All That We Are (The Commander Book 7) (26 page)

Earl Robert Sellers: February 16, 1969

Earl Sellers charged in again, four legged biting snapping fury thundering through pine needles and muddy remnants of snow.  Several sparrows shifted branches, offended by the clamor he raised in what should have been a quiet winter morning.  He barely managed to evade the snapping of Duke Hoskins’ larger claw.  As the red passion of beast-form combat gathered around his mind, he bit off a chunk of Hoskins’ right leg, and backed off.  The red passion didn’t take Earl Sellers, though.  He had never kept his mind human so long into a beast-form combat before.

The Duke charged him, wildly snapping his claws as he trotted forward, and coloring the muddy ground around him with blood.  Duke Hoskins’ combat form was as always, the terrifying insane humanoid-legged two crustacean-armed land crab, brick red and armored.  Well, armored everywhere but his legs.  The Earl backed away and slid to his right, away from the scimitar of the Duke’s scissoring great claw.  The wild claw chops told the story – the Duke had lost himself in the battle, letting his beastliness take over.  At beast combat speed, Sellers understood for the first time how stupid their instinctive beast tactics were.  Charge and fight.  Charge and fight.

Earl Sellers thought and planned now, not much of either, but with the aggressive care he had only experienced before when fighting in his man form.  As a Noble Chimera, he could change from man to beast, and back, and even settle in intermediate forms.  The shape change was the greatest benefit of being a Chimera, but it was slow and took almost ten hours, even with the full support of Crow Master Occum and their Noble household of élan-producing Commoner women.  The Earl considered his metasense the second best gift of Chimerahood, while the other titled Nobles, Duke Jeremy Hoskins, Count Horace Knox and Sir Dowling, all considered Chimera healing to be much better.

The Earl darted in, again, and endured a slice on his canine back from the Duke’s lesser fighting claw as he worried the Duke’s right leg, which now showed bone.  The Duke scraped his claws and let loose his Terror, the normally frightening charisma attack of a Chimera, but the Earl ignored it, backing away quickly and circling with his usual four legged speed.  Earl Sellers’ beast-form, his Chimera combat form, was a large black-furred dog, the same as he had used all the way back before Crow Master Occum had gentled him and he became the first Noble.  When he had used the name ‘Rover’.  Sellers bared his teeth in a growl and charged again, this time from behind the Duke, and this time, when he worried the Duke’s injured right leg, he pulled and twisted.

The Duke fell.  A piece of ancient fallen pine bough collapsed underneath him in a puff of powder and wood chips.  Before the Duke could right himself, Sellers yanked hard and up on the Duke’s right leg, flipping him over.

“Hold,” Master Occum said, his command laced with a Crow dross trick holding both him and the Duke in place.

“The change worked this time, Master Occum,” the Earl said, as Occum stomped over through the slush and mud.  Occum was a small man, well-tanned, seemingly a young looking nineteen, his age easy to miss because of Occum’s gnarled stature.  The Crow Master hobbled over to Sellers on his twisty bandy legs, and he put his malformed twisted right hand on Sellers’ shoulder.

“Finally,” Master Occum said.  “No thanks to the damned juice.”  They had been working on this for weeks, one experiment after another, several so mind-warping the Earl had barely been able to walk afterwards, and completely unable to fight.  “How do you feel this time?”

“Excellent.  Clear headed.  Ready to fight again, or choose to leave the fight.”  Earl Sellers wagged his tail; he didn’t mind the canine instincts in the slightest, and he liked being the world’s largest magic dog.

Their audience, the leading and most functional of the Noble household’s Commoners, cheered, whistled and ululated.  Several of the whistles were more than a little sibilant, as several of their Commoners were part Monsters instead of standard woman Transforms.  Half a dozen confused sparrows bolted into the air at their calls, the poor sparrows attracted to the ample household remains in what should have been the lean winter.  Occum had moved the entire household out of Boston and into the north woods of New Hampshire, into a roadless section of the White Mountains National Forest shaded by, in a typical bit of Crow humor, the currently snow-white Mt. Hancock.  Once a week they would trek down to Lincoln or North Woodstock for supplies, weather permitting.

“Perhaps,” Master Occum said.  “Let’s see how badly this messed up your mind.  Why are we bothering with taming your beast during combat?”

“Because we’re going to be helping the Commander and the Focuses defend a wedding being held about three months from now, in Detroit,” the Earl said.  “If we can’t control our beasts during combat, our allies will need to take steps to keep us from running amok and harming them, or we’ll be forced to fight in our man-forms.”

“Good, good,” Occum said.  He knelt down next to the still motionless Duke Hoskins.  “Who are you?”  Occum drummed a beat on the Duke’s chitinous carapace.  He repeated the question and the drum beat five times before the Duke answered with his name.

Count Knox and Sir Dowling walked up to stand beside the Earl. While Count Knox was in his beast form, the heavy humanoid demon, Dowling wore his man-shape.  “Thank the Lord,” Dowling said.  “Now we’ll be able to fight the Hunters beast to beast, as we should.”

“We?” Sellers said.  “You, Sir, have a long way to go before you’re ready for such a fight.  We’re not going to let you anywhere near a fight until you’ve mastered limb reattachment.”

Dowling shook his blond-maned head and sighed.  The young Noble had such trouble with the easy stuff, far outweighing the benefits of the many other tricks he could do that the other Nobles could not.  “You’ll need me.”

“Master Occum will need you more,” Sellers said.  “You’re going to be his personal bodyguard.  Without Master Occum, we’re nothing.”

“Your comment isn’t quite true,” a melodious voice rang out of nowhere, from true invisibility.  “Don’t you forget about me.”

There was, indeed, that.

Gail Rickenbach: February 19, 1969

The note written – in someone else’s handwriting – on her day planner said “2 AM, Sanctuary”.

Arm Keaton again, Gail decided.  Last time was during the daytime, Keaton disguised as a fire inspector.  The time before that had been a phone call with Keaton disguising her voice as Tonya’s.  Gail hadn’t twigged to the deception until half way through the phone call.  Embarrassing.  The mercurial Arm always had something different and important to talk about, and she had Gail fully intimidated.

Gail looked around the church sanctuary and sighed.  She would miss this place; she and her people were already scrambling for the mid-April move-out.  Their new place would be a trashed apartment building near the corner of 35
th
and Michigan.  The building, a narrow four story tall building built in the 20s as high-end apartments, barely had enough room for Gail’s household.  In its latest incarnation, before being boarded up and abandoned, it had been subdivided into a flophouse, or perhaps a bordello.  The decrepit neighborhood bothered Gail, and she wasn’t convinced her household had all the necessary skills to make the move work, but the place would be better than camping in a fallow field.

Gail knew enough about Arm Keaton and how security worked to understand the importance of being on time, down to the minute.  So there she was, walking through the sanctuary at 2 AM, when she spotted a street bum snoring on one of the pews near the back, almost invisible in the darkness.

Arm Keaton?  Gail concentrated her metasense on the street bum and her eyes widened.  This wasn’t a physical disguise, but an actual juice-powered disguise.  Some sort of illusion.

Arm Keaton sat up.  “Well, this trick isn’t ready for use in combat if it didn’t fool
you
.”  Sneer.  Her voice echoed in the empty sanctuary.

“What’s up, ma’am?”  Gail hoped tonight’s talk went better than their last one.  The Arm thought security guards with just six bullets each for their weapons were at a severe disadvantage in nearly all situations.  Later, Gail decided the Arm had been laughing at her, despite the Arm’s expressionless face.

“It’s time we had a little talk.”

Gail shivered.  The Arm’s tone disturbed her, and Gail had wondered when the hammer would fall.  Word was, Arm Keaton didn’t do anything for free.  She had done so much for Gail already, and hadn’t asked for a thing.  Cold sweat beaded on her arms.

“Yes, ma’am.”

To Gail’s surprise, the Arm didn’t approach, and motioned for Gail to sit, about fifteen feet away.  So far away, shadows shrouded the Arm, and her voice seemed to come from both nowhere and everywhere.  “Focus, your wedding’s being used as a trap.”

“Huh?”  Gail frowned.  “What sort of trap?”

“You’re familiar with the unknown Transform killer and kidnapper?”

Gail nodded and shivered.  She had learned of the Transform snatcher first from Beth.  The thought of someone snatching Transforms from a Focus’s household made Gail sick to her stomach.

The shivers passed, though, as she realized what was going on and how it connected to Gilgamesh’s stories about Rogue Crow.  “No fucking way!”  Gail stood, a hot flush on her face.  “I’m not going to let my wedding be used as a trap for Rogue Crow.  The place will be crawling with innocents.  I can’t do…”

“It’s not your call,” Arm Keaton said.  Her tone was firm and commanding, enough to shut down Gail’s complaint with a squeak, but nothing like the Arm’s testy anger, which Gail had seen three terrifying times.

“What?  Bullshit.  I’ll cancel…”

“Which would alert the enemy…”

“Alert the enemy all you fucking want to,” Gail said.  Her breath came fast, and she was so angry she could pop.  Back in her household, any of her Transforms who had the misfortune to be awake were in agony from low juice.  “I refuse…”

“You don’t mean that, Focus,” Keaton said, calm, quiet and again with a faint air of amusement about her.  “Even if I don’t press you, ten minutes from now you’re going to hate yourself for suggesting the rest of the Transform community can go hang.”

Gail took a sharp breath.  She sat and thought through what the Arm said, an Arm showing far more patience and control than Gail.  She looked down at her own feet, embarrassed about her outburst of Rickenbach temper.  Yes, the Arm voicelessly laughed at Gail again.  Her anger seeped away into abject embarrassment.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  You’re right.  If I cancel my wedding, Rogue Crow will figure out how the information got out, plug the leak, then go back to whatever screwy conquer-the-world plan he’s working on this week.”

Arm Keaton stood and walked over to Gail, close enough to bother Gail.  “What you’re really angry about is that the rest of the VIP Transforms are keeping you in the dark,” the Arm said. Her breath smelled faintly like just-turned raw meat on Gail’s cheek.  Gail attempted to keep calm, and only twitched in fear once or twice.  “Making the choices for you.  They think you’re weak.  Are you?”

Gail nodded.  It always irked her when events swept her away.  That seemed to be par for the course for Transforms, though.  Her weakness was behind her anger.

“Gilgamesh hinted at this, but even he didn’t tell me my wedding was being used as bait.”  Her stomach churned at this.  “How do I make a choice like that for my household?”  As always when Arm Keaton was this close to her, she was both terrified and comforted.  “It’s not something I can tell them about.”

Arm Keaton snorted.  “You either run them or they run you.  Or you lie to them and leave out information.  Like I’m doing with you.”  Arm Keaton’s emotions were always a roller coaster ride, and she had lost her earlier patience and sympathy.  Now her voice filled with derision.  Gail knew she wasn’t tough enough to earn the Arm’s respect.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gail said.  Unlike with Adkins, Gail didn’t have to feign submission to Arm Keaton.

Keaton chuckled and clapped Gail on the shoulder.  “They’re counting on you panicking and making a mess of things.  I’m positive you can handle it better if you know Rogue Crow and his Hunters are coming.”

“They who?  Tonya and her crew, ma’am?” Gail said.  Tonya drove Gail to distraction.  Sometimes, she was so friendly and open Gail thought she might be her best friend.  Then, the next time Gail talked to Tonya, she would be cutting and disdainful.  Gail buried her hurt feelings and told herself that Tonya dealt with so many Focuses she couldn’t possibly afford to be friends with all of them.  Then Tonya would give her a compliment or a bit of advice, so perfectly appropriate, and Gail would again think Tonya thought of her as more than just problem Focus number so-and-so.

Arm Keaton shook her head.  “Rogue Crow.  Panic would be real bad, mess up the trap our side is setting.  No one else sees the possibility, but I do.  That’s my job.  Whatever you do, if an attack happens: don’t panic.”

“What are we going to be up against?  How many Hunters are there, and who are they going to be bringing along with them to help?  Their packs?  How about the Patriarchs, if any of them are left alive?”

Arm Keaton lifted an eyebrow and didn’t say a thing.  Well.  Gail had learned not to press questions with Keaton.

“How is this a trap?”

To Gail’s surprise, the Arm answered.  “Because we’re prepared to fight back.  Think of the Japanese going into Pearl Harbor and instead of finding all the airplanes parked on the runways and the ships at anchor, they come in when the planes are already flying and the ships away and moving.  Waiting for the attack.”  The Arm’s lust rushed over Gail, and for a moment, Gail could almost feel the knife in her hand as she stabbed some enemy in the heart.