+J.M.J.+

The Eyes Have It

By "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

An odd subplot is creeping in here, which I think stems from the somewhat goofy question my friend "fom4life" asked after we saw the film (Minority Report), something to the effect of, do you think Anderton had any, um, more personal interest in Agatha? The answer of course is, not likely, it's more a brother/sister relationship, even a father/daughter relationship…but I'll let this chapter speak for itself. WARNING: Incest references, a tangential portrayal of indecent assault, and violence, but I think I handled it in a PG-13 way, ala "Law and Order". I'd had an idea to do an "A.I."/"Law and Order" crossover, but I didn't think it would work, so some of the material I'd jotted down for that got subsumed into this (Fletcher is kind of how I imagine the Jerry Orbach character on L&O might have been at about the same age), including a nasty subplot involving Bevins.

Disclaimer:

See the Prologue.

Chapter IV: Inner Eye

Anderton left Agatha to settle in. he had a phone call to make to a hacker friend of his.

"What?" Rip demanded on the other end of the line when it finally picked up.

"Rip, it's me, Anderton. I need your help. Can you come up here sometime tonight? Doesn't matter how late."

"Why, what is it now? Forgot your password again?" They both laughed: an old joke dating back to their college years when Anderton kept forgetting one of his passwords for the college computers and Rip had fished it out for him, on several occasions.

"No, it has to do with a case I'm working on. I'll explain the details when you get here…one thing: can you bring along a brain harness?"

"What for, you got a perp who won't talk, so gonna search his brain? That's a constitutional offense, y' know. I mean, it's one thing to topple a Federal institution, it's another to take on the Founding Fathers."

"It's nothing like that. I'll tell you when you get here."

"Okay, I'm on the way," Rip said, hanging up.

Rip didn't show up till 11.30. In the meantime, Anderton prepared Agatha, first by explaining what he was going to do, then by giving her the natural sedatives. When Rip came, Anderton led him into the den, where Agatha lay on her back on the couch, half asleep, half in a trance.

"Holy moly!" Rip cried. "I can see why y' didn't brief me on this. She's a former Federal ward, isn't she?"

"She was," Anderton said.

Rip set to work, taping the electrodes to Agatha's head (Lara had helped crop back her hair, making it easier for the electrodes to stick). He plugged the harness into his laptop, loaded a DVD-RW into the burner, punched a few keys, then sat back.

A dully-colored splotch appeared on the translucent flatscreen, resolving into a number on the door of a hotel room: 102. the door opened into the room at the Shangri-La. Their view moved in through the doorway.

Samantha Bevins sat on the bed, checking her makeup with a small mirror. She turned toward the door with a smile, which quickly turned to a snarl of annoyance. She got up. The sound was muted, but Anderton lip-read much of the exchange. Dad?! What the h--- are you doing here?

Bevins circled around the foot of the bed, looking at her. Well, who is it now?

He's certainly not you.

Who is he?!

She stalked away to the bathroom, the angle following her. Anderton couldn't make out what she was saying, but he guessed it was something like, 'It's none of your business who I'm seeing.' Bevins asked a question that might have been, 'Is he someone I know?'

Anderton didn't get the reply, but it was doubtlessly 'NO'.

Well, who is he?

She stalked back into the room. Why should you care? So you can keep me all to yourself?

Who is he, dammit?!

She turned away with an incoherent snarl that might have been an expletive.

It's that Mecha, isn't it? Isn't it?! That's why you're not saying.

She shook her head violently with another incoherent reply.

Bevins grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her backward toward the bed. She tried to push him away, but he kicked her feet out from under her. She sprawled on her back across the mattress. She tried to get up, but he was on her, choke-holding her with one hand as he worked at the front of his pants with the other. He drew a packet that probably was a condom out of his pocket and pulled it open with his teeth.

Anderton had to look away for a moment. Even after his years at Pre-Crime, witnessing dozens of murders, he still hadn't completely hardened to it, especially horrible things like this. He looked at Agatha, who twitched slightly on the couch.

He looked back to the screen: Samantha on her back, gasping, eyes half-rolled back in her head, her mouth writhing in barely coherent curses.

Bevins let her go. She looked up at him. At least Joe doesn't use me! she spat.

Bevins reached into his trouser pocket again, drew out a switchblade knife. He pressed the stud on its side: the blade darted out, then it plunged, slashing across her throat, right to left. She trembled in pain, choking on her own blood. She jolted as he drove the knife into her chest. Her head rolled slack to one side, her eyes dulling.

Bevins got up, went to the bathroom, washed his hands and the knife. He rummaged in her purse, found a manicure set. Filling a plastic cup with soap and water, he set to work cleaning her nails. He rearranged her body, turned her over onto her belly. He looked out the window, then stepped into the shadows of the room and sat down on the end of the couch at the further end of the room.

The door opened. A tall, graceful young man entered, stepping into the room dramatically, setting the key down on the TV cabinet to the left of the door. The neon lighting shining through the windows glinted off his too-glossy hair and skin. Its hair color was lighter than it had been in its license photo, but Anderton still recognized it. Joe strode up to the foot of the bed with a 1930's film idol's swagger, paused, posed with feet well apart and in one smooth gesture, whipped off its long black simuleather jacket and flung it to the floor behind him. with the grace of a dancer or a living Greek statue, it lowered its lithe form onto the bed beside Samantha, leaned over her, touched her neck, its fingertip coming away with a splotch of red clinging to it.

Something moved in the shadows even as Joe climbed quickly off the bed. Bevins approached, clearly asking the Mecha when he'd last been with Samantha. The Mecha dropped its gaze slightly, then looked up, replying with an exact figure, down to the last second. Bevins stepped past the Mecha, approached the bed, leaned over Samantha. He bade her some kind of gruff farewell, pulled down the covers, and planted a kiss on her naked shoulder. With that, he left the room.

Their view followed Bevins, out to the hallway, down to the fire escape entrance. He took out his handkerchief, and covering his hand with it, lifted the latch and went out, down the stairs to the alleyway.

The images started to flick back and forth: Bevins driving to the Barn Creek Fairgrounds, where he met up with Lord Johnson-Johnson; Joe descending the stairs of the Shangri-La, entering the lobby, depositing the key and heading out before Williamson could exchange a few parting pleasantries with him…Bevins giving his sob story to Johnson, If you catch this lover-Mecha give the crowd a spiel about how it killed Sam, cut her throat open, raped her, build it up, get the crowd in a real frenzy…Joe striding along the sidewalks of Hackney Street, stepping quickly into an alleyway behind a club when a police cruiser passed by; he stood against a wall, opening a compartment in his left wrist, taking out a small scalpel, then opening the neck of his shirt to slide the tip of the blade under the edge of the luminous green license tag embedded into his artificial flesh; shuddering with the pain, he cut out the tag and removed it. A small fiber dropped from the tag to the pavement as he slipped the tag into his coat pocket…Johnson wagging his head as Bevins finished his story; what's all that for? Is this another of your publicity schemes for the ARM? 7 to 1? Bevins putting a wad of Newbucks into Johnson's shirt pocket…Joe threading his way through the back streets of Haddonfield, reaching the town limits, heading for the thickest part of the woods…

It didn't end there. There was more, a jumble of images, of Johnson letting loose his Hounds to round up a group of derelict Mechas, among them Joe and what looked like a boy about eleven years old, possibly the demo model Cybertronics had had go astray; the Mechas bundled into a large net which was then carried to the Fairgrounds via a strange balloon in the form of the moon; Johnson's henchmen chaining the boy and Joe to a carnival-type bag-toss which, when tripped, would pour three buckets of acid over them. The boy started yelling, interrupting the showman's spiel; the crowd throwing things—beanbags, cups, candy boxes, anything they could lay hands on at Johnson, before they rushed the stage. One of the crew unchained the two Mechas and let them flee into the woods while the crowd rioted..

There was much more data Anderton found unnecessary. The boy-Mecha (if he was) seemed to be on a quest for something; Anderton thought he caught the words "Blue Fairy" on the boy's lips. The two Mechas headed out on their journey together, first to Rouge city, where the boy got the answer to his question at the Dr. Know information center there, and then to the Cybertronics building in what was left of Manhattan. But Bevins, in a 'copter borrowed from a friend in the ARM was following them and a Haddonfield police 'copter… Joe being pulled up to a tractor magnet on the underside of an amphibicopter with unfamiliar markings. Anderton glimpsed the Cybertronics logo on it at one point…. Joe alone in a room with a professorish, middle-aged man who seemed to be asking him questions. Bevins sneaking into the building, breaking into the room, assaulting the professor-type: Joe trying to pin Bevins's wrists; the larger man overpowering the slight Mecha. The doors opening and a cluster of police and security rushing in. Bevins escaping by a second door. There was a confusing section with the Weegee Wannabe sneaking around, armed with his camera, but what did that have to do with anything? Fletcher shoving the nuisance out of his way…Joe and Agatha finding each other in a room somewhere…Joe turning on the charm; the very thought of that brought a smile to Anderton's mind, thought he hardly dared show it…. Then Bevins rushing in and attacking Joe.

But in another image, all they could see was Joe's pellucid eyes, shimmering almost like emeralds lit by flames. What did that mean.

The transmission broke. Agatha stirred on the couch, arching her back, her breath coming harder.

He hand whipped up, grabbing at Anderton's with that grip that startled him, that day she grabbed his hand, just before the Leo Crowe incident. He nearly jolted at her touch.

"Did you see?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I did," he said. To Rip, he added, "Did you get all that?"

Rip took the disk out of the burner and held it up. "It's all on here."

"Thanks…how much do I owe you?"

"Just enough for a fuel cell for my car," Rip said. "Is this gonna be enough? I mean, I remember them saying it took three Pre-Cogs to get a full report."

"Agatha was the strongest of the three. She's almost as good as two male Pre-Cogs put together," Anderton said.

"I hope you weren't tormenting that girl," Lara said, slightly teasing, slightly serious, when Anderton came to bed after Rip had gone.

"She'll sleep better knowing I can help her with this," he said.

"Or is she helping you?" Lara asked. "I think she wants something else."

"Why, has she discussed it with you?"

"No, just female intuition."

"We'll discuss this in the morning when I'm more alert," he said, burrowing under the covers.

"Any luck on the field research?" Anderton asked Fletcher next morning, as Fletcher checked his messages.

"Nah, I even snuck a peek into the pen during a lull," Fletcher said. "I didn't see nothing that looked like Joe."

"We still got time," Anderton said.

"Forget the Mecha," Stuyvesant growled. "If the Flesh Fair takes care of it for us, all the better: the case will close itself."

Anderton shook his head. "I think there's a lot more going on than meets the eye."

Stuyvesant grinned sourly. "All right, Sherlock Holmes, what do you propose to do?"

"Bevins's neighbor said she heard them fighting a lot. Maybe one of Ms. Bevins's co-workers knows something," Anderton said.

"Have it your way, Sherlock," Stuyvesant said, spreading his hands. "Knock yourself out."

"So how's your wife's sister?" Fletcher asked as he and Anderton drove to the Blockbuster Video where Samantha had worked.

"Okay, I fibbed: Agatha isn't a blood relative," Anderton admitted. "She's one of the Pre-Cogs."

"I knew it! That's why you got this lead on this," Fletcher cried. "So she tell you exactly what happened? It's Bevins that stuck his daughter, right? So let's go arrest him now—"

"Hold it, Fletch. Stuyvesant wouldn't approve if I did."

"He's jealous, that's all."

"True, but it's a highly unorthodox way to cover a case. I'm just using her visions as a guide, to look for the paper trail. That way, no one would ever know."

"Have it your way…Sherlock."

"Thanks a lot."

The Blockbuster Video was thinly occupied at that hour of the morning. A kid with buzz-cut hair was emptying the night drop box, while a dark girl wearing a forest-green blouse under her store regulation red polo shirt and khaki slacks checked out the one short guy customer's selections.

"All the President's Men will be due back on Monday at noon," she said, almost more perfunctorily than usual.

"I know the drill," the short guy replied. Even from the back, Anderton recognized the Weegee Wannabe who'd gotten underfoot at the Shangri-La. The short guy turned around, confirming it. He looked up at Anderton.

"Oh, it's Officer Clear-the-Area," he drawled, looking up at him.

"Just covering all bases," Anderton replied, nonchalant.

"Watch it with this guy, Ms. Maguire," the short guy said over his shoulder to the clerk. "He looks harmless, but he's one pushy mother." He stepped away, stuffing his selection into his coat pocket. A bulge under his lapel looked like a pocket camera, but Anderton noticed it only as the goon went out.

"If this has to do with my parking tickets, I took care of those on the first of the month," said the clerk, whose nametag read "Holly".

"Actually, this has to do with Samantha Bevins," Anderton said, showing his badge and introducing himself and his partner. "Did you know her at all?"

"Sure, I trained her actually," Holly said. She looked around. "Rye?"

"Yeah?" the kid called back.

"Cover for me while I talk with these gents," Holly said, stepping out from behind the counter. She led them to the back room.

"I couldn't tell you out there: it isn't exactly family material…if you know what I mean," Holly said. "Sam used to spill her guts to me a lot. She couldn't afford a shrink, but I've been to so many I know the drill."

"Anything about her dad?" Anderton asked.

Holly rolled her eyes. "God, did she ever! The goon was using her big time. He'd been feeling her up to say the least ever since she started wearing bras. She wanted out big time, but that wasn't so easy. And aside from that, she'd had it up to the eyes with his Mecha-bashing, ever since she was ten and her mother tried to leave, taking Sam with her. The story was that a malfunctioning bellhop Mecha in a hotel throttled Sam's mom. So since then, her father's turned into a one-man anti-Mecha crusade."

"You know how long Sam's been seeing this Mecha named Joe?"

Holly wagged her head. "Maybe six months, I wasn't keeping count. She was really nervous admitting to it. I mean, her dad hates those things. If he knew Sam was seeing something like Joe, let alone sleeping with one, he'd of killed her."

"She ever talk about her father threatening her?" Fletcher asked.

"Maybe not outright saying 'I'm gonna kill you', but he didn't deal with her gently when he caught her doing something."

"We won't use any more of your time, Ms. Maguire," Anderton said. "Thanks."

"Anything to help: I happen to have a soft spot for Joe myself," Holly replied. "Oh, and if that short goon with the camera should give you trouble, look me up." She brandished one fist. "I'll take care of him for yah: he's my ex-boyfriend, so I got dibs on busting his jaw or his camera, whichever comes first."

"I think we can handle him," Anderton said, smiling thinly.

"Yeah, the two of us 'ud make three of him," Fletcher said.

"You got permission to clonk him one for me, if you have to," she said, grinning, her eyes on Fletcher.

On that note, Anderton and Fletcher went out, heading for the car.

"I think she liked me," Fletcher said.

"You don't want to pursue that: her family has connections with the local chapter of the Irish mob in what's left of Hoboken," Anderton warned.

Before Fletcher could acknowledge his faux pas, they both noticed the short guy with the squashed-down Homburg, walking away from the back of their car, removing a memory card from the camera about his neck.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" Fletcher yelled, starting after the guy. Anderton caught his arm.

"None of that!" he cried.

"But he's spying on us!"

"Rule of thumb, Fletch: You don't argue with journalists unless they're interfering. That guy's got the wherewithal to smear us."

"You shoulda knocked his camera outta his paws!"

"That would only give him reason to screw our competence. He'd report it as a case of police brutality. I've had enough trouble with smear campaigns for things I had nothing to do with; the papers in D.C. tried to shoot my competency full of holes about the time I got out of Pre-Crime. I don't need to create a situation.

"Besides," Anderton added with a slight smile. "Our Weegee Wannabe might have been waiting for us to leave so he and go back in and pest his ex."

"So you're just letting him off the hook?"

"No. We'll keep him on the radar, but just in case he actually gives us trouble," Anderton said. "I've been at this long enough to know what you can't do in certain situations."

"And that's why you're the senior guy here," Fletcher said. "Okay, I get it."

To Lara's utter surprise, Agatha offered to help with the housework: washing dishes, carrying laundry downstairs to the laundry room. She was quiet in her odd, mysterious way most of the time, but when the two were making the bed, Agatha posed an odd question.

"It must be a wonderful thing to know a man's love, to feel his embrace," Agatha said, out of the blue as she helped Lara smooth out the spread.

"It is…but what makes you say this?" Lara asked, curious and a little confused.

Agatha ran her hand over the spread on the left side of the bed, closer to the window, the side where John slept. "He sleeps here… You love each other very much, even when life together has strained that love. Your troubles made you stronger…I have wondered what it must be like, to know a man's love for oneself, and to feel his touch."

"It's one of those things you can know only by feeling it for yourself. That's the only way," Lara said.

Agatha looked into her face, her pale blue eyes unblinking. "Can you listen?"

"Yes…but listen to what?"

"I have read in several books of folk wisdom that a woman must be a virgin if she is to have the gift of second sight. This gift I have is a terrible burden. People have sought to know why my brothers and I are pre-cognizant so that they might have this gift as well, for themselves. But they would not want it if they knew. I want it no longer. It weighs too heavily upon me. If a man embraced me in love, I would lose this talent perhaps, and then I could be free, as you are." Agatha looked down at John's pillow, then looked up into Lara's face. "Would it be possible for him to help me in this?" she asked this in all innocence, not a trace of lustfulness or sluttishness.

"No, Agatha," Lara replied, not batting an eyelash. She realized Agatha probably hadn't had the most thorough moral training, if any, so she knew hardly any better. "John and I promised each other to be faithful to each other. That's part loving someone in marriage."

Agatha accepted this with the same kind of simplicity in which she'd asked her question.

"There must be someone who can help you," Lara said. "What about the people taking care of you and your brothers?"

"There was one man, but he has no interest in me. He even laughed at me when I asked for his aid."

Lara patted Agatha's shoulder. "I'm sure there's someone out there who will take an interest in you for who you are and fall in love with you." But even as she said this, she knew somehow this might not happen.

"John, I think you may be somewhat mistaken about why Agatha asked for your aid," Lara said that evening as they settled down in bed for the night.

"Why? What makes you say that?" Anderton asked, poking his pillow into a different shape before settling his head on it.

"She told me she doesn't want to be pre-cognizant any more. She read about that old folk tale that a psychic woman has to remain a virgin or else she loses her gift."

"But that's just a folk saying: there's no logical way that losing her virginity will make her lose her pre-cognizance."

"We don't know that for a fact," she said. With a little laugh, she added, "She even asked me—utterly innocent, mind you—if she could, well, let's call it borrow you."

"She's asking the wrong question," he said, turning over on his side.

"I told her as much," Lara said. She fell thoughtfully silent for a second. "Did you ever have anything for her?"

"Like what?" he asked.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"What, that I was attracted to her? I knew her as a part of the Pre-Crime system," he said. "Granted, I got a chance to see her as more than just a cog in the machine, and I found out who really killed her mother, but she meant little more than that."

"Just wanted to know y' still love me, babe," Lara said. She nestled closer to him. "But let's be sure about it, hey?" she nibbled his ear gently.

"Not tonight, hon: I gotta be up early to help trace and catch a rogue Mecha," Anderton replied. He turned over on his back and touched her face. "But…I'll make it up to you."

"You better," she twitted, poking him.

They didn't know Agatha hovered outside the closed door of their room, listening to their muffled voices, the exchange of words, the sultry texture of Lara's intonation.

Were these the sounds of the embrace? Would she ever hear a voice whisper to her like that? She crept away to her room silently.

To be continued…