Richard Lovett - Phantom Sense

“I was in special ops,” I said. “Mostly of the black kind.”

“I kind of gathered that. What’s that got to do with Cora?” She’d barely changed since the last time I saw her. Reddish blond hair parted in the middle, no gray showing at the roots, triangular face capable of an elfin grin that could melt your heart in a flash. Not that she was showing it now. At least she could no longer have me arrested. She’d agreed to this meeting. For the moment, the court orders were off.

“I’ll get to that. I was in something called CI-MEMS. Cyborg Insect Micro-Electro Mechanical Systems. It uses little, tiny chips to control insects. Houseflies were my favorite, but I could also do beetles, dragonflies, wasps… pretty much anything. I controlled them through that tattoo on my back. It’s basically a really fancy nano-electric neural interface.” Which is why they’d left it intact. Enough nerves had grown into the lattice that removing it would be like peeling away a layer of my brain.

Denise must have been good in her business. She had nothing to say, so she said it.

“The chips also carried sensors that let me use the insects for remote sensing. If they could see something, so could I. But it was more than seeing. I could sense hostility, tell friend from foe, know everything going on within about 1,500 feet.” I hesitated. Reached for the pain. Took the leap. “That time I attacked you… ?”

She nodded.

“They were taking my insects away. Retiring me. You came up and surprised me. Nobody had been able to surprise me for years. I thought you were… some… some thing else.”

If I expected absolution I wasn’t getting it that easily. “So when you were at home, you were spying on me?”

“Yes. No. It’s not that simple. It was like having a sixth sense. One that’s more real than any of the others. I couldn’t help but spy on you. Shutting it off would have been like death. Was like death. That last mission… ?”

“Yeah…”

“That was the rehab from having it shut off. It takes forever, and you’re never really right.” Or anything close to it, but she didn’t need to know that.

Sheglanced at her coffee. Looked back up. “So what does this have to do with Cora?”

“Jerret was also CI-MEMS.”

“And… ?”

“He took it worse than I did. I at least lost my swarm under controlled conditions.” And still managed to make a mess of it. “He didn’t. That’s why I insisted she break up with him.”

“And… ?” But now there was concern beneath the coolness.

“He’s back. I think he’s kidnapped her.”

The voice on the phone was the same as always.

“Flashback, hallucination, or phantom eye?”

“Something else, this time. I need to know how to get the Sense back.”

“Can’t be done. You’re on the wagon. That’s the whole idea.”

“Maybe for you and me. But not for everyone.” I explained. “Do you know where he might have gotten it?”

The silence lasted long enough I thought I’d lost the connection.

“Maybe.”

More silence.

“For God’s sake, where?”

“You’re sure this isn’t for you?”

“How long have I been calling you? Have I ever asked before?”

Another silence. Then a sigh. “Okay. You might try an outfit called EFR. Entomologic Futures Research. They’re in St. Louis. Rumor has it they’re looking to adapt CI-MEMS for civilian police work.”

“Rumor?”

“Good rumor. Very good rumor.”

Another airplane. Another lost night’s sleep. At least this time Denise was with me. Not like old times—we took separate rooms—but for the first time in years I wasn’t alone.

EFR had three floors of a converted warehouse, not far from the Arch. An up-trending neighborhood, but not yet too far up. Perfect for a venture-capital firm with a speculative product.

An hour of “I’m sorry’s” and other runarounds eventually took me to the office of Laurel Fuller, Entomologic Futures’ product manager, whatever that meant. A woman in her late twenties in a light-gray blouse, black jacket and skirt, eyeglasses to match, and an attitude that would have done my high-school librarian proud.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Our technological explorations are strictly confidential. Even if I had a clue what spy-mints was, I wouldn’t be able to help you.”

“CI-MEMS,” I said. “And I damn well know you know what it is.” A bluff, but when that’s all you’ve got, you go with it.

“Kip knows what he’s talking about,” Denise seconded. “He used to be a CI-MEMS operator.”

It was all I could do to keep from staring at her. Had she always been this good at things like this? Not the time to wonder about that. I pulled off my tie, started to unbutton my shirt. “Want to see my tat? If you’ve got insects, I can fly ’em.” Unless they’d changed the interface. But when the military licenses technology for civilian use they don’t make it more complex. Generally they dumb it down.

Laurel waved a dismissive hand. “Anyone can get a tat.”

“So bring in some bugs. What do you have?”

She stared at her fingernails. Picked at a cuticle. “Where did you serve?”

“The usual. Various -stans. The Altiplano. I can’t go into details.”

More fingernail picking. Then she punched a button on her desk com. “Mitch? Bring me two dozen Popillia .”

My turn to stare back. “Is that the best they’ve given you?” Japanese beetles aren’t worth much except in training. They’re easy to fly, but slow, clumsy, and easy to spot.

She shrugged. “They’re a good platform for our purposes.”

Twenty-four insects is hardly a swarm, and they didn’t have much in the way of sensors. Eyes and ears were about it. Either the military wasn’t yet ready to license the good stuff or Laurel wasn’t ready to trust me with it. Or maybe some of both.

But even with a lobotomized version of the Sense, I felt like God. I looked in every corner of the room, demonstrated to Denise that I could hear every word, could read an e-book over her shoulder. “Hemingway,” I said, when she picked a file at random. “I didn’t know you were into that manly-man stuff.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.”

She relaxed, let me off the hook. “But I believe you about this insect stuff.” Not that she hadn’t before. Even without the Sense, I realized, I’d have known if she’d been lying. Some things you lose with time. Others come back. But damn, there was no reason to believe they’d come back for her, too.

“Me too,” said Laurel. “So you say this guy’s a rogue operator who’s got your daughter stashed somewhere?”

“Yes. And if he’s integrated—even at the low level I am right now—he’s way too dangerous for a SWAT team. He’ll see ’em coming before they even know where he’s hiding.”

Laurelpicked up a pen. Flipped it a couple of times in her fingers, then set it back down, precisely where it had been before. “Agreed. That would not be in our best interests.” She pressed an ear-chip, turned away, mouthing something. With a real swarm, I’d have known what she was saying, even if she was sub vocalizing, but these bugs weren’t up to it. Not that I thought they were the best she had. Nobody who wants to survive in venture capital gives away their secrets that fast.

A moment later, she turned back. “We can give you three hundred Tenibrio molitor and a dozen Bombus terrestis .”

“Mealworm beetles and honeybees?”

She shrugged. “Mealworms are easy to get. And we’re looking at bees as a means of… distraction.”

That’s not the only thing you can do with bees. There’s not much C4 you can strap to an insect, but if you know the guy you’re after is allergic to bee stings… Spend too long in black ops and your perspective changes. Still, killing a normal, healthy guy with a swarm of bees would be too slow, too cumbersome.