreds of birds. Even an extinct dolphin, flapping animatronically in a vat of
blue preservative. Low couches lined the walls, draped with luxurious throws. Expensive-looking art vied for attention, including a mime hologram in a suspended cube.

‘Welcome to the Myishi Corporation,’ said a female voice.

Cosmo looked across the huge room to a sunken lounge area. A slender woman was reclining on a fur-lined sofa, running a finger around the rim of a crystal flute. There were at least half a dozen bodyguards within six feet of her. Cosmo could feel their eyes through the black lenses of their sunglasses. Sunglasses at night. Weirder and weirder.

One of the bodyguards adjusted a tiny dial on the arm of his glasses.

‘He’s clean,’ he said, in tones that could have sanded wood. ‘No weaponry.’

Not just ordinary sunglasses then.

The woman stood. She was tall and slim. No surgery though. This woman looked like she could bench-press a couple of the security men. Her features were tanned and strong. The tan must be painted on because no one in their right minds stayed out in the sun any more. Her hair was cropped short, blonde with grey streaks at the temples. She was dressed in a loose linen suit, almost like pyjamas, and wore flat leather thong sandals with a gold ring on her second toe.

‘So you’re the one who took out an assault tank,’ she
said. Her voice was musical, almost mesmeric. ‘Do you know how much one of those tanks costs?’

Cosmo shook his head.

‘An absolute fortune. Never mind, we’re insured. The point is, that there is a seal on the tank’s barrel to stop this kind of thing happening. It only opens for one hundredth of a second before each shell is fired. You managed to put a cellophane slug down there in that time. Impressive, if you meant it. We had you DNA-typed Master Cosmo Hill, no-sponsor. You’re supposed to be dead.’

Cosmo decided that this would be a good time to change the subject.

‘Are you Miss Myishi?’

The woman laughed, soft peals that made Cosmo want to laugh with her. ‘Miss Myishi? No. There hasn’t been a Myishi at the corporation’s helm for nearly a hundred years. We just keep the name for public recognition purposes. The Myishi zaibatsu wasn’t suited for the modern business world. Too many eastern morals. My name is –’

At that precise moment the elevator door opened and Stefan stepped out. His brow was creased in its customary frown, until he noticed the blonde lady.

‘Ellen… Professor Faustino?’ he said uncertainly. ‘What are you doing here? Did they get you too?’

Stefan shrugged off a pair of security men at his elbows and strode across the room. With a flick of a single finger, Faustino directed the security men back into the
elevator. Stefan caught the gesture. He stopped short.

‘You work here, Professor Faustino? For Myishi?’

‘It’s President Faustino now, Stefan.’

Confusion was written all over Stefan’s face. Was this woman an old friend or a new foe?

‘President? I never thought you would go to work for the corporations, especially Myishi.’

‘Fight from the inside, Stefan. Attack from the rear.’

‘Well you certainly are on the inside.’

Faustino reached up, laying a hand on each of Stefan’s shoulders.

‘Well, well, well. Little Stefan Bashkir. You have grown up.’

Cosmo blinked. Little Stefan Bashkir? Who was this woman?

Stefan looked embarrassed by the attention. Was he actually blushing?

‘It’s been more than two years since I got out of the widows’ and orphans’ home. The last time I saw you, you were still with the city police. Now you’ve gone over to the other side.’

Faustino plucked a wafer-thin remote control from the coffee table. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear about Myishi, Stefan. We do more good than harm.’ She brushed an elegant finger against a button and the suite’s entire roof slid back revealing the stars above and, of course, the Satellite.

‘The Satellite that saved –’

‘That saved the world,’ completed Stefan. ‘We’ve all seen it on TV. Every twenty seconds it seems.’

Faustino smiled. ‘Not like this you haven’t. Come over here, Stefan, and you too, Master Hill. Sit down, the view is splendid.’

Cosmo crossed the plush carpet, weaving between growling bodyguards. The men probably hadn’t messed anybody up yet today and were just looking for an excuse. He took a seat between Stefan and Ellen Faustino on a low sofa. Her perfume wafted over him like something he’d smelled once in a dream, but couldn’t quite remember.

‘Comfortable?’ she asked.

Cosmo nodded hesitantly. He’d never been asked that question before. The marshals at Clarissa Frayne weren’t inclined to get blubbery if an orphan was uncomfortable. Often they were the cause of the discomfort.

Faustino pressed a second button on the remote and the sofa tilted backwards, speakers sliding out from behind the headrests. They were now looking directly through the transparent ceiling at the Satellite beyond. The ceiling flexed slightly, and suddenly everything was magnified by a thousand. It seemed as though the Satellite was about to crash on to the building.

Cosmo jumped in his seat.

‘Relax, boy,’ said Ellen, placing two slim fingers on his wrist. ‘The Observatory often has that effect on first-timers.’

The detail was amazing. Cosmo could pick out
individual solar panels on the satellite’s wings. He could see bursts of gas from its stabilizers and dish jockeys floating across the concave surface of the great dish. It was immense, mind-boggling.

Stefan was not so easily impressed. ‘What are we doing here, Professor Faustino? What is this all about?’

‘Be patient, Stefan. That was always your failing. Sometimes a story is too big to tell in one breath.’

Faustino pressed a combination of buttons and several screens appeared on the giant lens. The screens were running old news footage from the beginning of the millennium. Scenes from war-torn Europe and the Middle East, African famine and South American earthquakes. Wrap-around sound erupted from the speakers.

Faustino supplied the commentary. ‘Not so long ago, the world was tearing itself apart. There simply wasn’t enough room on the planet for us all. The Myishi Satellite has gone some way to solving that problem.’

Stefan folded his arms, crossing his boots loudly. International body language for
Pull the other one.

‘I know your opinion of Myishi, Stefan,’ said Faustino. ‘But just give me a chance and I think you’ll find we’re fighting the same enemy.’

‘I doubt that,’ muttered Stefan.

‘The problem was that countries were not being run as businesses. Decisions were being made on the basis of religion or history, notoriously unsound motives for doing anything. States fell apart because of bigotry and
century-old squabbles. The Myishi Corporation has taken on all these problems, and I think we’re winning.’

‘How can you say that?’ interjected Stefan. ‘Parts of the city are in chaos. People are starving.’

‘I’m not saying things are perfect, Stefan. There have been wrinkles. But this is a new system. Satellite cities could solve the world’s population problem. Storage in outer space is the future, Stefan, and that’s the truth. Every household has an average of ten computer-driven appliances. Do you realize how much memory space that occupies? In a city this size, that’s ten blocks, just for household appliances. Then you have administration, entertainment, travel, communications. We store all that in a satellite in geostationary orbit above the city, constantly updating, constantly self-repairing.’

Cosmo was the first to twig where this was leading.

‘Self-repairing until now,’ he said. ‘Lately the Satellite has been messing up big time.’

Faustino switched off the news footage.

‘That’s right. It’s getting worse and worse. As you can see we have squads of dish jockeys working around the clock. Some things we’ve been able to cover up, but word is getting out. Myishi stock is taking a real hammering.’

‘Sick and homeless people don’t care much about stock,’ said Stefan.

A flash of annoyance curled Ellen Faustino’s lip for an instant, then disappeared. ‘These things are being
addressed, Stefan. We have long-term projects in development. Shelters, employment schemes, rehabilitation clinics. I’m doing my best to raise the money from Myishi International in Berlin. In fact Central had signed on for a forty-billion-dinar welfare grant for the city until this latest problem came along.’

‘What problem?’ asked Stefan, trying to fake only a casual interest.

‘Oh, I think we both know what the problem is.’ Ellen Faustino rose from the couch, straightening her linen suit.

Stefan was out of the sofa, staring down into the woman’s eyes. ‘I said, what problem, Professor?’

Faustino stared right back at him, not in the least cowed. ‘Don’t talk to me that way, Stefan. Your mother would not approve. Answers, that’s why I brought you here. That’s why you and your little vigilante helper aren’t in the interrogation block right now.’

Ellen Faustino ran some more footage on the ceiling screens.

‘Look up, Stefan. They’re playing your song.’

Stefan settled back into the couch. Overhead a familiar scene played out digitally. It showed the Supernaturalists blasting Parasites on top of the Stromberg Building, in glorious true-tone colour.

Stefan winked at Cosmo. ‘That doesn’t prove anything. Those people are wearing fuzz plates, so you can’t see who they are. And even if you could, they’re not hurting anybody.’

Faustino looked around dramatically. ‘This is not a court room, Stefan. I don’t see any lawyers in here. If I wanted you on charges, I’d have had you two years ago.’

Stefan’s surprise broke through his mask of indifference. ‘You what?’

‘That’s right, young man. I’ve had my electronic eye on you for a long time now. A special scope on the Satellite, dedicated to your nightly activities. Well, if you will insist on running around rooftops. And believe me, I have plenty of footage of your smiling face without a fuzz plate. Not to mention Miss Mona Vasquez and a certain Lucien Bonn, aka Ditto. I have enough evidence on your little group to have you buried deeper than a core-ore tunnel.’

Stefan clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles popped. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Don’t you want to know why I never had you pulled in?’

‘Until tonight,’ corrected Stefan.

Faustino waved her hands. ‘Tonight was a mistake. You got mixed up in another department’s operation. If you knew the favours I had to call in to get you two released into my custody. That said, I have been trying to find you for the past few weeks.’

‘I thought you were the president. Surely you could track us with your all-seeing Satellite?’

‘I’m just the president of Developmental Projects.
Mayor Ray Shine is the big cheese. He doesn’t even know we’re working together.’

Again, Stefan was stunned. ‘Now we’re working together?’

‘Of course you didn’t know it. You’ve been taking care of the city’s infestation problem, or so we thought.’

Aha,
thought Cosmo.
Here comes the reason why we’re not in pain right now.

‘Infestation?’ said Stefan innocently.

Faustino smiled. ‘Oh come on now, Stefan. Don’t play dumb with me. I see them too, you know.’

‘See who? See what?’

Ellen Faustino crossed to her desk, activating a 3D projection on the floor. She transferred the Stromberg footage from the ceiling screen, and a 3D high-resolution rendering of the Supernaturalists sprang into life in the centre of the room. Shot from above, they resembled characters in a video game. A single Parasite crawled along an adjacent wall. Faustino froze the footage, manipulating the video until only the Parasite remained.