All That We Are (The Commander Book 7)

by Randall Farmer

  “Uh, no,” Gail said. If Adkins gave Wendy this advice, she was either an idiot or giving bad advice on purpose. “Sorry. I learned all this as a kid. If you’re the boss, and regularly and publicly boss around your number two, you’ll get the prestige as well.” This was easy. Just tell Wendy to do everything Gail had vowed she would never do. “‘Honor and prestige are like car keys; you can always make more’,” Gail said, quoting her father, leaving off what followed: ‘but if you lose the only copy, you’re screwed’. “Start small, with something you don’t like having to boss around. You may have to go through several people before you find a number two you can trust to do a good job.”

  Sylvie looked ready to punch something. Gail gave her an eyebrow wiggle and eye twinkle; she knew that if she pulled anything similar with Sylvie, Sylvie would likely hector her own Focus to death.

  “That might work,” Wendy said. She sighed. “Thanks.”

  Wendy didn’t trust Gail at all, but Gail’s advice did make sense to her. Gail suspected Wendy just didn’t understand how someone who knew all this would still do what Gail did with her household. Or be a crazy young hippie chick.

  “Now for the hard part,” Wendy said. Gail tensed. “Arm Keaton also ordered me to convince you to learn how to defend yourself. And teach you, as well.”

  Gail’s eyes bugged. “What?”

  “A Focus can defend herself as well as her bodyguards can defend her, once she learns how. I know, this isn’t womanly at all, but, well, I did have an Arm holding me in the air and bouncing me off her index finger at the time.” Pause. “It was very convincing about the power of women.”

  “Er, okay,” Gail said. “Women. Powerful. Gotcha.” She hadn’t expected to hear this bit of women’s lib cant from an old lady, in her late thirties and firmly on the other side of the generation gap. She found herself liking Wendy for once. “But what does this have to do with me? I’ve never been in a fight in my life. Nor do I want to. I’m not exactly the dumb jock type.” Perhaps this was too harsh, but Wendy nodded.

  “Look at me; do you think I was?” True. Wendy had the bone structure of an underfed bird. She sported a decent set of muscles these days, though. “We’re Focuses, Major Transforms, and I was as surprised as you’ll be when I started to pick up this fighting stuff quickly. As Arm Keaton said, this is a Major Transform trick essential for all Major Transforms. This is even true a little for women Transforms; Arm Keaton insisted I have mine trained up as bodyguards. At least the sturdy ones.”

  Kurt leaned forward. “Ma’am, might I see this?” he said. Gail felt his mind fill with images of women bodyguards. Positive images.

  Wendy frowned at him for speaking out of turn, thought for a moment, and realized this was the benefit of having trusted underlings – they were on your side. She wasn’t stupid, just unenlightened – and struggling with the painful process of enlightenment. She nodded. “I’m supposed to train your Focus, so, certainly.”

  Gail tried to dodge Wendy’s punch, but ended up tangled up in her own feet and fell. “No, no, no,” Wendy said. Gail got back up. “Look at my feet and the way I’ve got my knees: bent, not straight. Try this again.”

  This was humiliating, Gail thought, but she stood, anyway. “I’m no good at this.”

  “Yet,” Wendy said. She raised her hands, and Gail followed suit. “The hands defend as well as punch. Guard your face, not your body.” Gail had a hard time with this; wherever Wendy punched she instinctively tried to put her hands in the way. She stopped two punches toward her face, drawing a nod from Wendy. “Now, punch back.”

  Gail tried, weak slow punches. Wendy dodged with ease. “Faster, stronger,” Wendy said. “Mean it.”

  “Gail, be careful,” Kurt said. He stood and watched, as did Sylvie, and two of Wendy’s woman bodyguard trainees, who boxed three paces away in the cold back yard.

  “I thought I already was,” Gail said, muttering. She punched again, trying to mean it, and again hit nothing but air.

  “Think of me as an enemy,” Wendy said. “Put some of yourself into this.”

  An image of Focus Adkins flitted through Gail’s mind, and this time the punch landed on Wendy’s upper left arm. Wendy flew away, or seemed to, skittering across the muddy back yard to land about six feet away.

  “Owwh!”

  “Told yah to watch yourself,” Kurt said, a whisper.

  “I thought you said you hadn’t fought before?” Wendy said. Gail walked over and helped up the other Focus. “You’re strong.”

  “Nope, never fought before,” Gail said. She turned red. “I help around my household, though.”

  “When we were moving to the Church, we all noticed Gail never seemed to tire out and was able to lift the heaviest of boxes by herself,” Kurt said. “Then, when we were rearranging the Church interior, we noticed that every day Gail seemed to be getting stronger and stronger. Stronger than any of us.”

  Gail reddened more. “They made a game out of it,” she said. “How much can the Focus lift?” Embarrassing. “The more I did the more I was able to lift. They wouldn’t stop, even when I pointed out how much I had to eat.” Embarrassing, but also fun. Which is why she hadn’t put her foot down. She liked being strong as an ox while looking like a movie star.

  Wendy shook her head. “I should have expected something like that,” she said. “You’re a walking set of contradictions, you know, Gail. Arm Keaton was right.”

  Gail shrugged. She heard enough of that from Arm Keaton.

  “The other thing you’re going to have to do is run,” Wendy said. “Go out running with your bodyguards.” Gail frowned. She hated to run. “Trust me, after a while you’ll be able to keep up.”

  Right. More screwy Focus tricks. “Makes sense.”

  “Now, before we get back to the boxing practice, I have one other order I’m afraid I have to pass along to you,” Wendy said. “Arm Keaton wants Focus Hargrove trained like this as well, and if I try to talk her into it, Beth will just twinkle at me, say ‘no’, and, well…Arm Keaton thinks you won’t have this particular problem.”

  Orders? Huh. After talking to Tonya so many times, Gail knew this trick. “I can do this for you as a favor,” Gail said. Wendy’s face fell, and she nodded. Keaton’s order had been to Wendy, and Wendy would have to pay the price later. She would owe Gail a favor.

  This trick was the other thing that bothered Gail, more than just a little: the fact that Focus bitchery came so easily for her. This would also be so trivial to abuse, and doing so just wouldn’t be right.

  On the other hand, this might help her defend her household from the other Focus bitches…

  ---

  “This was the most interesting Focus meeting I’ve ever seen,” Sylvie said, on the way back to the Church. “I have a much better feel now for what you were afraid of, early on, as a Focus. I’m not sure I would want to live in Wendy’s household, not at all.”

  “Good,” Gail said. “This will help you remember the downside to being in a dictator’s household. Such as when things get a little frustrating around our place and you give me your ‘why don’t you just take over’ look.” The car bounced down to its springs as they rode over a deep pothole.

  “You’re doing things the hard way,” Sylvie said. “In fact, at times I think you’re choosing the hard way on purpose. I mean, for instance, it’s obvious Bart needs to be replaced as household president, but every time I even hint, you say ‘no’.”

  “Uh huh.” Gail smiled. She and Van had talked about this subject many times. “I am doing this the hard way, and I am doing this on purpose. It’s like the dictator question. I could direct things, like when to replace Bart, but I would end up taking on the responsibility to build the household. I want the household to build itself; using your example, when the household is ready for a new leader, or Bart is ready to resign, then we’ll get a new household leader. Yes, doing things this way will cause problems, and yes we’ll make mistakes, but that’s what I want. I want
the household to learn from its mistakes, take initiative, and take responsibility.”

  “It’s still running things,” Kurt said. “Should I say ‘ma’am’, now?”

  “Only if you want a Pepsi in your hair,” Gail said, smiling. “Yes, I’m still running things. At some level, I can’t help but run things. I’m choosing the level of ‘running things’ I think is best.” She laughed. “Van says I should even take my turn at being household president, probably two or three presidents down the line.” If things worked out the way she wanted, she would end up with quite a few people in the household with experience at being household president. She couldn’t wait for the day she maneuvered Van into the position. That wouldn’t be for quite a while, though. He wasn’t ready.

  “Yes, do so,” Sylvie said. Kurt nodded. Gordon and John grunted their approval, as well.

  Gail leaned back, her mind returning to wedding questions. She decided she had talked herself out of the maize and blue zebra striped bridal gown she thought up earlier. Yes, she still had the urge to shove people’s preconceptions down their throats and make them think, but she had decided her idea was too obnoxious. Instead…

  “The thing that bothers me the most about the visit, Gail, was what this implies about Arm Keaton,” Sylvie said.

  Gail shook herself out of her reverie. “Tell me.”

  “How, pray tell, did Keaton figure out you’d be able to give good household advice to Focus Mann? Or that you’d be open to this crazy woman’s boxing nonsense? Or how you can resist Beth’s Focus charisma? Did you spill all these secrets, or did Arm Keaton figure these out?”

  “Yow! You’re right,” Gail said. “I haven’t spoken about any of these to Arm Keaton, or even thought about them during her visits.” She had already warned her people to guard their thoughts, because Keaton read minds using some strange Arm trick. “Or spoken to anyone outside the household about them.”

  “I think Arm Keaton’s far more dangerous than just as a killing machine,” Sylvie said.

  “Yah,” Gail said, a little scared. “I think so, too.”

  Carol Hancock: January 25th, 1969 – January 26th, 1969

  “You know, I don’t like having a Crow as an enemy,” Tom said. I stopped the car at the gate of Target Security, rolled down the window to let in the cold damp New Orleans air and passed our credentials over. The guards let us in.

  “You don’t want to have any Major Transform as an enemy,” Gilgamesh said from the back seat. “It’s never a question of ability, but always of motivation. Motivation feeds ability and gives the Major Transform the desire to improve enough to be dangerous.”

  Gilgamesh’s comment did make me wonder about what thoughts rattled around Haggerty’s mind these days. She had actually allowed someone to catch her on film, saving a family from a burning car. What were her motivations? Had she gone stark raving mad?

  “Arms are actually the special case,” I said. “The chance of a young Arm surviving alone, without help from other Major Transforms, is nil. None have. The inability to hunt is the major way most feral Arms die off, but even if a feral Arm learns to hunt, her chances of surviving the dangers of modern civilization, alone, are nil.” If the doctors didn’t kill her first. “Keaton says that without help from Hank and Tonya she would have gotten herself killed; she had lost too much of her humanity. Erica Eissler, the West German Arm, got captured by a group of Focuses she had been poaching from and fed the West German equivalent of clinic Transforms until she grew up and headed off on her own. Sky says the Canadian Arm lived through her first few years and kept her humanity only because some Focus captured her, and after she escaped, she captured him and turned him into her pet, using him to improve her hunting success.”

  “That’s always puzzled me,” Gilgamesh said. “Arms appear to be the most human of the Major Transforms in mind and body. You would think this would make them the most likely to survive.”

  “Unless it’s the humanity in them that’s the problem,” Tom said. “The natural state of humanity isn’t pretty: small vicious tribes who look at the other 99.9% of humanity as the ‘evil other’ and kill them off whenever they get the chance.”

  With that dark thought the car quieted. I parked the vehicle behind the admin building and led in the team. Ricky, the fourth on the team, had stayed quiet the entire trip, willing to just watch and learn. Tom thought Ricky might, eventually, be good enough to lead his own team. I suspected it might take years for the not-overly-motivated Ricky.

  We snooped on my own people again. Echo, the bastard, had dodged us so far. After we finished thoroughly checking my Houston crew a few days ago, we did the same to my small Austin crew (who didn’t know much about me, anyway), and now checked up on Target Security, a New Orleans private security firm doing international corporate security around the Gulf and Caribbean basins. Three of the top guys in the firm knew me in my Focus Lillian Forbes identity. Forbes was a young Focus who had vanished two months before I transformed, and was likely one of the salt mine Focuses. Today I had Tom, Ricky and Gilgamesh as my ‘Focus bodyguards’.

  We checked on the people who knew me as Forbes, and then, from behind a one-way glass wall, checked up on the rest of Target’s people. Of my various suborned gun-for-hire groups, Target Security was the most professional, real and legal. The others, scattered through the nearby states but mostly headquartered in Dallas, were mobsters and gangsters. I planned to keep Target Security for the long haul; and they were the only group of mine, outside of my personal operatives, capable of being visible on-site security at the Rickenbach wedding.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  They were cleaner than I was.

  Dispirited, we got back in the car and drove back to Houston.

  ---

  “One possibility, ma’am, is that Crow Snow’s information might itself be bad, either intentionally or unintentionally,” Ying said.

  The morning after the New Orleans trip I arranged for a meeting with an entirely different group of people, now all seated around my dining room table. Anything for a new viewpoint. Ying Tien, young and getting lots of experience as a troubleshooting lieutenant in my operation, was one of my better brainy types, and the best dressed. I had Hank, Tom and Gilgamesh here, as well as Crow Hephaestus, Ila Abbot (Hank’s number one nurse aide; we kept Zimmerman, the first nurse I had recruited for him, confined to medical duties), Frances Casaubon (general secretary for my inner circle), Keith Bowens (a recently recruited money man and investment expert), Dick Svetsrichen (mine since Chicago and the head of my legal Houston operations), and Focus Thelma Laswell, my local Focus business partner. These people managed the legal side of my operations. All of them were either allied Major Transforms or people I owned down to the bottom of their souls. Tom looked worn from the trip, but he still had his eyes open, and might be useful if he chugged enough coffee. Normals weren’t made to keep an Arm’s schedule.

  “That doesn’t sound like Guru Snow,” Hephaestus said. “He’s a very honorable Crow.”

  “There’s one problem,” I said. “The person I met only said he was Guru Snow.”

  The group quieted, each thinking their dark thoughts. Tom finished his fourth cup and grabbed the pot for number five.

  “It strikes me, ma’am, that if Crow Echo is spying on the legal side of your operations, then the information he’s passing along might not be useful to your enemies,” Dick said.

  We had talked about this on the way back from New Orleans, but Dick hadn’t been there. “True, but Crow Echo’s original orders came from the more neutral Crow Guru Chevalier,” I said. “Crows spy a lot, and their interests are quite general in nature, and not necessarily aimed at stopping me.”

  “It’s a threat,” Hephaestus said. “It says to me ‘play by the rules, or else’, the ‘else’ being the threat of exposure of your legal operations. If your enemies exposed your legal operations, wouldn’t the exposure drive you underground, ma’am?”

&nb
sp; “Probably,” I said. “It would, more likely, force me to leave Houston.”

  More quiet at the table. None of the people here liked that idea, as my current operations produced quite a large profit margin. Knowing Echo haunted the legal side of my operations did change things for me, though. If Keaton hadn’t ordered me to chase Echo away, I would be very tempted to let him stay hidden, for now. The benefits of chasing him off would be smaller than the price this cost me in time. I understood Keaton’s point, though: unknowns were threats, especially with a confrontation with Rogue Crow on the schedule.

  “I’m going to need a complete breakdown of everyone in my operations,” I said. “I need it by the beginning of next week. Do this quietly and keep it to yourselves. Assume you’re always being spied on.” I had a contract to provide security for the impromptu partial Focus Council meeting in Plattsburg this weekend. I would take Tom and Hank with me, as well as my best personal guards. We would fly out later today, just after dinner, and after as much sleep as Tom could squeeze in. “Any questions?”

  “What about my people?” Thelma said. “I have quite a few employees who don’t even know I’m a Transform, and only three of my people are aware of the fact you’re a Transform.”

  And none of them knew I was an Arm. However, too many of them knew of Ying and her husband, Greg. “Just the ones who are in contact with my people on a regular basis. I truthfully doubt that Echo’s hidden in your businesses, Thelma, but it’s best we make sure.”

  “Carol, emergency!” Ying said. Her loud voice came from the kitchen.

  I dropped my Jomini’s ‘Art of War’ and ran; she had pulled in-house duty today, acting as my secretary. I took the phone from her and skidded to a stop.

  “Talk.”

  “Tiamat! Gilgamesh has been kidnapped.”

  Hephaestus’s voice. Dammit! My body reacted as if Enkidu had suddenly appeared in the room, my predator full on, enough to send Ying for cover, her .22 out of her purse, looking for enemies to shoot. I repressed my urge to growl, barely. I needed information.