Beasts Ascendant: The Chronicles of the Cause, Parts One and Two

by Randall Farmer

  Useless.

  “Yes.”

  “Any other Crows?”

  “Not a one.” An argument almost drowned out Tonya’s voice. “Hold on a second, Hank.” Tonya put him on hold, and he waited. Hank no longer saw spots, but he now itched. All over. He didn’t possess any data on how élan contamination affected Transforms, but he doubted it was anything good. He couldn’t do a damned thing about it, either.

  Ten minutes later, Tonya got back to him. “Sorry. How are you holding up, Hank?”

  “I was just trying to figure out what élan contamination might do to a Transform. Now that I’m on the other side of that fence, I’m beginning…”

  “What? You transformed, Hank?”

  “No one told you?”

  “Hank! Listen to me. You there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Men who transform at your age often have severe problems during the first two weeks.”

  “I’m familiar with that, yes.”

  “Uh, right. You would be. Get Gail to take care of you, okay?”

  “That might be a problem. Gail and I don’t see eye to eye. On anything. She might also be uncomfortable having a former boss, so to speak, in her household as a Transform.”

  Tonya cleared her throat. “Uh, Hank. The problem is likely to go the other way.”

  “You don’t think I can handle the situation?”

  “No.”

  Hank let Tonya’s stark comment sit there, uncomfortably, for a good long time. She was playing him, he realized. She already knew about his transformation. He wondered what sort of fast one she pulled on him

  “In any event, are there any Crows or Nobles hanging around who might be able to pitch in and give us a hand?” Hank said. He wasn’t a good match for Gail’s household. She fought with every man in her household over the age of forty. He would inevitably end up in a leadership position, which he predicted would mess up Gail’s household. Best if he was somewhere else.

  He also didn’t want to see how badly Inferno would screw up Gail, or potentially, vice versa. The last thing he needed, with his workload, was to end up baby-sitting and mediating the inevitable ruckus Gail would make with Inferno.

  “Shadow, Occum and Rumor are cleaning up our people, and the Arms, but…”

  “You have the Arms?”

  “We had them. Haggerty intercepted them on their way to Chicago and redirected them here for a meeting. She’s already gone, along with most of the Arms, on some secret mission. The only Arms still here are Keaton and Sibrian.” Oh, right. Haggerty and her goddamned tricked-out Hogs. She regularly did a hundred fifty miles an hour on the freeways, easily able to mask herself and her Harley from the police.

  “How badly messed up is Sibrian?” He didn’t ask about Keaton, not after hearing Connie’s stories about Keaton’s fall, her rescue by Tonya, and Carol beating the shit out of her when she took leadership of all the Arms. Stacy, the person primarily responsible for this screwed up mess, would be dysfunctional for days, if not weeks.

  “Not too bad. She seems not too bad off after being a Monster for a day, at least mentally. Shadow is still cleaning off embedded dross, but he thinks he’ll be able to finish in a day or so. Physically, though…”

  “What sort of physical changes did she pick up?”

  “Heavy leathery skin, and perhaps about forty extra pounds of weight.”

  “Bone?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “A lot will depend on whether she likes the changes. If she does, she’ll likely keep them.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “What do you want me to do with the Arms’ people? They’re stuck here in Carol’s territory, and no Arm is going to risk coming in here to collect them.”

  “Gail will be handling it personally.” Tonya paused. “Would you like to talk to Rumor? I need to go deal with some more Focus issues.”

  “Thanks,” Hank said. Rumor was an old Crow, dark, tough, and capable. For years, he haunted the city of Pittsburgh, where Shirley Patterson ruled over the Focuses like a spider in the center of her web.

  The phone clattered around for a moment. “Dr. Zielinski?” Male voice, non-descript.

  “Yes. Rumor?”

  “Correct.”

  “I have an entire Transform Clinic here filled with Transforms and normals suffering from dross and élan contamination. Is it possible you could be of any help?” All Crows handled dross. They lived off it, the way other Transforms lived off juice. Élan, though, terrified most Crows. Rumor, though, wasn’t ‘most Crows’.

  “Perhaps. This is the Littleside place that the Commander owns and operates?”

  Crows. He didn’t understand how Rumor, not one of Shadow’s Crows, figured this out so quickly.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. I’m sort of at loose ends, myself, now that the Patterson mission is over. A little work would be good.”

  Work. Hank ran through his mind the various options, trying to think how Carol would react. Rumor wouldn’t come cheap, not a Crow of his vintage and expertise. On the other hand, a choice between spending money to acquire extra Crow help or risking Tom?

  Spend money.

  “I have a budget and some discretionary capital.”

  Some hard bargaining later, they settled on forty-four hundred and a plane ticket to Chicago. Rumor would arrive and start cleaning élan and dross before Gilgamesh showed up with Gail.

  After he hung up, he tried Focus Elspeth’s place in Salt Lake City. No answer. He put his head down on the desk to rest.

  ---

  When he woke up again, Hank found himself in a bed, in a crowded clinic room. He sat up and decided he felt much better. No, he did feel much better. He reached over to the end of the bed, picked up his chart, and read.

  He had been out for over twelve hours. “The Crow” had been by, according to the chart, and “Fully cleaned off the Pittsburgh Corruption.” He smiled, his faith in Rumor confirmed.

  The next line froze his soul, though. “The Crow states the patient’s old chronic contamination problems will likely cause deleterious effects as the transformation continues its settling-in process. Constant monitoring needed.”

  Hank found the IV, and the lines on the chart giving his medications, several sedatives as well as diuretics for his blood pressure problems. Littleside would need to run itself without his input. He didn’t like his blood test results, either – if he was his own patient, he would make sure he got extra rest.

  Hank turned to the patient next to him, who he recognized as an Inferno Transform. “Steve?” Steve Overshown had been his roommate in Hank’s last extended stay in Inferno. Of all the Focus households in the country, Inferno felt the most like home to him.

  Lori felt like his Focus, too. Damn it, why was she off in the Yukon when he most needed her? A Transform needed a Focus.

  The young man turned to him. “Doc? So, you’re awake? Great! They were worried about you, for a while.”

  “Yes, yes. Are you done with that newspaper?”

  “Sure. Take it.”

  Zielinski read. The attack in Pittsburgh hadn’t made it to the front page. The media buried the fight on page four, and he missed it the first time through. Someone did a hell of a good clean-up job. The article headline read “Transform Revolt in Pittsburgh Kills Dozens, Many Monsters.” According to the newspaper, Patterson was an evil Focus who abused her people; because of this her people revolted and staged a civil war among themselves, killing Patterson in the process. The survivors among her people ended up insane, saying incredible things that didn’t match reality. The authorities didn’t believe anything they said. The story didn’t even hint of an attack on Patterson, or the fact that only a day or two before, multiple Focuses held multiple households in her compound.

  Perhaps they would escape this mess without attracting government attention.

  Then he went back to sleep.

  18.8 (12/27/72)

  “Time to wake
up.” Someone shook his arm, and Hank woke up with a start. “Let’s go.”

  “Huh?” Why now? What, now?

  The two men manhandled him out of bed, and started marching him off. “What’s going on?” He recognized the two from somewhere.

  “You’re being checked out,” the short one said. “Our Focus wants to talk to you.”

  Ah. Now, he recognized them as Gail’s bodyguards.

  “I’m a patient, here, and…”

  “We’ve got our orders.”

  And so the show starts. He would need to play along, at least for the moment.

  They led him through the quiet Littleside corridors down to their car, and drove him to the Branton, the converted hotel where Gail’s household and Inferno lived. Where he lived, as well, these days. Where he would be if he hadn’t transformed.

  “I need some food,” he said to the two, as they escorted him into the Branton. A single guard stood in the quiet lobby, the only sound that of silverware tinks echoing from the early risers eating in the dining room.

  “Later.”

  Hank sighed, and went along peacefully as his captors led him back into a set of smaller corridors. He would learn soon enough what Gail planned.

  “Wait here,” the short one said, and dropped him off in a chair in an empty hallway.

  He waited.

  He waited some more. This particular hallway connected to two other hallways, with no doorways leading into it. He remembered this section of the hotel remained unused, and although he heard distant voices, he couldn’t see anyone. Famished and woozy from the medication, he found sitting to be a chore. He hadn’t grabbed his chart, but someone did remove his IV line while he slept. Hopefully, that meant good news. He checked himself for other troubles, but besides being woozy and famished, he found nothing new besides a faint craving for something.

  Juice? Perhaps. Just an annoying little hunger, at least for now. He wondered about his juice count. He wanted the numbers, but didn’t have them.

  Hell, this was too much waiting. He stood, and started to explore, walking toward the noise.

  “Where do you think you are going?” The short man on guard, sitting around the corner, stood and got in his way.

  “Just going for some food,” Hank said.

  “Nope.” The bodyguard escorted him back to his chair, and told him to sit. Hank sat.

  Not good.

  Two hours later, the taller bodyguard reappeared. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Hank stood, wobbly and light headed. “I do need food,” he said. “I’m famished.” Neither bodyguard responded. They led him around behind the reception desk and to Gail’s beautiful office, large and filled with expensive furniture. Almost as nice as Hank’s own office in Littleside.

  Gail sat behind her large desk, talking to Connie Yerizarian. Connie sat with her back ramrod straight and her tense hands showed white knuckles. “I’ll talk to you later, after you cool down,” Gail said. “In the meantime, you report to Sylvie.”

  Connie stood and stalked out of Gail’s office, her face tightly controlled.

  Gail motioned for Hank to sit. She was a beautiful young woman, even for a Focus. Medium height, insanely athletic, with acres of rich chestnut hair. She wore an elegant suit and exuded competence and professionalism. Someone must be helping her to dress. Left to her own, she wore torn blue jeans and sandals, or went barefoot. He had actually seen her with flowers in her hair, but he knew that wasn’t her normal style. She was pregnant, he knew, but not far enough along to show. She looked nineteen, but all Focuses did. She was really twenty-six, and based on his own analysis, she was the most powerful Focus on the planet, at least when she bothered. She didn’t like him in the slightest.

  “You’re a mess,” Gail said. He couldn’t disagree. Three different sets of stitches, various bruises, his transformation, clothes unchanged since the battle some number of days ago, and he couldn’t remember the last time he showered. Whatever went on with his old juice contamination problems made him stink. He should be in bed.

  “Yes, Focus?” Hank said. “What can I do to help?”

  “I want Littleside.”

  “What?”

  “Gilgamesh and I need a place to train Focuses and Crows in the new household maintenance techniques. We’re going to use Littleside. I expect you to cooperate fully with this.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I need the keys, the paperwork needed to take control, information on this Dr. Sidney Creighton who officially runs the place and how to make him cooperate, the account information, and the books.”

  Hank stood, about to rush off, when Gail interrupted.

  “Sit. Not quite yet.”

  Hank sat. To his horror, he realized he no longer possessed any resistance to Gail’s Focus charisma. Even without wearing her tag, now that he was a Transform, the juice gave her absolute power over him. He would need to relearn a bunch of his hard-won charisma coping techniques.

  The depressing realization nearly made him pass out.

  “Yes, Focus?”

  “Whatever tags you wore, before, are nearly smeared off into non-existence.” Lori and the Commander both tagged him after he transformed, a tiny adjustment to his juice structure to mark him as theirs. Hank nodded. He could believe that the tags had disappeared, both from his élan contamination, from Rumor’s fix, and from the side effects of his old juice poisoning.

  “Carol’s orders to me were to deliver you to Cathy Elspeth, so she could be your Focus. That leaves us with a problem.”

  “Yes, Focus?”

  “Cathy Elspeth fled to Salt Lake City, and she’s not interested in coming to Chicago. I can’t send you there as an untagged Transform; you would never make it. Nor can I take the time to deliver you to her.”

  “Then perhaps you should tag me, Focus.”

  “I have no interest in tagging you, Dr. Zielinski. You’re too independent and headstrong, and you wouldn’t fit into my household.”

  “You don’t seem to be having any trouble with me, now,” Hank said. Okay, he could force his will through Gail’s charisma, at least a little. Doing so made his head hurt, though.

  “And how long will that last, with your tricks and secret agendas? Hank, be realistic. You’re an old man, way past your prime, and you’re not going to take well to being a Transform. Tonya, Connie Webb and I all agreed on that. Besides, as a Transform, who’s going to trust you, now? The Arms? They don’t trust anyone tagged by Focuses, even if they have them tagged, themselves. Other Focuses? There isn’t a Focus I know of who’s going to let you play doctor with her people now that you’re a wholly owned subsidiary of some other Focus. You’re too much of a security risk. The Crows and the Nobles? Only the ones associated with the household of whatever Focus you end up with will be willing to deal with you. Face it, Hank. Your career is over. You made your mark on the world with the juice pattern project. Retire, write your memoirs, and collect the accolades.”

  “Yes, Focus.”

  “Well, glad we agree. If you behave, we might even be able to find a Focus willing to take you.”

  Dismissed. Without being tagged. He stood and left.

  ---

  Hank sat outside his apartment in the hotel, while several of Gail’s people boxed his belongings. Now past lunchtime and still no breakfast. His head spun, and ached, from Gail’s charisma.

  What was he supposed to be doing? What did Gail want, anyway? Being kicked out of the Branton left him nowhere else to go.

  She probably wanted him to beg. She didn’t say she wouldn’t tag him. What she said was that she had no interest in tagging him. The ‘finding a Focus for him’ comment was a smokescreen. He sensed an air of anticipation about the people boxing his belongings. He bet they were waiting for him to beg, grovel to Gail, agree to cause no problems whatsoever, and so on and so forth. The whole situation reeked of Tonya. She probably rehearsed Gail on her exact lines. She likely even gave Gail whatever juice patterns she used
on him. He understood the strategy from Tonya’s twisted perspective: take Zielinski’s power away from him, slap him down hard, keep him confused and spinning, and he won’t be any problem at all.

  Gail’s tricks would work. Carol and Lori wouldn’t stand for this, not for an instant, but they weren’t here and Gail was. He hadn’t been out on his own in years. He was too used to working under either Lori or Carol’s cover. They regularly protected him from the harsh reality of his own mistakes.

  One set of his mistake-created problems was gone, or would be gone, soon. The first Focuses, that is, the evil bitches who ran the Focuses for so long and who were now fallen. They purchased a hit on him, years ago, but the contracted mobsters might not yet realize that if they whacked him, they wouldn’t get paid.

  His other old nemesis, the FBI, shouldn’t be a problem, not with the FBI Arm Task Force shot to pieces by Haggerty. The worst of the FBI, the group allied with the Nativist political movement, never had much of a presence on the Arm Task Force to begin with. They opposed all Transforms, and they still inhabited many of the hidden nooks and crannies of the FBI. They shouldn’t be a problem unless he resurfaced again under his real identity.

  He had looked at himself in a mirror after his transformation, and hardly recognized himself. At least he hadn’t picked up Patterson’s green eyes from Pittsburgh, but he found a few subtle differences, and not just from the stitches and bruises. For instance, his remaining hair grew in white, far too much hair growth given the small number of days since his transformation. His face appeared older, as well. Would the changes help or hurt? He couldn’t decide.

  His wallet carried his entire life savings, as he had lived off Carol and her accounts for years. No money, no place to live, and worse, no Focus.

  He needed to get himself a Focus. The lack hurt, as big a wound as his real wounds. This wouldn’t be easy. All he needed to do was to succeed at the most difficult job in the entire Transform community – finding a Focus with an opening for a male Transform.

  Gail, Connie Webb and Tonya Biggioni, eh? None of them liked him as a person. Hell, in his years with Carol, he made sure that no one liked him as a person. Depression, his old nemesis, grew inside him. Nor were there any Arms leaning on him, saying “You will not kill yourself” right this instant.