In this Night We Own (The Commander Book 6) (14 page)

Tonya shook her head. 
She
could do that anywhere juice was around, but she didn’t want to brag.  Beth was right.  Damn few Focuses, especially new Focuses, could metasense the faint ambient household juice and understand what they metasensed.  Tonya was glad she had caught on to Rickenbach’s potential.  “If I could work the deal, I’d have her in Philly or up in Boston under Lori tomorrow.  In Detroit, all I’ve got is you, Beth.  Besides, she’s on the other side of the damned generation gap, the same as you are.  The age similarity is worth a lot more than some minor differences in Focus potentials.”

“I’m only on the other side of the generation gap if you squint tightly,” Beth said.  “And I’m…”

“Quit listening to Wini about your abilities, for one,” Tonya said.  She hadn’t realized how badly the ruling first Focuses had screwed things up until she started digging into the mentoring problems.  “You’re well above ‘middle of the road’, Beth, and your health sense is better than any other Focus.  I certainly can’t diagnose the difference between a cold virus and bacterial pneumonia in a Transform.”

“Sorry.  It’s, well, as the bitch patrol measures things, I don’t measure up,” Beth said.  Bitch patrol, eh?  Tonya realized she had been pressing Beth a bit hard.  Well, pressure would be good for her.

“This year,” Tonya said.

“You thinking of joining Rizzari’s rebellion?”

Tonya laughed.  “The thought did cross my mind, but, no, not today.  Beth, you can do this.  Be yourself, be friendly, and you’ll do fine.”  Pause.  “Besides, making friends with a rising Focus will do you good in the long term.”

“Ooh,” Beth said.  “If I was in the Northeast Region, you’d definitely win my vote.”

Yes, Beth was growing herself a spine.  If those two could get on, long term, they would make a hell of a team.

Chapter 6

It’s never too quiet for a Crow.

“The Life of Crows”

Gail Rickenbach: September 8, 1968 – September 13, 1968

“Sylvie?  Can I grab a moment of your time?”

Sylvie was leaving the house with a plate of hot dogs and baked beans, and enjoying the perfect late-summer evening cool-down.  Gail caught her as she came down the stairs of the front porch.

“Sure,” she said. “What’s up?”  Sylvie’s tone was careful and controlled, almost formal.  Gail sort-of read Sylvie’s mind as Sylvie mentally said a quick prayer wishing for no more juice experimentation sessions.

Gail winced inside.  Sylvie had been her best friend once, and it hurt that she could think of no way to bring the friendship back.  After Gail made up with Reverend Narbanor she had regained a little of her former closeness with Sylvie, but the painful experimentation sessions Sylvie volunteered for had opened up the distance between them again.  Van counseled patience, but he didn’t understand.  After her transformation, Gail felt as if she lived on borrowed time.  Everything happened far too quickly, and in the process she was drifting away from Van, Sylvie, and Sylvie’s husband Kurt.  They would lose each other soon, if she couldn’t find a way to tie everyone back together.  Her research team idea had worked for research, but hadn’t rekindled any of their friendships in a lasting fashion.

“I just want to talk,” Gail said.

“Okay,” Sylvie said, carefully agreeable.  Gail thought about how different Sylvie’s reaction was from Phil’s cheerful willingness in Beth’s household.  She pushed the thought aside; she already knew how badly she had mangled things.  Besides, it hurt too much to sit back and watch your best friends edge away from you.  Gail needed to fix things.

As Sylvie spoke, Gretchen Carlow and her boys passed by, heading into the house for dinner.  Her husband wasn’t with her.  Again.  She watched Gail carefully as she passed distantly around her.  Even her three boys were wary as they came near.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Gail said.

Sylvie nodded, agreeable, and Gail let them around to the side of the house, away from their little cluster of tents and plywood shacks.  As Sylvie came nearer, the smell of hot dog and baked beans drifted to Gail’s nose, causing her stomach to rumble.  She once thought she would get used to being hungry, but the ‘getting used to’ never seemed to happen, especially when she could taste what her Transforms were eating.  Worse, after Virgil Conte made off with their household’s savings, her secret embarrassing nighttime garbage runs had turned lean.  Nobody wasted food anymore.

They made it to the relative isolation of the far side of the house and Gail turned to Sylvie.

“Uh,” she said, her train of thought long gone.  Sylvie looked at her and waited.

Gail shivered in buried embarrassment.  “Why don’t we sit down?” she said.  The ground didn’t look too wet, so she sat beside the straggly-looking boxwoods.  Sylvie followed, clutching her jacket close with her one free hand.

“Do you need some more of my time for your experimentation?” Sylvie said, nervous.  She would volunteer for more target duty, if needed, but now dreaded experimentation like the plague.

Gail paused a moment to gather her courage.  “I have a question for you.”

Sylvie nodded and didn’t say anything.

This was a lot harder than she thought it would be, because of Sylvie’s fears.  Gail decided she might as well do the usual: grit her teeth and plow right in.

“All right, look,” she said.  “There’s a problem with food.  With the transformation, I eat more than I used to.  You’ve seen me eat.  But the household has a problem with getting enough food for everyone and so, uh, I don’t eat as much as I need to.  I’m hungry all the time, but I figure, everyone is hungry, so it’s only fair.”

Sylvie didn’t say anything, so Gail took another breath and continued on.

“A few days ago,” Gail said, and looked away.  This hurt.  This would sound so selfish.  “A few days ago Focus Hargrove told me that hunger interferes with my ability to control the juice.  So my question is…”

“
What!
”

“Um,” Gail said. “Focuses can’t control the juice when they’re hungry.  I know, despite all our research, we never picked up on this.  I believe Focus Hargrove, too.  So…”

“Here,” Sylvie said, thrusting her plate at Gail.  “Eat.”

“What?  Sylvie, I don’t want to…”

“Eat the God damned food, dammit!”

“Sylvie, this is yours. I…”

“No.  It’s yours.  I’m not taking it back.  Eat it,” Sylvie said, shaking the plate at her.  “If you don’t eat it, I’m going to toss the plate on the ground and do a dance.  So you might as well eat it.”

The discussion would stay stalled until she ate Sylvie’s dinner, Gail realized, and gave in.  She took the plate and started in on the hot dog.  She was so hungry even the boiled hot dog tasted wonderful, and she found herself pumping Sylvie’s juice a bit.

Dammit!

Gail stopped as soon as she noticed.  She refused to manipulate her people with her cheap Focus tricks.

Sylvie waited until Gail was about halfway through the hot dog.

“So you mean to say you shorted yourself on food and screwed up your ability to control the juice in the process?” Sylvie said, no longer nervous about the experimentation issue.

“I didn’t know, Syl,” Gail said.  “I didn’t want to take more than my fair share, and I was already eating far more than anyone else.  Certainly not with all the grumbling I hear about how much I eat.”

Sylvie fell back on the damp cold grass, rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something.  She changed her mind and shut it again, and whacked her forehead with the heel of her hand.

“All right,” Gail said. “Out with it.”

Sylvie didn’t need much prodding.  She never did when she had something to say.

“This is the
dumbest
thing you’ve ever done in your whole life!”  Sylvie wasn’t much on tact, either.  Gail checked to make sure she hadn’t messed up Sylvie’s juice count, but found no issue.  She was used to Sylvie’s blunt pronouncements.  If those bothered her particularly, they never would have been friends to start with.

“I mean, what do you think you’re doing?” Sylvie said, thumping her forehead some more.  “You’re screwing up everyone else in the household so you can play saint?  Saint Gail wants to screw herself up, so she takes everyone else with her?”

“All right, all right.  I get the point.  I didn’t know being hungry affected my ability to control the juice, and I didn’t want to take any more advantage than I already was.”

“Fine.  Saintly attributes duly noted.  Now, are you going to eat enough?” Sylvie sat up, grabbed Gail’s right arm, and squeezed along her elbow and shoulder.  “Shit.  Shit.  Shit!  Gail!  Paint you black and give you one of those funny big bellies and you’d make the cover of National Geographic as a ‘starving mother in Africa’.  Jesus, Gail, if you starve yourself to death we’re all going to die!  You need to eat more!”

Gail turned away again.  “That’s my question, actually.  I mean, what would you think if I did want to take unfair advantage and eat enough to keep me from being hungry?  Like, would you be willing to give up a little bit of your food so I would be able to control the juice better?  I suspect I’ll need to eat quite a bit more food to keep me from being hungry.”

“Dammit, Gayyyl,” Sylvie said, and banged her head with the heel of her hand again.

“I mean, I feel bad about even asking the question.  I know how this must sound.  It’s just that other Focus said…”

“Gail,
move the God damned juice!
  You need food to control the juice better?  You got it.  You can have every bite I eat and I’ll graze on the bushes if more food will allow you to control the juice better.”

Gail looked at Sylvie doubtfully.

“You’re sure?  What about the other people?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Sylvie said. “I don’t know of a Transform in this place who wouldn’t cut off their own arm to help you control the juice.”

“Really?” Gail said, hunch shouldered and furtively gazing at the ground beside Sylvie.  Her stomach grumbled at even the thought of extra food, piled higher and deeper.

“Yes, dammit!  Look, Gail, we’re all depending on you to control the juice.  Give up this damned saint thing you’re stuck on, and
move the damned juice
.  Do whatever it takes.  If you need to eat three times as much as the rest of the household combined, then fine, we’ll all go hungry so you can eat, if that’s what it takes to keep the juice from jumping around like a grasshopper in a tornado.  Hell, we’ll put you on a pedestal and bow down to you six times a day if that’s what it takes!”

“No pedestals, please,” Gail said.  This was what she feared.  Too much of this kind of temptation and she would give in, and end up as evil as Focus Adkins.  “You think so about the food, though?”

“Hell, yes,” Sylvie told her.  “The juice is the only thing that matters.  Everything else is a distraction.  If you think anything else is as important as the juice, you’ve got your priorities screwed up.”

Gail looked away and sighed.  She had thought things were looking up, with winning her own freedom from the household leader, Bart, and finally getting in real contact with other Focuses.  However, no matter what she did, what choices she made, she kept messing up.  Was this the secret to leadership – since you were going to mess up, somehow, no matter what you did, you might as well forge straight ahead and do things the way you wanted them done anyway?  Gail, the slave plantation overseer.  She winced.  This damned disease was going to seduce her into voting Republican if she didn’t watch herself.  She took another bite of the hot dog and finished it off.

“Okay,” she said, meek again.  Still hungry.

“Good,” Sylvie said, satisfied.

---

“Uh, hi, Tonya,” Gail said into the phone, less than enthusiastic.  She had blown her own tiny cash allowance to buy an extra-long phone cord, allowing her to retreat to the Ebener’s bedroom, a dim place in the faint light from the outside.  Light rain drizzled along the window.  She sat on the floor with her back up against the wall, right under the casement.

It was past 6 P.M., when the phone rates went down for the evening.  Van still wasn’t back from U of M, and Gail had no idea how long he would be out, tonight.  She was on her own, lonely and as usual, feeling abandoned.

Gail still didn’t know what to say to Tonya, which was why she dreaded Tonya’s next phone call.  She couldn’t forget what Beth said about the things Tonya did to Transforms.  She visualized crushed minds and twisted personalities.  She wondered how much Tonya enjoyed her work.  She wondered how much of what Beth had said was true.

“Gail, are you all right?” Tonya said.

“I’m fine,” Gail said, trying to cover her discomfort.

“Good, good.  How did your visit with Beth go?”

“Fine.” Gail wanted to say more, but a knock on the door interrupted her.  “Could you hold on for a second,” she said to Tonya.

“Come in,” Gail said.  Betha came in carrying a heaping plate of tonight’s dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, with green beans and garlic bread.

“Gail, here’s some…” Betha said, and then cut herself short when she saw Gail was on the phone.  She crept in on exaggerated tip-toes and laid the plate on the nightstand near Gail and scurried out.

Gail sighed.  Since her conversation with Sylvie, she wasn’t hungry anymore.  She couldn’t even imagine being hungry.  Any time she moved, everywhere she went, someone appeared with food.  After dinner, there would be a dessert, often just for her, as someone had figured out how cheap sugar, flour and a few eggs were.  After dessert, an evening snack.  Someone would leave food out for her later, just in case she got hungry while everyone else was asleep.  In the morning, someone would be awake fixing breakfast for her.

Worse, her household nagged.  They watched her food intake like beady-eyed hawks and any time they thought she didn’t get enough food, they gave her gentle reminders.  Or maybe firmer visits from Bart and some of the other normals to remind her of her responsibilities.

She liked having enough to eat, but the hovering embarrassed her a lot.

“I’m glad to hear the visit went well,” Tonya said. “Did Beth give you any pointers?”

“Yes,” Gail said, and tried to push the image of Tonya torturing Transforms out of her head.  “Yes, she did.”

Gail regurgitated Beth’s advice, and to her surprise, Tonya agreed with everything Beth had said, and often went much farther.  Tonya sounded so normal while she said such astonishing things.  It left Gail disconcerted and uneasy.

“Beth also mentioned about how you earn money,” Gail said, half an hour into the conversation, unable to delay her questions about the hardest issue of all any further.

Her comment didn’t come out nearly as casually as she had intended.

“Oh, she did,” Tonya said, her voice notably cooler.  “What did Beth say about the way I earn money?”

Gail knew immediately she had put her foot in her mouth.  She couldn’t think of any way to get it out again.