All Beasts Together (The Commander) (43 page)

Lori had a suggestion for training Jim, which Zielinski
did not intend to try without Jim’s explicit permission.  She had built the necessary capabilities into the juice pattern anyway, just in case.

“Owwh!”

“Get up and jump, Autumn.  You can do it.”  He had learned his lack of sympathy from the Arms.  Even when Carol’s guts peeked out when he redid her stitches, she hadn’t wanted sympathy, just results.  Arm behavior had remade Zielinski’s world, hopefully for the better.

Besides, his bedside manner had
always been fake.

Autumn got up
from the dusty wooden floor of the court, steadying herself against the wall, legs shaky.  She jumped.  Jumped again.  Parker walked over and stared.  Amy, at work on the uneven parallel bars, continued her practice.  She halted when Jim, acting as her spotter, called a stop.  They both walked over to gawk.

On Autumn’s twelfth jump,
Autumn put a chalk mark on the wall at ten feet five inches.  When she landed, her legs gave way.

“Incentive done,” Zielinski said.  They let Autumn recover for a few moments, heaving deep breaths, wiping the tears of pain from her eyes.

“I
hate
incentive two,” Autumn said, clenching her fists.  “Don’t you
dare
try incentive three.”

He nodded.
“Given what you just did, that would bring on a juice overuse situation.”  She glared at him, annoyed by his clinical coolness.

Zielinski had discovered juice overuse two years ago.  H
e had published his paper on Focus juice overuse in the JAMA three months after Carol transformed.  He wouldn’t be publishing any more papers, ever.  Lori had mentioned to him that one of the first Focuses, Faith Corrigan, had actually complained to the Council about his juice overuse research and wanted it quashed.  The Council hadn’t obliged, but Zielinski doubted that little episode had done much for his stock with the first Focuses.  It almost certainly contributed to his current problems.

The amount of juice use
required to put a Transform into juice overuse was much smaller than for a Focus, proportional to the amount of supplemental juice a Transform could stabilize.  Still, Zielinski smelled the faint odor of juice, the first time he had gotten an actual sniff of success from a Transform working at the optimum training point.  Stressing a Transform into using their juice while at their training optimum was the key to increasing their training rate as well as the key to allowing them to go beyond normal human limits.

“It worked this time?” Autumn asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Zielinski said.  He let the clinical chill fade and grinned.

Parker helped his lover to her feet, and she shrieked with delight when she saw her mark
, a full foot higher than her previous best jump.

“That’s beyond what’s humanly possible, doc
, for someone who’s five foot four,” Jim said.

Zielinski nodded.  He hadn’t point
ed out every little impossibility as it went by, but there had been several so far.  His trainee Transforms weren’t functioning at Major Transform capabilities, but they were creeping solidly into the post-human realm.  It appeared intensive training could indeed turn a Transform into a mythological hero.  Certainly, Autumn’s muscle tone and muscle efficiency had become quite impressive.

“How?” Parker said.  Like several of the local adolescents, he emulat
ed his Focus and delved as deep into as many branches of biochemistry as his young mind could handle.  No longer satisfied with the ‘what’, he was now trying to learn the ‘how’ aspects of Transform science.  His first lesson, alas, was that Zielinski didn’t know many of the answers either (another lesson from Arm training: if you don’t know the answer, don’t obfuscate, just say you don’t know).  His second lesson had been that in many cases, no one knew the ‘how’ answers.

“Basic juice property, Parker,” Zielinski said.  “Remember the technical name of juice: para-procorticotrophin.  Juice is a corticotrophin precursor and corticotrophin is a stress-active hormone that cascades through the adrenal gland, initiating the release or production of many other hormones.  Stress amplifies an Arm’s or a Focus’s capabilities immensely and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t help Transforms as well.  In this case
the stress unlocked her ability to efficiently use juice while she’s training.”  Stress: the polite euphemism for pain.

Zielinski had no problems with
causing pain, if for a good reason.

Jim took of his sweatshirt and started some extensive stretches.  “This is ridiculous,
Doc.  I’m tired of these kids making me look like a fool.  I think it’s time to see if the Focus is right and the adults need more
stress
than the kids.”  Zielinski couldn’t claim credit for all the breakthroughs in this training research project.

Once
the distractions from Lori’s personal life had eased, she had thrown in dozens of useful ideas.  One led her to build three higher incentives into Jim’s juice structure.  Incentive six was harsh enough to drive a Transform unconscious in a standard situation.  Worse than any punishment Lori ever dished out to any of her Transforms.

“Incentive four,” Zielinski said, when Jim was ready.
  He jumped

He fell short
.  Well-trained adult Transform bodyguards knew how to handle pain.

“Incentive five,” Zielinski said.  Jim topped his personal best mark by an inch, at ten feet five inches.  Extremely good for someone who was six foot two.  Not impossible, though.  Jim tried several more times with no more improvements.  “You can do it,” Zielinski said.  Limp, but he
had never had Keaton’s instinctive drill sergeant mouth.

“Hit me,” Jim said.  Zielinski winced.  Jim, at
incentive five, already produced a strong juice smell.  Incentive six might cross the line into overuse.  Zielinski decided to take the risk.

“Incentive six.”

Jim didn’t collapse as the pain nearly doubled him over.  He jumped.  Then he collapsed.

“Incentive done,” Zielinski said
, quickly.

“How far up?” Jim said, looking up from the ground, sweat dripping in ribbons down his face

“Eleven foot six,” Autumn said.  A full thirteen inches over Jim’s previous best.  Well into post-human capabilities.

“We’re going to need some more trainers,” Zielinski said, walking around with a barely repressed bounce in his step, a big smile stealing
across his face.  The bodyguards would soon be breaking down the doors.

Enjoying his success, he lost the monomaniacal focus he
had been maintaining on this project for the last week.

Suddenly, he knew how to help Carol.

---

“Henry, what do you think you’re doing in my office?” the Focus asked.  He looked up and smiled.  He had commandeered
Lori’s desk and office because that’s where she kept the information he needed.  He had hoped for a little more time to put the information together the way he wanted, but he had the basics.

“I’ve figured out where Hancock is, and what we can do to help her.”

Lori walked over and looked over his shoulder.  “You know, we do have protocols and procedures you’re supposed to follow if you need additional equipment or information.”  She gave him a charismatic nudge that moved him out of her desk chair.  “Now – grab one of the other chairs and tell me what’s going on.”

He did as the Focus ordered.  He play
ed with fire by baiting Lori, but he needed to get her attention.  Diplomacy wouldn’t get the job done this time.

“I was going through the Monster sighting information, under the assumption that many of the sightings are
associated with the Chimeras and their packs.  I also needed to pin a name and location on the Focus that Hancock is using to keep in contact with you…and as I suspected, the Focus and her people are behind many of the Monster sightings.”

“
Carol’s not living in Milwaukee,” Lori said.  Dammit.  She knew where Carol was, but she wouldn’t say where, or how she had located Carol.

“I think she’s close,” Zielinski said.  “Based on
my knowledge of Arm personalities, I’m positive Milwaukee is part of Carol’s hunting territory.  I’m also positive given what Hancock has said about the number of Chimeras she’s encountered that several Chimeras and their packs are camped near where she lives.”

“That’s probably true,” Lori said, the anger leeching out of her voice.
He counted on Lori’s buried affection for Carol.  One of the ways he planned to save himself was by proving himself as useful to Carol as he was to Inferno.  “What are you proposing?”

“You and Inferno hunt Monsters for bounties,” he said.  “I think you should go hunt down some Monsters near this Focus Warren.  She has asked for help.”

The heat of her gaze almost melted his face. He had her full attention now.  “She’s ISF, not UFA, and my Monster hunting job is hunting Monsters for the UFA, not the ISF,” the Focus said.

“You’ve done it before.”  He
had done his research.  Inferno had done one Canadian Monster hunt last year.  He suspected others, but Lori had interrupted him before he got to the older records.

She frowned.  “That’s also Midwest Region, not Northeast.  Our hunting’s in the Northeast.”

“Jurisdiction over Milwaukee is clouded,” Zielinski said.  “Helping an ISF Focus is well within your rights, given you’re the ISF liaison.”

“The UFA claims all of Wisconsin, and
the Midwest Region already appointed a Monster hunting Focus to handle it.”

“That is…”
Hank hurriedly leafed through his notes.  “Focus Singer, who hasn’t successfully hunted down a Monster since her appointment to the position last year.”  He paused.  “In addition, a Monster hunt would also be a good test of the training regimen.”

Lori tapped her fingernails on her desk.  A ‘who do you think you are?’ look crossed her face.  “You thought of this on your own?”

Her question was backed by enough charisma to make his eyes water.  “Yes,” he said.

She relaxed.  “Luckily for you, the Madonna of Montreal agrees with you.”

“I swear I didn’t come up with this until earlier today.”

“
I’m sure her reasoning and factual backing are quite different,” Lori said.  “You’re calling in your favor?”

“If I must,” he said.  He
had hoped he wouldn’t need to use his Transform training-based favor, but he would if he needed to.

“My answer to you is: not yet, but soon,” Lori said.  “The timing is probably more important than the action.”  Lori was counting on information gained via the Dreaming, with Anne-Marie’s help, for the timing.

“Thank you,” he said, trying not to grin too much.  They were going to help Carol!

Chapter 11

The instinctive parlor skeptic recoils from the idea that juice can be moved simply by a Focus thinking about having it move.  Too magical.  However, the effect does occur.  The mechanisms are peculiar, involving chemical ladders that transfer the tiny chemical fractions that are the active components of juice.  Yes, the juice does move.

“Inventing Our Future”

Enkidu: February 17, 1968

“So, this is your new place,” the Wandering Shade said.  He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, some police uniform Enkidu did not recognize.

“Yes, Master.”  He and his pack now lived in a farmhouse on a hundred and thirty acre farm just west of Rockford, Illinois.  This one they had actually paid for.  Enkidu glowed with pride.

“It’s a mess,” the Wandering Shade said, stepping over the remains aging in the front room.
  The room contained no furniture except for a couple of piles of blankets and pillows.  The morning sun made the old wooden floor glow golden, marred only by the mound of rotted deer and one domestic dog.

“Suits me,” Enkidu said.  “Several of the Gals like their meat rancid.  Save when I’m in my man form, no one eats cooked meat.  Or vegetables.”  Not counting the slaves.  The slaves were beneath mention.

“Dear,” the Wandering Shade said.  “The smell, though, might attract the attention of normals.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll
make the slaves hose the place down once a week.”  His Master was always so goddamned picky!  Well enough was good enough, Enkidu always said.

“Yes, it’s those slaves I want to talk about,” the Wandering Shade said
, looking around as if to spot them hiding in the empty room.  “Where in the hell did you come up with this idea, anyway?”

“It seemed obvious, Master.  We needed more than our Gals for our house.”

He led the Wandering Shade through the kitchen and down into the basement, where he kept the slave pens.  Four women and two men, all normals.

“What use are they?” the Wandering Shade said.

“Shopping, cleaning, mundane crap.  They don’t eat much,” Enkidu said.  The wooden stairs creaked under his weight as they descended into the dim basement.