No Sorrow Like Separation (The Commander Book 5) (43 page)

“Focus Biggioni taught me how,” Lori said, wiggling around so her legs were suggestively tight around my waist and her mouth next to my left ear.  “I’m also slowing down the transfer so you don’t fall over.”  Pause.  “Biggioni told me about the initial pain of this process, but she didn’t say a thing about how much of the juice draw pleasure would come through if I slowed down the procedure the frigid bitch she probably didn’t even get any pleasure from this because she’s so frigid she has her heart and soul and feelings of pleasure all locked away buried in a storage box in the shed next to her dead Monster kills and…”

“Lori!  Pay attention!”  I was full up, I couldn’t sense anything in my brain or body worth healing, and Lori was about to start wasting juice.  Right now, synched with Lori, the idea of ‘wasting juice’ was right up there with ‘eating babies’ as far as moral repugnance was concerned.

“Sorry,” Lori said.  She started to lick my ear, slow and sensuous.  “Ooh, I’m so horny I could burst.  Want to get a room?”

“No, we have business to deal with.”  I wasn’t horny at all.  Lori had ended up with most of the pleasure this time.  Heh.  Teach her to mess with the natural order of the juice so cavalierly.  I needed to know what was going on with the rest of the fight.  “How about Sky or Gilgamesh?”

“How about both?” Lori said.  Her voice tailed off as she fell into a state I recognized from every juice kill I had ever taken, best described right now as ‘baggage’.  I shifted the now unconscious Focus around into a fireman’s carry and looked around, to find myself surrounded by my own people.  I started barking orders.  Punched out three psycho juice zombies and slit the throat of a fourth.  Gathered what remained of my people.  I predatored Rogue Focus’s remaining conscious Transforms, all women, into submission, and got to metasense her remaining living-but-wounded male Transforms slip into withdrawal.  We killed them to keep things from getting uglier, exited the street at a jog, and slipped through a utility easement and away, as this much of a ruckus would be attracting cops soon.

We had won, but oh holy fucking hell the science of multidisciplinary Major Transform fighting and fight preparation needed a lot of work.

Part 4
Alliance

Though a swift stream is

Divided by a boulder

In its headlong flow,

Though divided, on it rushes,

And at last unites again.

– from the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

Chapter 13

There is another basic point in this struggle: the media are not on our side and refuse to write anything that hurts the “Transform” movement.  They are quite good at covering up negative news about Transforms.  So you know something very “transformative” is up when you see Transform activists blasting the media for alleged anti-Transform bias.  That would be sort of like accusing Marilyn Monroe of being a prude.

“Hunter Activity Near Chicago and Media Responses”

Henry Zielinski: July 21, 1968

“Clean,” Keaton said.  Static on the airport phone line made her sound old and male.  “She’s pissed at some of the things that happened in the fight, but she did it clean.  She’s packed Rogue Focus off to Focus Fingleman, along with her surviving women Transforms.  Inferno did its thing and planted and forged enough evidence in Rogue Focus’s former place that anyone investigating her disappearance will think Rogue Focus defected to Cuba.  They befuddled the local police into thinking the violence was associated with Rogue Focus disposing of her surplus male Transforms, who, nasty her, she drove into withdrawal as some sort of punishment.  Hell, Hank, I got more shot up than Hancock did in this little fracas.”

“You sound pleased,” Zielinski said.

“Pleased doesn’t come close,” Keaton said.  “When I finally put everything together, I’m looking at over ten million profit from my little crime spree.  Even better, Hancock and I now are sitting on shitloads of data about multi-Major Transform combat operations.  Next time we do one of these we’re going to know what the hell we’re doing and it’s going to be a lot more efficient.”  Pause.  “Did the Euro bitch cough up anything or did she just string you along?”

“She coughed up a lot, but she keyed it just like last time.”

“She slept with you, too, eh?” Keaton said.  He blushed, half amazed that she had been able to read him over the phone.  She hadn’t been able to do that before.  “Make sure Hancock immediately re-tags you when you get back to Houston, and plan on coming with Hancock on her next visit.  Hancock may own your mind and soul, but your body’s mine and I’m in a mood to celebrate!”

Zielinski heard dial tone.  He hung up the pay phone, wiped sweat from his forehead, and walked off toward the nearest ticket counter to catch the next open LaGuardia to Houston plane flight.  Yes, he
was
back in the good ol’ USA.

Perhaps he should have stayed longer in West Germany.

Carol Hancock: July 23, 1968

Keaton summoned me early, not wanting to take any chances with anyone intercepting Hank and his new information.  Keaton’s subtext was more disturbing – she would be judging my competence as an Arm.  Had I fully recovered from my CDC captivity?  Was I fully fit to be an independent actor again, or would she clip my wings and start directing my every move?

Nervy me, I had my own agenda, a never-to-be-stated reward for taking down Rogue Focus, which of course increased my own stress level.  I had sent Gilgamesh and the crew off on my little mission immediately after the Rogue Focus fight.  I hoped they didn’t run afoul of any big nasty Beasts or cranky old Crows on the way.  The world seemed filled with them these days.

I stared at the door to Keaton’s house, putting my mind in order.  Zielinski stood beside me, fidgeting.  Haggerty opened the door, a much less used Arm than I had ever seen her.  She wore one of my old unused Catholic Schoolgirl uniforms, which on her fit like shit.  “Ma’am,” she said.  “Dr. Zielinski.  Please come in and make yourself at home.  Do you want anything to drink?”

She was reading from a script in her mind.  Keaton, of all the crazy things, had taught the damned baby Arm proper etiquette.

I didn’t mind one bit and let Haggerty wait on us.  Keaton stormed in a half hour later, covered in blood.  “You’re all going to fucking die!”  Roar!  She hit us with at least two tenths of a point of burned predator effect and stalked over to me, radiating I’m not sure what.  This wasn’t psycho Keaton – I sensed a rational mind, albeit well hidden behind some new Keatonic trick.  I read her as high on juice.

Nevertheless, my knees hit the pale wooden floor as fast as gravity did its thing.  Haggerty swan dived onto the pure white carpet and pissed herself.  Zielinski backed away ultra-slowly, hands up, his heart rate and adrenaline levels about the same as they were when I surprised him during his morning shower, before he left for Europe (the bastard had changed the password on one of our offshore accounts and hadn’t told me, and I had wanted the password
now
).  Damn, but he had nerves of steel for a mere normal.

Keaton sat down on my back.  “Hopefully we’ll all fucking die in the far distant future, save for the fact us Arms are stuck with a significantly reduced lifespan because of our high metabolism.  Which a certain someone never told me before.  Eh, Hank?”

He took a deep breath and feigned relaxation.  “Ma’am, I never found a politic moment to mention this distressing fact.”

Keaton left my back.  I turned my head as she picked up Zielinski in her arms, held him over her head, and danced underneath him, twisting and turning, until he got dizzy.  “Okay, that’s just not fair, you bastard, getting Arm predator resistance training from an older Arm.”

“It was only two hours worth!”

Haggerty, I realized, remained oblivious to the goings on.  She thought Keaton was going to kill Hank.  This was a serious lack on her part, if she couldn’t read a situation this simple.  This was Keaton at play.

We had Hank in front of his chalkboard again, after he recovered from Keaton’s games, this time in the dining room of Keaton’s house of pain.  He looked relieved when we didn’t head down to the basement.  I suspected his worries were unwarranted – I didn’t hear moaning and I doubted whatever victim had supplied the blood on Keaton was still alive.

Hank had put up a timeline, starting with Anne-Marie Sieurs’ Transformation and the dawn of the Focus era and ending with the Focus Julius Rebellion.  He drew lines with colored chalk between the events and I immediately understood the connections.

“The Purifier kills his first Crow in 1955, starting his mission to keep western Austria clear of non-Focus Major Transforms,” Zielinski said.  “The American first Focuses escape from Quarantine in 1958, with bad blood between them and their older Crow peers.  The Purifier notices this and begins to fear organized Major Transforms; he expands his killing mission to cover all of Europe in 1959.  A group of American Crows notices what the Purifier is doing, and creates a survival-oriented secret society, also in 1959.  The Purifier establishes control over the Western European Focuses, save those in Ireland, by 1961.  The American Crows have a tussle over their secret society in 1961 because of the success of the Purifier.  Distracted by American Crow politics the Purifier misses the transformation of the Arm Erica Eissler in 1961, and she survives with the help of Focus Anne-Marie Sieurs, although for obvious baby Arm reasons they couldn’t meet in person.  Pissed because of a betrayal by someone he thought he controlled, the Purifier hunts down Sieurs and she vanishes.  The American Crows’ conflict over their secret society ends in 1962 and they go underground, refusing to deal with any other Major Transforms.  The Purifier expands his reach into Eastern Europe in 1963; fearing he would expand his reach to America, the ruling first Focuses start removing themselves from the public eye and start digging in to defend themselves.  In 1964, first Focus Julius decides the Focuses should do to America what the Purifier did in Europe, and hunt down and kill all the other Major Transforms.  Not too surprisingly, Keaton and I met and, well, allied in 1964, both fearing for our measly lives, caught up in games of those far too powerful for us to understand or withstand.  Now, for the first time, I know why.”

“You might as well add ‘Wandering Shade makes Grendel in 1965, dreaming of following in the Purifier’s footsteps’,” I said.

Hank did so, with a question mark.  “Erica thinks Wandering Shade’s experiments and murderous plan started the day the Crow tussle ended, three years earlier.  Her proof is, well, um…”

“In her dreams?” Keaton said.  Hank nodded.  “Dammit, I’d hoped for some nifty new tech, not this steaming pile of shit.  Not that this isn’t deathly important to know.”  She turned to Hank.  “Go play with the crap I’ve collected for you in my library.  I need some private time with my Arms.”

Here it comes, I told myself.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and scurried off.  I swore he looked a year older than he had earlier today.  Keaton hadn’t grown easier to be around.  Not in her home territory, at least.

---

I tapped out for the third time in a row, on the hard concrete floor of Keaton’s barn.  Keaton got off my back and threw herself on her own back, chest heaving.  Whatever advantages I had by being fast were gone; she had learned to cover for her speed weaknesses and she was back to being flat out better than I was, overall, in our sparring.  I looked over to her and caught her looking at me with a goofy out of place grin on her face.  “Who’s the boss, eh?  Who’s the boss?” she said.

“You’re the boss,” I said.  “Ma’am.”

Keaton laughed, still a little winded.  “Next time either of us are up against the damned Chimeras, they’re going to have a big surprise.”

My head to toe ache and I nodded to Keaton, as enthusiastically as possible.  We had both gotten better, a lot better, at fighting.  The graduation day Keaton wouldn’t have lasted a minute against either of us.  The graduation day Hancock should have just saved herself the trouble and surrendered first.

“Get showered off.  I want a full report on what happened in the Rogue Focus fight and the prelims you had with the Crows.”

Said prelims I hadn’t said a thing about.  She had someone monitoring me.  I wasn’t surprised.

Back in the pale living room of Keaton’s main house, sitting on a white hassock, I spoke for three hours.  First the data, no observations.  Then my interpretations.  Then my wild-ass suppositions.  Then the one line response I had gotten to the letter I sent to the Madonna of Montreal, a quote: “In a controversy the instant we feel anger we have already ceased striving for the truth, and have begun striving for ourselves – the Buddha.”  Then an endless round of questions.  Throughout my presentation Haggerty served as an extra pair of ears, as well as waitress and dishwasher.  Hank snored in a far bedroom, exhausted.  He had nodded off before I finished the first pass on my data.

Keaton leaned back in her chair thoughtfully.  She didn’t say a word, but after several seconds of thought, she snapped her fingers with a crack that sounded like a rifle shot.  I had to cover the urge to jump at the sound.

Haggerty appeared at the door to the kitchen, soapy dishrag in hand.  Keaton pointed to a spot on the floor about six feet from both of us.

“Down,” she said. “I want you to listen to a story of mine.  Then I want your analysis of Ma’am Hancock’s piece as well as mine.”  Haggerty nodded her head and knelt on the floor where Keaton pointed.

All right, what the hell was this?

“The local Crow boss is named Chevalier, and we’ve been in communication,” Keaton said.  Ah hah.  Gilgamesh had told me about the twit.  “We’ve never met, but we’ve exchanged letters.”  Keaton cleaned and polished her fingernails as she talked, an affectation she had picked up recently.  In fact, Keaton’s appearance was far better than during any time I had known her – she was actually keeping her hair properly cut (short), bathing regularly, and buying decent clothes.

“Chevalier’s a jerk.  He told me that if I didn’t keep my hands off of his local Crows he would expose everything I did until the authorities grabbed me, an obvious bluff.  On the other hand, he didn’t care if I messed with, in his words, Shadow’s Crows, Innocence’s Crows or Thomas’s Crows.  He’s also been forwarding, to my message service, sporadic information on low quality male Transforms who hadn’t gone to the Transform Clinics and who were close to going over.  From his viewpoint, he’s hired a trash collector.  From mine, he’s feeding me free juice.  I’m still watching my back.”

Damn.

I was about to ask a question, but I sensed a slight hesitation from Keaton, as if she had more to say, but wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say anything or not.  I doubted anyone else would have caught the hesitation, but I had gotten good at reading Keaton over the years.  I shut my mouth and waited for her.

Keaton leaned back in her chair and stared into the distance.  Haggerty looked from Keaton to me, aware something was going on but not sure what.  I silently mouthed ‘quiet’ at her with a murderous glare threatening death, so she sat back on her heels and waited also.

Five minutes passed before Keaton continued.  “I’m not sure this is relevant, but it might be, so here’s another one.  Earlier this month I had an encounter with what has to be a Mountain Man, up near Redding.”  She went on to tell a long and involved story of a firefight she had between a lone Chimera and his harem.  Over half of them, including the Chimera, had gotten away.  “I’m convinced the harem leader was the brains of the outfit,” she said.  “Although she looked nearly human, albeit a bit furry and with a tail, she spoke the clearest of the bunch and was handling their battle tactics.  She metasensed like an old Monster.”