Wild Thing (30 page)

Each attempt so far had only reconfirmed the challenge.  Strong measures were required to displace patterns learned over a lifetime.  Disrupting those patterns sufficiently to allow replacement with the superior mode had so far proven unsuccessful.

Marc Disten let the latest subject collapse, shaking, to the floor, while considering what to try next.

The large man nodded once, briefly, then bent and picked the woman back up.  Looking then into her desperate eyes, a new approach suggested itself: the new mode could be offered as a route for survival of the individual organism.

The only route to survival.

Afterward, considering the broken body, Disten remembered the first killing.  Wakening into the wonderful new clarity had been startling, a magical experience never heard of, much less expected to have undergone personally.  The memory of that awakening was still as powerful as ever.

That clarity demanded to be shared.  Why was it proving so difficult to teach how to end the confusion?  Was there, perhaps, something of real magic involved?

Disten considered that idea.  The sense that the solution lay westward appeared to have no rational basis.

But one certainty still stood out, above all others – that there
was
a way to communicate the new clarity to all humanity.

Somewhere in the west.

PART III

(Two years later)

Chapter 34 

Sara hiked through the woods, unconsciously placing her feet so as to move quietly, only her thumbs outside the tight pockets of her shorts.  She wore her favorite Hunting outfit, adjusted herself to allow for her growth.  Faith paced by her side.  Spring buds adorned every leafy branch, and the sun beamed down, spearing shafts of brilliance through the shaded green paths.

It should have cheered her.

She'd left her child's bow and arrows behind. 
That had been just another lie.
  They weren't magic, and she must've looked stupid walking around with the toy.  Had he used to laugh at her?

'I'm
seventeen
now, but he won't buy me a proper bow and arrows!  What's with that?  Doesn't he
want
me to hunt?'

Faith looked up at her, a worried expression on her face, and she bent down and hugged her, tight, relishing the warmth and the mix of doggy and electricity smells.

Everything was all messed up and stupid.  Like, everyone knew the attack on Godsson this year was going to be the worst one ever, but she was still banned!  'I can't believe they won't even let us watch with Mr Shanahan, now, either.  What're they gonna do if
She
gets past Godsson?'

It still made her angry that they'd even disbanded “Team Sara.”  Sure, there'd been no
obvious
problem the first year of her ban, but last summer…

They'd wanted to lock her in her room, too, at first.  But maybe her uncle
read
her determination-
Oops.
  She reflexively corrected the thought.  Maybe her uncle had
guessed
her determination to smash her way out if they'd tried.

So the closest that she and Faith had been allowed during Her attack on Godsson last year, was outside by the front steps.  All they could do was wait, watching for the participants to emerge.  Expecting disaster.

And at midnight it became clear things had gone very wrong indeed.  Some of the soldiers had suddenly started setting up an awning and getting out first aid stuff while others had charged inside.

Of course they'd stopped her and Faith from going with them.  She'd wanted to just dive past: but she could tell they weren't fooling, and she didn't want to do anything so they could say how it
proved
she couldn't be trusted.

Nor did she want to get Faith in trouble.

Besides, she knew it hadn't been a complete disaster.  It just hadn't had that feeling
.

Less than a minute later, the front doors had slid open, soldiers charging down the front steps carrying stretchers with moaning bodies.  In the
field hospital,
they started removing bullets.  That it was only bullets, though, proved
She
hadn't got properly loose.

It'd actually been pretty cool watching them sew people together and bandage them up.  None of them died, either, which was nice: good guys shouldn't die.

She heard a little bit of the conversation among the soldiers.  Apparently one of the agents had “just happened” to have a breakdown, from the stress of listening, and attacked some of his friends.

In other words,
She
had played Her usual tricks.

Then everybody just continued waiting.  Eventually, though, they'd let her go inside as far as the foyer, to wait for them all to come out.

In the light of the exit sign, her uncle had been the first to emerge, looking exhausted.  Probably on his way to heal up the agents.

When she stepped forward into the light, he'd jumped before seeing it was only her.

She'd stared at him.  Knowing it was his fault.  She could have helped, if he'd let her be there.  Instead of convincing everybody to ban her.

He hadn't said anything, just frowned at her – like she cared about
that
anymore – before brushing past her.

It helped, discussing it with Faith.  Unlike certain other people, Faith didn't mind how often they talked about it, either.  'I just
know
the attack this year's gonna be the worst one ever.'  Faith looked up at her, agreeing.

She had a feeling
no one
knew what to expect this time.

And now, that attack was only a few months away.

'I'm
seventeen
, now.  That's practically an adult.  Don't you reckon?'  Faith did.  'So I've started,
again,'
she added, rolling her eyes, 'trying to persuade Uncle to get them to un-ban me.  Even if it only helps Godsson “emotionally.”  As if.'  She snorted, and Faith tilted her head quizzically.  'I still can't believe how dumb Grups can be.  D'ya think
I'll
get dumb when I get old?'

She looked at Faith, but Faith just grinned at her.  'Nah, you're right.  But I still need to work out how to convince Keepie to let Godsson teach me how to fight Her.'

Just the thought of having
that
conversation made her heart sink.

Faith's tail dipped low. 
Rats
.  Now she'd made Faith depressed, too.  'Oh, come on, it won't be that bad.  Keepie's not as bad as most Grups.  And getting Godsson to teach me magic-fighting makes sense, right? 
Heaps
of sense.'

But Faith just looked worried.

For some time now, they'd been steadily moving up into the foothills behind the Institute.  Not too far ahead was the rocky outcrop that still had the impact crater from where Faith's lasers had just missed her, all those years ago.  She smiled despite herself.  Keepie had never found out about that.

'Come on, I'll race you to the top!'

She sprinted forward, before Faith powered ahead along the trail, curving up.  She, though, could take the short cut, since she could climb.

But Faith still beat her to the top, looking very pleased with herself as she sat back on her haunches.  From the heat still radiating from her turbine pods, though, Sara knew she'd only
just
gotten there first.

Together, then, they sat and looked down on the Institute below.  Faith snuggled next to her, almost bumping her off the massive slab of rock, but licked her face to apologize.

She giggled, cheered a little by the distraction, then continued the conversation.

'The funny thing, or maybe the worrying thing, is that instead of just saying “No.  You're banned”,' she said, making her voice deep and gruff like her uncle's, which made Faith smile, 'he just said “We'll see,” this time.  And I could tell he meant it.'

Faith nudged her.

'Yeah, I know.  I reckon it just shows how worried they all really are.  ’specially since he knows I still need to go inside Godsson's cell if we're ever gonna defeat Her once and for all.'

Faith looked sideways at her, worried again.

She shrugged.  'I decided not to try to hide
that
anymore: that way he doesn't look too hard for other stuff.'

It was sad that she couldn't trust Keepie anymore.  She missed him.  But she had to keep her distance.  Anything else would've made it
impossible
to keep her secrets, instead of just incredibly hard.

Maybe if she raced Faith back down to the Institute, it'd cheer her up?

Things just weren't fun any more.

Chapter 35 

Harmon sat at his desk, developmental graphs hanging in the air before him, fighting off a dismaying sense of helplessness.  Somehow, it was not working.  Or rather, it had stopped working.  Progress had stalled.  She no longer seemed really
gripped
by the role he had prepared for her.  Occasionally, she even attempted resistance to his guidance.

The experiment itself was failing.

He needed a stronger link to the role he had chosen for her.  He needed to tie her to her part, needed to get under her skin.  Perhaps some sort of convincing ceremony?  Something primitive, to sound forth a responsive chord from the collective unconscious.  Blood, perhaps?  Yes.

A real bow and arrow would be too obviously lethal, too dangerous.  He knew Sara's behavior was only barely tolerated as things stood.  He smiled, recalling Professor Sanders's reaction on seeing her in her “Leather Goddess” outfit.  Practically apoplectic.  Good thing he'd been there to smooth things over – it would never do to have the Director begin to question the project.  So: no real bow and arrow, despite her many requests.  And needless to say, a gun was out of the question.  Far too easy.  Hmm.  What about a slingshot?  Superficially childish, so he could claim he thought it was “just a toy”; but in the right hands, lethal.  Yes.  That would be perfect.

With a flick of his MetaStylus he brought up a shopping precinct window, sent off a search.  For perhaps a minute then he studied the list of products, before deciding on the Ascorp PowerShot.  It looked sleek and deadly, sure to appeal to her.

He clicked on “accept” and transferred the funds.

Satisfied, he turned to the feed from the gym.  He had taken to leaving it active, the holovid running with the sound muted so her music did not disturb him.  Occasionally, she would be doing something odd, like standing on one leg with her eyes shut for minutes on end.  Normally, though, she was very active.

He found it soothing to watch her stretching and straining, strutting and pirouetting on the balance beam, tumbling and flying around the uneven bars – or indeed, using them as balance beams! – or diving and spinning over the vaulting horse.  While he constructed magical theories or designed subtle experiments to test them, he found that just having the small holo on in the background often centered his thoughts or sparked ideas.

Sara visited the place at odd hours, and he liked that touch of randomness, too.  Sometimes he would cease working and just stare, like some god of Olympus following a mortal's enactment of the drama he was scripting.  Most satisfying.

He returned once more to his struggle to design an experiment to detect the race consciousness directly.  Lost in thought, a knock at the door made him jump.  He glanced at the projection of the tiny gym, hovering in the air just above the corner of his desk.  Sara was not there.  And now was
not
the time for interruptions.

'Go away,' he called, not looking up.  Nevertheless, the door opened.

'Sara, when I say –'

'Hello, Harmon.  Just dropped in for our usual little chat.'

Oh no,
Harmon thought, looking at the calendar.  Yes, indeed: it was bimonthly report time.  He resigned himself to a lengthy interruption, as Sanders enquired about his research.

After all, while a small government research grant assisted with many of his expenses for his experimental “training program,” it was the Institute that provided food and board for his subject.  And the Director liked to keep track of his people, liked to spend some time going over each researcher's work: both to see if he could offer helpful suggestions, and to keep an eye on how the Institute's money was being spent.  At any rate, that was what happened when Sanders visited his colleagues, Simmons or Ramsin. 
Had
visited Ramsin: the fellow had left, last year.  Claimed his services were hardly needed any more.  Yet his departure had occurred only weeks after asking whether Harmon thought there might not be something
real
behind Godsson's imaginary foes.

Ramsin had sidled into his office on some pretext one day, then begun babbling about hiking.

'Do you go for walks in the grounds, Dr Alex?  Your young ward certainly spends a lot of time out there.  Alone.'  He nodded, as if he'd just made a telling point.  'Did you know… I mean, do you think there might be something
real
out there?'

'Oh?  Have you been seeing Sara's invisible-to-magic creatures in the grounds, too?'  He had stared behind his colleague's shoulder, just to needle him further.

But Ramsin had
flinched
and jerked around, and begun scanning Imaginally for some ultra-stealthy predator right there in his office.  As if he believed he was being pursued.  Long seconds passed before he turned back around, and saw Harmon watching him, smiling.

The fool had made some excuse, then scurried off.  And resigned the following week.

No doubt Sara had been the invisible stalker.  But Ramsin's departure had been no loss.

Now was no time for reminiscence, though, with the Director standing at the other side of his desk.  Once more attempting to pry into his ideas and review his spending.