Hunting Will Page 4

  The Leader’s frown lessened. Slightly. “Continue.”

  “We should be able to accelerate that impact by ramping up our Hunting schedule. I believe Stark must be aware of when we hunt; he undoubtedly keeps track of his band of traitors and knows when any go missing. If they start vanishing quickly… he’ll be quite concerned.”

  “And he may decide to interrupt a Hunt to save one of the traitors from capture,” The Leader mused, stroking his chin. “An accelerated Hunting schedule may also dissuade the… weak-minded, shall we say, from making poor decisions.”

  Porthos nodded. “And that, sir, is where I come in. Let me Track those targets, so that Athos, Aramis, and I can bring them back. A secured prison full of traitors would prove an interesting tourist attraction for our membership, don’t you think?”

  The Leader nodded. “And in the interim, you can figure out how to Track Stark, Aramis can figure out how to effectively Damper him, and Athos can work out the logistics to ensure that your next encounter with the man is, at long last, your final encounter.”

  Porthos swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

  The Leader turned, indicating that the discussion was over. “We meet in Conference Room A in one hour. Be prepared to depart immediately.”

  ●●●●●

  One hour later, the Hunters entered Conference Room A and sat at a large, polished wooden table. The walls were painted a royal red, trimmed with ornately-carved wood. Granite countertops were garnished with an assortment of food delicacies, and several vintage bottles of wine were chilled and available as well. It wasn’t much of a spread by Aliomenti standards, for money was more plentiful than air. The Hunters made their food selections and sat at the table, waiting.

  It was standard practice by The Leader. The arrival time of others was before his own; being late was an unpardonable sin, though not a rule listed in the small book Aramis carried with him, typically secured to the inside of his ever-present top hat for easy reference when needed. The message was clear: their lives and free will were secondary to The Leader’s own. Disobedience was not tolerated. Not all who spent time in Energy-suppressing cells were reclaimed traitors from Will Stark’s Alliance.

  The man finally entered, impeccably dressed in a custom-fitted suit likely costing more than the flying, transforming car the Hunters had used the day before. A servant entered as well, and held the oversized leather chair at the head of the table to aid The Leader in taking his seat. The servant recited a list of menu items in a low voice, received The Leader’s order, and scurried to prepare the food to the man’s liking. Athos watched this scene warily; the reaction to the food plate delivery would tell a great deal about The Leader’s mood that day.

  The servant returned with the prepared plate of food and set it before The Leader, who studied it — and then swiped it from the table, shattering the expensive fine china plate and scattering food everywhere.

  No, he was not in a good mood.

  The Hunters spent their time looking down at the table, and ignored the noise as the servant was berated for some imagined fault in the preparation of the dish. The man prepared a second dish, one The Leader accepted, and the servant scurried from the room, eyes down and spirit crushed.

  Once the man finished his meal, he pushed the plate aside, drank a bit of the wine, and swirled the vintage in the crystal wine glass, studying it with well-trained eyes. “I’d prefer we had no need for this meeting,” he began, and the Hunters snapped to attention, watching his every move, listening to every word with full concentration. That was the trouble working with a boss with immense telepathic and empathic skills; he knew if your mind was wandering. “Alas, Stark is still roaming free, and my best Tracker cannot locate him. Thus, we will refocus our efforts on reducing the numbers of the Alliance. I have here a list of duplicitous traitors who need to spend some time in our cells, and have selected the first for you to capture. I do not expect failure this time, or I’ll need to start looking for new Hunters. Losing Stark is unforgivable. Losing any other rogue is intolerable. Am I clear?”

  All three Hunters nodded.

  The Leader began the Hunt briefing. “Our deserter is a man named Clint, who worked in our offices in New York City for a time. He took a vacation and did not report back in at the expected time. His biometric sensors indicate he is still very much alive, though there’s been no movement from him in the past… eighteen months.”

  Athos nodded. “Alliance pulled them out, didn’t they?”

  The Leader glared at him. “Suspicion is that, as Athos noted while interrupting, the Alliance has removed the sensors and kept them active in a fixed location to throw us off the trail. We have reason to believe that he’s provided some medical knowledge to at least one human.” He glanced down at the table. “Visual, please.”

  The table cleared, and the high definition screen surface displayed the face of the man they sought. He had dark, wispy hair and beady eyes. “Not one of our better looking gents, is he?” Porthos quipped. The others laughed.

  Athos looked at The Leader, and received a nod of permission. It was now his show.

  “Map.” The table surface cleared again, revealing a world map. “Last known residence of the fugitive is in New York City. Zoom in please, radius five hundred miles.” The map shifted, revealing a large swath of blue ocean that covered half the surface screen. “Forgot the ocean. Radius one thousand miles, land only.” The map shifted, showing New York City to the right, and the eastern third of the United States, an area comprising states as far west as the Mississippi River, to the left. “That’s our likely target area for the suspect. Please show the last known biometric sensor location, please.” A spot in New York City began flashing. “Correction: please show the last known sensor location while the suspect was still moving.” A spot began flashing in the state of Kentucky.

  Athos glanced at the others. “I suspect the Alliance must have an outpost in that area, and that the movement stopped because that’s where they removed the tracking devices. They likely teleported someone back to New York and stored them to throw us off Clint’s trail. Computer, show the exact current location of the tracking device coordinates on the map.” An image of the Statue of Liberty filled the screen, and a flickering pair of lights indicated the devices were split. One portion was hidden on Lady Liberty’s mouth, the other on her posterior.

  “Oh, I get it!” Porthos said, cackling. “The Alliance is telling us to kiss their—”

  “We get it,” Athos snapped. “I need you to Track him. We have a likely central point of origin in the state of Kentucky.”

  Porthos nodded. “Computer, remind me of this clown’s Energy scent, please.”

  The computer performed calculations using fragrance matching software the Alomenti had developed decades earlier, a technology Porthos seized upon as a means of tracking suspects. The Leader held Oath reaffirmation meetings with each Aliomenti every three years, and Porthos had become a regular party to those meetings. In addition to the Oath affirmations and scans to confirm all biometric devices were in place and operational, each Aliomenti had to generate Energy to ensure that they’d not gone lax in their work. That, at least, was the story given. In reality, Porthos would carefully note the “scent” he detected from their Energy and, at the conclusion of the meeting, would use a brain-interfacing software program coupled with the fragrance software to match his memories of the Energy scent with a corresponding scent in the outside world. Once transcribed in this fashion, the computer could reproduce the scent on command, letting Porthos know exactly what he was searching for. With over ten thousand Aliomenti in the world, it was impossible for him to know which of the “mental aromas” hitting him at any time was friend or foe. The only exception was the peppermint scent generated by Will Stark’s Energy. He’d never forget that one.

  The fragrance generators in the computer table computed the fragrance, generated a sample, and it misted out toward Porthos. The Hunter inhaled deeply — and gagged.r />
  Aramis laughed at the reaction. “What’s the scent?”

  Porthos glared at him through his watery eyes. “Spoiled milk.”

  The Leader joined Athos and Aramis as the three men roared with laughter. Porthos flashed a rude gesture at his fellow Hunters — making certain The Leader didn’t see it — and stood to begin his Tracking.

  “Map on wall, orient external display to compass headings.” The walls, which were constructed of thousands of tiny display screens, flashed before revealing the outside world, just as it would look if all of the walls around them vanished.

  Porthos stood and closed his eyes, allowing the tens of thousands of Energy scents to roll over him. Their scientists said that all Aliomenti detected the Energy of others in some fashion, though for most it was limited to merely sensing some additional warmth from someone Energized nearby. A few could sense Energy from much farther away. Porthos’ sensitivity was exceptional, the equivalent to the Energy capacity of Will Stark. He could, when concentrating, detect even the slightest bit of Energy from dozens of miles away, and stronger Energy bursts from hundreds or thousands of miles away. The most critical part of his gift, however, was that each person’s Energy had a unique signature for him, what essentially amounted to a mental “scent,” so that he could find one specific individual with incredible speed. Since he and his fellow Hunters could teleport nearly fifty miles at a time, a far greater distance than most, the team could “outrun” any fleeing Aliomenti criminal. They'd know where the criminals had gone, and would simply continue teleporting after them until the fugitives were drained of Energy.

  Porthos filtered through the dozens of scents of varying strengths, locating the one for the renegade named Clint. He detected it, though it was faint. Porthos turned slowly, for his readings were strongest when facing his target. After a moment he stabilized on a spot aligning with the point of origin of Clint’s Energy. He opened his eyes staring at a spot on the wall. “Computer, mark line of sight to my eyes on map.”

  The computer detected his gaze at the precise point on the wall and his precise location in the room, and connected the two points with a line that crossed the entire planet on the map. The line was transposed instantly to a holographic globe that appeared above the conference table. This was the first line for his triangulation efforts. Porthos glanced at the others. “Be back in a bit.” He vanished from the room.

  Porthos found himself in a small, isolated building nearly forty miles away. The property was owned by the Aliomenti, but this room was solely for use by Porthos during Tracking. The floor lit up with a map as he arrived, interfacing with the map in the room he’d just left, to show the initial tracking line. The walls again showed the outside world. Porthos repeated his process, identifying the spoiled milk Energy scent belonging to Clint, and made a mental note that this more northerly location produced a stronger Energy reading than the first location. That meshed well with Athos’ theory that Clint hadn’t traveled far after having his biometric devices removed by the Aliomenti, and the first two Tracking reads put the man somewhere in the eastern half of the United States as Athos had predicted. He glanced down at the lines and noted that there was an intersection point in just that portion of the world. The first two lines followed a nearly identical path, and so he’d need a third to pinpoint the fugitive’s location.

  Porthos teleported to the third room used for Tracking triangulation, and after finding the third line finally returned to the original conference room, exhausted. The Tracking wasn’t especially draining to him, but three teleportation hops inside thirty minutes left little time for recharging. He was surprised to see several pastries on a plate at his usual spot at the table; they weren’t a group prone to thoughtful gestures. He glanced at Aramis, who wasn’t looking, and then at Athos, who had seen the recognition of the food gift. “You need to recharge. We’re leaving now. Eat.”

  Porthos grabbed a pastry and shoved the entire thing into his mouth at once, drawing an eye roll from Athos. “Varesmiclk?” Porthos asked.

  Aramis glanced up from the book he was perusing. “What language is that?” he asked.

  Porthos finished chewing and swallowed. “Where’s my cloak? I’m not leaving without it.”

  Aramis sighed. “Really? Why do you insist on wearing that thing? It’s so… many, many centuries out of style.” He donned his top hat, grabbed his book, and stood to leave.

  Porthos sniffed. “It’s a practical garment for protecting against the elements and concealing my handsome face from the masses, unlike an attention-gathering old silk top hat. You don’t want us being recognized, do you, snowman?”

  Aramis wrinkled his face. “Snowman?”

  Porthos shook his head. “One day, you will learn to appreciate the amusement and entertainment value of the humans. Ask Athos. I’m certain he’s read the human book that gave us our names.”

  Athos, who was still seated and marking down the exact coordinates tracked by Porthos, did not look up. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

  Porthos raised his arms in exasperation. “Where did you have it last?”

  “Near a large trash incinerator.”

  “Pearls before swine,” Porthos muttered. “I’ll see you uncultured rubes at the ship.” He vanished.

  Ten minutes later, the aircraft hurtled down the runway, carrying the three Hunters toward their target.

  ●●●●●

  The sleek aircraft blistered through the sky, traveling at the speed of sound, racing toward their destination. They normally didn’t use high speed craft for Hunts, but with the accelerated pace The Leader had set they needed to reduce travel time.

  Porthos, who had donned his beloved cloak and wore it with the large hood down, tested the leather chair. “I could get used to traveling like this. In spite of the company.” He reclined it back into a sleeping position, sighing with deep contentment.

  “I’ve identified the charges as including the first two Oaths, four laws — most notably, that no Aliomenti are to remove their biometric implants — and several rules around being absent without permission from work. We’re looking at about forty-four years total in confinement. I don’t think Clint’s going to be happy to see us.”

  “None of them ever are,” Porthos replied. He kicked off his boots and wriggled his toes.

  “Porthos will need the list in hand before we land, so that he’s prepared to do his reading and I can do mine,” Athos said. Athos was able to divine the truth of any question posed to a person; he’d know if someone was lying even if they themselves did not. His talent probed the memories of their very cells, which could not be erased, modified, or hidden. They referred to his skill as Reading, for he could read the truth in anyone, regardless of the depths to which they’d gone to conceal it. As such, Athos’ proclamations were considered inviolate documentation of guilt. “Are you ready to go? Clint’s no Will Stark, but he’s a reasonably senior Aliomenti.”

  Aramis scoffed. “After dealing with Stark, nothing else worries me.”

  Athos nodded. “Good. We need to figure out where this man is hiding, and ascertain who may know the truth about him, or who may have learned about us through his intentional or accidental revelations. Computer, hologram screen. Display property transactions.”

  A screen formed in front of them, displaying a list of buyers and sellers of property in a ten-mile radius around the target zone. Aramis put on his unneeded glasses and Porthos sat back up in his chair to look as Athos discussed the particulars of Clint’s case. “Given the circumstances, he’s going to want to be as hidden and isolated as possible, and involve few outsiders. That means he’s likely to be someone who paid cash for any property he lives in. Aliomenti bank records show he withdrew approximately one million United States dollars in the six months preceding his ‘vacation,’ which according to local real estate listings can procure a large amount of property in the target locale. I’d suspect we’re looking for large acreage, an isolated location, and a cash tr
ansaction.”

  Aramis sighed. “Athos, if you’ve already figured out where he is, then just show us and stop the games.”

  Athos scowled. “Fine, spoil sport. Computer, display the target’s property, please.”

  The holographic screen displayed a large home, isolated from neighbors on all sides by large fields of swaying grasses and clumps of tall trees. The home looked to be well-maintained. Though the image had been taken at night, the property was well-lit both outside and inside, with many cars on the outside of the house. It appeared that their rogue Aliomenti, Clint, wanted to have privacy, but wasn’t against entertaining large crowds if the mood struck.

  Porthos looked at Athos. “The Leader mentioned some indication that our friend Clint had been supplying humans with some of our medical advances. Do we have any further information on that?”

  Athos nodded, and Aramis suddenly perked up, flipping his rule book open. “There are indications that he’s used Aliomenti healing techniques on a young woman. Supposedly he’s told her to keep quiet… but we heard about it anyway. At present, though, it’s likely that the humans hearing of his… talents from her think she’s exaggerating. Still, The Leader indicated sufficient concern that he’s dispatched The Assassin on a separate flight. Apparently our next three missions are simple desertions with no human interaction, so our red-eyed friend can take his time.”

  Aramis shivered, and Porthos grimaced. “That guy gives me the creeps. And I didn’t know he had friends. Come to think of it, Athos, I didn’t know that you had any friends either.”

  Athos sent a withering gaze the way of the man in the cloak, but Porthos ignored it. “In any event, we need to go at a more accelerated pace. Porthos, you’ll need to do your usual information gathering with the locals. I’ll gather floor plans of the house. Aramis, you look for any news or gossip stories about a local woman who experienced some type of medical miracle in a mysterious fashion. If you find such stories, make sure nobody else ever does. Both of you need to be alert for the woman’s name and description. The Assassin will require that information to do his work.”