Now We Are Monsters (The Commander) (13 page)

“Shit.  That’s just what we need,” the harsher voice said.  Her voice held no reverence for her Focus.  Dr. Zielinski’s eyes involuntarily tracked the voice to a blonde-haired young woman surprisingly more beautiful than her Focus.  For an instant, he wondered if the blonde was another Focus, but no, as he had instinctively known, her beauty was natural, not Major Transform.

“Huh?” the first voice said.  Ahh.  Ann Chiron, the only plain-looking person among Focus Rizzari’s household leaders.  Normally she managed better than a ‘huh?’ though.  She looked as if she had been through the ringer as well.

“Love,” the deadly blonde said.  “Can’t you see?”

Dr. Zielinski blushed and tried to take his hand from Lori’s.  She didn’t let him.  “Out, you three,” Lori said.  “Get a move on.  This sort of Inferno folderol is the last thing Henry here needs right now.”

Henry.  Right.  Lori knew him as Henry.  What the hell’s Inferno, he asked himself?  Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a clear mind…

The two women left, still arguing without breaking stride.  Sadie Tucker, poet, young woman Transform and the third voice, exited behind them, but not before giving Dr. Zielinski a jaunty wave.  “I’m in bad shape,” Dr. Zielinski said.

Lori nodded, sorrow in her eyes.  Dark hair, dark eyes, and beautiful porcelain skin.  She sat in the same chair Tim Egins had occupied some indeterminate amount of time ago.  “I’m sorry.  I hoped I’d cleaned out enough of the bad stuff for you to make a clean transformation.  I thought wrong.  There are too many side effects from the juice injection into your spine.”  She took a deep breath and the sorrow in her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold steel mask.

“The Monster juice is the problem,” Dr. Zielinski said.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“How could you handle
any
of it?” he asked.

“With difficulty,” Lori said.  “First I had to move the bad juice from your cerebrospinal fluid into your lymphatic system where it belonged; then I sequestered the bad juice, took it from your body, and disposed of it.  I was doing the disposal when you woke up the first time.”

Dr. Zielinski’s face went slack.  “You’re better with juice patterns than I realized.”

“How in the hell does he know about juice patterns?”

A male voice!  He turned to see a man in his mid-forties, tall and sandy haired.  He had been standing in the corner of the room, behind Dr. Zielinski.

“Sorry to startle you, Doctor,” the man said.  “I’m Robert Masterson.  Normal.”

“Dr. Bob?” Dr. Zielinski said.  Then he flushed.  Dr. Bob was the nickname someone, either Ann or Sadie, used to describe the co-owner or co-originator of Lori’s modern household.

The man turned up a corner of his mouth in a half smile.  “I answer to that.  Occasionally.”

“Only when his nose isn’t in a book,” Lori said.  “Bob, according to my contacts, Dr. Zielinski helped Focus Patterson
discover
juice patterns.”  Bob whistled.

“Now that’s an exaggeration if I ever heard one,” Dr. Zielinski said, a low raspy chuckle.  “I just lucked into being present, and provided a few possible scientific explanations for…”  His voice caught and he closed his eyes.  Memories cascaded through him, of his work with Focus Patterson, forgotten memories.  He had worked with her more than he once remembered.  These recollections hooked up and brought out other memories, recent memories.  He panicked.

“Henry?”  Lori asked.

“I was attacked!  In my office!  I think the attackers were FBI.  They injected me, on purpose!  You’re in danger!”

“Oh, crap,” Dr. Bob said.  He paused and looked over at Lori.  “You knew this already, didn’t you, Lori?”

“I suspected,” she said.  “He babbled far too many things on the way here,” she said.  For another short moment her eyes softened and she squeezed his hand.  A very short moment.

“What idiocy did I…” Dr. Zielinski started to say, before Lori gathered his eyes.

“I do have one question, before we get to the discussion about what we’re going to do to try and save you, Henry.”  Her eyebrows almost met over her nose as she started into him.  “
Where did you get my phone number?
”

A tsunami of charisma washed over him and opened up his mind like a melon.  “Before I called you I called Tonya; she’s the one who gave me your phone number,” he said, without any inhibitions.  “She wasn’t any use; the arrogant bitch wanted me to drive to her so she could fix me!”  He laughed.  “I’d become inconvenient!”

Focus Rizzari’s charismatic probe vanished and Dr. Zielinski’s head ached like a bomb ready to explode.  “You could have just asked,” he said, his self-control back.

“I did, but the information was blocked before.  Sorry,” Lori said.  “So Biggioni’s able to use
her trick
over a phone?  That explains a lot.”

Dr. Zielinski didn’t track Lori’s comment, not with the juice effects and his head pounding.

“You sure you trust him?” Dr. Bob said.  “Someone on a first name basis with
Biggioni
?”

“
We don’t have any choice,” Lori said.  She squeezed Dr. Zielinski’s hand again and got him to look at her.  “How do you feel about me, Henry?”

“
I…” he stammered.  Loving and desiring a Focus wasn’t intelligent; he knew better.  But there it was, he had fallen for her.  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.”

“Well, what do you know,” Lori said.  “Connie was right.”

Oh, damn, Dr. Zielinski thought.  The blonde was Connie Yerizarian, Rizzari’s head of household.  Not someone he wanted to annoy. “Pardon me,” he said.

“I’m flattered,” Lori said.  “In your state, say and think whatever you want.”  She looked hurt, a fresh psychic wound.  An old observation about Lori, as a Focus walled off by psychic scars, rumbled forward in his mind.

“You don’t expect me to live through this,” he said.  He saw the truth now; her scars came from the dead she buried.

Such beautiful dark eyes.  If he had to die, he
would prefer to do it gazing into those eyes.  What a foolish thought for a man his age.

“Hmm,” Lori said.  “You know, people aren’t supposed to be able to read me so easil
y.  I hope we get to talk about this trick of yours someday.”  She captured his eyes again.  “No, even my best idea is a long shot.  If we can’t force a transformation you’re going to die.”

“I’d have thought I would have died already.  Or recovered.”

She nodded, biting her lip.  Dr. Bob came up next to Lori, for some reason impressed with Dr. Zielinski.  “Me too,” Lori said.  “You’re not an immune, someone immune to transformation; you’re also not allergic to juice.  The fouled juice in you gives you the juice count of a Focus, even after I did my best to clean you up.  But I can’t go any farther.  If I remove any more I’ll send you into withdrawal; if I give you untainted juice I’ll send you into Monster.”  Pause.  “If I do nothing, kidney and liver failure within a day.  If you want, I can take you to a hospital.”

“They would kill me in two hours, if not less,” Dr. Zielinski said.  He closed his eyes.  “I apologize for the personal aspects of this.  It wasn’t anything I wanted you to know; it wasn’t anything I would ever act on.  I hope you’re not too upset.”

“I’m not upset at you, just the system.  Darn it, what we need is a Crow, right here and now, to consult with.  Tarnation, a civilized Chimera wouldn’t hurt, either.  Instead I’m stuck hoping and praying you’ll live long enough for Sadie to somehow get the local Crow here to help.”  She took a deep breath.  “Only, as far as Sadie says, there’s no word in Crow for ‘emergency’, at least as far as she’s been able to discern.  I think we’re out of time.”

“So what’re you going to try?” Dr. Zielinski asked.

“I’m going to try again to induce a transformation.  If this fails…”

“I’m dead.”  He closed his eyes.  “Give it your best.”

“The attempt isn’t going to be easy on you.”

“I understand.  Try.”

Pain blasted through him.

---

When Dr. Zielinski awoke, he found himself in a dark room filled with the overwhelming smell of pizzas.  Thousands and thousands of pizzas.  Outside, traffic noises.  He raised himself up and the room swam around him.  Focus Rizzari didn’t hold his hand any more, much to his regret.  In fact, he was alone.

The roaring in Dr. Zielinski’s ears was gone.  He collapsed back down on the uncomfortable bed.

“You’re awake.  Excellent.  I’ve done some good.”

Dr. Zielinski didn’t recognize the voice.  He sounded like a young man, though with an old-fashioned immigrant – Greek, perhaps – accent he mentally placed with those of his parent’s generation.

“Who are you?” Dr. Zielinski said, his voice a croak from dehydration and excessive vomiting.  “Where am I? Have I transformed?”

No answer.  Dr. Zielinski tried to sit up again, and this time managed.

“No, you didn’t transform.  Nor are you cured.  You’re still dying, and quickly besides.  I’ve done as much as I can personally do, but I have something else we can try,” the same voice said, from a different part of the room.  “Gymnast said you were present when I gentled him, so I guess it’s safe for me to tell you what you already know.  My last idea’s dangerous, a gamble.  Can you tell her and her people you’ve agreed?”

None of this made any sense to Dr. Zielinski.  His thoughts still oozed like mush.

“I, uh, sure.  Who’s Gymnast?  Why’s it dark?”

No answer.

Dr. Zielinski lay back down on the bare mattress, far too weak to stand.  Some number of minutes later, the door to the room opened, flooding the room with so much light he had to cover his eyes with his arm.

“Dr. Zielinski?”

Lori’s voice.

“I’m here, Lori.”  Gymnast.  Right.  Why the code name?

“Sadie says you’ve agreed to this insane idea of the Crow’s.  You trust Occum with this experiment of his?” Focus Rizzari asked.

Occum must have been the Crow’s name.  “What choice do I have?”

“You’ve been cleaned up enough that you might be able to be hospitalized and…”

“Occum didn’t think so,” he said.  He sat up on the mattress, his entire body shaking, almost convulsing.  His light sensitivity didn’t go away.  The best he could do was to look under his arm at the floor.  He counted five people in the room, Focus Rizzari and her bodyguard entourage.

“Sorry if I keep my arm up over my face,” Dr. Zielinski said.  “I’m extremely light sensitive, and…”

“Light sensitive?  This is a dark room!”
Lori rushed forward and put her right hand on his head.  “Damn.  We don’t have much time.”

“I’m transforming?”

“Dying from some form of incomplete transformation, my guess.  I’ve never seen anything like the mess my and Occum’s ministrations have made of you.”  She took a deep breath.  “Don’t forget, for us Transforms, there are worse things than death.”

He paused, and thought for a moment.  He knew, and nodded.  “Occum is the local Crow?  The one who tamed the Chimera?” Dr. Zielinski asked.  He hurt so much it even hurt to talk.

“Yes.  He seems to think this Chimera of his can take your bad juice,” Lori said.

“What’s with the code names?” he asked.

“Crows speak in code,” Sadie said.  “Doctor, I don’t think Rover is fully tamed yet.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Dr. Zielinski said.

“Okay.  Fair enough,” Lori said.

The room went dark after Lori and her entourage left.  More time passed while Dr. Zielinski waited, and the world continued to spin around him.

“I happened to overhear that you’re sensitive to light.  Makes sense, with your pupils so dilated,” the man with the Greek accent said, startling Dr. Zielinski.  Occum?  Must be.  “Do you mind if I blindfold you?”

“No.  No problem.”  A sheet tore nearby, and then Occum wrapped the strip of sheet around his head.

“I’ve procured a wheelchair,” Occum said.  “I’m going to lift you over to it and take you elsewhere.”

The man had no problem lifting Dr. Zielinski off the mattress and into the wheelchair.  He took the blanket, too, and tucked it carefully around Dr. Zielinski.  Comforted by the warmth,
Dr. Zielinski let the world fade from around him.

“Don’t be frightened,” Occum said, from a distance.  Dr. Zielinski startled awake into another shadowy room, smelling of oil, dust and ozone.  Frightened?  He looked around, unable to see anything, but he did overhear Occum’s voice, low, speaking with someone else who answered with a lower voice.  He didn’t know how he had gotten here.  He did remember a ride on a wheelchair with wobbly out-of-true wheels.

A large dark figure rounded the corner, snuffling, bent over.  Dr. Zielinski gasped involuntarily; the figure frightened him, instinctively.  A nasty smell of wet, filthy fur hit Dr. Zielinski, and he got a good look at the figure as
it came within a few feet.

Werewolf!  Dr. Zielinski almost shrieked aloud at the thought from whatever part of his subconscious
was responsible for such notions.  The creature in front of him, which no longer registered as anything human, wasn’t dog-like.  Its nose was wider than normal and its face nearly covered by fur, as were its arms and clawed hands.  It was naked and snuffled at Dr. Zielinski.