so all of the really nifty details were missing-sources, casualty reports, detailed tactical information and the like.
Nonetheless, it was instructive to compare the projected list against those registered captured. Enoch and Kashiwada they had expected to find; D’Amico had been a bonus. Those were the big boys. On the second tier he recognized Klassen, Brazg, and Nielsson, all of whom had been on the general hunt lists for more than five years. Of these, only Klassen seemed to have been captured in today’s raid. Did that mean that Brazg and Nielsson had slipped through the Corps’ fingers, or that they had never been there in the first place? Interesting.
With a nod from the lieutenant he called up their individual files, wondering if their histories would provide a clue. Lara Brazg was thirty and had been born in Canada. She had registered with Psi Corps at the age of fourteen, a P5, and gone on the sleepers. Disappeared at twenty-one. She was implicated in two assassination attempts and one package bombing, and had kidnapped at least two teeps from reeducation facilities.
A classic type A Blip, she might even be a good person who had been led astray, brainwashed by some highly organized and cynical underground.
Her type could be shown the truth, saved, reeducated, and end up a useful member of the Corps. It had happened more than once. In her picture she looked pretty, a dirty blonde with a face smudged by fight freckles.
Portis Nielsson was a different story. Born in the UK, he was a year younger than Brazg, but had a much longer rap sheet. Several felonies: two murders during a holdup, one count of manslaughter from a bar fight in Madrid, numerous petty and two grand theft indictments. He had spent six years in jail as a juvenile, but had never tested positive for telepathy. Toward the end of his stay, the prison psychologist nevertheless had become convinced that Nielsson had psi abilities, but simply did not have the mitochondrial marker-not that unusual; after all, thirty percent of telepaths lacked it.
En route to a reeducation facility, Nielsson had escaped and had been at large ever since. In the past four years, his criminal activities had shifted focus to underground-related offenses.
Nielsson looked like a type C Blip, a sociopath who had found an organization to validate him. While any teep could be brought around by reeducation, Nielsson’s type - a born criminal, used to abusing his powers-was the toughest to change. His photo seemed to confirm that even on the vid screen, his eyes-cast malice, and his square jaw was set in an intractable smirk.
“A nasty customer,” Van Ark remarked, walking up behind him. “You’d be pressed to find even a mundane as ruthless as that one.”
“The cops will get him,” Al said.
“You’ll be interested in another little tidbit I picked up, too,” Van Ark said, a bit conspiratorially.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Stephen Walters has resurfaced.”
Al scrunched a skeptical face.
“He’s been dead for twelve years.”
“That’s what we thought, but he was clever. He should be, he’s the only Psi Cop to ever go rogue…”
“…only after he was mind-blasted and reprogrammed by the Dexters,” Al reminded him.
“Ah-yes,” Van Ark replied.
“Anyway, those bits of him they found at the blast site in Nicaragua must have been cultured tissue, because they just found some strands of his hair in this UIN raid”
“But not the man himself.”
“No.”
“Couldn’t the hairs be pretty old?”
Van Ark wagged his head.
“Living skin cells attached. Walters was there.”
“Wow. The legend lives.”
“Looks like it.”
Al squared his jaw.
“I almost hope he hangs in there until I’m a cop. I’ll get him.”
“Mr. Bester,” Lieutenant Van Ark said, “I would never put it past you.”
Al thought about rogues as he ran, a little later. He was trying to push his run to ten kilometers at six minutes a klick. He was on the third
Nonetheless, it was instructive to compare the projected list against those registered captured. Enoch and Kashiwada they had expected to find; D’Amico had been a bonus. Those were the big boys. On the second tier he recognized Klassen, Brazg, and Nielsson, all of whom had been on the general hunt lists for more than five years. Of these, only Klassen seemed to have been captured in today’s raid. Did that mean that Brazg and Nielsson had slipped through the Corps’ fingers, or that they had never been there in the first place? Interesting.
With a nod from the lieutenant he called up their individual files, wondering if their histories would provide a clue. Lara Brazg was thirty and had been born in Canada. She had registered with Psi Corps at the age of fourteen, a P5, and gone on the sleepers. Disappeared at twenty-one. She was implicated in two assassination attempts and one package bombing, and had kidnapped at least two teeps from reeducation facilities.
A classic type A Blip, she might even be a good person who had been led astray, brainwashed by some highly organized and cynical underground.
Her type could be shown the truth, saved, reeducated, and end up a useful member of the Corps. It had happened more than once. In her picture she looked pretty, a dirty blonde with a face smudged by fight freckles.
Portis Nielsson was a different story. Born in the UK, he was a year younger than Brazg, but had a much longer rap sheet. Several felonies: two murders during a holdup, one count of manslaughter from a bar fight in Madrid, numerous petty and two grand theft indictments. He had spent six years in jail as a juvenile, but had never tested positive for telepathy. Toward the end of his stay, the prison psychologist nevertheless had become convinced that Nielsson had psi abilities, but simply did not have the mitochondrial marker-not that unusual; after all, thirty percent of telepaths lacked it.
En route to a reeducation facility, Nielsson had escaped and had been at large ever since. In the past four years, his criminal activities had shifted focus to underground-related offenses.
Nielsson looked like a type C Blip, a sociopath who had found an organization to validate him. While any teep could be brought around by reeducation, Nielsson’s type - a born criminal, used to abusing his powers-was the toughest to change. His photo seemed to confirm that even on the vid screen, his eyes-cast malice, and his square jaw was set in an intractable smirk.
“A nasty customer,” Van Ark remarked, walking up behind him. “You’d be pressed to find even a mundane as ruthless as that one.”
“The cops will get him,” Al said.
“You’ll be interested in another little tidbit I picked up, too,” Van Ark said, a bit conspiratorially.
“What’s that, sir?”
“Stephen Walters has resurfaced.”
Al scrunched a skeptical face.
“He’s been dead for twelve years.”
“That’s what we thought, but he was clever. He should be, he’s the only Psi Cop to ever go rogue…”
“…only after he was mind-blasted and reprogrammed by the Dexters,” Al reminded him.
“Ah-yes,” Van Ark replied.
“Anyway, those bits of him they found at the blast site in Nicaragua must have been cultured tissue, because they just found some strands of his hair in this UIN raid”
“But not the man himself.”
“No.”
“Couldn’t the hairs be pretty old?”
Van Ark wagged his head.
“Living skin cells attached. Walters was there.”
“Wow. The legend lives.”
“Looks like it.”
Al squared his jaw.
“I almost hope he hangs in there until I’m a cop. I’ll get him.”
“Mr. Bester,” Lieutenant Van Ark said, “I would never put it past you.”
Al thought about rogues as he ran, a little later. He was trying to push his run to ten kilometers at six minutes a klick. He was on the third
Similar Books
