“Ma’am?” In an instant, Gail’s anticipation turned to terror. Focus Adkins was far more terrifying than Arm Keaton or Crow Gilgamesh.
“Focuses are dependent on their Transforms. You need to learn what it feels like to lose them, without any distractions from a Hi-Fi or color television. Come with me.” Adkins stood and waved her hand to Gail to follow, and as Adkins did the full brunt of the bad juice of her household returned, giving Gail a headache bad enough to make her see spots.
Gail followed, her knees weak, and Adkins led her out of the apartment complex, into the junkyard beyond, and to a large shed in the far back of the junkyard. One of Adkins’ people unlocked the shed for them, and inside, in the cold night darkness, Gail found a chest, a coffin of sorts, lying on the ground in the shed. Adkins herself opened the chest. All for the good of the household, Gail told herself. Her stomach churned so badly she wanted to throw up.
“Inside,” the older Focus said. Gail spotted various ropes and cloth inside the chest and hesitated. What were they going to do to her? Then she understood, based on Adkins’ punishment of her own people. Sensory deprivation, outside of metasense range of all Transforms, not that Gail hadn’t long past reeled in her metasense to lessen the bad juice miasma of this place. Gail took a deep breath and climbed into the chest, wondering how many Focuses had seen the inside of this chest over the years. The chest reeked of fear and bad juice.
Adkins’ people bundled her up, binding her so she couldn’t move. Then Adkins and her people closed the lid on the chest, closed the closet door, and went back to the apartment proper.
Gail tried to understand what would happen to her, in the close darkness of the chest. Six hours. Six hours, alone. Once Adkins returned to her apartment, though, the hammer of bad juice subsided, along with Gail’s fears. The coffin was cozy, but not suffocating, as air flowed in from some unseen vent. In fact, as the hours passed, Gail found the darkness, the aloneness, to be relaxing. Oh, Gail could understand how a claustrophobic Focus might consider this punishment, especially if she struggled with her own inner demons. Gail suspected Beth would be burbling for days from a place like this.
On the other hand, Gail liked close confined places, and given how much she wrestled with her own internal demons, being confined did not add to her psyche’s burdens. As a child, she had often built nests in quiet locations of her house to escape her parents’ notice. She hadn’t done anything of the sort in years, not since she went to college. She had forgotten how she enjoyed this sort of thing, even while bound up and seemingly forgotten.
After a while, Gail swore she saw new things in her reeled-in metasense. Moving lights of various colors, some big, some small. Beautiful! Some, like fixed stars in the distance, didn’t move, but shone, distantly, wondrously. One of the lights talked to her, asking her to come visit, and trying to tell her about some angel or savior or something she needed to watch out for and help. Gail could almost see the place, a city on a wide river, cold and wintry, a city townhouse, on an old-fashioned cobblestone street. Strange. Around her sprang up a garden, hidden in the thick fog of an early morning. A restful garden, filled with flowers and fountains and peace.
Gail lost herself in the wondrous rapture of the garden, freeing her metasense and taking everything in. She had to set up a place like this casket for herself, she decided, dark and quiet and away from the distractions and responsibilities of her household. Gail didn’t mind the temporary loss of contact from her Transforms. On the contrary, six hours was hardly enough! Of course, she would have to say nothing of her enjoyment to Focus Adkins. If Adkins thought this confinement a form of punishment, well, then, Gail would act punished.
All too soon Gail metasensed Transforms moving back within range, including Sylvie. Sylvie was beside herself in fear and Gail pumped her a bit, trying to comfort her, and convince her that her Focus did just fine. As Adkins approached, the bad juice rolled back with her, and Gail reeled in her metasense. Adkins’ people slid the chest out of the shed, opened it up, and lifted her out of the coffin by her arms. The brightness hit Gail like a hammer – they had set up bright lights in front of the shed, just for this purpose. Gail’s eyes poured tears, and with her arms held by two of Adkins’ people, she couldn’t cover her eyes to protect them from the light.
“Focus Rickenbach,” Focus Adkins said, her voice deep and distant, reminding Gail of Matt’s voice during baptisms. “You are now required to thank me for this discipline. I want you to wash my feet with your tears, and wipe the tears away with your hair.”
What idiocy! Gail bit off her harsh words before they escaped her mouth. This was just so imbecilic, so grade-school-ish, that she wanted to spit on Adkins’ face! But Tonya had warned her Adkins’ punishment would be bizarre, and Gail came in knowing that. She knelt and washed. She knew she would have to eat crow, somewhere, to make up with Focus Adkins. But this! It irked her to suck up to such a petty woman in such a childish fashion.
The strain of being one of the first Focuses must have broken the woman, greasing her slide into madness. Sudden pity moved Gail, replacing her anger. Adkins and her people had suffered so much, and they shouldn’t have to suffer any more. Surely Adkins could be made whole again, somehow. Maybe extensive psychotherapy.
Following the prompts of Adkins’ thugs, Gail remained kneeling at Adkins’ feet. Focus Adkins reached out and took Gail’s chin in her hand, and lifted Gail’s head so Adkins could gaze into Gail’s eyes. Gail returned Adkins’ gaze, as neutral as she could manage. Adkins looked pleased, if anything.
“So, Focus Rickenbach, I see there is quite a bit more to you than any of us realized. What did you think about your six hours of discipline?”
Crap. Gail wanted to comfort Adkins and tell her everything would be better, soon, but saying anything along those lines would be dumb, dumb, dumb. “What I’m thinking isn’t important,” Gail said, trying for a well-tuned neutral response. “What matters is my household and what I can do for them.”
“Yes. You’re exactly right. You’re one who is worth choosing when the going gets hard.”
That sounded like a compliment, potent with juice, but Gail couldn’t make sense of it, one way or another. Choosing for what? Did Adkins actually value strength over sycophancy?
“Thank you,” Gail said. When in doubt, agree.
“Well,” Focus Adkins said, “That’s enough discipline for tonight. Perhaps you might like to join me for some early breakfast. I’ve got a few pointers to pass on to you regarding business opportunities. You can call me Wini, by the way.”
Gail nodded, non-committal, and followed Focus Adkins, keeping Sylvie pumped so high her old friend nearly fell over with the high juice jitters. Focus Adkins chattered on about Detroit businesses who welcomed Transforms, including the names of the local factories who didn’t mind when Transforms applied for work. Pleasant! Of all things, Focus Adkins had turned pleasant. Informative, too. After Sylvie calmed down, Gail had her take notes on all the quite useful advice that Focus Adkins – no, Wini – handed out.
The world of Focuses was Gail’s world now, but it was a very strange place.
Part 3
Words to Deeds
“No one cares to speak to an unwilling listener.
An arrow never lodges in a stone:
often it recoils upon the sender of it.”
– Jerome
Chapter 6
“I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act;
but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act.”
– The Buddha
Henry Zielinski: January 29, 1969
Hank studied Gilgamesh, who sat quietly in the corner of Hank’s office. Hank was delighted to finally have a proper office again, but it was a long step down from his previous life. The examining room needed twice the equipment, as did the laboratory. The waiting room smelled musty, the carpet was stained, and ants kept getting in from somewhere. His desk was veneer and second hand, an
d he had only managed a start at reconstructing a medical library. He didn’t dare post diplomas, awards, title pages from major papers, or any evidence of who he had once been. He looked like a two bit hack doctor living a step ahead of his next lawsuit.
Even so, it was an office. And he could practice medicine and continue his research.
Gilgamesh had asked a medical question; love between a Focus and a Crow turned out to be a lot more complicated than Gilgamesh expected. Hank had made a few suggestions, but Gilgamesh hadn’t vanished as normal.
Time to be politely careful. “You seem uneasy about something else. Is it something I can help you with?”
Gilgamesh took a deep breath to steady himself. “Perhaps.”
“Anything you say to me will remain confidential, if you want.” Gilgamesh already knew this, but he seemed like he could use the reassurance.
The Crow studied him in silence. He didn’t seem bothered by the seedy appearance of Hank’s office, unlike Carol, who wrinkled her nose every time she came in. Eventually, he spoke. “I’m going to need to leave Carol.”
Goosebumps covered Hank’s arms. “For how long?”
“Indefinite. At least until the Rickenbach wedding.” Gilgamesh turned away. “The problem is Detroit. I’ve talked often about the fact that something’s bothering me about Detroit, something more than just our plans. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to go there and investigate, and I think I’m going to need to stay in Detroit while I’m doing my investigation.”
Gilgamesh hadn’t told Carol. Damn. She would interpret a departure like this, for some vague personal reasons in the middle of the crisis with Wandering Shade, as abandonment. “Keeping something like this from Carol will only make things worse. Arms respect directness.”
“I know that intellectually, but emotionally…I just want to slip away in the night. I’m afraid it will go badly if I tell her.” Gilgamesh paused. “I think this is a Crow thing.”
Gilgamesh wasn’t just leaving Carol, Hank realized. Gilgamesh also was ditching his current association, his Crow companions in Houston. And Shadow’s Crows as well. And him. When Carol interpreted Gilgamesh’s departure as abandonment, she would be right. “I hate to be so direct, but I think you should tell her anyway.” Gilgamesh nodded, slowly. “If you want, I can be there when you do.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Hank stood. “I need to see how our wounded Arm is doing, anyway.” He got his doctor bag and led Gilgamesh out to his car.
“I can’t say I’m happy with my recovery,” Carol said. She stretched out on her office desk, on her back. Her office, which had started out as seedy as Hank’s, had been slowly going upscale as Carol siphoned some of the money from Tom’s ‘fundraising’ to improve her surroundings. These days, her desk was walnut, and supplemented by a matching credenza. Many of the office accessories were leather, as were the guest chairs, and a couple of pieces of Crow art made the place more interesting. Hank unfastened the sling and started his examination.
He had never done surgery of this nature before; he wasn’t sure this would have worked on a normal human. He trusted Arm healing to fix the many issues, but he had given it help. Hopefully. The problem was Carol’s severed humerus; by the time she got to him the bone had started to re-knit just under three inches shorter than it should, and twisted, and several dozen small bone fragments had settled in the wrong place and were messing up her muscle regeneration. He had re-broken the bone, and used the fragments and the three inches of lower humerus he had cut from healthy bone as scaffolding for Carol’s bone regeneration. To reduce the stress, he had also cut away all the detached muscles and ligaments, after he noted, during the surgery, replacements of all of these starting to grow from scratch. To hold everything in the right alignment he had constructed a metal cage around Carol’s right arm, anchored by screws extending through her skin and muscle, into existing healthy bone.
With a normal, he would have just amputated. To say Carol hadn’t been happy with the procedure was a vast understatement, as he had been forced to immobilize her right arm while he worked. The pain had to have been horrific, as the procedure was long and nasty, but Carol hadn’t complained. He suspected her unhealed nerve damage had cut the pain; the trauma from the Monster round had pulped all the tissues around the wound. The .707 round also broke two ribs and creased her right lung on the way by, wounds Carol hadn’t even noticed until he pointed them out.
“Do you see anything I could do to help?”
“No, Hank. Dammit, you did a wonderful job. However, I’ve got phantom pains and the crazy feeling I can move my elbow, even though it’s totally immobilized. It also itches.”
“There’s still a little embedded dross from Rogue Crow’s skunking,” Gilgamesh said. “I’ve cleaned out as much as I can, but the rest is beyond me.”
Carol studied the ceiling. “I’ve got an appointment with Keaton in two days. I’m going to fly to Detroit. Do you think I’ll have any problems?”
Hank shook his head. “Just juice.” A major problem. She had cleaned out Houston yesterday, three Transforms worth, to support her healing. She would head over to San Antonio today for more hunting.
“Huh.”
“Carol?” Gilgamesh said. “I have something to confess.”
“Confess away,” she said. She had left her empathy behind in Dallas. Not good.
“I can’t fight off the call of Detroit any longer,” he said. “I’m driving Sumeria there, starting tonight. I’m going to stay in Detroit at least until the Rickenbach wedding.”
Carol studied him for over a minute, her face solid stone. “I understand the professional issues,” Carol said. Carefully, robotically. Probably fibbing as well. “There’s some personal issues, too, aren’t there?” She didn’t look at Gilgamesh when she said this. She knew something bad was up.
Hank shifted over to be near Gilgamesh. In situations like this, Crows, who normally hated people getting into their personal space, welcomed it.
He wasn’t sure how to react when Gilgamesh took his hand and squeezed it.
“Yes. I know I’m in a minority of one, Carol, but I refuse to believe Shadow is Rogue Crow. If I’m right, I may need to strongly restrain you from making a mistake. If I’m wrong, this means Rogue Crow got to me earlier.”
“I can’t pretend to like this, especially the part about restraining me,” Carol said, still robotic. “But I do have a question about Detroit: if Rogue Crow got you, then Detroit, the center of action in this conflict, is the wrong place for you to be.”
“No. Going hidden and working from some secret lair would be the wrong place for me to be. I believe Detroit is the right place for all of us.”
Carol sat up, fast. Hank winced at even the merest hint she might be putting excess pressure on her broken arm. “You’re going there so Keaton can kill you if you’ve been turned,” she said, her voice raw.
“Only if things go wrong, if I turn out to be Rogue Crow’s pawn.”
“There’s got to be a way to fix you if you are. Or find out if and how you’ve been compromised.”
“I don’t know of any, and, truthfully, if anyone can figure out how, it’s Keaton. Publicly, in my Crow letters, the reason I’m going to Detroit is to fulfill an obligation. I made a deal with Keaton to provide her with a Crow, and Newton’s backed out on the deal, vanished into thin air. I’m going to Detroit to fulfill this obligation.”
Carol nodded and didn’t otherwise respond. Despite the fact Gilgamesh hinted to Carol he wanted her to join him in Detroit, Carol would have nothing of it.
Gilgamesh squeezed Hank’s hand again. “I’m sorry, Carol. I’m so sorry.”
Hank blinked and tried to clap Gilgamesh on the shoulder to reassure him, but Gilgamesh was gone. Hank hadn’t even seen him leave.
Carol made sure the door was closed, and locked, and the shades drawn. Then she hugged Hank. She took ten minutes to regain her control. Finality filled the air. “Thank you for being here for me
,” she said, when she was done. “And if you ever tell anyone about this…”
“…without your permission, you’ll kill me. I know.”
Arms were utterly predictable in so many ways.
Carol Hancock: February 1, 1969
“Damn,” Keaton said. My January report had taken 3 hours to complete, and I ended the damned thing with Gilgamesh’s departure and my reaction. The report covered my recruiting, for the Wedding fight, for my Houston operation and for Hank’s research lab, my businesses turning their first substantial profit, progress on my military reading list, and the establishment of Houston as a Crow sanctuary; I now had nine extra Crows in town, all lean on dross. They had been ecstatic over the amount of juice I went through in my healing, or so I had learned, second-hand.
I had also covered Gilgamesh’s kidnapping, rescue, and the aftermath. The fact we had identified Shadow as Rogue Crow was something I hadn’t wanted to tell Keaton about over the phone, so this was new to her.
She sat and thought. The dark wooden floor of the living room had been scrubbed and sanded and now showed a clean oak tone more in keeping with the white furniture of the room. I could hear the clank, clank of Bass in the basement, working her ass off on the weights. While Keaton thought, I used the sounds of the weights to figure out the baby Arm’s current exercise program. As I knew her starting point, with many of her muscles removed during her dissection, I could track her improvement, and from this I knew she was gaining muscle mass as quickly as I had as an early Arm. Eventually she would be as muscular as I had become before my Chicago takedown.
“The fact that Shadow’s clinically insane explains a lot,” Keaton said, tapping her fingers on the arm of her white easy chair. “It also gives us an edge.”
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