The Head-Hoppers Division

by Evan Satinsky

“We need you to investigate the murder of Alia Urbmeyer,” said Chief of Police Weltz. His grey moustache matched grey eyes. Eric Donato searched those eyes for any sign that this might be a joke, but in vain.

“I’m not a Head-Hopper, sir,” Eric said in a small voice. He was barely even police; he had been on desk duty for years since an injury in the field, and had frankly enjoyed the lack of people shooting at him, the relative safety of the interior of his mind from behind a nice, polished wooden desk.

“You are one today, Donato. We have two suspects, and your combined Valen Score on both is fifty points higher than the next in line, who’s a janitor by the way, a less than ideal choice.”

Eric groaned. He wanted to yell that he was a less than ideal choice!

Chief Weltz’s moustache fluttered as he curled his lip. “You’re still an officer, Donato; you signed up for this possibility, and you trained for it. Take whatever resources you need. We need this perp caught before they can hurt anyone else.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric said, trying not to sound dejected, and took the piece of paper the Chief handed him with the information for the case. The Chief was right; he had known this was a possibility when he took the job. He had even trained for it, after a fashion, taking the Head Hopping 101 course assigned every few years. He had just never pictured it truly happening, when he was so very far from having a compatible job description.

Sighing, Eric decided he’d better get started right away. He stood from his shiny desk, looking at it longingly, and made his way slowly across the office to where the Head-Hoppers had their rooms.

“Hey, Donato, what brings you up to the stratosphere?” asked Detective Dana Armwright.

“Temporary promotion,” Eric grunted.

“’Eyy, congrats! You need a room?”

Eric nodded and followed Dana to one of the empty rooms, grateful the Hopper hadn’t made a bigger deal of the situation. He supposed this was one of the few things they didn’t joke much about; for all their cavalier attitude, Head-Hoppers took their jobs seriously.

Dana closed the door behind her as she left, cutting the din of the office down to a low hum, and Eric sat down heavily on the plastic, but well padded chair and tried to focus. Eric closed his eyes and concentrated. He truly didn’t use his telepathy often and was a little afraid of it, as taboo as that might be to say in this modern age of telepathy acceptance, but he knew the drill. As he had been taught to do by the Academy and the annual trainings, he began with his closest connection.

Helena, Eric’s wife, was home, thankfully, and accepted his touch immediately. Her mind, which was a constant warm glow in the corner of his own perception throughout the day, blossomed into an entire universe within his head, a window into another’s soul, one almost as familiar as his own. He could feel Helena’s surprise at the call; he rarely contacted her during the day, and when he did he often resorted to slower, less intimate means, like a telephone.

“What’s up?” Helena asked, the words coming across as thoughts bubbling up through the soup of her mind. She even sounded worried, which amused him somewhat. He didn’t use this line that seldom, did he?

“I’ve been put on Head-Hopper duty today,” he responded, replacing the amusement with a grim determination. “A murder.”

“Oh God,” Helena said. “No one we know, right?”

“That’s my first question, actually.” Eric tried to sound professional, which wasn’t easy in front of his wife, especially using this very transparent mode of communication. “I don’t know the name, but do you know an Alia Urbmeyer?”

Helena’s surge of relief told him that she did not, which was followed by guilt for the relief; someone was still dead, after all. “No, do you have any leads?”

“Two names,” Eric said, and opened his eyes — they didn’t technically have to be closed for this — in order to look at the paper the Chief had handed him. “Ilai Wasserman or Pat Calega?”

A spark of recognition, if slight, triggering a spark of excitement in himself. “Pat rings a bell. Maybe there’s a Patricia on my mom’s side? Calega may be a married name but it sounds familiar.”

Eric knew his pang of disappointment would be very legible across their connection. Indeed, her amusement and indignation fought for dominance as she noticed. “She’s not that bad, Eric,” she admonished. “It’ll be good for you to get some one-on-one time with her; you haven’t called her in years.”

“I call her all the time,” Eric said petulantly, abusing the ambiguity of the word in a modern society with both phones and telepathy.

“You know what I mean,” Helena said, waspishly and disconnected. Eric would probably have to explain himself better when he got home that afternoon, he realized, chagrined, but for now, he had a job to do, and one he didn’t relish. He closed his eyes again, and focused on some of the more distant spots of light orbiting his consciousness.

Telepathy worked on a basis of emotional intimacy; the closer you were to a person, the easier it was to reach them, and the stronger the connection would be, with the only exception being the added boost you got if you were handed off from someone else who was also close to a third party. Hence the reason Eric had been chosen for this case in the first place; he would have to Hop over fewer heads to reach the suspects, and he was closest to both of them, apparently. He took a deep breath and called his mother-in-law.

“Eric! What a surprise! It’s nice to hear from you. I hope you’re keeping well. I’ve heard it’s mighty busy in that police department of yours, what with that serial killer last month and the rash of missing cats in my neighborhood. You must be swamped!”

“Hi, Ma,” Eric replied. He was glad for his slight estrangement from his mother-in-law just now; it meant the connection was spottier, and he had an easier time holding back his irritation at her rambling. He thought he managed to do a good job just letting amusement get across. “It’s pretty busy here, yes, although for me that mostly just means more paperwork, of course.”

“Of course, I always forget you do desk work now, how silly of me. Of course you’re not up in trees, rescuing cats.”

“I think the Fire Department takes care of the cats for us, Ma. It’s nice to talk to you, but I didn’t call just to catch up, I’m afraid. I’m here on police business.”

“Oh? What happened to desk work?”

“I’m on temporary Head-Hopper duty today; we’re investigating a murder, and I have some questions for you.”

Alarm sparked across the connection, the first emotion strong enough to really come through clearly, although not guilt, Eric was glad to find. “For me? Am I a suspect?”

“No, don’t worry,” he said, trying to emanate calm and assurance. “Just some names that you might know, maybe might be able to pass me off to.”

“Of course.” Her tone was very serious now, losing its usual chatty bubbliness.

“First, do you know the name Alia Urbmeyer? She’s the girl who died.”

“Yes!” Her sending was strong enough to hurt his senses somewhat, impressive over such a spotty line. “She’s a child at the school I sub for! She’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” he sent grimly. “Do you know either of Ilai Wasserman or Pat Calega?”

“Pat,” she whispered, horrified. Eric was barely able to hear her. “She’s another teacher at Alia’s school, but we’re also cousins. We don’t talk much anymore, but we grew up together. She doesn’t have anything to do with this, does she?”

Eric’s rusty police instincts kicked in, and he said in his most reassuring tone, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ma; I’m just investigating. We think Pat may have information relevant to this case.”

“I’ll connect you!” she said, sounding determined, and an unfamiliar ball of light popped into existence next to that of Eric’s mother-in-law. Eric was trying to steel himself for the incoming contact, but she was waiting for something. “Do you need a moment to prepare?” she asked.

Eric felt what he thought might have been his first strong, genuine reaction of gratitude for his mother-in-law in some time; she had noticed his nerves and, knowing he would need to connect with Pat within moments of receiving the pass-along, she had waited for him to be ready. It was not something typical of the woman Eric thought he knew. Perhaps Helena was right, and he should try harder. Eric sent his gratitude over, took another deep breath, and said, “I’m ready.”

The new ball of light rushed at him, and suddenly there was contact, a harsher, more sudden contact than the usual connected-by-emotions call he was used to.

“Who is this?” Pat asked roughly.

“I am Officer Eric Donato from the Kalata County Department. Are you Patricia Calega?”

“Pat,” she responded, feeling wary. The connection was just as odd, just as different from usual as the contact had been. The emotions were muted, but not crackly or sporadic like they had been with his mother-in-law, as if he was getting everything, just with the saturation turned down. The words, too, in their bubbles of thought, popped with less magnitude, but as much clarity as he could want. Eric could see why Head-Hoppers were so important in the department; if you could utilize a large enough network with enough skill, you could get to hundreds, maybe thousands of people and question them almost as easily as a spouse, all using handoffs alone.

“Hi, Pat. Do you know a student at Kent City High School named Alia Urbmeyer?”

“I do,” she said. Her emotions tamped down to almost nothing, suspicious in and of itself.

Eric was struck with sudden inspiration, and asked, “Do you happen to know her current whereabouts?”

Pat’s emotions still felt attenuated, but she couldn’t stop relief from bleeding through. Interesting. “Not at the moment; it’s the weekend, and I teach only on weekdays. She was in my class Friday, though.”

No she wasn’t, thought Eric, doing his best not to let anything of his thoughts through the connection. Alia’s body had been found by the police the previous Wednesday. He opened his eyes and looked down at the paper the Chief had written. Confirm Suspect, Collect Potential Evidence; Remember: Telepathy Inadmissable In Court.

Relief battled disappointment in Eric’s mind. He was sweating now with the effort and stress of his erstwhile job, but he had just begun to get somewhere! No. The Chief’s note was, of course, correct; anything he got now wouldn’t be usable anyway without physical evidence to back it up.

“What’s going on?” Pat asked. “Is Alia okay?” He felt her begin to dwell on his last name, to wonder if he had any connections with the Donato she knew, and he knew it was time to end the call.

Eric sighed. “Alia’s fine. Just a routine health check. Thank you for your time.” With that, he disconnected. Wiping his forehead, he left the room once more. The clock showed that two hours had passed; Head Hopping always took more time than it felt like it should have, and it was almost lunch time already. No wonder he was so tired, not to mention hungry.

He made his slow way back to the Chief’s office. Chief Weltz looked up as he entered. “Ah, Donato. How’s the assignment?”

Eric dropped the note on the desk. “It’s Pat Calega,” he said. “Teacher at Alia’s school; says she saw Alia in class Friday.”

“Wonderful!” the Chief exclaimed and stood up to shake Eric’s hand. He wore a smile larger than Eric had seen in a long time, his moustache positively quivering. “We’ll make a Head-Hopper out of you yet!”

Eric laughed weakly: “No thanks, sir. I prefer my desk.” And he shuffled off to find some food.