Defender

  Lucas hesitated before speaking again. “Amber, you may encounter the target’s memories of killing Fran. Those could be deeply disturbing.”

  “I realize that, Lucas. I still feel I have to do this myself. If I catch Fran’s killer I’ll feel I’ve paid any debt that I owe and can move on.”

  “Accepted.”

  Lucas hugged me again, and sprinted off towards his office. I joined the Strike team in lift 2. “I’m afraid I’ve lost another wristset light.”

  Nobody said a word, but I could see several of the Strike team were struggling not to laugh. Both Adika and Rothan reached into their pockets, they each held out a spare wristset light, and I looked from one to the other indecisively.

  “Take both,” said Adika. “Then you’ll have an extra one in case of … future problems.”

  The Alpha Strike team comedian, Eli, lost the battle for self control, and burst out laughing as I accepted both the wristset lights. The lift doors closed, and the lift started moving downwards at the relatively sedate standard express speed since this wasn’t an emergency response.

  “Alpha Strike team is moving,” said Adika.

  “Tactical ready,” Lucas’s voice gasped.

  As I heard Lucas’s voice, my mind instinctively linked to him. He’d just run into the Tactical office to join the rest of his team. His eyes were checking a bank of screens, scanning rapidly past a holo diagram of our destination location, a scrolling information feed from Liaison, a vast blank screen that would show a mosaic of images from our crystal unit cameras when they were turned on, and a tracking screen showing green dots of team members, currently all tightly wedged together in the lift. He finally sat down at the control bank labelled “Tactical Command.”

  “Liaison ready. Tracking status green,” Nicole said.

  I reluctantly broke my mental link to Lucas and checked my dataview. Clicking the circuit button told me we had the full Alpha team with us. I had five men, including Rothan, assigned as my bodyguards for this trip. Adika must be feeling nervous if he put his deputy team leader in charge of guarding me instead of using him on chase duties.

  “We are green,” I said.

  “This isn’t a standard check run.” Lucas had got his breath back now. “We’re looking for a target who has already killed, so the situation may escalate into extreme violence within seconds. The target will be alert for any signs of official activity. If he catches sight of a mob of heavily muscled men, he’ll guess you’re after him. At that point, he’ll either turn and run, or attack in an attempt to kill as many of you as possible.”

  “If he attacks,” Adika broke in, “everyone’s first priority, whether they’re on bodyguard duty or not, is Amber’s safety. This target has already killed one member of our unit. He mustn’t get anywhere near our telepath.”

  “You’ll be arriving by lift to avoid any risk of being seen,” Lucas continued his briefing. “You’ll exit the lift directly opposite the side entrance of a community centre, go straight inside, and into the meeting room on your left. You will remain in that room, protecting Amber while she does her initial checks of the area.”

  His tone lightened a little. “Liaison has reserved the room for a meeting of a weight-lifting club. Amber doesn’t look too convincing as a weight-lifter, but if anyone asks questions she can claim to be helping the club by acting as treasurer.”

  There was a pause before the lift slowed to a stop and the doors opened. We headed out to join an express belt. Adika was in the lead, with Rothan and my other bodyguards gathered around me, while those on chase duties divided to go ahead and behind. We were nowhere near our destination yet, but my Strike team were already tensely protective of me.

  The other passengers on the express belt seemed to pick up something from my Strike team’s body language, because they all kept a respectful distance from us. We finally jumped belt, entered another lift, and went up three levels.

  “Approaching scene,” said Adika.

  The lift doors opened, and my Strike team moved out in full defensive formation. I was surrounded by men much larger than me, so I couldn’t see much until we arrived in our reserved room.

  “Amber, you should begin by checking the storage complex that’s south of your current position,” said Lucas. “We expect that our target either works there or regularly collects goods from there.”

  I hadn’t seen the corridor signs outside the lift, so I’d lost my sense of direction. “Which way is south?”

  Twenty men helpfully pointed to the south.

  “Thank you.” I glanced round what was a typical community centre room, with bland, functional furniture. I chose a cushioned chair, sat down, closed my eyes, and started my orientation routine.

  Rothan was standing next to me, so I entered his mind first. He was studying the room walls. Most of them were just flimsy panels, but one was a structural wall. In the event of an attack, the safest place for Amber would be …

  I moved past the minds of the other Strike team members, reaching southwards, and touched the thoughts of a teacher singing one of the Hive Duty songs to his class of five-year-olds. As he reached the chorus about the zones of the Hive, the children joined in, singing in enthusiastically loud but tuneless voices. “Burgundy, Red, Orange Zones. We are united. Yellow, Green, …”

  “Liaison, is the school between us and the storage complex?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Nicole.

  I tried not to sound too negative. “Having a school full of children between us and our target seems potentially dangerous.”

  “The school should be empty,” said Nicole. “We told them they had to close to allow urgent electrical safety checks, and they said they’d take the children to the park for their remaining classes.”

  “Ah. Well, something has obviously gone wrong, because there’s still at least one class of children in there.”

  “What? We’re investigating that now.” There was a long pause before Nicole spoke again. “Apparently one of the teachers misread the closure time in our message. We didn’t send a team of hasties to make sure the school was empty, because we were told to avoid a visible hasty presence.”

  “You were correct to avoid sending in hasties, Nicole,” Lucas’s voice interrupted her anxious explanation. “The sight of them could have alarmed our target and triggered him or her into violent action. Is the teacher taking his class to the park now?”

  “Yes.”

  I closed my eyes again, reached out to where over-excited children were forming up in pairs to head for the park, and drifted on further south. I’d no way of knowing exactly where the boundary lines of the storage complex were, so I dipped into the thoughts of a random person. A girl worrying about thirty-six missing jars of tomato puree.

  I didn’t linger in her mind to find out what she planned to do about the missing jars. Her mind was that of a loyal Hive worker doing her job, a tame bee, and I was searching in the right area.

  I moved on, checking other minds. A man who’d just dropped something heavy on his foot and was thinking words that would startle even Adika. Three random workers driving trucks towing containers. Then I found what I was looking for. A mind that glowed bright with anger and frustration.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’d often encountered the anger and frustration of people going through an emotional crisis about their personal relationships. This time the reason for the anger was different and very, very wrong. I was seeing the mind of someone who hated their work.

  I was startled because no one in the Hive should feel like that. Every year, all the eighteen-year-olds of the Hive went into Lottery, to be assessed, optimized, allocated, and imprinted. They were all terrified when they entered Lottery. I’d been one of them only months ago. Scared of the assessment tests that would discover all my strengths and weaknesses. Panicking about what work I’d be allocated, whether it would be high or low level. Petrified of having my mind imprinted with data.

  Everyone was frightened
going into Lottery, because they knew it would decide their Hive level, their profession, their entire future life, and there was no possible appeal against the judgements it made. Everyone was frightened going in, but most of them were very happy leaving. Not because imprinting turned them into dutiful robots, or because all of them came out as high level, but because of optimization. That was the process that matched the skills of each person against the Hive’s need for workers, while considering an extra factor. Which work would give this person the most happiness and fulfilment?

  The Hive’s requirements took precedence of course, but with over a million eighteen-year-olds in Lottery there was plenty of flexibility available. Virtually everyone was given work that was ideal for them. It could be high level or low level, there would be an element of jubilation or disappointment to colour their feelings for a time, but they’d definitely love the work they’d been given. Everyone except the rare cases like me. There was no point in sending a true telepath through optimization. Whether we loved it, or hated it, the Hive would only give us one task to do.

  But I was the exception. For most people, optimization worked. I hadn’t believed that at first, but I’d read enough minds in the Hive that I had to accept it now. I was familiar with the feel of the minds of the tame bees, contentedly labouring for the Hive, basking in the happiness their work gave them. Optimization was beneficial for both the people and the Hive, because contented workers were far more productive, but I still occasionally had nagging concerns about whether it would be better to have the right to choose your own future.

  There was also the dark unknown issue of what happened in other Hives. There were currently one hundred and seven Hive cities in the world, each totally independent, their actions only limited by the rules of Joint Hive Treaty that stopped Hives from harming each other. I had no idea what life was like in any of the other Hives. The occasional malcontent spread rumours that there were Hives where life was far better, with riches and freedom for all, but they knew no more than I did. It could equally well be true that people had a far worse time in other Hives, living in harsh conditions, and compelled to do work they hated.

  But here in our Hive, we had optimization, and it worked. So why was I looking at a mind where happiness and contentment had been replaced with anger and frustration? It made no sense. This was a man working in a storage complex. He couldn’t have been forced into his role because the Hive was desperate for his rare and precious skills. What had gone wrong here? I searched the top levels of his mind for answers.

  Waste him! A supervisor’s badge on his overalls and he thinks he runs the Hive. Want to hold him head down over a lift shaft. Want to drop him down the lift shaft! We’re on Level 31, so 68 or 69 levels for him to fall. Lots of time to enjoy hearing the screams before he dies.

  The supervisor’s pompous, smug voice was talking to me. Talking down to me like I’m something out of a slime vat. Why can’t he leave me alone?

  “You’re forty minutes late, Ashton. Again!”

  “So? Once I’m here, I do twice the work of anyone else, don’t I?”

  “I’ll have to give you an official warning if you keep this up. I’ve no choice.”

  No choice. No choice. Yap, yap, yap. It used to be so good when I worked on Level 89, but I hate it here. Getting ordered around by this smug, self-important supervisor. Delivering goods to self-satisfied people living in fancy apartments. Hating coming here every morning. Counting the minutes until I can go home to Level 82 where nobody sneers at me.

  I picked up the container, didn’t bother using a truck, just hefted it effortlessly onto my shoulder and walked away. Once I reached the right storage rack, I put the container in place and looked round. Nobody there. I went to the shelves at the end of the room and chose a box with the warning signs for both fragile contents and hazardous chemicals.

  I picked up the box and shook it hard. There was the sound of breaking glass. I put the box down, watched the black liquid oozing from the bottom of it, and walked away laughing.

  Another hazard cleanup to organize, great supervisor. More accident reports for you to submit. Been having a lot of them lately, haven’t you? They’ll be asking questions. Giving you official warnings. Can’t blame me, nothing to do with me, never allowed to touch fragile boxes.

  I headed out of the door and stopped laughing because it wasn’t enough.

  Don’t want to smash things. Want to smash him. Dropping him down a lift shaft isn’t personal enough. Maybe just pick him up and drop him on his head. Over and over again. Hear him begging. See how many times it takes to …

  Dutiful Supervisory Storage Administrator always the last to leave. I play scared of getting warned, and stay late to catch up the time I missed. Just the two of us alone here.

  Tonight?

  I’d been swept up by Ashton’s burning resentment, but now the gruesome fantasy in his head reminded me that I wasn’t Ashton but Amber, and I had a job to do. “Target located,” I said. “He’s in the storage complex now. Moving containers from the lift area into room 23. His name is Ashton. He’s a very big man. He used to love his job when he worked on Level 89. He’s still proud of being the strongest man in this storage complex, but hates working on Level 31. Ashton thinks the supervisor here is deliberately sneering at him and trying to make his life miserable.”

  I paused. “Maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t, but Ashton hates being at work. This has been going on for months and he’s at breaking point. He’s just been smashing bottles of hazardous chemicals. He’s thinking about killing the supervisor tonight.”

  “We don’t want to trigger the target into violence when he’s near other people,” said Lucas. “We have to isolate him first.”

  “It’s hard to evacuate the storage complex without evacuating the target as well,” said Nicole.

  “We don’t move the other people,” said Lucas. “We move the target. You say he’s the strongest man working there, Amber?”

  “Yes. At least, he thinks he is.”

  “Nicole, send a request to that storage complex,” said Lucas. “You need a man to collect a container from an awkward place that no trucks could access. It’s heavy, so they’ll need to send their strongest man. Tell them the location is …”

  Lucas hesitated for a moment before rattling off a string of numbers. “The quickest route to that location is through a section of housing warren currently closed for refurbishment. Adika should place men there to pick up Ashton as he goes through.”

  Adika gave a rapid series of instructions. The Strike team members were dividing into two groups now. Chase team were moving out, while my five bodyguards stayed with me. I was vaguely aware of my body being moved to sit on the floor and lean against something hard. That would be Rothan placing me in his carefully chosen defensive position. I didn’t let it distract my mind from my target. He was shifting containers, carrying them himself whenever possible rather than using machinery to help him.

  Waste that supervisor! What’s he come to nag me about this time?

  “Ashton, we need you to collect a container. Access is difficult. You’ll need to lift it out by hand.”

  … mouth stretching wide in a grin. Need me now, don’t you?

  “Target has been asked to get the container,” I said. “He’s heading out of the storage complex now. Outside the doors, and walking past a corridor direction sign. He’s taking the long way round to avoid the shopping area. Hates seeing the Level 31 people cooing over the fancy clothes on display.”

  “He’s going the long way round to avoid the shopping centre,” repeated Lucas sharply. “That will take him right past your community centre.”

  “Bodyguard!” Rothan’s voice cut in with the single word order.

  I felt the intimate warmth of bodies pressing against me on all sides. My bodyguards had drawn their guns and formed a human wall around me. Our target would have to kill them to reach me.

  “The target doesn’t know we’re here,” I
said hastily. “He believes he’s been given a genuine request to collect a container.”

  My bodyguards didn’t move or relax. The worst nightmare of the Strike team was happening, a target getting dangerously close to their irreplaceable telepath.

  I was nervous myself. I could see all the thoughts in my target’s mind. I knew he had no idea I was reading him, had no idea I was here, had no idea I even existed, but he was still moving steadily closer to me. I realized he was going to walk right past the outside wall of the community centre, and I was leaning against that wall!

  “Amber, keep talking to me,” said Lucas. “What’s the target thinking? Tell us if there’s the slightest hint of a threat to you.”

  “There’s no problem,” I said. “The target doesn’t suspect anything. He’s thinking about which way he’ll go when he’s past the community centre. Trying to decide the shortest route.”

  I concentrated on keeping talking, babbling the trivial thoughts of the target mind as he moved closer with every step. He was only the length of a corridor away, the length of a room away, the length of a table. I’d never had a target anywhere near this close to me. Rothan had put me here so I would have my back to a solid, structural wall, but there were no walls in the telepathic view of the world. My target seemed as if he could just reach out a hand and touch me.

  And then Ashton was moving further away with every step, and I could breathe again. My bodyguards were still pressed tight against me. Lottery had made some errors when it decided my physical appearance preferences for a partner, but my Strike team were attractive men by any standards, and I had to admit that was making this moment just a fraction easier. Ugly bodyguards, or the awkwardness of being pressed intimately against another woman, might be a welcome distraction from the tension, but …

  “Target has reached the next junction and is heading west now,” I said.

  “That puts him well clear of you.” The sigh as Lucas let out his breath was audible over my ear crystal.

  “Stand down,” said Rothan.