“'No’ what? No volcanoes?” James sounded disappointed. “You're dreaming.”
“No island. No trip.”
“Why not?” Merrie asked him, annoyed. “Don't be so imperious!” she whispered.
In answer, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
“Okay, be imperious,” she said. “But not dogmatic!”
“Writers!” Ren complained, but she was smiling.
“Yes, Ms. 3D.”
“Shut it, Josh,” Ren warned him.
“Why couldn't you have stayed asleep?” James asked Valterzar. “If you think I'm foregoing a chance to go volcano filming, you're crazy. Dustin's doing the graphics. He promised me some porno of Pele, dancing along a rim of fire.”
Ren snorted.
Jamie grinned. “He's gonna model it on someone called ‘Kitten'.”
“And you plan on being there to observe the process.”
“Creative control. All the way.”
Erik told him, “The last time you went ‘all the way'—oh, pardon me. I'll put it in terms you can understand: ‘got your rocks off’ was in the Cenozoic era—”
“Cretaceous,” Josh interrupted. “Let's not give him too much credit. But, hey, if a volcano does it for him...”
“That's not the point,” Valterzar said.
“Maybe it is the point,” Merrie argued. “Relax, Zar. Maybe everyone here is as tired as you are.”
“I'm not tired,” Josh said. “Sunburned as hell, but I've got nothing on Ren. She's fried.”
“Shut up, Josh. That's the last time I cross the desert with you.”
“Bet it's not the last time you cross me, though.” Josh grinned.
“Zar's only tired from blood loss,” Erik commented, to whoever was listening. He gestured toward him with a glass of champagne. “Want a steak sandwich?” he asked. “To build up your iron?”
Ren, meanwhile, was trying to ask Valterzar, “Do you think Dusty's in for trouble?” She glanced worriedly to the back of the cabin, where Dusty lay stretched across several seats, sleeping soundly through it all.
“Can't we have just a few minutes without worrying about something?” Josh complained. “Leave it to you, Kithren. For Dusty, this was nothing more than a bad bender,” he said confidently. “Let him sleep it off, and get past it.”
“It's the ‘getting past it’ I'm concerned about,” Valterzar began, attempting to sound like the voice of reason.
“Dusty can handle himself all right. Didn't he just prove it?” Erik told him. “Hell, he and Jamie saved all our asses—yours included.” He added, “This may have actually been good for him. Taught him some control.”
“You told them?” Valterzar asked Jamie coldly.
“Of course I did! Dusty should get the credit he deserves. What?" he asked, seeing Zar's expression. “You want to hide it now? Pretend your little psi episode was some anomalous psychic fart?”
“The more people who know, the greater the chance Dustin'll have problems.”
“Doubtful,” Erik retorted. “Besides, who's going to narc on him?” He looked pointedly at Valterzar. “Only one person I can think of, and he already knows.”
* * * *
Before he'd left for Mexico, Lawrence Valterzar had considered himself an independent agent. He'd had his own practice, and a lucrative consultancy, working for Symtech. Some time, over the last six years, his “consultations” had become much more personal to him. His clients had become more like friends, and he'd found himself alternating between trying to analyse their actions, bail them out of difficulties, and be there if and when they needed to talk. Lately, he'd also attempted to justify their actions to Smythe—to defend some things that the man was apt to question.
In many ways, he'd thought of it as a “halfway house” type of arrangement. Intellectually, his clients were all above average, and appeared to be emotionally stable, considering their circumstances. Well-adjusted, actively contributing members of society—but each with a major flaw. Each incapable, at some point, of separating the real from the abstract. Each, in some way, a hazard to either himself or others.
Merrie had trouble distinguishing the living from the dead. She instilled the dead with so much solidity that they could walk through her house, and rape her in her bed. Ren could be prey to others’ thoughts so strongly that they could exclude her own. Josh was sometimes so lost in his clairvoyance that he'd reach for objects or walk into doorways that weren't there. James? He had an intermittent problem with rockfalls, thrown objects, and other moving matter. His most serious problem of recent years had been a regrettable tendency to live out his dreams—a cause of constant disturbance and little sleep. Dustin? So lost at times in the past, that there were major omissions in his present, so that he was a danger to himself. Not unheard of for him to be following a retro vision, and walk out in front of a bus.
Perhaps Erik was the most “normal” of them all—or perhaps not. He'd had a few problems with his healing, largely resulting from attitude and a poor self-image. When Erik's healing ability was suffering, he also began to suffer—from severe depression. For, unlike the others, Erik had no other occupation to feed his self-esteem. He was his healing, when he could have been so much more. If his “gift” ever failed him entirely, someone would need to be there to bolster him up. As it was, Erik's insecurity was showing. Dustin was having migraines, which Zar thought might owe something to scar tissue. The fact that Dustin was still somewhat incapacitated, after two healing sessions with him, was driving Erik nuts.
But, until recently, Zar had never thought of himself as one of them. It had crossed his mind, of course, but even after the episode at Merrie's, where he'd eliminated her evil challenger, he'd considered his success at least partially due to his love for her: love triumphing over evil. It was much easier to accept that, than James’ assurances he was one of them.
There were so many differences. Zar was able to function without an overseer. He might answer on the pay side to Smythe, but, as far as he could recall, there'd never been a reason for Symtech to come to his rescue—to bail him out of a difficulty he'd created.
Jamie's wrong. I'm not a “parabnormal", as Dustin frequently called it. As much as it would make him part of this group, it was also too scary to contemplate—and Zar was still too close to losing his life from an event that should never have happened. He could understand why Erik and Merrie and the others might prefer him to be one of them, too—because it would make him less of a overseer, and more of a cohort, but he couldn't do it—not even for Merrie. He could accept her and love her for what she was, but she'd have to do the same for him.
Because he wasn't like them, and never would be.
* * * *
When he got home, there was letter waiting for him. It was formal and direct. "...in changes to our departmental budget, and a requisite reduction in staff numbers. It is with great reluctance that we terminate your contract, effective immediately..."
He remembered how he'd thrown it back in Smythe's face when he'd made the threat. "Tell it to someone who cares."
Dammit.
He suddenly saw something he'd been blind to before. He'd liked to consider his practise as his mainstay, while he dabbled on the side. It was safer that way—less of an involvement with his “Cluster".
But it wasn't true. As the years had gone by, he'd invested more and more time in those six “clients". It had been a personal choice, that went beyond contract obligations.
It proved something to him, though. Jamie was wrong. He wasn't one of the Cluster, or Symtech wouldn't have terminated him. He'd been just what he'd claimed: an overseer. A professional they could turn to in times of stress or hazard. Someone to safeguard health and safety, monitor new developments, suggest practical methods for coping.
He wasn't the member of the group sent to stopguard their actions; not the one with the power to lay a halt to paranormal phenomena spiralling out of control. The abilities he'd displayed? Simply a reflecti
on of those other, far more gifted, individuals. Sense injected into nonsense, allowing them to forego the next step.
And Dustin? With his runaway retro and its near-lethal impact on his life?
I'm a doctor. I helped stop the bleeding. That's all there is, all there was, and all there's ever going to be.
He'd been planning on arranging for Dustin to see a neurologist—to see if, with some laser treatment and Erik's help, they might be able to eliminate the cause of his headaches. Now, Lawrence didn't know whether he'd have any say, positive or negative. Whether his word would have any influence with any of them.
He'd gotten the ax, for crissake.
Why had they canned him? Because he'd been “difficult"? Disagreed with his supervisor? Refused them information about their investment? Or because he'd slept with one of the clients? If that was the case, he should feel relieved. He could carry on his relationship with Merrie with impunity now. No guilt, no remorse.
If she'd still have him. He was no longer, in any respect, one of “them". No excuses for turning up, unannounced, at her house. He had no more claim to her than any of her other guests. He wasn't stupid enough to think that a few nights of lovemaking would seal the deal.
He recalled Dusty's comment about a “czar". Well, this “czar” had toppled off his throne. And, despite his own feelings of connection, of friendship, he also wasn't foolish enough to think they'd consider him anything other than a domineering son-of-a-bitch with a dictator complex. He had no doubt they'd be celebrating, now that he was gone. Merrie, after shedding a few tears, would host the party, and Erik would supply the champagne.
* * * *
Merrie rang up Ren. “Zar was supposed to come here last night, but he never turned up. He's not answering his phone.”
“Hold on—” Ren covered the mouthpiece and spoke to someone in the room.
Merrie smiled. It would be Dustin. Considering the early hour, he must have spent the night. Good, she thought. Now, if I can just find Zar...
“Dusty says he'll phone Josh and Jamie in a few minutes, but first he wants you to phone Erik.”
“It's early for Erik.”
“That's what Dusty said.” Merrie could hear the smile in Ren's voice. “He wants you to do the calling, but he thinks it only fair we disturb Erik while the roosters are still crowing.”
An hour later, Dusty rang Merrie back. “Bad night, huh?” he asked her.
“I was alone.” She'd stayed at home and waited for Zar. Hopeful, at any moment, that he'd come.
As a statement, it wasn't much, but Dusty knew it covered a lot of unspoken angst. “Nothing from Josh or Jamie,” he said, “and I've tried Zar's pager. Nothing. Do you know where he lives?”
“No.” It sounded so pathetic. He'd never told any of them. In some ways, it made Merrie feel like a fool. Her Zar had tried so hard to keep his distance. His objectivity had been crumbling around him, and he hadn't even realised it. Any more than he probably realised how much they considered him a part of their Cluster.
“Hang on—” Dusty said. She could hear his cellphone ringing in the background.
Dusty came back on. His tone was angry. “Erik just had a go at Smythe.”
“What happened?”
“Smythe says Valterzar's contract was up. In other words, because Zar came down to Mexico against orders to bail us out, Smythe has canned his ass.”
“We would have died if he hadn't.”
“Maybe that's what Smythe wanted.” Dusty let her think about that for a moment, then said, “Josh is going to find his address on the files. He says it might take a while, because he has to sift through the riff-raff.”
It brought a smile to Merrie's lips.
“Merrie, if he contacts you, let one of us know, okay? Ren has to work, and so does Jamie, but Erik and I are free agents.”
* * * *
"You have a headache?” Josh told Dustin. “You didn't have to sort through thousands of records, searching out one name. I'll be having nightmares about it for years.”
“You have a headache again?" Erik sounded exasperated. “I can't believe you're not fixed. As soon as we liberate Valterzar from his self-imposed prison, I'll put him to work.”
“I'd like to see that,” Jamie muttered.
“Maybe I'm happy the way things are. Did you ever think I might want to handle this myself?”
“Temper, temper,” Ren told him.
“'Do it myself, do it myself',” Jamie mimicked. “Where have I heard that before?”
“Not from me,” said Erik.
“Will you all just shut up?" Merrie said. “How am I going to hear if he's in there?”
“You're not going to hear it anyway,” Erik said practically. “Not with that dog barking.”
“Besides, you don't need to hear it. Ren can tell us,” Josh said with exaggerated patience. “Ren loves telling people where to go and what to do.”
“Shut up, Josh,” Dusty said angrily. “Don't talk like that to her.”
“He's here,” Ren assured them.
“I could have told you that,” Josh said. “Could have pictured him right there, if my brain wasn't so burnt out from looking for the damn fool!" He bellowed the last at the door.
“Go for it, James,” Merrie urged.
“Aren't you going to knock first?” Ren asked.
“Listen to Ren, Everybody,” Josh said. “Now that Valterzar's gone, she's in charge.”
Ren had had enough. All through the desert, and now this. She did something she never would have considered under normal circumstances. If they hadn't been through hell over the last few days. If she hadn't been short on sleep for nearly a week. If Josh hadn't been such a pain in the ass in the desert. She launched herself at him and started pummelling him with her fists, much as she had when they were kids, and he'd pushed her too far. Jamie was laughing so hard he could barely stand up, Dustin looked as though his headache had gotten worse, Merrie was annoyed that they were distracting everybody when they should have been helping Zar, the dog inside was going crazy, and now making some weird squealing noise, and Erik was pounding on the door. “Save me!” he yelled. “Save me!”
* * * *
They'd found him. He was obscurely pleased, yet at the same time, he wanted to pretend he wasn't here.
I'm better out of it, he thought. He could expand his practice; go back to investing his time in people who wanted a “shrink” as a status symbol. Every once in a while he'd encounter someone who was really needy. It would make all the rest of the tedium worthwhile.
The truth was, it had taken him only a short time to become weary of his profession. There was a sameness to the complaints of many of those spoiled strangers. So much depression with so little cause. So little appreciation for life—for normalcy. So little gratitude for what they had in a world where the had-nots outnumbered them. Valterzar personally felt—especially now, when he'd had too much to drink—that a lot of the depression could have been cured by taking up a worthwhile pursuit. By giving back a little of what his clients were so inclined to take. Despite the claims of the ad-men, designer labels, personal digital assistants, and “therapy” were no guarantees of happiness. A few more real problems, like finding a next meal, or getting up in the wee hours to hold down a job, and there wouldn't be time to indulge in depression.
He had to face it: most of his regular clients bored the hell out of him. He was going to miss this group.
One of them in particular, he thought, picturing Merrie's face.
Time to let them know. He wouldn't win any points for being gutless, and Jamie would probably let them in anyway. Better to face them, so he could move on.
* * * *
The door opened abruptly and Lawrence Valterzar stood there. He looked much as he had on the way home on the plane, and Merrie suspected he hadn't changed his clothes. He needed a shave, his eyes were bloodshot from fatigue and—she sniffed—booze, and he stunk of cigarette smoke. She flung herself into his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes, and buried his face against her hair.
“Oh, is this one of those tender moments?” James asked.
Josh, under Ren's assault, had dropped to his knees, then knelt there, laughing, as she beat on him with her purse. Suddenly, he jerked back in horror as a black, bristly snout sniffed his face. “A-A-Ahh!” he yelped. His eyes wide with horror, he paled.
“Whoa, Josh!” Erik said. “Got any smelling salts, Zar?” he asked.
“Sit down, Josh, and put your head between your knees,” Valterzar ordered.
“I would, if someone would move the pig,” Josh mumbled.
“Josh, I'm sorry. If I'd known about the pig—” Ren said.
Jamie was laughing again, but at Merrie's scowl, he tried to control it.
“You just don't know what it was like,” Ren told Dusty, as he stood between her and the pig. “Did you know they can bite off shovel handles?” She looked warily at the black pig as though it had designs on her leg.
“Aren't you going to invite us in?” Erik asked, poking his nose in the door. “Hear you medical types live pretty well.”
“No,” Zar began.
Jamie sniffed. “Smells a little gamey in there,” he remarked. He bent over, sniffed the pig, then asked, “Or is that you?”
“We'll go somewhere else,” Valterzar said stiffly.
“So that's the way it is,” Dustin said quietly. With his head this sore, he didn't have much patience for subtlety. “Let's go,” he told the others. “He's busy.”
“No. Not yet.”
Dusty suddenly realised Valterzar was half-drunk. He was not totally steady on his feet, and even his “not yet” had sounded slightly slurred.
“'t's not that.”
“What is it?” Merrie asked him. Her eyes were dark and serious.
“I have pets.”
“I noticed,” retorted Josh.
“I'm—I'm—”
Jamie peered in through the door. “You're a slob!” he said delightedly.
Zar gave up. Distressed, he flung out his hands in drunken drama, and tripped his way into his house. The pig trotted happily at his heels.
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