Neuroschism

I activated my neurotransmitter and drew my pistol. The heavy, thick stock gave me a pleasant sense of security. The dealers' den was located in Kern, the worst district of Moloch. People lived here in crumbling tenement buildings or shacks cobbled together from corrugated iron, cardboard, and whatever else. Most residents had no permanent jobs, so to survive they had to steal. Some were paid by local syndicates; the gangsters recruited informants from among them, or set up dens in the backwaters of Kern. That's why my investigation was so delicate. If anyone had started snooping around the locals or asking about the formula dealers, they would have left long ago. I had to put in a lot of work to get firsthand information from the dealers' last client.

"Josh, the assault team is ready, and so are the medical wagons," I heard Biglery's voice coming from my internal implant. "

Let's hope we don't have to deal with the Blacks." "

Good luck, don't get yourself killed."

"I'm not going to."

I cocked my pistol and stepped over the body of the unconscious youth who was standing watch. I headed for the door. Just as I was about to open it, I heard a scraping sound coming from the trash-strewn alley. I immediately crouched and aimed. My nerves were on edge when a small, dirty girl with a chubby face crawled out from behind the large bags. She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes and ran away. Good, little children shouldn't listen to curses, even whispered ones. If black people burst in, there could be a real massacre. I turned to the door and opened it a crack. Through the crack, I saw Inductor standing in the corner, a huge neurocomputer humming in a low voice. Someone was sitting at a computer, rocking in a swivel chair with her back to the entrance. I stepped through the threshold, cast a quick glance out the door, and then aimed back at the IT guy. I forced the chair to turn toward me. I felt the neurotransmitter heat up. The surprised young man raised his hands. I tossed the elastic handcuffs toward him. "

Put them on," I whispered. He hesitated for a moment, but after I aimed at him, he relented and, using his teeth, obediently tightened the tape around his wrists. I walked over to him and quickly tightened the tape around his mouth as well. With an additional strap, I handcuffed him to the Inductor. I entered the next room. It looked like a dining room; stacks of Chinese food cartons littered the floor, dirty glasses on the wooden table, and a scuffed couch in the middle of the room. The neurotransmitter lay on a low cabinet next to the couch. I was just about to secure the item when a startled man entered from the other entrance. Without thinking about the silent action, I shouted, aiming my gun at him:

"Get down!" Get on the ground, you bastard!

I didn't expect him to find me so quickly. In one fluid movement, he leaped behind the couch, reaching for the neurotransmitter mid-flight. I fired twice after the fleeing figure; the first bullet splintered a section of wall, sending clouds of plaster into the air, the second dismembering the couch. I dashed into the previous room, feeling the pressure of the neurotransmitter. At the same moment, a table shot out of the ground and flew toward me, smashing into the wall near the door. Splinters and splintered wood swirled through the air.

"Derek, trouble!" yelled the man crouched behind the couch. I leaned out and fired a few random shots at the couch. Besides flying sawdust, they had no effect. However, a cry for help did, as a moment later a blond man appeared in the other doorway, clutching an assault rifle. I was so surprised that all I could do was raise my left hand and activate the protective field. The burst flattened against the invisible barrier, but some managed to penetrate, and their energy threw me back several meters. My vest withstood the impact, but it would surely leave ugly bruises. Derek fired at the door to prevent me from entering the room. The young IT specialist sat crouched behind Inductor, his head buried between his knees. Splinters, shreds of doorframe, and plaster flew through the air. Suddenly, I heard a distinctive click. The firing pin hadn't struck the cartridge's primer; time to change the magazine. Now or never, I thought, and crouched in the doorway, raising the weapon to fire. I had one chance to eliminate them both. A neurotransmitter stung my skin painfully as I pushed the couch with all my might toward Derek standing in the doorway. At the same moment, I fired twice at the exposed figure in the center of the room. The man, falling, threw his arms out in a heap. Blood gushed from the two holes in his chest. Derek lay unconscious in the doorway, among a smashed couch. From the way his limbs were positioned, I could tell he'd sustained a few nasty fractures. I picked up the rifle and concentrated on the bolt. A moment later, the firing pin snapped, and I set the useless piece of metal aside. I pulled the ring from his dead friend's temple and reported, "

Clear, we'll need a wagon, one stiff, one wounded, one secured." "

I've accepted Josh. The wagon has a green light, the Blacks are going home."

Biglery patted me on the shoulder. "

You did well, Josh." He reached for a bottle of whiskey from the desk and suggested,

"Would you like a shot? Pass me some ice, there should be a few cubes left in the freezer." "

Alcohol on duty? Hell, the Chief Inspector himself was offering me some." I reached for the glasses and tossed in a few ice cubes.

"Good?" I almost got crushed under the table.

"I imagine it wouldn't look too interesting on the paperwork. After fourteen years of exemplary service, killed by a table while performing operational duties.

" "Funny," I muttered. "Stan, things used to be different. I remember when transmitters were rare. Now, on almost every mission, I encounter someone throwing fireballs left and right. Those scum had an Inductor on their staff. God knows what formulas they could have used. An Inductor in a den..." I sighed. "

Josh, you're getting older, and the world is moving on. And the bandits with it. That's normal...

" "That's not normal. Neurotransmitters aren't normal. That someone can cook your brain without even seeing you isn't normal either.

" "If I didn't know you, I'd think you were burning out." Biglery gave me an appraising look. I shrugged.

"Maybe it's true. Stan... I feel like I'm fighting some kind of relentless hydra." In place of one arrested dealer, two more, more ruthless ones arrive. With more dangerous formulas.

"You hate neurotransmitters, don't you?" he stated rather than asked. "You do, but you use the hoops yourself." "

Are you trying to moralize me, Biglery? Yes, as far as I'm concerned, I wish neurotransmitters had never been invented, but I use them, otherwise I would have died long ago. A neurotransmitter saved my life today, too. But I've had enough. Fourteen years is still four years too long. I should have retired long ago, or been stuck behind a desk.

" "And what would you do? I know you... You wouldn't sit around with your ass in an office."

"Stan, if this keeps up, they'll shoot my ass off, and I won't have anything to sit on at all," I growled. "

Tell me one thing, Josh," Stanley persisted. "Who do you want to go back to? Who do you want to live for? You have no one; your job is all you have. It's your life."

"I decide what my life is," I hissed through my clenched jaw. "And my private life is my personal business, it shouldn't be anyone's business."

Biglery leaned back in his chair. He sipped his whiskey. Finally, he said,

"You really want to leave. I understand, you have the right to. No one else deserves a break more than you. And it would be a terrible bastard to ask you for another favor." Biglery looked me in the eye and finished, "But that's my job."

Then he tossed the manila folder onto the desk. "

Look through this, Josh."

For a moment, I instinctively wanted to reach for the papers. I caught myself feeling a sick excitement, like I always do before a new job. But then I remembered the fragments of the table spinning at high speed. I shuddered. I stood up from the desk. "

I can't help you, Stan. I'm sorry."

As I was leaving, I was afraid I'd hear, "Stop, Josh! You're still working here! You're a cop, damn it!" I was afraid, but at the same time, I longed for a clear order that would decide for me. But I heard nothing.

On my way back, I left the expressway earlier than usual. I stopped at a Chinese restaurant and bought some snacks. In the distance, beyond the elevated expressway, the skyscrapers of downtown were visible. The sun was slowly setting, bringing to life the flashy advertisements and countless neon signs. Moloch, as we called Molobay City, never slept. In fact, it was more active at night than during the day. I untangled myself from the maze of narrow streets, stopping only for a glass of wine, returned to the expressway, and headed home. I sat down in front of the Holo, placed the snacks on the table, and held an iced coffee in my hand. I wanted to call a few people, but really, I only knew Biglery well; the rest of my friends had either moved away or weren't as close to me as they used to be. So I put a bottle of wine in front of me, intending to drink it alone, and I started wondering what my private life had been up to for the past fourteen years. I have a nice apartment. Sometimes women even come over, and surprisingly, I don't have to pay them. There was Rose once, but she couldn't stand a guy who was never sure he'd come home from work in one piece.

"...Six accidental victims," the announcer snapped me out of my reverie. "The perpetrator, most likely using a neurotransmitter, is very dangerous."

I automatically turned up the volume, carelessly knocking over the bottle. For a moment, I struggled with the wine spilling onto the floor, but eventually I focused on the holo.

"...then proceeding to North Center Avenue, where suspect Jeremiah Levy caused an explosion that resulted in..."—the visuals showed a smoking car wreck at the intersection of a busy street, and burning debris on the sidewalk. "...Two more people died."

I turned off the holo. I reached for the communicator, feeling an unpleasant knot in my stomach.

"Stan?" "

I'm listening, Josh. "

"I was watching the news."

"Spence Heatfield and Roma Blank. They were supposed to catch Levy in a raid on North Center Ave.

"I'm sorry, Stan... "

"Me too, Josh, I know their families."

"Biglers, I..." my voice caught in my throat, "I'll be at the station soon, okay?"

Fortunately, Stan wasn't the type to get offended by wounded pride.

"Come, Josh, come," he said calmly.

Biglery was drinking coffee; it was almost eleven at night. The briefcase was still on the desk. Stan had taken out only the most important papers and placed them beside him. I reached for them. Professor Jeremiah Levy, a professor of neuromolecular physics at MPI. Thirty-two years old, very talented and hardworking. He was about to receive his habilitation when he suddenly decided to crush several passersby. Next came a list of contacts, addresses, acquaintances.

"Maybe someone prevented him from getting his habilitation. You know, revenge, frustration—these things happen.

" "No, the habilitation is just a formality now; all it took was a few signatures. He knew that. I act like he no longer cares about his degrees. Like nothing else matters to him anymore.

" "He must have some motive. Maybe he realized there was some hidden flaw in his work. Wasting years of work can be unsettling."

"Perhaps you could check it out. There's something else." Some witnesses claim Levy wasn't wearing the neurotransmitter. "

Are you kidding? They're probably still in shock. I watched the holo report. He'd have to be carrying a whole arsenal to do that kind of damage.

" "These are photos." Biglery showed me printouts from the security cameras on North Center Ave. The photos weren't high quality, but it was clear Jeremiah wasn't wearing the hoop. "

I'll have to talk to a few people," I said, putting on my coat.

The documents indicated that Jeremiah Levy lived the life of a hermit, shuttling between the university and the lab, spending significantly more time in the latter. His only entertainment was playing bridge with his regular group of gambling friends. In this case, a hypothetical failure in the job that was his entire life would have had a very strong impact on Levy's psyche. In any case, I probably won't learn anything from my sparring partners. The only options left are the professors at MPI and perhaps the students, but I wasn't counting on them either. I drove up to the institute building. Vice-Rector Alan Travis, after a brief phone call, agreed to see me in his office.

"I'm usually the one who comes to you if you want to talk. You know, it's also a school, and the sight of police officers walking its corridors doesn't exactly do a good job of bolstering the image of an independent university. But I understand the circumstances." He recited this lengthy introduction in a reprimanding voice honed by years of lecturing to crowds of students.

I decided to get straight to the point, avoiding unnecessary sophistry along the way. Somewhere out there, Jeremiah might have been planning another murder.

"Levy was applying for a postdoctoral degree; were there any objections?"

"No. Quite the opposite. Jeremiah is a pioneer in a new field of neuromolecular physics." He deserves at least a habilitation for his work.

"So maybe someone prevented him from obtaining it," I suggested.

"That's ridiculous. We have healthy relations within the department. Besides, we all admired Levy's work.

" "What exactly was he working on?"

Travis reached for a business card holder and handed me a thin sheet of paper.

"It's Levy's assistant. You'll learn more there."

I ran my finger across the sheet, and three-dimensional symbols emerged. Chazz Thompson, Balamory St.

Despite the late hour, I decided to visit Chazz. He lived in a rather nice neighborhood, located away from both the bustling city center and the slum outskirts. In such neighborhoods, people didn't put holo signs in the gates; you entered through the gate and rang the doorbell. As I had just done. After a moment, the door opened, and a woman's face appeared in the gap between it and the frame. I showed my ID and introduced myself:

"Officer Joshua Sheridan, I'd like to speak with Mr. Chazz Thompson."

I heard the scrape of a chain being pulled, and the door swung open wider. The woman was wearing only a bathrobe, which was understandable given the hour. She was shapely, with slightly curly brown hair and harmonious features. She could have been twenty-five or twenty-six. For a moment, I envied Chazz.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I urgently need to speak with Mr. Levy's assistant."

She seemed to be in no hurry. The girl smiled and rubbed her eyes.

"It's urgent," I repeated. "I

'm listening." Her smile widened. Only then did I realize.

"Excuse me, I was convinced—"

"That only men do physics?" she interrupted. "Don't worry, it's not the first time this has happened to me, and it won't be the last. Would you like some coffee?"

I nodded, and we sat down at the table. "

So what did Levy do? Did he run a red light?" She spoke of him in such a patronizing tone that I wondered if there was something between them.

"Oh no, I know! Parking in a prohibited spot!" "She opened her eyes wide with fear. Under different circumstances, I would have smiled.

"He's murdered eight people so far."

"Oh my God!" Chazz covered her mouth. "That can't be true!"

"Unfortunately. I'm sorry you're hearing this from me, but we're pressed for time.

" "How..." she stammered. "How can I help?"

"I need to know what Levy has been working on lately."

"He's a genius. I can't explain all the issues he's raising, but to put it simply, it's about transforming and transmitting energy without a neuro."

"Without a neurotransmitter?" I asked, surprised, and a picture of Levy from North Center Avenue flashed before my eyes. "That's impossible. Sounds like he's practicing some damn magic."

Chazz smiled.

"All we know about neuroenergy is how we can use it. We don't know where it comes from, why it's stronger in some and weaker in others. Using the mathematics of many fields, we've learned to create equations that direct neuroenergy appropriately.

"Formulae," I muttered. "

Right, the right mathematical formulas, so..." Chazz continued, "...We've created a canon of commands that use our neuroenergy to produce the desired effects. We've also created Inductors, neurocomputers that can be coupled to the hoops and feed the formula into the transmitter so the user can use new formulas. But that's where our knowledge ends; everything else is theory, or even guesswork. We're only scratching the surface, but we don't know what neuroenergy is." Levy got to the heart of the matter. So, as you can see... jokes about witchcraft aren't so out of place. At least in a way.

The lecture shook me. I'd always thought I was an expert on neuroenergy, but Chazz made me realize I was merely a skilled user. I felt like a sharpshooter in a ballistics lecture.

"So, could Levy have gotten by without a neuro?" I asked.

"That's a pretty far-fetched conclusion. Theoretically..."

A bit of plaster fell onto the table.

"Damn, it's a brand new house," Chazz cursed. A premonition struck me, and I grabbed her hand. "

Is there a back door?" I whispered. Chazz nodded, her eyes wide with terror, this time serious, and choked out,

"Kitchen."

I pulled her along, running toward the kitchen. A split second later, the living room ceiling buckled and fell with a loud crash onto the table. Behind the ceiling, more and more pieces of the house began to fall away exponentially. Wasting no time in opening the door, I kicked the door open and we rushed outside. A few moments later, the house folded itself as if made of cards. We lay on the grass, panting and choking on the dust from the ruined building that enveloped us immediately after the collapse. I held my gun in my hand, but I had a feeling I wouldn't need to use it again that night. Unleashing that much energy must have taken a lot of Levy's strength. Regardless, we made it out onto the highway through the fences of more properties. I called for transport to the police station. A moment later, a civilian car pulled up to pick us up.

"That kind of power..." Chazz was still clutching my arm. "

I know. The neuro should fry his brain," I muttered, and after a moment, I added with a smile, "

At least we know that, theoretically, the neurotransmitter isn't necessary."

I figured that, considering her condition, the faint smile on Chazz's face wasn't bad at all.

In the morning, after we'd rested and cleaned up, things weren't so scary. They were still scary, to say the least. Biglery brought us trays of food.

"Boss! It's almost like breakfast in bed," I smiled. "

Be glad I didn't spend the night with you," Stan replied. While eating, I told him everything I'd learned about Levy. Chazz helped me with the technical details of his work as a scientist and the account of the attack on her house. After the report, I asked Chazz,

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"I could spend some time at a hotel, but I left my credit cards at the apartment..."

"If you want, I can put you up for a few days. I work nights anyway, and if necessary, I can sleep at the police station."

Chazz smiled. I was liking that smile more and more.

"Okay," she agreed.

"Just don't expect any luxuries. It's enough of an effort for me to keep things relatively tidy." I winked at her.

"I'll be fine.

" "Great. I'll take you now; you should be safe there."

We were reaching my floor. The elevator clattered noisily up the stairs.

"Are you sure I won't find anyone under the covers?" Chazz continued to tease me the entire way. "

Imagine, I'm a good cop."

"Sure. You didn't have any qualms about inviting me. If I remember correctly, if a man invites a woman to his house..." "

That was fair enough, because I took her with her safety in mind." I was about to object when she narrowed her eyes at me and parted her lips. Then she suddenly burst out laughing. Chazz. I think I could get used to it in time. Just before my floor, the elevator slowed. The lights flashed a warning and dimmed. The elevator doors slid open slowly, as if about to stop.

"Emergency?" Chazz whispered, startled.

"Shh." I put a finger to my lips and with my other hand drew my gun.

Somewhere at the end of the hall, a light bulb went off, trailing sparks.

"Wait," I told her, and started toward the door to my apartment. I felt someone's eyes boring into me, almost as if I were at gunpoint. My stomach tightened painfully. When I was just outside the entrance, I was sure the bastard was behind the door. I wanted to aim for the door, but my arm froze halfway there. Suddenly, I felt as if my whole body had frozen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chazz silently slide to the floor. A force lifted me a few inches off the ground and pushed me toward the entrance. Kicking down a door with my face is a very unnerving experience. Levy stood behind it. He looked at me calmly, as if judging me by my appearance. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Thank you for bringing Miss Thompson. At this point, getting her out of police headquarters could be troublesome, to say the least."

I felt the feeling return to

my face. "The pleasure's all mine," I rasped. Levy ignored me and turned away with a straight face. He stepped over the fallen door and left the apartment, leaving me hanging in midair, blood streaming down my face and dripping onto the floor.

"Josh..." I heard Biglery's voice in my ear. "Hold him a moment longer, we're taking up positions."

The bastard must have been keeping an eye on me, but in this case, it's hard for me to blame him.

" "Levy!" I yelled. A moment later, Jeremiah returned.

"You had a chance to survive. I'd already forgotten you existed. I understand that talking to me is worth any price," he sneered. "

People usually remember me longer." You simply didn't give me a chance to get under your skin, Levy," I replied, forcing a smile. "

Is that all, Mr..." He stepped closer, his eyes closed. He licked his lips as if he were focused on something. "Mr. Sheri...Sherdian?"

He was so close that when he opened his eyes, I could see the smoldering fire in them.

"Do you think you're a god, you sick bastard?" I hissed. "Get out of my head.

" "A god? You could put it that way. Just a little longer, and I can do anything," he drawled.

"Why do you want to kill her? After all, if you're so powerful, she can't harm you."

"That's obvious. Chazz is the only person who has had anything to do with my experiences. She's capable. Sooner or later, she would have reached where I am now."

"I think she wouldn't have taken up the offer of being a ruthless monster, Levy, after all."

Jeremiah laughed.

"You still don't understand, Sheridan." People don't mean much to me anymore. I'm not committing any crimes; you can't be held accountable for killing bugs. Neuroenergy is evolution. I'm the future, Josh. "

Hoho, Levy, you might not know this, but you've pissed off the police so much that you'll soon be a thing of the past. History, even.

" "You'll be there sooner," he hissed. I felt an invisible force force the air from my lungs. Biglery whispered in my ear. I smiled.

"By god, you're doing a terrible job of keeping an eye on your little girl," I gasped. Levy closed his eyes. After a moment, his lips twisted angrily and he ran outside. Immediately, the section of the corridor I could see through the doorless entrance was flooded with a blinding white light. The flash of the grenades wouldn't stop Levy, but they distracted him enough to ease the pressure on my body. I heard gunfire. Jeremiah was backing up, bullets ricocheting off his protective field. I drew my pistol and fired a few shots as well. He must not have expected them, as he was almost thrown against the wall. He waved his hand at me. I barely managed to dodge as a wave of energy ripped through the floor and ceiling where I'd been standing. Someone from the special forces fired a gas grenade. Plumes of smoke flattened the invisible barrier surrounding Levy. The body of one of the policemen flew across the hallway, forced open a window frame, and flew from the seventh floor. Amid the deafening gunfire, a speeding Levy jumped out after the officer. Screaming for them to stop shooting, I ran from the apartment. Choking on smoke and weaving between the commandos, I made it to the stairwell. I jumped the steps, trying to ignore the pain. I ran outside. Next to where the officer's body lay, the asphalt was dented. A stream of blood led down the street. I followed the scent and caught up with a staggering Levy, still trotting down the street. Cars sped past us. I don't know how he heard me in the din, but he turned. His eyes blazed, and his mouth formed a scream. The anger between us condensed into an almost tangible structure, the thickened air distorting his perspective. But I was prepared. Recoil wrenched my hands, and the bullet flew toward Jeramiah. I could almost physically feel the friction of the bullet as it covered the distance to Levy at a snail's pace. Time slowed, fragmented, and became jumbled. Jeremiah's now palpable will sought a way out, shedding fragments of time and leaping into new ones. But the bullet kept pushing forward, and I saw the hope fade in his eyes. Suddenly, I heard a loud crack, as if something had broken. The air whistled in my ears, and the bullet instantly picked up speed. I hit him in the chest. Shreds of flesh and blood sprayed everywhere. More shots brought him to the ground. Stripped to the bone, he was still alive as I changed the magazine. I aimed carefully at his head, ready to fire, but there was no need. Police swarmed around. Someone, probably the coroner, was taking photographs. Biglery tugged vigorously at my aching arm, probably congratulating me on my success. He said something, smiling as he did so, but I heard nothing but the hum. I caught a glimpse of Chazz's face in the gathering crowd. I searched for her with practically outstretched arms. A moment later, she was beside me. We embraced tightly.