In this Night We Own (The Commander Book 6) (40 page)

Letting me walk out of her torture session without a tag had been a mistake, a big mistake.  I realized this only after I sent Caruthers and Vinote back to Philadelphia, because only after such a success could I understand my real position.  Victory, to an Arm, meant
stature
, and the insane ‘Commander’ bullshit helped as well, even if (or because) I denied it.  Because I didn’t have Keaton’s tag saying ‘you are low in stature’, instead I had a little voice inside me that kept repeating ‘you’re the boss Arm now’, based on my successful espionage mission.

Oh, and, of course, neither of us understood the full power of the Arm tag or the correct way to settle a dominance contest.  Of which this one was only the second, ever, between us.

Keaton slowly backed away, wary, in a fighter’s crouch.  “So what’s it going to be?”

“I’d prefer to give my presentation, Stacy.”  Cold, hard and calculated, words I expected to trigger a charge by Keaton and the start of a dominance fight with no pre-ordained outcome.  My terror said I would lose, but my triumph said I would win.

Keaton didn’t charge, despite her low juice and the edging of madness into her eyes.  Perhaps she had her own internal voices to cope with.  Hell, I
knew
she had her own internal voices to cope with.

Instead, she sheathed her knife and stood up straight.  “I’ll give you one chance,” Keaton said, fully confident of whatever position she had decided.  “You’ve won back the right to wear my tag.  Accept that, or accept the consequences of refusal.”

Haggerty took that moment to flee Keaton’s house, climb on a motorcycle, and drive off, as if the demons of hell barked at her feet.  Under less stressful circumstances I would have laughed.

I gave the situation some close analysis.  Keaton would no more apologize to me than Biggioni would.  Annoying, but that’s the way of the world of Arms.  As I had told Tom, when all was right with Keaton she was the ultimate fairy godmother.  When things went to hell, I got tortured.

Truth was, I didn’t have Biggioni beat.  By loose analogy, I didn’t have Keaton beat, either.

I really didn’t have a choice; I couldn’t afford to risk a loss now.  I made my intellectual needs stifle my emotional need to dominate.  “I will accept your tag, ma’am, if you will agree to listen to my presentation.”  Sorry, folks.  I am an Arm, and I am an asshole.  I had to negotiate.  Even if I risked hell, or given the circumstances, a raw long painful death.

Of all things, Keaton rolled her eyes.  “You nitwit, of course I’m going to listen to your presentation.  Get over here and say you’re mine.”

I did so, and she tagged me, and all was well.

To this day I still don’t know how much Keaton played me in this confrontation.  The only thing I ever established, later, was that she already knew, coming into this meeting, about my kidnapping of Caruthers and my trip to Chicago.  She didn’t know the details of what happened in Chicago, though, until I told her.  She had interviewed Hank, over the phone, while the Crows protected him, and gotten his side of the story, for good or for ill.  He hadn’t told all, that was clear.

Despite all this, she too ended up calling me ‘the Commander’ by the end of the year.

---

“An apology will no longer suffice,” Keaton said.  I had given my presentation and we had gone over the damned thing, in at times terrifying detail, for five hours.  I cooked Keaton dinner, closer to Eissler’s diet (or a bear’s diet) than what I had cooked for her before – barely cooked salmon, barley flavored with butter and nuts, thin slices of calves’ liver, with a dozen hard boiled eggs and a large quantity of whole milk.  A cheese plate with nuts for dessert.  Zielinski, after weeks of analyzing his data from Eissler, had concluded that a normal’s diet was a slow poison for an Arm, and we needed to minimize starches and stay away from sugars and processed food.  He expected this to produce some as yet unspecified health benefits, probably around muscle development.  We were predators, he said.  We needed to eat like predators.

I still planned to avoid raw hamburger.

Keaton had also cadged five points of juice from me, a theoretical bit of tag work I knew was possible but had never experienced.  The juice ‘donation’ was pleasurable for both of us, a pleasure neither of us could admit because of the past month’s difficulties.

Keaton paced.  “I respect the game Tonya played, but now she owes
me
as well.  I will
not
accept a mere apology.  I want something more tangible.”

“Ma’am, yes.  I agree whole-heartedly.  What would you like?  Her head on a platter?”  Right now, a dead Biggioni was about what it would take to satisfy me.  My espionage triumph in Chicago was supposed to get her to cough up a public apology.  As Lori feared, though, Biggioni had covered up the events and still refused to admit the Hunters held any Focuses.  Which meant, as Lori predicted, her rebellion was back on its feet and rolling forward, all gained by revealing Biggioni’s broken word.  “My suggestion is to kill her after she’s lost her Council seat to Focus Rizzari.”  After a goodly amount of physical and psychological torture.  I wanted her to beg me to end the ruins of her life when so little was left of her that it didn’t matter whether I complied or not.  I wanted to see lots of bare bone, and the final madness in her eyes.

“No.  I want her alive,” Keaton said.  I didn’t sigh in disgust, but I wanted to.  “Let me tell you about my coming move to Detroit and how that ties into this mess.”

With those words, and the unexpected story that followed, Keaton again showed me how inexperienced I was in paddling through the stygian depths of Focus politics.

Which led me to my next suggestion about what I wanted from Biggioni.  Which Keaton agreed to, and which became my plan and my orders for the next month.

Part 4
The Commander

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

Oscar Wilde

Chapter 10

Crows retreat into the arts and sciences when stressed.

“The Life of Crows”

Gail Rickenbach: December 2, 1968 – December 3, 1968

“Tonya, I’ve got a little announcement you might be interested in,” Gail said, the grin coming through into her voice.

“You do? What sort of announcement?” Tonya said, from the other end of the phone.

Gail had been busy as a prom queen during pledge week the last few days, and today, Sunday, was her first chance to call. She and Van had gone up to Flint yesterday to tell her parents, and stopped by Swartz Creek on the way home to tell his parents. Then the calls to Beth, the start of the planning, the picking of a wedding date and the choosing of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Friday night they had been out at Van’s graduation party.

The graduation party had been a disappointment. The party had been fun for a while, announcing their engagement to their old friends, answering questions about being a Focus, and being the center of attention. Too many hard questions spoiled the fun, along with too many things she couldn’t explain to their old friends, and too many changes in her since her transformation.  She and Van weren’t the pencil twins any more, not with her current womanly figure.  She had grown an inch taller since her transformation, something only Van’s younger sister Daisy had noticed.  Her old friends also rolled their eyes at her bodyguards, and couldn’t understand why Sylvie kept checking on her, bringing her food and seeing if she needed anything. They noticed the hard-eyed wary way Kurt watched everyone in the room, even though he wasn’t on bodyguard duty that night, and the way everyone except Van took her suggestions as orders…and how Van presented her to his old friends as a sort-of tamed tiger he was in abject awe of.  Once they started making earnest simplistic suggestions about solving the prejudice against Transforms Gail had her bodyguards take her home.

“Van and I are going to get married,” Gail said.

“You’re what? Gail, that’s wonderful!” Tonya said, delighted. “Have you picked a date?”

“Not yet. But it’ll probably be this May or June.”

“Oh, this is fabulous. It’s so wonderful to see someone getting married instead of getting divorced. I’m so happy for you.  I’ve got to meet this paragon of virtue of yours.”

“Not that virtuous,” Gail said with a laugh, and then stopped.  Much as she liked Tonya, this was a little personal.

“How not virtuous?” Tonya said, overly interested.  After Gail didn’t answer immediately, Tonya pressed on.  “You got the advice on the subject from Beth, didn’t you?  I won’t bite.”

“Um, well, I never had to kick him out of my bed…”

“…like some Focuses you heard about?  That’s nothing to be ashamed of.  How non-virtuous?  Come on, Gail – cough up.”

Tonya wouldn’t give up until she had all the details.  Gail flushed red as she explained.

“Wow!  Welcome to the club,” Tonya said.  Gail sighed.  “You definitely need those tricks if you expect to make a marriage work.  They might have even been enough to keep my marriage alive if my ex hadn’t been a misogynistic ass who couldn’t stand women with authority.  I still would like to meet Van, though.”  Gail heard the smile in Tonya’s voice.  “There’s about a million reasons why he might have left you after your transformation, and only a few of them are bedroom issues.  There’s only one reason why a man would stay with you and want to marry you, despite your transformation, though.  Love.  Men like him are exceptional.  Real exceptional.”

Gail’s flush faded, as she basked in the warm glow of Tonya’s approval.

“I’m so happy I can’t keep from bouncing, Tonya. So of course the whole household is high as a kite, my juice buffer’s scraping bottom, and we’ve practically been having a continuous party since we announced. Yesterday we took a day trip up to Flint to tell my parents. My father practically died when I told him how many people would be at the wedding.”

“Your father is planning on paying for the wedding?”

“Yup,” Gail said. “We made up, and they’re finally accepting the fact that I’m a Focus.  After the amount of grief he’s given me about getting married, he wouldn’t dream of not paying.  My parents are so old fashioned; paying for a daughter’s college education was a stretch and helping me out as a Focus was well beyond their comfort level, but paying for a wedding is something they had in their budget since the day I was born.  Besides, they’re both so happy they’re glad to do anything.”

“I imagine that’s a big load off your mind not to worry about the wedding costs.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve already had a bunch of people volunteer to help, like Grace has someone in her household who can do a cake, and Beth has a photographer, and of course Matt’s going to do the ceremony.  However, every household in the city is going to attend, plus my relatives and Van’s relatives, and lots of our old friends. There’ll be hundreds of people.”

Tonya chuckled. “You don’t know how big an affair a Focus marriage is going to be. Especially if you’re having a proper wedding in a nice church. If you need any help, just ask. Don’t forget to send me an invitation, too.  I know of a few people I want you to meet, as well.”

“You, too? You’ll come?” Gail said, astonished. “Can you travel?”

“Because of my position on the Focus Council, my household is set up for travel,” Tonya said.  “And Detroit isn’t far.” Tonya continued in a pained whisper.  “Unlike West Region Council meetings.”

“Oh, wow. I’d love to have you come.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. Fabulous. This is going to be so groovy.”

Tonya laughed. “You enjoy yourself. I’m sure the wedding will be perfect.”

“Hey, Tonya, there’s one other thing I wanted to talk to you about besides my wedding.”

“Yes?”

“Well, you know Van got his PhD in History, right?”

“So the dissertation defense went well?” Tonya said.

“Wonderfully. He got a 4.0 and so he’s Dr. Schuber now. He was thinking about what he’s going to do now, and well, uh, job opportunities in his field are sort of lacking around here.  Anyway, he’s decided he wants to write a book about the early years of Transform Sickness. You know, all about all the early Focuses, and what went on back then, and the research effort, and the rest,” Gail said.

Tonya went silent for a long time on the other end of the line.

“Tonya?”

“How serious is this?” Tonya asked.

“From Van? Van doesn’t say a word about anything unless he’s real serious.”

“So a PhD in History wants to write a book about the early Focuses. I assume you would like me to introduce you to the people he needs to talk to?” The smile was gone from Tonya’s voice.

“Uh, yeah. We were hoping you would.”

Tonya went silent again. “I need to think about this for a little bit,” she said, after a few beats. “On the surface, this sounds good. People are going to start writing about those early years eventually, especially with the way Transform Sickness is spreading. Covering this from the Focuses’ perspective would be good.  Necessary and good. But I want to talk to your fiancé for a little while myself, and I’m going to need to run this by Polly Keisterman.”

“Okay. But, you know, this would be good for us. I mean, think of what it will mean to be able to tell our side of the story. Other writers would probably skim over the Focus side of the story, and tell the story from the doctor’s side. It’s important…”

“I said I’ll give this some thought,” Tonya said. “But you know, one of the better sources lives right in Detroit.”

“Who?” Gail said, and her skin chilled when she figured out whom Tonya meant.

“Wini Adkins,” Tonya said.

“Adkins was one of those original Focuses?” Gail winced.  Adkins’ longevity would explain Beth’s comments about the older Focus’s contacts in the city government.

“Ninth Focus in the entire US.”

“Oh. So I suppose you’re hinting that I should deal with her,” Gail said.

“What exactly happened between you and Wini?” Tonya said.  “She’s used to bad juice and young, um, mouthy Focuses.  Nobody’s at their best after a Major Transformation.”

“Uh, right,” Gail said, flushing.  “It’s sort of embarrassing.”

“Give, Gail.  Please.”

“Okay,” Gail said, and then stopped. “Uh, you know she visited on my first day as a Focus, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I didn’t know anything at all about being a Focus?”

“To be expected.”

“Yes, well, anyway.”  Gail stopped again, her face heating up in embarrassment. “She came into the Clinic with two bodyguards, and one of them was a Transform. I hadn’t ever metasensed a male Transform before, or a Transform who wasn’t mine.” Gail trailed off. She hadn’t understood back then what’s she had done. She certainly understood now.  “Before they even got in my room, I reached out to look him over and, um, tagged him.”

“You what!” Tonya said, her voice filled with surprise and shock.  “Your first day as a Focus and you re-tagged at range?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Gail said. “I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“You might try talking to her again,” Tonya said, in an artificially gentle voice people use when someone does something appalling. “She might be a little friendlier now that you’ve mastered the basic courtesies.  You surprised her.  New Focuses normally can’t even tag an
untagged
Transform at range.”

Gail winced.  Not another one of
those
.  “But she does bad things to her Transforms,” Gail said, her voice still weak from embarrassment.

“Yes, she does,” Tonya said. “All of those original Focuses are hard, cold women, and every one of them holds her household in a grip of iron. They and their households lived for years in Detention Centers clogged with bad juice. Years.  Worse, the doctors didn’t like the power the Focuses had over their people, and so they interfered with every attempt those Focuses made to build functioning households. In the end, the Focuses planned and executed a large-scale coordinated revolt, where hundreds of people had to know ahead of time, and if even one of them talked to the doctors, the entire effort would have failed. They did things to control their people that would make either of us sick. They did what was necessary, and often evil, and did it repeatedly.  However, you and I are free right now because of what Wini and those other Focuses did.”

“Things were that bad?”

“They were that bad. And I do apologize for exaggerating a moment ago. Not all of the original Focuses were hard. However, those who weren’t hard got excluded from the planning process. If you want to find out what went on back then, you and Van are going to be talking to some very cold people. If you can’t deal with Wini Adkins, you shouldn’t try to talk to those other Focuses either.”

“Hmm. I’m going to need to think about this.”

“You need Wini on your side, Gail. Seriously, for the wellbeing of yourself and your household, you need Wini on your side.  Remember, you can always negotiate, even if you surrender first.  Negotiation is the Focus way.”

---

At night, in the cold of the sanctuary, she prayed for God to help her forgive Focus Adkins, for God to enlighten her about the dangers of dealing with Crows, and for blessings on everyone.  Christmas was coming, their first Christmas as a household, and the problems were already building.  Surely God would understand if…

She heard a clattering above, a brief gust of frigid Michigan winter air, and the apparition of what Gail took to be an angel descending from the heavens, landing light as a feather beside her.  The illusion lasted for a moment, enough for her to catch the reek of old and new sweat on the ‘angel’, and to see the angel’s wings were some sort of half cloak the angel wore around her shoulders.  If this was a ‘her’.  Could this be Gilgamesh?  She expected something like this from the forceful-for-a-Crow Gilgamesh.

“Focus,” the angel said.  “What are you doing out of bed at this hour of the night?”

“I come here to pray, since I don’t need as much sleep as the others.”  She tried to get a good look at the person in front of her.  Gail smelled woman, and saw man.  “Why are you here?”

“Several things,” the angel said.  “I want you to get a good look at me, so you can describe me to your goddamned bodyguards.  I don’t want to get shot when I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

The angel pushed her face up to Gail’s, eyes fire, challenging.  Dominant.  Her face was gaunt, with cold pale eyes.  “Say ‘protect me, ma’am’ next time, Focus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Gail had a momentary urge to fight this rude angel, but the urge passed.

This odd, rude, short and muscular woman was a Major Transform.  A Major Transform who wore her immense authority like another piece of clothing.

Everything finally clicked and Gail eased back with a shiver.