12:03 am

Detective Leiutenent Ramirez and I move into the crime scene with callous ease. The apartment is one of those crappy, converted flats from the '50's. Old and worn down and it feels it. I can feel it in seeping through my bones into the back of my skull. Unwanted vision come more readily know. I don't need any specialist to tell me what it is. It's aberrancy, that slow creeping death that sneaks up on all novas. Death of humanity anyway.

"Ready to get to work, boss?"
It's Rameriz, with her too beautiful looks and feral edge. I can see it in her, too. Still, she smiles at me with the comfort of an old friend. The other cops in the room are more comfortable giving me some space. Most of them know me only vaguely as 'that super-cop' or, 'that freak'. The CSI team lead, Tammy Fergussen, gives me a friendly nod. She knows me pretty well and sees me way too often. Death does things like that to us.

One of the rookies figits nervously. A mouse mother moves through the wall above the lightswitch. A stomach rumbles, and the ten-year veteran farts nonchalantly.

I'm taking in the site. Girl, late teens, dead on the bed. Bruising to the upper right arm and neck. Two knife wounds to the back. The first one is lower and raking. Not fatal, but enough to slow her down. The second drove through the shoulder blade and into the lung. Death came by way of suffocation. I don't need my gifts to tell me this, but I feel their need for a show.

Besides, the bastard is probably beating feet.

"Time?" I ask.

"Less than two hours", replies Fergussen. She flips the forearm of the girl and it flops back down.
"Rigidity hasn't set in yet."

I nod and move over to the bed. I feel the node easing up and the quantum flowing in. Outwardly, my milky-blue eyes flare with the energy going from blind-man spooky to superhuman amazing. The room spins and the people around me flit away. In a jaunt this close to the past, I can actually see the people move backwards in my peripheral vision. Not too far to go.

I'm there now. The silent ghost bearing witness to what is going to happen. Damn, I hate the past.
He's there. It is a he. Glad to know instinct and training holds up. They are having sex, but I can feel the wrongness in it. He's angry and she's evasive/afraid. She is hiding something from a man you need to hide things from. He knows, or thinks he knows.
He finishes and immediately heads to the bathroom. She pouts and slips loose a barb. He ignores it. He already plans to kill her. Idiot. He looks into the mirror after he finishes cleaning up. Its the eye to eye psycho thing, building his justification and looking for his 'courage'. There is nothing I can do as he turns and comes back into the main room.
She knows something is wrong. She tells him she has to be going, giving some lame excuse with no emotion. She doesn't know how bad it will be. She is trying to avoid another beating.
He starts yelling. The tramp, whore, slut that I hear often enough. He is stoking his anger and trying to quiet his dread. I can feel the last moment for this tragedy to be avoided pass. She reaches for her underwear, but he has torn it earlier. She gets angry and yells back. He falls silent and picks up the knife from under the blanket at the foot of the bed.
I see it in her eyes. That hopeless fear of someone trapped and alone. There is nothing I can do.
She is twisting to get away as he lunges the length of the bed. The first blow is clumsy, as he steadies himself on his knees. She is struggling to get off the bed and keep the sheets around her as she screams. The mind works like that. The second blow falls and she is down, gurgling.
Now, it dawns on his concious mind what he has done. There is still time to call an ambulance, but he brushes her twitching leg aside and puts on his underwear and pants. He wraps the knife in his shirt, then puts it into the towel he had prepared. He is panicing now. He gets on his pullover sweat, bundles up the shirt, towel and knife underneath. He is half way out the door when he realizes he has forgotten his socks and shoes.
I watch her eyes look for him as he comes back in. She is struggling for the phone, but he is ignoring her. He finishes getting dressed and head out again. In his confusion, he forgets to close the door, sealing his fate.

I swing back forward in time. It's done.
I see the looks on the faces of the uniform cops. They aren't around me that often. I see the fear and awe in their eyes. For them, my vision took only a few seconds. Still, I can see that the whispers are back. Even Fergussen has moved away from the girl. The whispers caused by my vision have been steadily getting worse. I can't imagine hearing the girl's death screams was any more comforting for them than it was for me.
Only Ramirez is unfazed.
"The boyfriend."
It isn't a question. Her physical senses are as acute as my metaphysical ones. She moves over to the closet and goes through the clothing. She takes a deep wiff and throws me a Boston College sweater. I catch it, flip the label to see if he has made our job easier. No such, so my milky-blue eyes flare again and I look down the sweaters life.
It takes but a moment.
"Daniel King. 214 C Coventington. Pre-law Grad student. The towel holding the murder weapons should match a set he has in his apartment. He should still be there, working on some lame-ass alibi."

I look around as one of my detectives writes down the information and heads out.

"We're done her. Let's get some coffee."

As we head down the stairs and back out into the chilled night air, Rameriaz gives me the once over. She is my minder, my partner, and my friend. Unlike what most of the rest of the city thinks, she isn't my lover. We both know that it wouldn't work out for us. No need for future peeking on my part. We trust our instincts.

12:43 am

Coffee just doesn't taste as good anymore. Damn nova metabolism kills the kick.
Rameriaz and I are at one of the all-nighters that caters to the late night zombies and working stiffs. Technical updates have removed much of the need for shop talk. I'm too bright and Rameriaz types to damn fast. We know what has gone on in the day shift. Hell, I was there for most of the day anyway.

I look over Rameriaz and feel the shift in her. The growing frustration. We are too comfortable as friends and partners to miss much.

"How many?" I ask, finally breaking the silence.
She looks up, and for about half of a very long second, she is angry. Not with me so much as with the world.
"Three," she responds. "None of them could keep up. I'm not going to call them again. It's no damn use."
Frustration mixes with sadness.
"At least you freaked out on the outside", she adds. "Preston, what if I do lose it? This sex thing is getting out of hand. Two of my 'friends' were taking drugs and, quite frankly, its getting too easy for nothing in return. Damn, I ... itch."

I give her a slim smile. No sense in bring up her fling with Virgil. He's too close to being family for that to happen again. He is also a little to straight for Rammi's taste. With her growing stamina, no baseline, or even a team of baselines, can keep up. Then there is the whole Saxon sex-scandal to consider.

"Take a week plus to Ibiza, Rammi. Live it up with some nameless nova studs. Be someone else for a bit and get away from this."
"This from Mr. 24/365? Preston, if I go there I may not come back."
That is only partially a joke, and we both know it.
"What about Cody?" she adds. "He sounds like a durable one? Why did I miss him, again?"
"Cody's visit coincided with Crusader's honeymoon. We were all covering seperate shifts. Besides, I think you might have scared him when you met. You can intimidate 'poor country boys' with your big city ways, you know?"
Now, that is a joke. Rammi is only scary when she wants to be and Cody doesn't look like the type to scare off easily."

A few moments of silence.

"So, how do I bring it up to him, anyway?"
Rammi smiles. "Oh, just lure him here under false pretenses and I will take him in, Officer Preston. You just look the other way. You would do that for a fellow officer of the law, wouldn't you partner?"
"Hmmph."

Now I'm thinking about how Cody would take all of this. This isn't your normal kind of favor.

The radio wakes me from my plans with a burglary. Time to get back to work.

More to come, I hope ...

6:58 am

The Division's dayshift is coming in. Here and there, the reigns are being passed over. Small conversations as graveyard relates the nights unfinished business. Bits of personal business mix with sports talk, politics, and even soap opera gossip. Damn, we are a weird bunch.

Nova Enforcement. Nice title, but a joke around the shop. We are more of a combination of a major crimes taskforce, cold case files, and metro-wide special investigations unit. Add four novas and mix. Three novas too many, mind you. Three more than the city can afford, but we found some ways around that. Not for the first time, the wink to such a blatant violation of civil service regs, but one that my bosses are more than happy to make. Novas. Best not to crap on the thing that puts food on the table.

Jones comes in and gives me a nod. My personal minder at the office and keeper of the political floodgates. She is living proof that secretaries are the lynchpins keeping the world together.
"DeMeggio on the line for you, sir."

Michael DeMeggio is a big wheel within the democratic party here in Boston. If you are some flunkie with no talent save a rich relative, he's your man. I give him his creds, though. Already up and working when half the city is still in their jammies. He is about to remind me that I am a public servant. I must be psychic. I pick up the phone, and kick in the normal visual.

"Yes, Mike?"
"CT, I just want you to know that Patrick Flannagen's son has had a mishap in the 3-5. I would appreciate it if took care of it."
I grind my teeth.
"Nature of the difficulty?"
He hesitates for a moment. Bullshitting is in his blood, but he knows my and my personal tolerance levels as well.
"DWI. Bent up his car a bit. A girl was also injured, but I am assured that the family lawyers are dealing with this in an acceptable manner."
Translation: We are buying her silence so the fair haired boy doesn't front in the papers.
"Done."
"Tell your Dad, hey, and thanks CT."
He hangs up. I wonder if he will see dad before me. Dad has been keeping busy recently. I would wonder if seeing his son becoming a feak before his eyes was the cause, cept I know it is. My taint hits him particularly hard.

"Jones, get my Mary Wells over at the 3-5."
Mary owes me a few and if no one is dead, will let this one get buried. We are all sinners, after all.


11:32 am

Charlies is famous throughout the city for its fish and as a notorious cop hangout. I used to meet Sarah here, before she dumped me. Too many hours on the job. Too much weirdness centering around me. Too much of me being a nova.
Virgil comes in with his usually flurry of exitement. He flies down to the sidewalk, looking more confident and in control every day. People still stop and stare. My force of personality scares people and intimidates them. His is the kind that gives people hope and the promise of some sort of higher justice.
Just like Clark Kent, all the way down to the awww shucks demeanor. Even I smile when he comes up. The room lightens up, the other cops smile and greet him, conversations turn to postive topics. Yes, Virgil is the great hope.

"Hey Preston," he drawls out in that think Montana twang.
"I let Crew -sayder have the media-thang with those fellas from OCT. Notice you and Ms. Rammi made yourself vapor after thangs went down."
"The Syndicate mugs were taken down. You, Crusader and the SWAT team were pulling out. There was no need for all of us to be annoyed by the press. Call it priveledge of rank."
I go back to my chips, while the waitress miraculously appears to get his order. If Virgil wasn't a nova, it would piss off a few of the customers waiting for refills. Instead, all she earns is a few knowing smiles, and Virgil a few "manly" nods.

He finishes up and turns back to me. If he has noticed her obvious flirting, he shows no sign of it. I am glad he remembers my little warning about "keeping it out of house and home".

"So, Virgil, everything set?"
"Yes sirrah. Got the flight plan reegistered with tha FAA. I'll be heeding out around 5:30 Friday, hit the afterburners and be home in under two hours."
I still find it interesting that he is talking about flying from Boston to Helena in two hours like he is going to the corner store for groceries. Even he has changed, taking the extraordinary as normal.

More cop talk follows. Virgil has really kicked in and learned the trade. He will never be the brighest star the academy has ever turned out, but he's competant.
Talk turns to women. Virgil is seeing this Ad Executive he met at a club a few nights ago. Virgil isnt' the kind to go into details, but I know he has travelled a good deal since he first came to us. No one stays innocent forever.

1:02 pm

Virgil is rushing me through the city. Days like this make me wish I was more bullet-resistant, or at least wind-resistant. We are flying across the city in excess of 150 kph. With my glasses strapped on and my scarf around most of my face, the cold is merely intense.
Mulitple kidnapping at the exclusive Blairwood prep. My wife went there when she was growing up. All the best families send their girls there, when they are starting out on that road of wealth and privilege. Three children, ages 8, 9, and 11. Same time and local, but not place. I don't need a node thumping through my skull to tell me that an 11 year old isn't playing or attending classes with a younger classmate. The MCT has been moving on this for the past three minutes. Gathering names and closing in on their homes. We have planned out how to handle something like this. It's what we get paid to do.

1:07 pm

Across the city, now. The alarm is still heading out over the grapevine. "Concerned" teachers calling the richest parents first to tell them their child is okay, and so on, down the line. Already dozens of limos are rushing here, and the press won't be far behind. Rammi is already here and something has her spooked. A few nods and looks in different directions and I send her off. Nothing vocal, because we both have the feeling unfriendly eyes are watching. Virgil goes into his comforting hero mode while I talk to the principle parties. The head of security and the guy, and his dog, who had that area of the school to patrol. The three teachers involved. The headmistress.
The story is pretty clear cut. Acid to cut through the fence. High-compression air guns to take out the guard and his dog. Five men(?) with black clothing and ski-masks. They knew right were the girls were and snatched them. No talking. Minimal fuss. Certainly not much to give me to work with. Except, of course, for the little girls who were snatched. I know their names. Their parents are on that list of families that privately contribute to keep novas in this city. From there, it all makes sense.

Crusader arrives with the bagged "samples", while Virgil is fending off the first of the press. I leave it to the headmistress to deal with the frantic parents and/or nannies. I am no longer answering my phone. Ramirez calls back in. It is a remote unit set up 300 meters away. The area dosed in a strong amonia spray, to preclude catching any scents and I have better things to do than look back to see some black clad figures setting up equipment. That is the trouble about being a smart baseline. Sometimes you can be too smart.

There is something about being a nova that you can't explain to someone who isn't. Something I share with Ashnod and Prodigy, but I can't share with my own father. Something about the power and how it works within you and how it alters your perceptions of everyday life. If it ever scared me, it doesn't anymore. I reach down and lay out the course. Step one, we go to Emergancy 1 frequencies while a two man team keep the normal channel filled with the usual clutter. Next, I pull the team close, because I know I am going to be pulling out most of the stops to get this done. Then, I start reading the future.

"We are the sum of all our parts" a wiseman once said. For a nova, this is taken to another level, and how I love it so. Its my other guilty pleasure, along with my son's rebelliousness.
First, I reach forward into the immediate future. The figures of the people around me lose that clear focus that novahood returned to me. Instead, I begin seeing them branch out into the multitude of futures that wait for them. This time, things stay pretty cohesive. We are all focused on a goal and working on the same plan, so this isn't the madness of normal life assualting me.

I am having my visions and people are talking to me and I am replying. As I do, first Virgil, then Crusader leave. Three times I reach down and on the third time, my nose and eyes bleed. Phosperencent blue archs through the viens on my neck and man it looks like that hurts. I manage to cough out something besides blood, and Rammi steps out, using her warp. I manage to alter my perceptions to look through that still open portal to see gunfire and a van tilting over on its side as it careens down the street. It flips over and I see the bound girl, school uniform and all bounce past. My too near-perfect senses pick up on the gunshot wound to the side of her head and I know we have lost that one. Other reports come in. The two other girls were saved.

Visions of visions. Not the brightest idea I have ever had, but I would rather hack my way through muddy waters than lose one girl's life. I go over quickly what I know. They are watching us. When that observation ceases, they will kill the girls, or more appropriately, someone will order the girls killed. Okay, now I am down to human reaction times.

Verbally, I send Crusader and Virgil up over the city. General heading:east, because I have a feeling they are using the city's traffic to limit our own manueverability. It makes sense with the way these people are thinking. Today, we get to break some glass.
I steady myself for what is going to be my first vision for today. I feel that I have one other, then disaster will come for me. If I can, I will selfishly hold that off. For today, anyway.
I look at the three bagged items before me. One from each of the homes of the kidnapped girls. A porclein doll (which I somehow doubt is the cherished belonging I really need), a GameConsole controller (which should be right on the money), and a worn monkey doll which just reaks of child abandonmment issues, but should do fine. Three visions, similtenously over three different areas, tracking three different girls, who are all certainly moving. Why am I doing this again?

I signal Ramirez and hear the distant report of a pistol going off next to my head. It will take more noise than that to get to me now.
It is always something different every time I do this stunt. Today, it is like being on a rollercoaster that suddenly lurches into reverse. I get the strongest feelings of my brain trying to force its way out of my nostrils. Then it clears. Everything clears and I am precisely were I want to be. It has never felt this good before.

I am walking through three very different rooms at once. The paradox doesn't bother me. I am in the state I call the negative point, because it is that lurch back in time, where I pick up the psychic trails of the people I am looking in on. Negative time.

I/we are racing out across the city, the lunch-time traffic blurring around me. I see me/us being taken out of the van and taken to three different cars. A white floral delivery van, an olive minivan, and a white city services sedan. I/we are bound and blindfolded again here. Thick black fabric replaces duct tape painfully. I can see the captors now, as they strip out of their black gear and into mundane clothing. They are chatty now, though I can see two who are worried about something. Maybe its there concience, but I can't find it in myself to care. Right now I/we am so cold and afraid. I/we want to comfort the others/go home/go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare. So many bare, raw emotions are moving through me, now. Behind it is my/Preston's buidling rage.

I/we are slung into the back/trunk of the getaway vehicles, and we take off in different directions. For a moment, there is a terrible sense of disappation and disorientation that comes with being torn in three different directions. Then, there are three of me/us and it feels so natural. Some kind of connection that I haven't felt before ... and we are moving.
Fate takes a hand. The Floral van has trouble. I smell burning oil and I/we are pulling off the road. I pull back and look around the area. Charles River - old warehouse on the edge of Foxboro Heights. ~Virgil, now~
Cruising down the Expressway toward South Boston and I can feel the bumps of the road and see the Bay reaching out behind me. I also see the exis signs. ~Crusader~
Fighting through traffic down toward the commons, I/we here the bell tower and the chiming of the bell. ~Rammi~

As I am pulling out of the vision, I see the sonic boom engulf the warehouse. The rotten wood framework carreens off the van and protects those within while the windows explode from the overpressure. They will live, but are stunned long enough for Virgil to get to the girl.

By putting the victim in the trunk, the men on the overpass have voided their best protection. Crusader comes in hard and fast on their rear left side. He literally grabs the car and lifts it off the roadway, flipping it over. I recall one of the men wasn't wearing his seat belt. Crusader takes the car off the road and deccelerates in a hurry. Slamming the nose of the car into an embankment, he rips off the trunk and picks up the rather banged up child.

The Warp opens up in front of the minivan as it is racing toward the Boston Tunnel. 80 kph and the driver would have to be a miracle worker to avoid it in this enclosed environment. God isn't on his side today, despite his beliefs. I know what happens next, even though I'm no longer there. Rammi knows they are going to try and kill the girl, to teach us and the world the lesson that we are not gods, but flawed lesser beings. Demons in the guise of men.
Rammi is their demon. The van appears nearly a kilometer away, and up in the air. Nature and Rammi take over. She crashes through the front windshield. The driver is sprayed with glass and would probably survive if it wasn't for the 300 meter fall his van is taking. Rammi doesn't care. She scythes through the passanger's seat, moving toward the man in the back. Even as he is trying to bring his gun to bear on girl, Rammi is moving past him. She can hear the voice screaming over the headset, "Kill them! Kill them now!", but it has come down to human versus nova reaction times. Rammi kicks off the rear of the minivan's passanger seat, scoops up the girl, and smashes into the back door of the van. The door screeches and gives way as bullets impact on her back and side. The bullets hurt, but nothing lifethreatening. She propels herself and the girl off the back bumper as the minivan noses over and races down to the water. She glances over her shoulder as the minivan plummets and gets the satisfaction of hearing their screams before they impact. At 300 meters, the water might as well be concrete.
A warp opens up and deposits the both of them on the shore.

4:38 pm

The after action reports are in. Four arrests, three rescued hostages, two dead perps. Our three men and one woman in detention have lawyered up. The families are exstatic, the populace gets to read about another spectacular job done by "their" heroes, and the team gets a "job well done" from on high.
I only question Rammi once about the way she handled the takedown. She says that with the time constraints and the knowledge that the victim would be taken out as soon as she appeared ... blah, blah, blah.
I don't care. I believe in Rammi, if not her excuses. The perps put themselves in a position were they risked their lives. Rammi did her job, which was to protect the defenseless. Situation handled.
They were Michaelites and we can't publically say anything about it. The six assailants were from a "splinter cell" and there is a big difference between what I know and what will stand up in a court of law. Their training, their information, their level of equipment; all point to a national network going on behind the scenes.

Today, it wasn't nova versus baseline. It really isn't about that, anyway. It is about how some people want to embrace and welcome novas into their lives and their world, while others react to us in fear and loathing. Tolerance versus bigotry. No nova life was put in great peril today. This was baseline on baseline. Hate stacked against three young lives.
They are going to harp about how this wouldn't have happened if we hadn't been here in the first place. We are going to remind them that Hate always finds an outlet. If it wasn't for novas, they would be bombing abortion clinics and assassinating doctors.

Today, we win. Tomorrow who knows? Not me.
Virgil and Crusader get to be the big heroes. They look the part and have made this city their home. The two local novas remain in the background. It is how we like it, anyway. We don't give a crap about the accolades or the fans. For us, it is about the job and making the difference. Its enough.

6:09 pm

Dinnertime at the precinct. Jones makes sure something Korean is dropped off before she goes home to her family. Reports filed, cases closed, leave requests handled for the month. The minutea that is more draining than an .44 slug to the chest, or so it feels. Crusader is up right now, having given Virgil some time for personal business. He is laughing it up with one of his in-laws, Douglas from the 1-6. Their ramblings go off into soccer talk and I tune it out.
The Korean whatever is spicy enough and I actually manage to finish before the next call comes in. Robbery gone bad. Perp inside with 4~5 hostages. Crusader and Tactical get my nod and head out. Crusader will be there in two. Tactical will take another four. For a moment, I think about taking a look-see to help them out, but I don't. This department isn't about me. Its about all of us and each part having faith that the others will do their job. Crusader is no longer going to rush in and 'save the day'. He has gone past that now. He's thinking like a cop. He will let the negotiators have thier shot, and that most likely, will be that.

A call from the mayor's office. It's late. The mayor should be off to her dinner before the opera tonight. I think of another pair of tickets that will gather dust. Oh, well.
"Hello, Mr. Preston?"
"Mr. Parker. Good of you to call me back. There is one matter I would like to talk with you about."
Parker is a little functionary at the center of power. Not a wielder of power, but someone who nudges things along. Probably damn indespensible to the mayor. She might even be aware of that.
"Yes?"
I calm myself. No sense to go off half cocked.
"Parker, you can call me Captain Preston."
I pause, then, "I know it was you that ponied up the list."
For a moment, there is nothing but his slightly accelerated breathing.
"Sir, I ..."
He realizes that I don't have any proof, or the badges would be storming through his door right now.
"I know, Parker, and that's enough."
"I don't know what you are talking about, but even if there was some validity to your accusations, your just blowing wind."
Now, he is getting smug. He is getting off on the fact that I know and can do nothing about it. Silly fool. I also know that the conversation isn't being recorded, on his end.
"I've told DeMeggio, jackass."
Another pause as he soaks that in. I continue.
"I imagine his client list isn't going to be happy to find out who you are in bed with. How you like risking the lives of their children."
"I never did anything like ..."
"You gave that list up, Parker. That's conspiracy before the fact. In their court of law, that will be enough. Have a nice life."
I hang up.

Parker will most likely keep his job, civil service and all, but his days of power are over. The whole "proof" thing cuts both ways. I don't need to prove to anyone with money and power in this city that I mean well. They believe in me, up to a point, and my accusation will be enough. Especially when they are looking for someone to blame for putting the lives of their children, or their friend's children, in danger.
Have a good life, Mr. Parker.
Asshole.