Richard Lovett: Phantom Sense

The Sense won’t detect a sociopath. Or certain types of psychotics. The most dangerous people are those who simply don’t care. Like this one.

Like the guy pretending to argue that deep-dish isn’t real pizza.

If I’d been physically in the room with a gun, I hate to think what I’d have done. As it was, it was only when I started sneaking bees under Laurel’s door that I woke to the fact I was in St. Louis, preparing to attack a geek for arguing about pizza.

Denise was watching me. I still had a hundred-plus pairs of eyes on her; I’d not diverted any of those for my foray into the cube farm, had never missed a move she’d made. I’d always been good at splitting my attention. That day in the market wasn’t the only time it had saved me.

Laurel was looking at me, too. Waiting for her answer. Reluctantly, I directed most of my sensors toward her, trying to get a better read. She was one of the dangerous ones, but not one of the super-dangerous ones. Emotions well in check, but not remorseless. Sure enough of herself to give me a swarm during our negotiations. But norm-ignorant of the strength of the emotions she’d unleashed? Maybe, maybe not. She might know exactly what she was doing. CI-MEMS doesn’t give that kind of information.

“It feels… great,” I said.

“So it’s a deal?”

“It’s tempting.”

“Then do it. Save your daughter. And yourself.”

Yes was on my lips. Sure, I’d thought the pizza-debater was some kind of terrorist. But I’d caught myself before I’d actually done anything. With time, surely I could learn even better control.

But Denise was still looking at me. I could almost feel her eyes boring into the side of my head, though even with the swarm I had no idea what she was thinking. For the first time in decades, I realized that this was normal. Not just normal, but the way things were supposed to be.

And yet…

In high school I’d climbed a 14,000-foot peak in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. We’d made the summit by 10 am, hours before the usual afternoon thunderstorms. But puffy fair-weather clouds congealed with remarkable haste, and minutes later, we were leaping down boulders as thunder crashed and lightning seared the sky. With every meter of descent, I felt safer… safe enough that soon I slowed to a walk. When the storm’s power caught up with me, I dashed again, to the next glacial bench, the next meadow, the next tarn… only to pause again, as the storm gathered strength to chase me down once more.

I decided to be truthful. For Denise? Laurel? Myself? Another who knows .

“It really is tempting,” I repeated. “I feel alive, like I haven’t in years.”

Like I had on the mountain. Extreme life and near death. Maybe Cora had been right. Maybe you can’t have one without the other. Or maybe I couldn’t.

But with the life came the fear. Extending my fringe into the cube farm hadn’t been enough. I’d wanted to go to the street, to the buildings on the other side—to the three-seconds-even-to-hear-it sniper range I’d been unable to Sense the day of the ravine. Beyond that, even, because there are enemies in far corners of the globe who’d blow up shopping malls, train stations, Denise…

I’d spent years wishing I could roll back the clock. Now I could. But if I did, I’d become Jerret.

It took another hour, but I eventually pried out of Laurel (the old-fashioned way, by asking questions) that ERF was the only firm licensed to make or install civilian CI-MEMS chips. Beta-testing was being carried out by several firms, but if I could find one of Jerret’s flies, ERF could trace the chip and find out which subcontractor was involved. And with a hoped-for stock offering in a couple of years, ERF was very interested in snuffing out criminal uses, or at least keeping them quiet.

Eventually, Laurel gave me a gadget like an airport security wand. “Find a dead bug and this will read its chip. She paused. “ If you can find a dead bug. Are you sure you won’t take our original offer?”

That night, Denise and I reviewed Cora’s vidblog from the time she first complained about insects. Nothing conclusive, but we both reached the same conclusion.

“The bathroom,” Denise said. “That’s the best bet. Maybe she managed to hit a few more.”

Another day, another airplane. At least this one wasn’t a redeye.

Getting into the apartment was a different matter. It was second-floor, which made coming in through a window difficult, even if we were willing to risk it. And there was no key in any of the obvious places: under the doormat, in or under the potted plants on her stoop, on the doorframe. Nothing we could find on or under her car, either.

“Screw this,” Denise said, and marched toward the manager’s office. “Stay out here. Do something… manly.” Briefly, I saw the elfin grin. “Preferably out of sight.”

A few minutes later, she emerged with a key. “That was easy. She’s got a daughter the same age.” She sobered. “It helped that she likes Cora. And the lease requires notice if she’s going to be gone for more than a week.”

Mentally, I counted. “This is only day seven.”

“So I exaggerated. Did you really want to wait ’til tomorrow?”

We found what we were looking for on the windowsill. It being Texas, there were a lot of dead insects, but only one had a chip implanted behind its head.

“Damn,” Denise said. “So he really did take her.”

“You doubted it?”

“Wouldn’t you? There’s a reason I divorced you. At the end, you weren’t exactly rational.” She looked up, met my gaze. “Was the withdrawal really that bad?”

“Yes.” If I’d known what it would cost, maybe I would never have taken the implant. But once I had it…

I remembered how it had been in Laurel’s office. The godlike power. The sense of being alive again. Had Denise not been there… “Jerret’s going to be pretty jittery.”

I read the number to Laurel over the satphone.

“-7987?” she asked.

I double-checked. “Yes.”

“Okay, that one went to Advanced Military Systems Consulting in… Tehachapi.”

“Where the hell’s that?”

“California. Between Bakersfield and Palm Springs. They’re one of our smaller subcontractors, working on security aps. Banks and things like that.”

“What’s the address?”

“Uh-uh. They’re our subcontractor. I am this close to a deal with the FBI. Those folks are going to tell me how one of their flies wound up in your daughter’s apartment, or by God, I’ll yank their contract and to hell with the banks. How soon can you get to Palm Springs?”

I shrugged, but we were voice only, so of course she couldn’t see it. “As soon as we can.”

“Meet me at the Hyatt. I’ll book you and your wife a room.”

“She’s not—” but Laurel had rung off.

Another day, another flight. Not the world’s easiest connection, actually. We had to change planes in Vegas. At midnight.

Laurel’s trip wouldn’t have been any easier, but if she was feeling it, she wasn’t letting on. “The Ontario airport’s a little closer, but the hotels here are better,” she said. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

Denise shot her a what-planet-do-you-come-from look, but I intervened. “Good enough.” The Corps had taught me that any sleep you actually wake up from was a good one. The past few years had raised doubts about that—the value-of-waking-up part, that is—but right now, I was on a mission. Even jetlagged and without a swarm I felt… surprisingly alive.

“Great,” Laurel said, ignoring whatever subtleties she might have observed. She handed me a scone that might as well have come from Denise’s Starbucks. “Let’s hit the road.”