The Far Shores (The Central Series) (34 page)

Alex figured that this
must have made Haley’s romantic life extremely problematic.

“It was a happy accident
that led to the discovery,” Dr. Graaf continued on pleasantly. “Miss Weathers
has an affinity for animals, and brought her dogs along when she joined us here
at the Far Shores. When visiting the biological laboratory one day, inspiration
struck.”

The white pit bull had
wriggled all the way over to Haley’s side, pressing its body against her leg
and nuzzling her hand every time she stopped petting it. Dr. Graaf’s
explanation struck Alex as phony – maybe it was Katya’s suspicion of the Far
Shores coloring his thinking, but his own experience on the campus had not
exactly been welcoming, and he certainly had not been invited to tour any of
the facilities before today. Whatever Haley had been doing in the biological
lab, Alex doubted that it was accidental.

“With permission from
Miss Weathers, we gave these animals nanite injections. Two proved responsive.
Miss Weathers was surprised to discover that she immediately gained access to
the canine’s perspective via her remote viewing protocol. Additionally, this
connection was not limited to visual information – Miss Weathers was able to
relay the full spectrum of sensory input from the canine. This connection
proved persistent, once the initial contact was made. Further exploration led
to another revelation – with a neural structure less complicated than that of a
human, Miss Weathers was able to assume direct control of both canines
simultaneously. Further experiments including our own kennel of nanite-enhanced
canines has established an upper limit of five, thus far.”

That got the first
response of Dr. Graaf’s lecture, Michael stirring is his seat while Miss Gallow
leaned across a row of seats to whisper something to Miss Aoki. Dr. Graaf
seemed to be pleased with the reaction, as the little man puffed up slightly.

“That’s not quite it,”
Haley said quietly, glancing briefly at the audience. “It’s voluntary.
Cooperative. It doesn’t hurt Voltaire or Derrida at all.”

“Just as she said,” Dr.
Graaf agreed with a chuckle. “We have since performed a number of trials with
Derrida and Voltaire, as well as our other enhanced canines, and the results
have been nothing short of remarkable. All of the dog’s typical sensory and
locomotive powers, natural instincts, and inherent traits were preserved –
Haley’s connection simply augmented its intelligence and created a sort of
cooperative decision-making process. This revelation naturally expanded the
usefulness of our canine-enhancement program.”

Dr. Graaf paused, and
again the back rows of the room were consumed with muttering. Miss Gallow
leaned forward and whispered something to Mr. Okoro, who nodded in agreement
and then politely excused himself from the room.

“Well, then,” Dr. Graaf
said, beaming, “any interest in a demonstration?”

***

Chike’s apport startled Vladimir from
the unplanned nap he had been taking in the entirely too comfortable chair Gaul
had insisted in installing in his laboratory, but the apport technician was too
polite to notice. He nodded amiably at Vivik, who was working as an intern and
lab assistant for Vlad, who returned the greeting silently, continuing his work
with an arcane arrangement of lenses and circuit boards.

“You’re back, Chike,”
Vladimir remarked unnecessarily, straightening his beard, relieved that he had
not drooled in his sleep. “How did it go?”

“Exactly as planned,”
Chike said, his voice soft and his accent reflecting his time in a British
boarding school. “The technology you designed worked perfectly.”

“Excellent,” Vladimir
said, reaching across his desk for the secure line. “I will inform the Director
that our efforts were successful.”

Chike Okoro nodded
slowly.

“Vladimir, if I may...”

“Please do.”

“I cannot help but
wonder,” Chike admitted, “why the Director was so concerned with the
augmentation of Haley’s dogs. Is it really so important?”

Vladimir laughed,
pushing his chair back and standing with difficulty. He patted the lanky apport
technician affably on the back.

“I think you will find
that this is the central frustration inherent in working for a precognitive,”
Vladimir observed wryly. “There is every chance that even the Director does not
know why such a trivial project was deserving of so much time and energy – only
that it
must
be done, in the service of or to prevent the occurrence of
a specific future.”

Chike shrugged
bashfully.

“I am afraid that I do
not fully understand.”

“Exactly.” Vladimir
nodded his agreement. “Likely, none of us will, until the day that Central is
saved by Haley Weathers and her amazing psychic dogs. Now, Chike, if you will
give me a moment to inform Gaul, perhaps you would like to join me for lunch?”

***

“That was pretty cool, Haley,” Alex
said while he peeled an orange. He meant it, too – he had been legitimately
impressed by the demonstration. “I’m sorta jealous. I never had a dog or
anything.”

Privately, he wondered
if that was true. He couldn’t
remember
having a dog, but lately he wasn’t
sure if that actually meant anything. Following that line of thought would
inevitably lead to one of his headaches, though, and he had already suffered
through one the night before, so he turned his mind to lunch.

“Thanks,” Haley said,
with a shake of her head. “I’m glad you thought so, because I was so
embarrassed…”

Alex could sympathize.
He wouldn’t have wanted to occupy a stage in front of Miss Aoki and Miss
Gallow, either.

The presentation had
been interesting, though. They had watched a number of live video feeds on
monitors that were placed to be visible to the audience, but not Haley. They
broadcast from an adjoining dog-training facility, while Haley ran several dogs
through a number of different trials and obstacle courses, demonstrating her
ability to control their movements, relay sensory data, and the like – even
provoking the dogs to “attack” an appropriately suited handler, and preventing
the dogs from responding to stimuli varying from dog whistles and commands from
other trainers all the way to an unguarded steak.

The whole experience
reinforced Alex’s tendency to associate the remote-viewing experience with
video games. Assuming he ever got a chance to hang out with Vivik again, Alex sort
of wanted to ask him if there were any games that gave you equivalent control
over a virtual dog. It had looked like fun.

“You can make the dogs
do pretty much anything, right?”

Haley stirred her soup
disinterestedly. She hadn’t eaten much of anything, probably still too worked
up from the stress of the presentation.

“I don’t tell them what
to do at all,” she said, shaking her head. “It really is a cooperative process.
Once I establish the connection, I can make suggestions, but they are free to
do whatever they like. They always want to help, though. I’ve never had one of
the dogs refuse a request. I wouldn’t make them do something they didn’t want
to, though, even if I could.”

Alex couldn’t help but
notice that left open the possibility that Haley
could
make them do
something, if she decided to force the issue, and then wondered if the Program
was making him cynical. It shouldn’t have surprised him, though – her ability
to possess enemies in the field was one of Haley’s most valued traits.

“Do all the dogs have
such silly names?”

“Yes. I wanted to name
at least one, but my brother named all four when we adopted them, because he
paid the fees,” Haley explained, with obvious regret. “You guys were watching
Voltaire and Derrida, but Kant and Nietzsche are here, too. I tried reading all
of their books, but I just couldn’t get into most of it.”

“That’s alright,” Katya
said, reassuring her. “Philosophy doesn’t really mean anything anyway. It’s
mostly just a way for guys who don’t know anything useful to stay in college
forever, or to sound smart in front of girls.”

Alex had the feeling
that if Vivik were here, he might have interjected passionately with a
heartfelt defense of philosophy. But he wasn’t, and Alex certainly wasn’t in
any position to disagree. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read
anything that wasn’t either a comic book or on the Internet.

“You always have such an
interesting perspective, Katya,” Min-jun remarked.

“That is part of what
makes me so fascinating, oppa,” Katya agreed.

“Hey,” Alex interjected,
“why do you always call him that? Oppa, or whatever?”

“Why do you always butt
into things that are none of your business?”

Everyone laughed. Alex
decided it would be diplomatic to join in.

After all, he could just
look it up later online.

***

Renton was exhausted. It wasn’t just
the strain of the seemingly endless meetings and conspiracies that were daily
life in the insular and paranoid world of the Committee-at-Large. The awareness
of the events of New York, of Anastasia’s absence and the uncertainty of her
fate, weighed on him, and none of his various responsibilities provided him any
comfort. He finished the last of the documentation that was required as
Anastasia’s official representative to the Committee, stood and stretched his
back, then pushed in the chair behind the smaller desk in Anastasia’s office
and prepared to leave for the night, which was already hours old.

The knock on the door
that stopped him from leaving was soft and purposeful. He sighed deeply and
then sat back down, well aware the person outside intended to let themselves in
regardless.

“Renton Hall,”
Lóa Thule said, pulling back the Weir-fur-lined
hood that confined her shining curls of strawberry-blonde hair. “I would like a
word with you.”

Renton sat back and
motioned for her to take a chair from one of the set arrayed in front of the
desk. He rested his other hand on the arm of his own chair, instinctively close
to the grip of his Beretta.

“Lóa Thule. A pleasure,”
he offered, giving her a smile generally reserved for girls he intended to coax
into his bed. “One I have anticipated for some time, I might add. The recent
actions of the Thule Cartel have tongues wagging all across Central. I assumed
that it could only be a matter of time until you took issue with the Black Sun.”

Lóa Thule smiled and
took off her coat, hanging it on the tree by the door, before walking to the
chair, running nails painted the color of port wine through her hair as she
sat.

“You assume hostile
intent on our part,” Lóa Thule objected mildly, her speech clipped and a bit jumbled
together. “I see myself as the barer of glad tidings.”

Renton braced himself.
He was fairly certain he knew what was coming, but feared a nasty surprise from
the Thule Cartel nonetheless. Their reputation, in that sense, preceded them.

“Oh? Then by all means,”
Renton said ingratiatingly, admiring her form in the shimmering green dress, “gladden
my heart.”

“Rather forward, don’t
you think?” Lóa Thule opened a small hand purse, and removed a cigarette from a
pack of Dunhill Reds. Renton reached over the table with a silver-plated
lighter and did the gentlemanly thing. “I’m nearly old enough to be your
mother, Mr. Hall.”

“I doubt that very much.
Appearances can be deceiving, and age isn’t everything.” Renton felt slightly
ill behind his smarmy expression. He wanted to reach across the desk and
throttle the woman, to demand Anastasia’s whereabouts, but forced himself to
flirt instead. It was critical that his appearance match his reputation. “Even
if that were true, it would hardly be a first as far as I am concerned.”

“And if it were, for me?”

“When we run out of
novelty, the world has nothing left to offer us.”

Lóa Thule’s blush was
timed perfectly, though he suspected it was manufactured for his benefit. Renton’s
empathic gifts were very limited, as his protocol trended heavily toward the
telepathic, but he could feel the emotional chill that the woman radiated. It
was the inverse of lust, a dispassion that bordered on apathy.

“Perhaps,” she agreed,
exhaling smoke. “I will take your words under consideration. As for the
business at hand, I trust you will not be offended if I am frank?”

Again, he had to put the
brakes on his temper. The slightest show of eagerness on his part, the least
apprehension, and the tables would be abruptly turned, and whatever advantage
he currently held would disappear. Renton shrugged as if disappointed.

“As you will, Miss
Thule.”

“Very well,” she said,
tapping ash into the tray he offered her. “You must be aware by now what has occurred.”

“I am aware of a great
many things,” Renton said, leaning his cheek against his palm, doing his best
to channel Anastasia’s preternatural boredom. “I’m afraid you will have to be
more specific.”