Love and Darkness (The Cause Book 2) (23 page)

Bass took a deep breath, and kept her face blank.

“Out with it,” Keaton said.

“I’d rather go after the Nobles first, but if you want a plan regarding the Focuses, I think I can come up with something.”

“Based on what?” Ma’am Rayburn said.

“How about what we did to Biggioni?” Bass said, grinning.  “Humbling her was fun, and I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”  All the Arms nodded in agreement, smiles creeping across their faces.

Ma’am Keaton turned to Del.  “You’re sitting on something as well, Student.  What do you see?”

“Trouble.”

“Cough it up,” Ma’am Keaton said.

Del wanted to remain quiet, too junior to feel comfortable talking about wars and rebellions.  “Ma’am, I hadn’t known before about what the Crows term the Apocalypse Scenario.  The materials I read in the library led me to believe several decades would pass before the number of induced transformations grew to where the number of Transforms overtook the number of normals.  According to the Crow research, the induced transformation growth numbers are not linear, but exponential.  Sometime later this decade the number of Transforms is going to explode.  This changes everything.”

“Why?” Ma’am Keaton said.

“Because our real enemies are the normals, ma’am.  Once the pressure hits, and they see us gaining any form of meaningful power, the normals will go after us and defeat us in detail unless we work together to fight against the normals as a single unit.  Or, to name another option, we Arms vanish into the night, and encourage the rest to do as well.”

“Hancock’s fallacy,” Bass said.  Ma’am Keaton glared Bass quiet.

“If we’re acting as unconstrained predators, we’re on top,” Keaton said.  “What’s the problem?  We’ll cope.”

“Ma’am, I taught history, politics and social studies for too many years as a normal to be confident of the Arms ability to cope with the problem if we’re acting as unconstrained predators.  Guarding our backs from attacks by the other Major Transforms will sap our strength.  Think of the old adage of ‘lead, follow or get out of the way’.  Hancock’s path is leading, or being part of a leading Transform clique, which is the gamblers’ path, with the largest potential benefits and worst potential outcomes.  No Arms want to
follow
, for obvious reasons.  I believe the safest course for us is the ‘get out of the way’ solution.  Let the more numerous Crows and Focuses work out their difficulties and let them lead the Transforms.  Let them take the hits from the normals and sacrifice their own lives, allowing us to pick up the pieces later, at our leisure.  I fear all we’re doing by acting as unconstrained predators is getting in the way.”

Ma’am Keaton frowned, but she didn’t say anything.

“Apocalypse helps us personally,” Bass said.  Bass’s voice startled Del, and she blinked in surprise at the older Arm.  “If the population of Transforms explodes, the population doesn’t crash and there is no Apocalypse, there are going to be thousands of Arms.  That’s as big a constraint as anything else we’ve encountered.  For us, personally, it would be better if only a few million people survived.  We would be on top.  Personally.  Us.”

Del wanted to shriek “No!”, but let her voice echo into her quiet pools.  Bass’s idea was sick, horrific and evil.  Just like Bass.  Saying so wasn’t her place, though.

Ma’am Keaton just shook her head.  “Either way we win.  If we’re unconstrained, on top, and solve the Apocalypse problem, we keep our prestige and power because we solved it.  If we’re unconstrained, on top, and don’t solve the Apocalypse problem, we’re still on top, because we’ll be the only surviving Arms.”  She turned to Del.  “I think it’s time for a snack.  Why don’t you go get us one?”

Del stood, bowed, and backed away, without argument.  Ma’am Keaton had dismissed her, her voice no longer welcome in these discussions.  As a student, she could do little else.

If only she had become an Arm five years ago…

Bunny Suit

“If you don’t control your mind, someone else will.” – John Allston

Gilgamesh: October 5, 1972

“Carol, I’m sorry, but this still isn’t working,” Gilgamesh said.

The Commander rubbed her forehead and leaned back in her office chair to stare up at him with all her charismatic strength.  He backed off a pace.  “All right, why?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a Crow.  Yes, I’ve visited Gail’s household innumerable times in the past, but living in a Focus Household is different.  I can’t constantly live in fear.  I need some place and time where I can be safe and recover.”

“Talk to me.”

He talked.  He had lived in Gail’s household for almost three weeks.  He and Gail both worked on establishing an Affinity bond, trying various tricks but getting nowhere.  Hell, if they got any more intimate with each other they would end up in bed.  He had spent many nights in his Crow maze bedroom, but even his bedroom had become too stressful.  He spent last night sleeping on the roof under fixed metasense protections even Gail couldn’t penetrate.  He still woke up in a panic sweat.  He needed to move to feel safe.

“Have you tried sleeping with Gail?” Tiamat asked.

Gilgamesh frowned.

“That’s how Lori and Sky built their Affinity bond,” Tiamat said.  “Good old fashioned and, well, rather tepid Major Transform sex.  Repeated many times.”

Gilgamesh took a step back and blushed, surprising himself.  “She’s married.”

“So?”

Arms!  Gilgamesh sighed.  “I don’t think of Gail that way.”  At least when he thought logically.

“I can’t believe you’re not interested in sleeping with Gail,” Tiamat said, with, yes, lust in her voice.  “I know I am.”

“Then you sleep with her,” Gilgamesh said.  He just hated these kinds of conversations.

“
That isn’t going to help
,” Tiamat said, oozing predator and growling.  She made a move to slap her palms on her desk, then, remembering she was talking to a Crow, softened the blow so it didn’t sound like a rifle shot.  “Okay, you’re not going to win them over by sexual conquest.  Three weeks and all we’re doing is giving Gail more time for her juice pattern practice.”

“Which she needs,” Gilgamesh said.  Tiamat lacked patience when the real world difficulties of research and development got in her way.  “Carol, your project is insane.  You’re asking her to learn touch typing without typewriters or even paper.”

Tiamat blew through her lips in disgust.  “At times, I wonder if we’ve even invented the alphabet yet.  I know the project’s tough.  But Bass isn’t going to hold back forever, and I’m getting damned tired of ferreting out her spies.”  Two last week, three if you counted Crow Feelgood, a hireling of Bass’s Crow partner Snowcone who Gilgamesh chased out of the Detroit area last week.  All he had needed to do was tell, and show by illusion, Focus Adkins’ revenge on Surfer.

Carol stared morosely at the Georgia O’Keeffe painting hanging on the wall beside Gilgamesh.  “We need to make this work.  Mary Beth!”  A young man with long hair, wearing a dress, poked her head around the corner from the kitchen.  “Call Focus Rickenbach.  Tell her to get over here.  Immediately.”

---

“I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” Gail said.  She sat next to Gilgamesh in Carol’s office, her braid leaking strands in all directions from being reassembled far too quickly.  Gilgamesh spotted slippers on bare feet instead of shoes.  Unmatching slippers.  “Do you need more space?  I mean, we’d be kind of crowded, but if we need to, we’ll do it.”

“No, I don’t think more space would help,” Gilgamesh said.  The resentment in the household would destroy any nascent Affinity bond.

“I already said I’ll protect you,” the Commander said.  She sat behind her big, mahogany desk, not happy.  “Do you want me to prove it?  I’ll beat up on Gail for you some, if that would help.”

Gail winced at that bit of Arm foolishness, but she nodded gamely.  She didn’t stare at the elegant and spacious office around her, so different from her own, and Gilgamesh wondered if the contrast bothered her.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to help either.”

The Commander frowned at him.  “All right, Gilgamesh, speak.  You’re holding something back.”

Gilgamesh fidgeted nervously in the leather guest chair, gave up and stood.  “Ah,” he said, embarrassed.  “Well, the problem is, um, I’m just not a part of the household.  At the juice level.”

The Commander frowned.

“To them, Gilgamesh is the strange Crow who’s willing to show up in the daytime,” Gail said.  “They don’t think of him as a household member, and so the household superorganism doesn’t think of him as a household member, and no matter what tricks we try, we can’t convince the household superorganism to think of him as a household member.”

“So fine, let’s throw a party or something,” Tiamat said.  “Make a big deal out of him coming to live in your household.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” Gail said.

The three of them stared at each other for a minute, stumped.  Gail picked up her purse from the floor, searched it nervously for something she didn’t find, and put her purse down again.  A moment later, she picked up the purse again and set it on her lap, where it teetered precariously as she fidgeted.

“You’re sitting on something else,” the Commander said, eyeing him.

Gilgamesh flushed.  He attempted to retreat into a shadowy corner, save for the lack of shadowy corners in this bright room.  “Tags.”

Tiamat frowned.

“Carol, you’ve always said that tags aren’t a solution, they’re a speedup.  Well, to integrate me into the household and build the Affinity bond naturally is going to take time, perhaps years of time, given how long it took Sky to get himself linked to Inferno.  And, well, I’m more standoffish than Sky.  Integrating me in might never work without tags.”

“Well,” Tiamat said, wary.  “There’s always tags.  Certainly you’ll feel safer, Gilgamesh, if I tag you.”

Gilgamesh shook his head.  This wasn’t his real suggestion.

“What’s the downside?” Gail said.  She put her purse down on the floor. A nail file escaped and clattered on the polished oak.

“Well, we never know what the hell’s going to happen when we try out new uses for tags.”

“You tagged me without any problems,” Gail said.

“Arm style tags are good shortcuts, but they cross a lot of lines many people don’t want crossed.  They’re an opening for the juice to meddle.  They’ve already changed both of us.”

Gail took a deep breath.  “I can live with what’s happened, so far.”

Tiamat shrugged.  “Perhaps it’s worth a shot.”

“I wasn’t talking about you tagging me,” Gilgamesh said, his voice now a bare whisper.

“Oh,” Tiamat said.  “Tagging Gail’s Transforms?  Hmm.”  She thought.  “Having me tag you would also help, by balancing things out.  The tag would cut down on your fears of me, as well.”

Gilgamesh nodded, surprised at Tiamat’s agreement.  “I can’t make a hundred percent guarantee the tagging won’t blow up in our faces,” he said to Gail.

“Yeah, but we can at least try!  This is the best idea we’ve had in weeks,” Gail said.  She paused for a moment, radiating frustration over their weeks of failed work and glee over the chance to make some progress.  “We’ll need more.  I know my own temper, and if we both tag our Transforms, we’ll both have authority over them and we’ll likely end up stepping on each other’s toes.”

“You think we need to tag each other?” Gilgamesh said.  A Focus and a Crow?  Chevalier would die of apoplexy when he heard about this.  The idea was almost enough to, by itself, banish Gilgamesh’s worries.  “You’re all right with that?  This is going to strain our friendship.”

“This is important.  We’re adults.  We can handle it.”  Gail smiled and wrapped herself in her angelic charisma, lifting the aura of danger from Tiamat’s power office.  “You’ll do it?”

“If you’re willing,” Gilgamesh said, his eyes dreamy.  The beautiful princess had agreed to the arranged marriage with the frog.  She stuck out her hand and he took it, and without bidding his juice structure adjusted itself to hers, as Gail’s did the same to his.  He felt her power as a Focus, and in her changes to him, he felt his own power as a Crow.  He suspected they would need their power to blaze this trail.

“Sure,” Gail said, twinkling at him.  “But let me think about this for a minute, because I think I see something about this tagging business.”

“Yes?” the Commander said, instantly testy.  Gilgamesh winced, knowing exactly where Gail was about to take this.  He suddenly wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere far away.

“Consider,” Gail said, leaning forward and using her conspiratorial voice.  “Between the three of us, we have four of the six possible tags planned already.  Gilgamesh and I tag each other, and Carol tags Gilgamesh.”  She turned to Carol.  “You’ve already got me tagged, so that’s four.  But if I’m going to pass juice to you, I’m going to need to eventually tag you, the fifth of the six.  Tag links are how Focuses pass juice to their Transforms, and it’s how Arms pass juice to each other.”

Carol glowered and didn’t respond.

“So, to balance things out in our part of the household redefinition project, we need to tag you, Carol.  Both of us, not just me.  We need to bring you into the household, and make the household yours as well.  That will force the superorganism to change, and when the SO settles back into something stable, you and Gilgamesh will be a part of us.”

Gilgamesh nodded.

“No,” Tiamat said.  Right on time.  Tags represented dominance to an Arm, and Arms never accepted dominance willingly.

Gilgamesh turned to Gail and willed patience.  She stared back, frustrated.

“You know you’re going to need to let me tag you,” Gail said.

“I said no.”

Gilgamesh skittered back, almost to the door, and his hand slipped out of Gail’s.  The sudden loss of contact hurt.  Yes, he and Gail had been building an Affinity bond all along.  They weren’t as far along as they needed to be to do the household tag tuning, but they had made a start.

“That’s some commitment,” Gail said, in a low voice that dripped sarcasm.  “You ask for me to commit everything, but you balk when it’s your turn?  That’s bullshit, Teacher.”

“This isn’t necessary, and so we’re not doing it.  Tagging is dangerous technology.”

“So, tell me, Teacher, which one of the tags do you object to?  Is it the tag from Gilgamesh, or the tag from me?” Gail’s brows came down and she kept attacking. “If you’re bothered by my tag, then you’ve got a big problem, because you’re not getting juice without it.”

The Commander didn’t answer.  She stared at her O’Keeffe painting of the skull, her body stiff with hostility.  Gail stood and approached her anyway.  She slipped around behind the Commander’s chair and started to rub her unresponsive shoulders.

“Teacher,” Gail said gently, but Tiamat interrupted her.

“Don’t try to roll me, Focus.  You lack the expertise.”

Gail took her hands off Tiamat’s shoulders, shocked.

“We talked about this years ago.  Do you remember?” Gilgamesh said. Tiamat glared and didn’t answer.  “Mutual tagging as a way around Arm dominance issues.  You said Arms would never do mutual tags with each other.  But we’re not Arms.  We can’t challenge you as an Arm.  This is nothing more than a shortcut to something you want, to be part of a Focus household.”

“We’re done, here,” Tiamat said.  She glared at Gilgamesh with enough heat to almost panic him.  He sensed pain in her, besides the expected Arm aversion to taking a tag, and the pain echoed his own.  She wanted to be doing this with Lori and Inferno, not with Gail and her household.  “Get out of my house.”

“Teacher,” Gail said.  “It’s necessary.”

Gilgamesh put a hand on her arm and stopped her.  “She knows,” he said, gently.  “Just give her some time.”

They backed off and left the house.  In the car on the way home, Gilgamesh explained his insight about Inferno, and the other bit of follow-on logic: if they got this to work, because of the scarcity of Arms and the ubiquity of Focuses and Crows, Carol would likely end up as a part of over a dozen Focus-Crow households.

He and Gail spent the rest of the evening talking, hand in hand, plotting and planning.

Carol Hancock: October 6, 1972 – October 7, 1972

“Radical.”

I had called Amy’s people, and they relayed the message that I wanted to talk.  Amy showed ten hours later, her Hog’s engine steaming and cracking in the cold night rain.  I suspected she had just destroyed yet another motorcycle engine; on trips of four hundred miles or less she regularly beat jet travel, if you factored in the time inconvenience of staggered air flights and transport to and from an airport.

Before she let me talk to her about Gilgamesh and Gail’s proposal she first quizzed me on all my other projects.  The one she was most pleased about was Hank’s work on the juice pattern codification, followed closely by the progress on, but not the content of, the missing baby Arms.  When she finished listening, she assigned me three hours in Inferno to meditate while touching the Eskimo Spear, a new task I wasn’t happy to receive.  Her research monomania was, if anything, growing worse.