Mage Hunter (Lost Tales of Power Book 8) Read online

  Riding the transit was always an adventure, as people’s response to my uniform was as varied as the stars in the sky. Some hated, some respected and others feared it. No matter what their response, I had to be polite and respectful; and if something happened, I’d give my life to protect them. That is what the law demanded and that is what I’d do.

  This time, when I climbed into the passenger car I found it nearly full of families. It was after the typical morning commute for workers, so most of these must have had the day off. I headed to the back of the car and took a standing spot, leaving the seats for citizens as per policy and giving myself a good view of the entire car.

  As the car pulled out of the station I discreetly scanned the crowd, not expecting to find anything, but I had spent too long in the field to be careless. Each face in the group was uploaded to datanet and matched against known criminal elements. No matches. Good, then it should be a nice, quiet ride.

  A little girl approached me and asked, “Did it hurt?”

  Jessica, age 5. Daughter of John and Suzan Jallison, no threat, scrolled across my visual field along with other basic information about her family, school and friends. Good to know that a five-year-old girl was still considered no threat in our upside-down reality of magic and science.

  I squatted down to her level and asked, “Did what hurt?”

  She pointed at my eye and said, “That.”

  As long as I was wearing my uniform, I could usually pass for a primitive. My light brown skin, short-cropped hair, and average physique were carefully sculpted to blend in with the other officers. The one exception was my left eye; a careful observer would notice it didn’t look quite right. It would pass a glance, but if you stared long enough you’d see it was not organic. I don’t know what this little girl made of what she saw, but she had noticed the difference. Did she know what it was?

  A young woman came rushing down the aisle. Over her head floated Suzan Jallison, age 57, occupation software engineer, no threat. The child’s mother.

  In addition to the text display both were outlined in green, meaning no threat was expected from either of them. I hadn’t really needed technology to tell me that, but alas, it did; my ever-present nanny, helping me through the day. Most days I wished I could turn it off. It would be blissful to be free of the constant data streams from all my sensors and datanet, but sadly that was not an option.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Jallison as she rushed up.

  “It’s okay,” I said to her and turned back to her daughter. “Yes, it hurt a lot; but that was a long time ago.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “When I was little, I had an accident and hurt my eye. They replaced it with this fake one, which works well,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. The curiosity of a child was something to be encouraged and respected.

  The story about my eye was a standard lie I was trained to give, one of many. Without my perfect enhanced memory, it’d be easy to lose track of the truth given how many lies I had to tell on any given day. I felt guilty every single time I told one. I knew it was wrong, and my internal processors let me know it was wrong, but I still had to do it.

  I wondered what it would be like to be able to forget something. There were so many memories of fights and bodies that I would like to forget if I could. Like so many things, this was not an option for the likes of me. From the day they put in my memory implants until the day I am finally turned off, I will never forget a single thing.

  Her mom smiled and placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Can’t you just have your old one regrown?” asked Jessica.

  “I suppose I could, but I have had this one for so long now that I think I’d miss it if it were gone,” I replied. That much at least was true.

  “But then you could be normal again,” she said.

  I heard her mom inhale sharply, but I kept my gentle smile and said, “Normal? So you think I’m odd because one of my eyes is a little different? Maybe I’m the normal one and you’re the odd one.”

  She thought about that for a moment and then replied, “But everyone has two matching. You’re different.”

  “Oh? And does everyone have freckles like you do? Or blonde hair?” I asked.

  Her faced scrunched up for a moment as she tried to think of a reply.

  “What is normal?” I asked her.

  She looked up at her mom and then back to me. “I don’t know.”

  “For most people, normal is whatever is like themselves,” I said.

  “That’s not fair,” she said.

  “So, am I normal then?” I asked.

  “Yes, I think you are,” she said.

  I could hear her mom let out a sigh of relief. I’m not sure what she was worried about, but there was no way a little girl was going to offend me with her questions.

  “Thanks. Where are you going today?” I asked.

  “I have to see my doctor, but I don’t want to,” she said.

  “Oh? Why not?” I asked.

  “He’s going to hurt me,” she said.

  I looked up at her mom, who said, “She needs surgery and she’s scared.”

  “Ah,” I said and sat down on the floor.

  The little girl gasped. “You can’t do that!”

  “Well, maybe you should call an officer and report me,” I said with a grin.

  “But you’re an officer!” she replied.

  “So I am. Well, that makes it awkward, doesn’t it? I guess I’ll have to turn myself in to myself,” I said.

  “How are you going to do that?” she asked.

  The conversation continued for the rest of the ride. I missed my stop and rode all the way to the hospital with them. I did my best to distract her from thinking about where she was going and to keep her smiling. I wasn’t quite sure why I was doing that, but something deep within me said it was the right thing to do. It was a small voice which I didn’t hear often, but which I trusted.

  When we reached the hospital station, her mom said, “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” I said and watched them go. I’d never know the joy of having a daughter, but I’d like to think that if I had one she’d be like that inquisitive little girl who was about to face surgery. I wondered briefly where her father was, but resisted pulling up his file. It was none of my business what happened to them, and I was already late.

  3

  02-02-0065 - Lyshell

  “Sit,” said Commander Rickal.

  I sat in the chair in front of his desk. He looked annoyed, but I was pretty sure that was just how he looked. His black hair was beginning to gray, and for some reason he’d refused any treatment to stop the process. He looked as if he might once have been a body-builder, decades ago, but he was soft now. For as long as I had been in the force he had been working at that desk and never seemed to aspire to anything different. Something must have broken him long ago.

  If I could still feel fear, I think my greatest fear would be that I’d end up like him someday.

  “You’re late again,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” I said.

  “No clever excuse?” he asked.

  “I was held up on the transit,” I said.

  He pushed a button and images started popping up in the space between us, images of me and Jessica. Apparently, people had seen us and thought it worthy of sharing.

  “Yes, I can see that. Who is she?” he asked.

  “Jessica Jallison, aged 5. Daughter of Suzan — what’s wrong?” I asked as he started shaking his head.

  “You sound like a mindless computer sometimes. How do you know her?” he asked.

  That stung, but I did my best not to react. “I’d never met her before that train ride. She came up to me because she was scared. I kept her company until we reached the hospital,” I said.

  He shook his head again. “Well, I guess I should be happy. One of my officers is all over the media feeds, and for a change it’s
a positive story. Everyone is talking about the wonderful officer who stopped to comfort a little girl.”

  “What should I have done, sir?” I asked. I wanted to say something more forceful, but it would have been a violation of my guidelines for interaction with a superior.

  He punched another button and the images went away. “Now, with respect to your failure yesterday, consider that case closed permanently.”

  “Why, sir?” I asked. The change of subject confirmed what I had assumed; I had done the right thing, and he was just annoyed because he’d been kept waiting.

  “This Master Henrick is apparently the head of a powerful nation which has a treaty with us. I assume he overstepped the bounds of the treaty by performing this extraction, but that’s way above our heads. As far as you’re concerned, that renegade has been dealt with. Is that clear?” he said.

  I quickly crafted a search script and fired it off in search of more information on this Henrick while I replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. For your next assignment, I want you to escort prisoner 5439 to a hearing with the Emperor.”

  “What?” I said as I pulled the file on 5439. “He is one of the most dangerous criminals we have in our prisons. Why in the Emperor’s name would we do that?”

  “Because he appealed his ruling and the Emperor granted the appeal. You are to escort him, and keep the Emperor safe,” he said firmly.

  Chance of mission success twelve percent, my internal nanny helpfully provided. Wonderful.

  I held his gaze and almost refused the order. It was stupid beyond my comprehension. You don’t bring someone like 5439 out of a secure cell unless you like watching people die slow, horrible deaths.

  “You are authorized to use whatever force you deem necessary to keep the Emperor safe. If 5439 dies in the process, so be it,” he said. His tone implied he was hoping for that outcome.

  It might be helpful to him if 5439 dies, but what about the rest of the people who’d be present?

  Chance of collateral damage in any confrontation one hundred per cent. Great, even my processors were getting pessimistic.

  I did not need my internal systems to know that any fight with such a powerful mage would mean numerous deaths on our side. This was a foolish gamble, but if I didn’t comply he’d find someone else, and no one was better equipped for it than I.

  “I wish to formally log my complaint that this is too dangerous, and my recommendation that 5439 be allowed to attend only via a remote session,” I said. I fired off another prepared script for this complaint, knowing that he wouldn’t actually file one.

  “Are you going to refuse the order?” he asked in surprise.

  “No, sir,” I said. I probably should but I couldn’t bring myself to, and I doubted that anyone else on the force had a chance of controlling 5439. The Emperor’s best chance at surviving this foolish move lay with me. I wouldn’t let him down.

  “Then your objections are duly noted. Go and make your preparations,” he said.

  I sighed loudly, stood up and said, “Yes, sir,” and then took my leave.

  At my desk I connected to datanet and pulled down my messages. Once again, I had thousands of them; this happened every time the media got hold of an image of me. I ran my automated scripts to clean them out and isolate the messages I needed to read, such as the details for the prisoner escort.

  One message stood out; it was from an old contact, about whom I could remember very little. The message simply said, “Call me.” After searching for and finding her current contact information, I called her.

  A dark-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared on the virtual screen in my left eye. She was above the weight range that my internal database told me was considered beautiful for women in today’s society, but something inside me rebelled at that assessment. It was a brief, passing feeling, then my implants clamped down and my emotional state was reset to neutral.

  Her face was familiar, but she wasn’t stored anywhere in my internal databases. My databases never forgot anything. This was very strange.

  Could she be someone I knew before I was a cyborg? My implants controlled my emotions to make sure only useful ones made it through, but occasionally, like now, something flickered on the edge. I couldn’t interpret the feeling, but there was something there. This woman was important to me, but why?

  The logo on her uniform told me she was working at the children’s hospital where Jessica had got off this morning. That probably meant this call was related to Jessica.

  “Howdy, stranger,” she said.

  Her name came to mind as I began to talk. I selected an informal tone, as her greeting seemed to indicate we knew each other. “Hey, Joan. You wanted something?”

  “You remember that little girl you were hanging out with this morning, Jessica?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, she is here on my floor and I was hoping you could help out with something,” she said.

  “And what would that be?” I asked.

  “Her surgery has been delayed until tomorrow, and she’ll be waiting here overnight,” she said.

  “I assume you’re going to ask me to drop by after work?” I asked.

  “Well, yes, but I was also wondering if you could bring someone with you,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Well, she confided in me that she would love to meet a real mage someday, and I’m not sure she’ll get the chance,” she said.

  “Her condition is that bad?” I asked.

  “I can’t really answer that,” she said.

  That meant it was bad. I knew I could find out, but that’d be abusing my powers, so I resisted. “I can’t promise, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chance of mission success thirty-seven per cent.

  The problem was I didn’t know any magi that liked me. I wasn’t sure I knew any who would even tolerate me. I had probably reported every one of those in the force a dozen times already for some transgression, and then there was the matter of the purpose I was designed for. I was a mage hunter.

  “Thanks, I knew I could count on you,” she said with a smile.

  She said goodbye and closed the connection. I leaned back in my chair and tried to work out how I was going to pull off two impossible assignments in one day.

  4

  02-02-0065 - Lyshell

  Thankfully, transporting a prisoner meant we could avoid mass transit. I waited by the armored transport that would carry him, along with five Imperial magi. Their hatred of me was almost palpable, and I had no love for them either; they were undisciplined and rarely showed up to help in the field. Their failing was why I had had to surrender my humanity and become a tool rather than a person. It was their fault I’d been reduced to a machine and would never again know what it was to be human.

  Prisoner 5439 came into view, escorted by another five Imperial magi. He was blindfolded and his wrists were locked into cuffs that allowed no movement. Fifteen Imperial soldiers surrounded him, and one of them led him with a guideline.

  The blindfold and cuffs would prevent him from using most of his magic, as spells usually needed hand gestures or line of sight; the more dangerous spells used both. I did not expect any trouble until we got to the throne room. His personality type could be patient to achieve a long-term goal. He wanted to meet with the Emperor and would be compliant as long as it led him toward that goal.

  As I’d expected, the trip from the prison complex to the Emperor’s chambers was completely uneventful. The prisoner stayed silent all the time and complied with every demand. I knew he had something planned and that concerned me greatly. He was cunning, experienced and already under sentence of death. There was nothing we could do to threaten him. I really did not understand why the Emperor had granted his appeal. It was unheard of, and with good reason; it was foolish beyond words to bring a dangerous criminal like this into the throne room.

  I went ahead of the procession and entered the throne room to
inspect the preparations. I had sent orders ahead but had a final few changes to make. The throne room was filled with guards and officers working furiously to secure the room against anything this mage might attempt. I tried not to pay attention as my systems automatically identified each person and assigned a likelihood to their survival.

  As I entered a uniformed officer came up and said, “You must be Officer Lyshell.”

  “Yes, and I assume you’re Captain Rodriguez?” I said. I knew exactly who he was since it was floating over his head, but sounding less sure always seemed to ease relations with the primitives.

  He nodded. “I think you’ll find we have arranged everything according to your specifications, sir,” he said.

  He was commander of the security forces for the throne room, and I was in charge of the prisoner. That technically made us equal in rank, but I knew better than to assume he’d see me as a peer since this was his turf. I’d feel the same in his shoes.

  “Good,” I said as I scanned the room. My enhanced eye quickly assessed the preparations, and it seemed everything was going well. “I have some additional defenses I’d like to set up.”

  “Oh?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said and looked across the room. “The prisoner will be there?” I asked, pointing to a podium.

  “Yes,” the captain replied.

  I walked over and began setting up my equipment between the podium and the Emperor’s throne.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  I stopped and looked him in the eye. “Trying to keep the Emperor alive.”