The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Six (2 page)

Her comment
drew a wan smile from Tonya.  “They are, in a purely physical fight.  However, the police never get to face the rats and apes once they’ve fully warped into Monsters.  During their initial changes, all the Monsters are rather dim-witted.  Once they’ve adjusted to being Monsters, they are much more dangerous and intelligent – and the rats and apes even more so, because they can do things along the lines of opening doors.”  She wasn’t about to tell Phoebe about the two traps the rodentoid had set for them.  The damn Monster must have led them back to its lair, after figuring out who hunted it.

If the media figured out exactly how smart and talented some
older Monsters were, the resultant furor wouldn’t be good – their view of Monsters was already too overblown.  There were even times when Tonya thought the Monsters were smarter than she was.  The fact that none of them were able to talk did have the salutatory effect of playing into peoples’ preconceptions of them as ‘dumb Monsters’ – a preconception Tonya had no desire to correct.  Transforms as a group had enough bad press already.

As Sam and Bobby came back with the first of the fallen Luke brothers, Tonya stood, stretched, and subtly led Phoebe away from the car they would use to take back the bodies.  Images of the fight flashed through Tonya’s mind, mixed with gut-gripping emotions of loss, and she fought both with her charisma.  In public, she had a particular image to maintain, that of the unflappable ice queen, mistress of all she surveyed.  Any sign of feminine weakness or inappropriate man-like anger wouldn’t fit the image.  Tonya was a lean and tall woman, a hair over five nine, with the native good looks and shapely curves that came with a Focus transformation.  She was forty-nine years old, but as did most Focuses she look
ed nineteen – a benefit of her transformation six years ago.  Her olive complexion was flawless and unlined, accentuated by the glowing energy coming from her strong body and excellent health.  A cascade of luxurious black curls that went down to her shoulders framed her face.  At the moment, she wore the clothes of a man, as she always did on a Monster hunt, one of the reasons she had refused Phoebe any photographers.  When in the media spotlight, she normally wore evening dress, as elegant as she and her cash-strapped household could afford.

“On to other subjects, Focus Biggioni,” Phoebe said
as they stopped a dozen feet from the parking lot, in the shade of an ancient red oak.  “You’re a Focus, and a victim of Transform Sickness.  Is it true the victims of Transform Sickness see actual benefits after surviving this deadly but thankfully rare disease?”

Gad!  Phoebe’s editor must have forced her to ask th
is old inane canned question.  Tonya had hoped this issue settled years ago.  She attempted to tune out the morbid sounds of Sam and Bobby loading Curtis’s remains into the car as she answered.  “It may sound strange, but all survivors of Transform Sickness gain benefits because of the new substance Transform Sickness introduces into their bodies, what the doctors and us Transforms call ‘juice’.  The benefits aren’t free – not even after you discount the small chance any Transform has to survive the disease and get lucky enough to get placed into a Focus household.  All Transforms are healthier and more vigorous once they’ve survived Transform Sickness – but in general, we need to eat more, as well.”  Not exactly true – Transforms were able to go without food and water longer than normal humans, but they weren’t very vigorous if they did so.  Nor was her answer complete – there were quite a few other benefits Transforms received, especially Focuses, benefits Tonya didn’t intend to reveal to the general public.  For one thing, the general public thought Focuses looked youthful just because they were absurdly healthy – not because they actually lost many of the deleterious side effects of advanced age, as was true.  “In the early days of the disease, people thought Transforms, even under the care of a Focus, were at death’s door, and might die at any time, like someone who’d suffered a major heart attack.  We know better now, but this misconception lives on.”

Phoebe nodded.  “Focus Biggioni, can you tell me why you hunt Monsters?  What advantages do you have over the normal law enforcement agents?”

Another canned question.  “Well, Miss Shanks, your question gets into what is special about a Focus.”  At least special from the public’s perspective.  Behind her, Sam and Bobby were struggling with Curtis’s body, and she heard Bobby swearing under his breath.  “As you know, female Transforms produce too much juice and male Transforms produce too little juice.  A Focus – as I am – can move juice from women to men and keep them alive.”  Though no one had ever figured out exactly how this movement happened.  It was physical – put a Transform in an airtight room, and Tonya couldn’t adjust his juice levels.  Nevertheless, Tonya could move juice at range, even outside, even in wind and rain (though not as efficiently), so Tonya doubted the standard story that she was somehow directing juice, as a vapor, from one Transform to another.  Well, the fact the researchers hadn’t figured out the details didn’t keep the juice from moving.

“To be able to move juice, though, means the Focus needs to be able to sense juice. 
What you in the media know of as ‘Transform telepathy’, and what we Focuses call the metasense.  Well, the metasense has another use, as well – I can sense the juice of Monsters, even when they’re hiding, though my range is short.  In most circumstances, I need to be within a hundred yards of a Monster to sense it.”  Not true, but the reporter didn’t need to know the details.  Her metasense wasn’t infallible – which she had known for years, and which the murderous rodentoid Monster had proven today.  On the other hand, at times when Tonya did her rural Monster hunting, her metasense range seemed much longer – and correspondingly less detailed.  “Being able to spot a hidden Monster gives me a very large advantage over normal police and other law enforcement agents.”

Phoebe chattered on, asking question after question, few of which taxed Tonya’s ability to answer.  She kept track of her people as they
continued to clean up the hunt aftermath.  Sam slammed the car door, Curtis finally successfully loaded in the back seat of the car.  Out of sight of the others, Rhonda knelt beside a tree, and lost herself in hysterics.  That would not do, but Tonya wouldn’t give her personal secretary grief over her loss of control.  For one thing, Tonya wanted to lose control, herself – and Rhonda had found a place to break down where only her Focus knew.  Tonya pumped Rhonda, increasing the amount of juice the woman Transform held in her system.  Not too much – too much would turn Rhonda into a Monster – as too much juice turned any woman Transform into a Monster.  Just enough extra juice to support Rhonda, make her feel better, make her loss easier to cope with.

“What can you tell us about failed Focuses, Focus Biggioni?” Phoebe said.

Ah, finally.  The meat of the interview, the real reason why the public would be interested in Transforms at all right now.  Public interest in Transform issues rose and fell, mostly a total disinterest, unless they had to interact with a known Transform (which the general members of the public didn’t like, which led to many problems), or there was some fracas in the Transform community bringing the Transforms back to the public attention.  Transform Sickness itself was old news, though always changing news, discovered and named in the early 1950s.

“I assume you are talking about Stacy Keaton?” Tonya said, putting her full attention on the reporter.

“Yes,” Phoebe said.  “The public knows about the manhunt, um, womanhunt, uh, after her, and the many people she’s killed, and the killing spree she went on last year.  What they don’t know about her is what she’s like as a Transform – how she fits into the Transform universe.”

What Tonya wanted to say was that she didn’t know what to make of Stacy Keaton, either.  “No one is quite sure
if Stacy Keaton is a failed Focus, because she was held in seclusion by the government after her transformation – and they aren’t talking, because of what they term ‘national security’.  A great many people consider Stacy Keaton to be simply a Monster, just like the one my people disposed of today,” Tonya said.  “Consider, though, that Keaton still can pass as human.  She can rob liquor stores and banks.  She can use firearms, drive cars, and talk.  This isn’t Monster behavior.  We do know she was found during what appeared to be a Focus transformation, but that something went dreadfully wrong and her attendants died.”

“Attendants?”

Tonya glared, her charisma – the number one Focus benefit she wouldn’t ever tell the reporter about – useless at the moment with the reporter’s interest so engaged.

“When a Focus transforms, three or four nearby women most commonly transform as well, what is termed an induced transformation.  These are the Focus’s attendants.”

“They become woman Transforms?  I didn’t know that.  I didn’t think Transform Sickness was contagious,” Phoebe said.  “I mean, Transform Sickness’s been traced to the Listeria bacteria and food poisoning, right?”

“Yes and no,” Tonya said.  “Transform Sickness is caused by two, apparently new, variants of Listeria.  These variants multiply on carrion, including things as innocuous as road-kill, and are now apparently everywhere.  However, most of the time, nearly everyone is immune to them.”  That wasn’t the right terminology, Tonya knew, but she wasn’t a doctor, heaven forbid!  It wasn’t immunity, actually.  “However, a Focus’s attendants don’t catch Transform Sickness.  They just Transform.  No one is sure why.”

“Very strange,” Phoebe said.  Tonya nodded, but didn’t elaborate.  She knew far more on the subject, much more frightening things that she wasn’t about to discuss.  “So Stacy Keaton’s attendants died, and because of this she went insane, and has become a psychotic killing machine?”

“I don’t believe they are connected,” Tonya said.  “All I know is that Stacy Keaton has a hunger for juice, and can take juice from Transforms.  This is half of what a Focus does.  She’s also rumored to be unable to move juice at range like a Focus does – according to what I know, she has to touch her victims to take juice from them.  Lastly, when she takes juice, she kills her victims – which a Focus can do without harm.  This may make her a failed Focus, but there are other possibilities.”

“Pardon me for asking this question this way, Focus Biggioni, but if something happened to you and you went insane, could you become as successful a serial killer as Stacy Keaton?”

Tonya met the reporter’s eyes, and smiled.  “Be serious.  Do I look like any sort of threat to you?”

Phoebe shook her head.  “You look like a college kid who plays tennis several times a week,” the reporter said.  Exactly as Tonya desired.  Tonya’s true opinion was that if she cracked and turned into a killing machine, she would be able to mow through several orders of magnitude more victims than that damned Monster, Keaton.  Although she wouldn’t do so by becoming an over-muscled fake man, as Keaton had turned herself into – or Transform Sickness had turned her into.  With the damned juice at work, you could never tell.

“I’ve done some investigating around and caught a few rumors that Stacy Keaton isn’t unique,” Phoebe said.  Damn.  Tonya was hoping to avoid th
e subject.

“You ever hear of Armenigar’s Syndrome?” Tonya asked.

Phoebe nodded.  “Yeah.  Armenigar’s Syndrome is supposed to be a fatal malady that strikes new Focuses, isn’t it, Focus Biggioni?”

Tonya nodded to the reporter, and snagged her eyes again.  “Although the government is not talking, my researcher contacts
believe Stacy Keaton had Armenigar’s Syndrome, and survived it,” Tonya said.  “So did a Focus in Canada and one in West Germany.  There may be others.”

“So Stacy Keaton’s an Arm?  That’s the way the Canadian press refers to the one in Canada,” Phoebe said.  “The Canadian Arm isn’t a serial killer, is she?”

The comment brought an inner smile to Tonya, as the term ‘serial killer’ hadn’t even been used before Stacy Keaton started her criminal career.  “She killed a few household Transforms in her day, before she was tamed by a group of Canadian Focuses.”  Using methods they won’t share with us because of stupid political games, the bitches.  “To anticipate your next question, no, the American Focuses haven’t been able to tame Stacy Keaton, either.  We haven’t been able to find her to even try.”

---

“You have a visitor,” Honey Landis whispered to Tonya, just after she stepped through the door into her office.  Office, and living quarters, and storeroom, all in one.  At one point, this place had been a motel, until the owners had read the writing on the wall, or the City Council meeting notes in this case, and let it decay into decrepitude.  Tonya’s household had picked it up as a rental unit while she and her people worked on making their new place, a former inner-city hotel, livable.  In a few months, workers would tear down this suburban motel to make room for a new interstate highway.  All in the name of progress, to cut down on the traffic jams and make Philadelphia a more vibrant city.

“Who is it?” Tonya said.  She had hoped to get at least a few moments of rest, perhaps even a little time to grieve, a little time to comfort those who had been close to the Luke brothers.

“Ma’am, she said she spoke for Focus DeYoung.”

“Spoke for?”

Honey shrugged.  Honey was Tonya’s head of household, her number one Transform, and, to be honest, her head snitch as well.  Tonya heard about any of her people who got on Honey’s bad side, and if warranted, punished them.  Lowered their juice to painful levels. Tonya’s job was to maintain the flow of juice from Transform to Transform, to keep them as close to the optimum as possible.  However, she could use her ability to move juice against Transforms as well, as punishment.  Having low juice was painful, a good lesson for those who slacked off in their work or who didn’t obey orders.  A Focus household wasn’t a place for laggards and malcontents, with everyone crammed together and always in each other’s hair – they had to get along, and work hard, or else.