Deadly Relations: Bester Ascendant (11 page)

“Then you already knew that Brazg and Nielsson were here?”

“What? Oh, no, Mr. Bester. We had no idea those two were in Paris. The Blip we were looking for was you. Did I happen to mention that you are under arrest?”

Chapter 6

Al straightened his uniform and tried not to appear nervous. He stared at the heavy door for a moment, steadied his breathing, forced the rhythm of his heart to slow from improvised jazz to a brisk march. He pushed the door open and stepped into a room he had never yet had the misfortune to see. Most of the classrooms and dorms were spare, white, clean, designed to keep the mind free from distraction.

This room was just as minimal-starkly so-but was weighty and dark, as if cut and burnished from a basalt cave. A single shaft of light awaited him, and beyond-raised above, behind a long bench-he could make out the five members of the review board, faces spectral in the dim, amber light of reading lamps.

“Alfred Bester, come forward.”

He stepped into the light, resisting the urge to squint. Of those regarding him, he recognized only two. One was Dr. Hatathli, the principal of the Minor Academy; the other was Rebbekah Chance, the ranking Teeptown Psi Cop. Seated in the center was a third, who looked familiar, butAl couldn’t quite place him. Someone important, probably from the director’s office. Maybe even one of the assistant directors.

“Mr. Bester,” Dr. Hatathli began, “is accused of unregistered and unsanctioned travel. He applied for and was granted a two - day leave in the Alps. At the end of those two days, instead of returning on schedule, he purchased a one-way ticket to Paris.”

Ms. Chance cleared her throat.

“This fact registered with our monitoring system, but as he is an exemplary cadet we gave Mr. Bester the benefit of the doubt. When - after several hours - he did not contact us, we dispatched a special detail to investigate. An officer with the Paris office went to the train terminal to meet Mr. Bester. He was found murdered a day later. We suspect he was killed by rogue telepaths or their agents.”

Dr. Hatathli took all this in, glancing down occasionally at the display in front of him. Now he turned his craggy, square face toward Al. In the dim lighting, he resembled vids Al had seen of the statues on Easter Island, his eyes invisible in shadowed sockets.

“Mr. Bester?”

“Yes, sir. I did apply for a two-day leave to go hiking with my old cadre. When we were coming home, at the train station, I recognized Lara Brazg.”

“And why didn’t you report this immediately?” Hatathli replied.

Al started to answer, but the man in the center cut him off with a raised finger.

“I have a better question. Mr. Bester, how did you so easily recognize this rogue telepath?”

AI suddenly remembered himself, long ago, when he and Cadre Prime had played that fateful game of cops and blips. The normal in a military uniform, at the statue of William Karges. Al remembered speaking to him. He remembered the flash of hatred… This was that man. Al took a deep breath.

“Sir, I hope to be a Psi Cop one day. I like to go to the West End station and look at the hunt lists.”

Ms. Chance nodded.

“That’s confirmed by the officers there.”

The normal didn’t turn toward her. His voice, however, was of deep winter.

“When I require information, Ms. Chance, I will ask for it.

“Yes, Director.”

Al felt his face twitch and damned himself. It’s the director himself. And not the one I knew. He remembered his conversation with Director Vacit only vaguely, but it had seemed to be some sort of warning, about things to come. About this man?

“Mr. Bester. Let us dispense with parceling out details. You went AWOL. You did so in the apparent company of a rogue telepath. The security officer of the train was found bound and gagged, and the Psi Cop who was to arrest you at the Lyon station murdered. You disappeared for several hours in Paris and were found, wounded, in the company of not one rogue telepath, but two. A scan while you were unconscious revealed that you knew the location of an underground safe house.”

He paused to glare at Al.

“Well?” the director said, after a moment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Al replied.

“I was not aware I had been asked to speak.”

“Speak,” the director said, disgustedly, waving his hands.

“Sir, if I was scanned, and the information passed to you, then you must also be aware that I never had-nor ever could have-any intention of becoming a Blip. My allegiance is first, last, always to the Corps. The Corps is mother, the Corps is father.”

As he said it, he heard Chance and Hatathli murmur it along with him. He felt suddenly more confident.

“You must know, sir, that my intention was to apprehend Lara Brazg myself. I see now that it was foolish, but with all respect, sir, it was not the act of treason you seem to suggest.”

“Don’t tell me what I suggest, Mr. Bester.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I continue, sir?”

“Please. I’m aching to hear what you have to say.”

“I followed Brazg onto the train. The train cop was her accomplice. By the time I was actually on the train, I started to think I ought to get help. When I told him of her presence, he tried to hit me with a shock stick. A scan of the cop will show that.”

“We cannot scan him without his permission. He will not give it.”

But you can scan me anytime you like, despite the law, Al thought. And it was clear that the director had intentionally underlined that point, emphasizing that Al had only those rights the director allowed him to have. Al decided that there was nothing to do but continue.

“I never saw the officer from Paris, and I have no idea who murdered him, though it might have been Nielsson. I knew nothing about Nielsson…”

“Except his name, it seems.”

“Yes, sir. The same way I knew Brazg’s.”

He outlined the rest of his story, while the director sat in stony silence.

“As I said, sir,” he said, in finishing, “if I was scanned, you will know I am speaking the truth. If the scan was incomplete, of course I volunteer to be scanned again, as deeply as necessary.”

“I don’t know that you are speaking the truth. I am not a telepath. I can only judge the facts at hand and testimony given.”

Al felt a wave of shocked outrage emanate from the other review board members, and he suddenly understood. The director hated telepaths. He did not trust them. And perhaps - for some unknown reason - he hated Al Bester in particular. The thought wasn’t his alone, but filtered lightly through the room, and Al understood that some or all of the panel members were sending him a signal. It’s us against him. You are with us. Be careful. A throat cleared behind him.

“Director, Mr. Bester was injured trying to apprehend Nielsson and Brazg. That he was shot by Nielsson is absolutely clear. That Nielsson planned to shoot him again is absolutely clear. I fail to understand the relevance of this entire line of…” he paused and finished with faint note of sarcasm, “…“questioning“”.

Al didn’t turn, but he knew the voice, and it felt like solid ground suddenly appearing beneath the feet of a drowning man. Sandoval Bey. The director aimed his ice - chip eyes behind Al.

“Are you advocating for him, Dr. Bey?”

“Absolutely. He is impetuous. He is also fifteen. Neither of those qualities, last time I checked. is considered criminal. Insubordinate, yes. Punishable, yes. Criminal, no.”

“Indeed? Very well, Dr. Bey. You think he should be punished, punish him. I command him to your custody, and will hold you responsible for any future transgressions on Mr. Bester’s part.”

“That’s fine with me, Director.”

“I did not ask for your approval.”

He turned a withering glance upon Al.

“In the future, Mr. Bester, I urge you to remember your place. You are a student, not a Psi Cop. The Corps cannot abide even the appearance of disloyalty. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, sir.”

“This panel is dismissed.”

In the hall, Al closed his eyes and felt his limbs tremble, ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure he ought to, but he paced for a time, until Bey came through the door and nodded at him.

“Dr. Bey…”

“Walk with me, Mr. Bester.”

They stepped out into the morning sunlight. Bey gestured across the lawn, and they started across it.

“I just wanted to thank you, sir.”

Bey’s head chopped in a nod.

“Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Bester. Despite what I told the director, your behavior was inexcusable. Your unthinking actions resulted in the death of a Psi Cop and of another telepath. I should have let him have you.”

“Why didn’t you, sir?”

“Because, Mr. Bester, the director is a mundane. Because he has no sense of justice. Rest assured - I do.”

Chapter 7

With near hatred, Al watched the children coming across the parade ground. Teacher Hua led them, but he knew that wouldn’t entitle him to any mercy. No, he remembered these field trips well, back when he was in Hua’s class.

If I live long enough, he wondered, will I see every situation from every perspective? I’ve been the child, now I’m the statue. Will I one day be the teacher? He was irritated by the thought. But what else did he have right now, except to think and suffer humiliation? Yes, the children had seen him, but they were still acting puzzled. It was their first trip to see the “statue of the day,” then.

“That’s a real man,” one of the kids noted.

“He isn’t a statue at all.”

She was a freckle-powdered girl with dirty blond hair. Her name tag proclaimed her “Vicky.”

“Hey, yeah,” a boy agreed. Vicky put her hands on her hips.

“How come he isn’t moving? How come he just stands there, like the Grabber? How come, Teacher Hua?”

“Ask him,” Teacher Hua said. Vicky looked up at Al.

“Why are you just standing there, Mr. Statue?”

Al wet his lips, wishing it were time for one of his five five-minute breaks so he could get a drink of water.

“My name is Alfred Bester. I stand here because of pride. In my pride, I believed I did not need to observe the wisdom of my elders. I acted without regard for the Corps. I stand here to warn against the rule of pride. The Corps is mother, the Corps is father.”

He stopped.

Those were the only words he was allowed to say to anyone.

“Wow,” Vicky said.

“How long does he have to stand there? How long do you have to stand there, Mr. Alfred Bester?”

He wasn’t allowed to answer that, but he didn’t know the answer anyway. This was the beginning of his third day, and Dr. Bey had not informed him how long it would go on.

“Hey!” Vicky said.

“How long do you have to stay standing like that?”

He remained impassive. He had become rather good at impassive. Vicky pouted.

“Look at him, and learn your lesson well,” Teacher Hua admonished.

“Now, if no one has anything else to say, come along.”

They started off. Al was just allowing himself a deep breath and a bit of relief when Vicky turned back, a determined look on her face.

“Why do you have to stand here like a statue?” she asked. Damn.

“My name is Alfred Bester. I stand here because of pride. In my pride, I believed I did not need to observe the wisdom of my elders. I acted without regard for the Corps. I stand here to warn against the rule of pride. The Corps is mother, the Corps is father.”

The other kids had paused, and some still looked confused. But Vicky’s face held sheer, malicious triumph.

“Don’t you get it?” she said.

“He has to answer that question.”

“Why are you standing there?” asked a dark-eyed boy whose tag identified him as Tali.

Al repeated his speech.

Then they all started in, asking him one after another, fast, so that he had to speed up. And they laughed at him, the little jerks, and they kept asking, and they started improvising mants around him, making fun of him. Normally children this age had short attention spans. Not when they had a chance to be cruel, though, especially to an elder. But if this was the worst he saw today, he would be lucky. It was finally Teacher Hua who broke it up, though Al suspected he wasn’t supposed to.

As they vanished from his view, he felt the lightest touch from the old man.

Hang in there, Alfred. You may sufer from too much pride, but some of us are proud of you, too. It left him feeling a much taller statue. The brief good feeling vanished at the lunch period, when academy students had their way with him. He had thought, after three days, that he had inured himself to their taunts. They always seemed to think it was funny to dress him up.

Today it was a leprechaun outfit green hat, a little Kerry vest, a pipe he had to hold clamped between his teeth. They ate in front of him, too, first passing the food beneath his nose and then p-casting the very taste of it to him as they ate. He didn’t block it; he had blocked all day the first day, and paid for it all night and the next day with a seething headache. They finished their meal, and one of them - a girl maybe sixteen years old - got up and strode toward him.

“Look what we have, my friends,” she said.

Her vowels had a crisp purity, an accent he couldn’t place. She was beautiful, with hair and skin nearly the same shade of cinnamon-brown, amber-tinted eyes. He had noticed her before. She stepped closer, looking up at him.

“Preach us a sermon, Mr. Cadre Prime. Tell us how great you are, how you are the heart and soul of the Corps, how everything we poor laters do is just catch-up.”

She waited a second or two.

“No sermon, huh? But you look like one, a living sermon, your jaw all stuck up in the air, a regular portrait of a preacher. The Corps is mama, and you are a mama’s boy, aren’t you? Run back to mama, little boy, and she’ll tell you how great and strong and wonderful you are, how proud she is of you-after she makes you stand out here for a few weeks.”

She suddenly jumped up on the podium next to him.

“My name is Alfred Bester!” she shouted. “I’m up here because I’m such a short, scrawny, tight-assed little fellow that I thought I would impress everyone by being a big, brave Psi Cop! I thought they would be so impressed, and yet look what they did to me! And so I see now that I really am a short, scrawny, tight-assed, self-important little fellow!”