99 Gods: Betrayer

99 Gods: Betrayer Page 7

by Randall Farmer

  Elorie giggled. “You’re just as straightforward as you always were.”

  Dave grunted. He suspected he and his goofy thoughts would keep any Telepaths who could read his mind well amused, if they could read his mind at all.

  The supposedly strong shields that protected his mind clearly hadn’t daunted the Recruiter, though. Damned Telepaths!

  “Somehow, I’d always thought of an environmental geologist as someone out in the field, in a lab coat, dipping water from a well into sample containers and going back to a lab to test it. Utterly safe.” From Elorie, predictable.

  “I chose a different path,” Dave said. “I’ve worn out six hazmat suits. Chemical plants are where the big money is. They have the biggest challenges and the best mysteries. The toxics are always reacting to the environment around them. Changing into other hazardous chemicals, at time compounds nobody’s ever dreamed of before, often at the worst possible moments.”

  She sniffled and took his hands in hers, her face within kissing distance. “Don’t take this wrong, but as far as wanting to make love to you tonight…that was never in the plans for any of you.”

  “I hear a ‘but’.”

  “You do. If you’re willing, I want to sleep with you. No euphemism, but body to body. As naked as you’re willing. I haven’t, not since the operations started. I miss the touch of other people so terribly much.” He hadn’t reacted in horror and they did have a history. They could do naked without sex, and she needed comfort and tears.

  He nodded. Elorie’s earlier comments echoed around in his mind. “I’ve messed up your leadership trick, haven’t I?”

  Elorie sniffled again and nodded back.

  “You want me off the team? I’ll go if you want, but I want to stay with you and help, even if I’m not on the team.” Screw the mission. He had another job now, and his job was Elorie. She needed help, another human being to share the horrific load the Telepaths and her life had dumped on her.

  “They’re just going to have to deal.”

  “Sleep with me, then,” Dave said. He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. Elorie looked at her purse, and started to shake. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something told to me. The Telepaths believe we’re all involved in telepathic things, all of us. Nessa calls them ‘coincidence pools’. The concept’s freaky and disturbing, but I think what’s happened here tonight is a good example of what they’re talking about.” She buried her head in the angle of his shoulder and snuggled. “Our compatibility, despite our history and our years apart? This was no accident. Not at all.”

  6. (Nessa)

  Their prospective recruit’s pistol rested an inch from Alt’s forehead. She had managed to surprise Alt!

  That took something. Nessa didn’t know what. Inattention and hubris on Alt’s part, most likely.

  Ken sent, his grousing mental voice edging toward the cadences of his youth. LA had gotten to him. This is where he grew up, lower middle class, black and bookish, and all three left their marks on him. Growing up as a Telepath, though, trumped all.

  Ken teeked two of their bodyguards, Mary and Leo, to the sides of the garbage strewn alley and out of his path, none too gently or too diplomatically. He stalked up to stand inches from the recruit’s face, peering down at her with a glare. Nessa sensed his teek slide off the woman – direct teek blocks and big ones – so Nessa changed tactics, flipped the pistol’s safety and held it shut. “Bad move, girl,” she growled at the recruit.

  Said recruit looked up at her and at Ken. Her eyes opened wide. Although neither Nessa nor Ken granted direct interviews, they had allowed the press photographers to take a few pictures of them, and everyone who followed the Telepaths knew about her and Ken and what they could do. They did make a conspicuous pair: black and white, handsome and striking, scary and scarier. People did not forget them.

  The recruit looked back at Alt and shook her head. “You mean this rag-ass twit really is the Recruiter? He wasn’t just shitting me?”

  Nessa wrinkled her nose and did a quick mind-scan of the recruit. “Let’s go get some food, you. We’ll rent your brains for a few minutes.” She almost demanded their recruit take a shower, but Nessa didn’t have one available; nor did she want to ferret out where Persona hid today and get her to create a rain shower. Persona was always inside one of them.

  The young woman sighed and holstered her pistol. “Okay. My name’s Jasmine, by the way.” How quaint! She demanded politeness.

  Alt grimaced and backed away.

  Poor Alt. He only thought he had been around the block a bazillion times. Nicole, an older Telepath woman with swept back ears that still bothered Nessa, frowned.

  Alt sent.

  Nessa didn’t bother to answer. Someone should try using his eyeballs instead of clairvoyance for a while…someone named Alt, that is.

  “The offer for Supported is valid,” Nessa said. “There’s no stopping someone from being a Mindbound and a Supported. Or even a Telepath and a Supported, or a Psychic and a Supported. Nicole, the old lady you were talking to earlier, is a Grade 3.” The loser lady recruit scarfed fast food chicken like she hadn’t eaten for weeks, greasing up her black gloves with the finger-tips snipped off.

  Nessa had already forgotten the young woman’s name, a warning sign of bad times coming.

 

 

  “You’re being recruited to be a Grade 1 Supported. That is, for the big time. For Portland. Doing healing and the Supported version of mind reading, among other things.” The Telepaths had been recruiting Supported for the Gods for weeks now, and not making any progress rescuing Uffie. Soon, they said, soon. Nessa was tired of ‘soon’.

  Dubuque and his fellow Living Saints still plotted, organized and rebuilt from their earlier debacle. Twice, Dubuque had sent people after the Telepaths, both times with better Supported. Both of these attacks failed miserably, once because Ken caught a glimmer of the attack coming and had the crew run to hide under Portland’s protections; the second time because a group of Portland Supported detected the hit squad on the way and turned them back. Portland and Dubuque talked incessantly, each trying to convince the other of the error of their ways, each convinced they could make the other into a friend.

  Nessa encouraged the dialog as much as possible, but she doubted the talking would work. In the meantime, Alt kept a close watch on Dubuque in his own indirect way, as well as the other godly allies of the City of God: Phoenix, Worcester, Verona and Lodz. Javier did the same, more directly, at least when he wasn’t sleeping or hacking out his lungs. In addition, Lorenzi had insinuated his spies into all five lairs. They all tried to keep watch on the Seven Suits, but mostly they failed miserably.

  They weren’t the only ones with a wary eye on the Gods. Humanity as a whole no longer trusted the Gods…thankfully, Nessa thought. The publicly active Territorial Gods, like Dubuque, attracted the most distrust. Dubuque still hadn’t gained enough new worshippers to make up for the ones he lost after the Miami – Atlanta fight. The Ideological Gods had the initiative now, especially the Seven Suits, now openly attempting to take over the world economy and, presumably, the world. Nobody liked their actions but nobody was able to stop them, either. The Suits viciously squashed any multinationals or governments who tried, and Nessa had lost track of the number of top-end executive level resignations, both America
n and abroad.

  The Goth loser lady took a deep breath, then another bite of chicken. “Fucking unbelievable. I don’t even like the Gods.”

  “On the other hand, you really dislike modern society, especially the authorities.”

  “Well, of course…” Why else would one be a Goth? Nessa had seen it in countless Goth minds.

  “There’s no better way to stick it to society than by working for a God who considers the authorities to be speed bumps at best,” Nessa said. She still hadn’t convinced Portland to stop throwing her weight around like a big God, probably because Portland was a big God. “You’ll like Portland’s people; lots of artistic types as well as the more publicity-hounding do-gooder types.”

  “I’m no damned do-gooder.”

  “Hey! Consider that I work for her. As do the rest of these bozos,” Nessa said, casting her eyes at the others. The loser lady studied the rest of them, too: the ancient weathered Javier you didn’t want to be downwind of, the equally weathered Nicole who saw ghosts, the rangy gun-toting former female wrestler Mary Drier, Dr. Blackburn the formerly well paid computer engineer, Leo the gold-toothed over-armed British Virgin Islands thug, Vickie the Mindbound middle-class black private investigator who Alt had recruited simply to be Ken bait, and Alt the former EMT into black leather, sunglasses and excessive grooming. “Consider how mixed a group they are.”

  A cellphone rang in Nessa’s purse, sounding like a rotary phone from her grandparent’s era.

  Ken sent. He knew, damn him.

  Alt sent.

  Nessa sent, and enforced her push, hard. She couldn’t help if her telepathic illusions fooled the rest of them. “I’m sorry,” she said to the Goth loser lady. “I’m going to have to take this call and boogie, most likely. You ready to talk to one of the others?”

  “I’ll talk to your husband; he’s the only one who’s not looking at me like I’ve just crawled out of a sewer.” Ken wouldn’t. Because of his own PI background he labeled Goths as ‘normal’, as compared to trannie hooker Maoist revolutionaries, to name just one type he didn’t label as ‘normal’.

  “Good enough,” Nessa said. She stood and walked away into the LA night while answering the phone.

  Nessa sent to Ken, Alt and the crew, after ending the phone call and walking back into the fast food place.

  Alt sent.

 

  Alt sent to Ken.

  Ken sent, eyebrow raised in amusement.

 

  Nessa sent to Alt. Of course he couldn’t get anything.

  Ken shrugged.

  He did? Nessa hadn’t known. The rat fink!

  Well, if he covered for her, she would have to cover for him. Besides, his were likely appalling FBI contacts and the like. Nothing at all interesting.

  Alt said, then continued muttering in his own mind about last straws and unforgiving bitches.

  Nessa cheerfully sent at the Goth loser lady, who replied ‘My name is Jasmine!’

  Whatever.

  Ah, the ubiquitous white van. Five people inside, well-armed, which didn’t bother Nessa, as Mom had taught Nessa all she knew about weaponry years ago. Nessa always went armed these days. One was, of all things, Mindbound as well as other. A repressed clairvoyer.

  “Knock knock!”

  “Shit! How’d…”

  The passenger side front door opened, and a tall and stocky man in his early thirties sprung out to confront Nessa. He wore brown slacks, a white shirt, and a sweater vest.

  “If you would climb in, please, we’re a bit tense here,” the preppy dressed man said, exuding command authority.

  Nessa shrugged and did as told. She swiveled around to look at the crowd; the preppy man climbed into the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas. The van sped off.

  “Hi, Mom!”

  Her mother sat immediately behind the driver and barely cracked a smile. Her gaunt face was lined, and her gray hair now had far more white in it than last time Nessa had seen her. “I can’t introduce you, Nessa.”

  Nessa shrugged, but the driver spoke up. “Your Mom’s a bit old school, but I think we can handle being on a first name basis with a Telepath,” the preppy dressed man said. “Call me Abe.” He was forceful enough to meet her gaze. Everyone else in the van was nervous and wary.

  “Okay.” His name stuck in her mind, on a day nobody else’s names were sticking. He had tricks. Leader tricks. She smiled and looked around the van. “So what I have here is the Indigo, the Next Generation, not counting my Mom.”

  “I thought you said she had forgotten,” Abe said.

  “Apparently not,” her Mom said.

  Nessa shrugged and tried to keep cheerful.

  Abe introduced the short dark haired late-teen round faced girl sitting next to Nessa’s mother as Diana. She was a Supported, and reeked of the familiar to Nessa. The next row back held a good looking tall thin woman in her late twenties Abe introduced as Tylee, and next to her was the Mindbound man who was also a Supported, a tall mustachioed man whose name Nessa promptly forgot. She pointed at Diana and smiled. “Discarding Mom as a connection, I’m well under the Kevin Bacon line with you, dearie.”

  “You can likely figure it out if you put your mind to the question. I’m not hiding the answer.”

  Typical. Nessa frowned, as did her mother.

  “Diana, don’t be difficult,” Mom said. That’s right, don’t threaten the nasty Telepath, Nessa continued. Following her mom’s old lessons, Nessa parked herself more firmly in her head.

  “She was born difficult,” the Mindbound Supported guy said. He was Hispanic, with a long nose and a well-trimmed moustache. Her eyes lingered on him for a beat too long, as big tall rough-looking men were her favorite variety of eye candy. Given a reason, she now remembered his name: Richard.

  “Montreal Supported,” Nessa said to him, wondering how someone with such a strong rural Midwest accent got snapped up by Montreal. Oh, right, probably good in bed. She turned back to Diana. “Boise Supported.” The connection popped into Nessa’s mind. “Ah. I know of him as Denver Dave.” Somehow this woman was tied to the man they had used a few months ago as the case example to prove to Portland that Dubuque had worshipers.

  “Bingo,” Diana said. “Christine, you mind if I take over? You seem to be a bit flummoxed, and Snow Queen here doesn’t bother me at all.”

  “No problem.” Mom massaged her temples. “I keep fighting the urge to explain her. Or strangle her.”

  Nessa sighed.

  “I do hope Christine’s right that you won’t hook us,” Diana said.

  “Suck you into my orbit?” Nessa said. “Nope. Not today, at least. Hopefully, you’ll just adore me like I’m a helpless cute little kid. As you said, I’m deep enough into cold logic and utter truth that when I’m on I’m no danger to you at all. I’d avoid me if I’m twirly brained, though. Never know what I’m going to do when I get twirly brained.”

  “I understand,” Diana said, implying she had a similar problem. “I can certainly sense your presence, even if I can’t get you, if you understand my meaning.”

  “You’re one of the future predictor types, aren’t you?”

  Diana nodded. “Close enough. The future certainly turned into complete random garbage as soon as you got into range, though.”

  “Serves you right, since you’re keeping me o
ut of your mind with your own tricks. You turn my people sense into random garbage.” Nessa paused and took stock. The vehicle reeked of mental stability; far too much stability, actually. If she hung with this crew for a few weeks she would lose her edge and become a much weaker Telepath, a very relaxed Snow Queen. For a few hours? No problemo. She hoped.

  I even remember how to speak ‘LA’, Nessa told herself. “So, what can you tell me about the Telepath and the slave?” The problem her Mom had called her about.

  “Well, we know about where he is, but when we get close it’s like when you walked over to the van,” Diana said. “Nobody saw you leave your group and none of us realized you were here until you knocked.”

  Ahh. Information about the others’ weaknesses and their target’s strengths. “Okay,” Nessa said. She had no urge to explain psychic illusions to the uninitiated. “Get me close and I’ll be able to pick him out.”

  Actually, Nessa had already scanned ahead and found a likely target. Not a mature Telepath, though, just a young Telepath, well on his way to regressing to Psychic or Mindbound. Not even twenty.

  “We should be within a mile,” Diana said. “Boss-man, you might want to stop the van.”

  “Sure, Di,” Abe said. “I hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”

  “Of course I do, which is why I’m ignoring your orders,” Diana said, holding her hand out to Nessa.

  Orders! That’s what always bugged Nessa about others: they ran in packs, in organizations. With actual hierarchies! Bosses! Procedures and rules! Internal politics! Cross-organizational conflicts! Indigo! North Wind! Society of Angels! The Sharp Pencils! Nessa knew she had forgotten more other group names than she remembered.

  Bah. Worse, Abe the Boss-man wasn’t one of the familiar-type others, but one of the wacky types she could never figure out.

  Such a strange group.

  “You sure?” Nessa said, to Diana. Diana nodded. They grabbed hands, and instead of a fight or an accidental mental takeover, all of a sudden things made sense. “Oh! You’re a witch, too!” Nessa liked witches, at least when they were being nice. They had tricks allowing them to deal with Nessa without everything getting all hostile. She didn’t understand witches at all, though, especially the ones who, like Diana, were also Sibyls and who played with the future.

 

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