Gail tried to imagine Matt Narbanor as a revival preacher, and shook her head. Reverend Narbanor, one of her male Transforms, attracted older frugal Midwest congregants, people who understood the meaning of suffering and the value of a dollar, because they suffered through the Great Depression working six odd jobs at once. He lived the Book of Job, not the Book of Revelations. At first, Gail had despised him, but later she had found much to like in the wise older man.
“Anyway, you’re not the only Focus who’s camped out,” Beth said. “But mostly camping out works down in the south and I think there’s a bunch of equipment they use to make life more civilized. So you can come up with stuff, but it’s tough.”
Gail nodded. “I guess I can come up with some ideas,” she said. “But all of them take money. We’re barely bringing in enough to eat.”
Beth threw her empty bottle of Mountain Dew into the trash with a thunk and stood up. She looked at Gail and opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Instead, she paced.
“Beth?”
Beth turned around and faced her, hitching herself up on the corner of the desk.
“You want another hard suggestion?”
Gail nodded, cautiously.
“I think there’s a lot more money hidden away in your household than you realize.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you told me that many people in your household contributed much of their life savings.”
“Yes,” Gail said. She wondered where this was going.
“So where’s the rest of it? ‘Many’ people contributed ‘much’ of their life savings. Where’s the rest of the people, and the rest of the life savings?” Beth’s usually cheerful face was hard and intent now.
“Beth…”
“Houses,” Beth said. “How many of them own houses? They don’t need houses of their own any more if they’re living with you.”
“Beth, that’s horrible! I can’t ask them to…”
“You can ask. You need it. The household needs it.”
Gail shook her head. “They won’t agree.”
“So you insist. They’ll agree, because they must.”
“I can’t do any such thing! You’re talking about, what, threatening their juice supply if they don’t cooperate?” she said, shaking her head angrily. This was everything she feared, some other Focus coming up with logical reasons for her to become evil. Expediency.
“Threatening their juice supply is better than letting your household spend the winter in an open field. People die in Michigan winters.” Beth folded her arms, her eyes focused on Gail, with no give in her hard expression.
“Beth,” Gail said. “I can’t do that. How could I?”
Beth’s face softened now and her eyes were sad. “You do it because you must. Because you’re responsible for your household and the household needs a place to live.”
Gail shook her head again. “The juice weapon…” is evil, but she held back “…isn’t a good thing to use on people.”
Beth nodded. “Uh huh. You only do something like this if you’re out of options, and if it’s really important. But you should always know you can.” She paused. “So should they.”
Gail looked down at her hands. “You’re saying they need to know I can do this, so they might not push things so far next time?” How Machiavellian. If not Orwellian.
Beth nodded.
“But what if I don’t use the juice weapon only on the important things? What if I said, give me all your money so I can go gambling? Or wait on me hand and foot all day long?” Gail paused and put Focus Adkins airs into her voice. “If you don’t, I won’t give you juice.” Sniff.
“Then you would have all their money to gamble with, and they would wait on you hand and foot all day long,” Beth said. “If you did a good job manipulating the juice, they might even be grateful. Believe me, some Focuses do play those games.”
“Nobody should have power like that! Who stops me if I screw up? I can hurt people! I’ll turn into a monster!”
“You can kill people. In job lots,” Beth said, her voice gentle. “Some Focuses do. The authorities don’t care.” This Gail already knew. The threat of leaving Isabella, Bart’s Transform wife, untagged, was what she had used to win her freedom from her people’s chosen head of household. The police wouldn’t have done a thing. “There’s nothing to stop you except you yourself.”
“I don’t want this kind of responsibility!” Even though she had used her Focus tricks to gain her freedom, she had never before fully grasped the obvious logical extrapolation. She hadn’t wanted to understand. She could kill off everyone in her household who annoyed her, if she so desired, and the authorities wouldn’t even care.
“Few people do.”
Gail sat for a long time, looking down at her hands, and didn’t say anything. “I’m not good at this,” she said, after a few minutes. “I’m not cut out to be, well, hard enough.”
Beth nodded. “You’ll get better after a while. And there’s nothing wrong with being nice.”
Outside, the moving truck pulled away, going back for another load. Downstairs, Gail could sense Bob and Phil, still working and still guarding.
“Can you cope with a few more hard suggestions?” Beth said.
Gail laughed, bitterly. “Oh, sure. What the hell. Might as well get it all.”
“You probably ought to raise your income the same way. Require your people to contribute more of their income to the household. The normals as well as the Transforms, because they live there, too.”
“So I suppose I can insist with the normals, too?” A bad image wafted through her mind, of having to untag all her married Transforms to force their spouses to cough up the cash.
Beth nodded. “The Transforms have to live with you. If the normals want to live with you, too, they have to follow your rules.”
“That’s cold,” Gail said.
Beth nodded, again. “You want cold, wait until you meet a Focus with a mission.”
Gail looked away. There were some realities she didn’t want to think about. “Let’s change the subject, again,” she said. “Please?” She had daydreamed about arranging a little accident for Tricia, a normal annoyance daydream. The memory of her daydreams now sat like lead in her stomach, as she realized how many ways she might be able to arrange for such an accident to happen.
“Okay,” Beth said, a chuckle in her voice. “You want to talk about other ways of making money?”
“Sure. What else is there?”
Beth came over from her perch on the desk and sat down beside Gail again. “You’ve got a bunch of people out of work, right?”
Gail nodded. “Most of the Transforms.”
“Yeah, that’s normal. The folks out of work can work around the household. Upkeep, cooking, stuff like that. But the big trick is to get as many of your people working as you can.”
“We’re already doing that, sort of,” Gail said. “But how do we get anything more than dead-end minimum wage jobs?”
“Creativity,” Beth said, her eternal grin resurfacing.
“Oh, thanks.”
“It’s not so bad,” Beth said. “You’ve got a lot more options than you do trying to find a place to live.”
“Such as?”
“Standard jobs. A lot of times your people can find jobs, if they just keep plugging away and don’t let anyone find out they’re Transforms. They won’t have business references, which makes things tough, but it isn’t always impossible. Even better, sometimes your people who are working can get your other people in the door.”
Gail nodded. They already used that trick at the place where Gail worked as a waitress, the Olde Oak Barrel. Even as a relatively successful waitress, she didn’t bring in enough money to keep herself and Van fed, not after the household cut. “Okay.”
“But the most popular things are small businesses. Your out-of-work folks go into business for themselves. At least the ones with the right sort of skills. The rest of
your folks provide support. Like your hairdresser, the one you think is probably due to lose her job soon.”
Gail winced. “Trisha isn’t competent to run a business.”
“Exactly,” Beth said. “She doesn’t run the business. You do. Get someone else who’s unemployed to manage the books, and they can manage the books for a bunch of small businesses. Get someone to answer the phones. The only thing your Trisha person does is cut hair. Maybe train someone else to cut hair, too, so you can grow. You’ll need to invest some of the money you get when you sell all the houses, and you probably won’t make as much as they’d all make if they had their old jobs, but it’ll be a hell of a lot better than they’re making now. And you might make real money once the business gets established.”
“Hmm, I need to give this some thought. We’ve got an office manager, a clerk, a whole bunch of people who might be useful.”
Beth nodded. “See? Get creative. There’s all sorts of stuff you can do. There’s one Focus where the household makes these fancy Christmas tree ornaments. They’re all over the place at Christmas time. Landscaping. Auto repair. Maid service. Plumbing. Electricians. You can support a dozen different businesses running out of your household, each with their own phone line, and the same lady answering the phone for every one of them. Your household members can even teach each other. Apprenticeships.
“Or maybe they start out at a low paying job, one they’re overqualified for, but then they’re likely to get promoted quickly. Regional manager, that sort of thing. You need to avoid positions that are heavy on travel, but that still leaves a lot of room.”
“Yeah,” Gail said. “Let me think about this. I see some possibilities.” She did, too. She felt the weight lift from her shoulders at the real possibility of making more money.
“Don’t forget to think about yourself,” Beth said. “Focuses have some special talents and sometimes you can turn them into money. Sometimes good money. You shouldn’t have any problems with that.”
“Such as?” Gail was a little worried about the ‘you’.
Beth grinned. “For one, a couple of Focuses do commercials.”
“Commercials?”
“Yup. Commercials. You know all those commercials advertising perfect hands and skin? Those are Focuses. Normal people can’t ever look that good.”
“You’re kidding,” Gail said, offended by the deceit.
“Nope. Plus there’s other things. The circus thing. Special services. Like what Tonya does.”
“What does Tonya do?”
“You don’t know what Tonya Biggioni does?” Beth said, surprised.
Gail shook her head.
“Oh, have you lived a sheltered life. Tonya tames Transforms.”
“What!”
“I’m serious. You get a difficult Transform you can’t control, you send him and some money to Tonya, and poof! a few months later, back he comes, all happy and productive, real eager to do whatever you want.”
“Oh, no,” Gail said, horrified.
“Oh, yes,” Beth said. “They call her the Wicked Witch of the East. Transforms have nightmares about her. She’s the one who tamed the Arms, or so they say. The Arms used to poach household Transforms, until Tonya got to them. They don’t, anymore. Anyway, what she’s most famous for is taming problem Transforms.”
“What does she do to them?” Gail said, with an appalled curiosity.
Beth shrugged. “She changes their personality by manipulating their juice.”
“That’s awful!”
“You won’t get any argument from me. You see why I was so nervous about you at first? You’ve got the Wicked Witch of the East looking out for you, and she wants me to mentor you because she doesn’t think Wini Adkins is good enough for her. Wow. Not that this is a problem now that I know you, of course.”
“But she sounded so reasonable…” Gail said.
Beth shook her head in disbelief. “Hey, it’s getting late, and I need to get back to my real home. Yahwanna visit again next week?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Absolutely.”
Tonya Biggioni: September 6, 1968
“Hello?”
“Beth, it’s me, Tonya,” Tonya said. “So how’d things go?”
“They went wonderfully. Gail’s a saint, so new the shine hasn’t worn off. Friendly to a fault, unless you’re a corrupt politician or a foreign dictator. Did you know she’s actually gotten published in the Detroit Free Press?”
Tonya sighed. Beth was, alas, Beth. “She needs to be harder than that if she expects to run a household.”
“Uh, yah,” Beth said. “I gave her some hints and I think she’s going to take them. But she’s got a long way to go…and I’m not sure she wants to run her household.”
There was a lot more to get into along those lines, but Tonya pushed onward, in a different direction.
“So what did you think of her as a Focus?” No answer. Tonya heard the deep breathing stress reaction over the phone. “Beth?”
“Ma’am,” Beth said. Hesitant. “I’m not worthy to mentor a Focus with talents like hers. I’m just a middle of the road…”
“Beth,” Tonya said, firm. “You have five years on her.”
“…and she ignores my charisma as easily as you would,” Beth said, almost catty firm. Hmph. Perhaps Beth had a spine in there somewhere. “Tonya, please. She metasensed a nail I was about to step on, sticking out of a two-by-four, under a newspaper, in the middle of my new household. Impossible!”
Tonya shook her head. She could do that anywhere juice was around, but she didn’t want to brag. Beth was right. Damn few Focuses, especially new Focuses, could metasense the faint ambient household juice and understand what they metasensed. Tonya was glad she had caught on to Rickenbach’s potential. “If I could work the deal, I’d have her in Philly or up in Boston under Lori tomorrow. In Detroit, all I’ve got is you, Beth. Besides, she’s on the other side of the damned generation gap, the same as you are. The age similarity is worth a lot more than some minor differences in Focus potentials.”
“I’m only on the other side of the generation gap if you squint tightly,” Beth said. “And I’m…”
“Quit listening to Wini about your abilities, for one,” Tonya said. She hadn’t realized how badly the ruling first Focuses had screwed things up until she started digging into the mentoring problems. “You’re well above ‘middle of the road’, Beth, and your health sense is better than any other Focus. I certainly can’t diagnose the difference between a cold virus and bacterial pneumonia in a Transform.”
“Sorry. It’s, well, as the bitch patrol measures things, I don’t measure up,” Beth said. Bitch patrol, eh? Tonya realized she had been pressing Beth a bit hard. Well, pressure would be good for her.
“This year,” Tonya said.
“You thinking of joining Rizzari’s rebellion?”
Tonya laughed. “The thought did cross my mind, but, no, not today. Beth, you can do this. Be yourself, be friendly, and you’ll do fine.” Pause. “Besides, making friends with a rising Focus will do you good in the long term.”
“Ooh,” Beth said. “If I was in the Northeast Region, you’d definitely win my vote.”
Yes, Beth was growing herself a spine. If those two could get on, long term, they would make a hell of a team.
Chapter 6
It’s never too quiet for a Crow.
“The Life of Crows”
Gail Rickenbach: September 8, 1968 – September 13, 1968
“Sylvie? Can I grab a moment of your time?”
Sylvie was leaving the house with a plate of hot dogs and baked beans, and enjoying the perfect late-summer evening cool-down. Gail caught her as she came down the stairs of the front porch.
“Sure,” she said. “What’s up?” Sylvie’s tone was careful and controlled, almost formal. Gail sort-of read Sylvie’s mind as Sylvie mentally said a quick prayer wishing for no more juice experimentation sessions.
Gail winced inside. Sylvie had been
her best friend once, and it hurt that she could think of no way to bring the friendship back. After Gail made up with Reverend Narbanor she had regained a little of her former closeness with Sylvie, but the painful experimentation sessions Sylvie volunteered for had opened up the distance between them again. Van counseled patience, but he didn’t understand. After her transformation, Gail felt as if she lived on borrowed time. Everything happened far too quickly, and in the process she was drifting away from Van, Sylvie, and Sylvie’s husband Kurt. They would lose each other soon, if she couldn’t find a way to tie everyone back together. Her research team idea had worked for research, but hadn’t rekindled any of their friendships in a lasting fashion.
“I just want to talk,” Gail said.
“Okay,” Sylvie said, carefully agreeable. Gail thought about how different Sylvie’s reaction was from Phil’s cheerful willingness in Beth’s household. She pushed the thought aside; she already knew how badly she had mangled things. Besides, it hurt too much to sit back and watch your best friends edge away from you. Gail needed to fix things.
As Sylvie spoke, Gretchen Carlow and her boys passed by, heading into the house for dinner. Her husband wasn’t with her. Again. She watched Gail carefully as she passed distantly around her. Even her three boys were wary as they came near.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Gail said.
Sylvie nodded, agreeable, and Gail let them around to the side of the house, away from their little cluster of tents and plywood shacks. As Sylvie came nearer, the smell of hot dog and baked beans drifted to Gail’s nose, causing her stomach to rumble. She once thought she would get used to being hungry, but the ‘getting used to’ never seemed to happen, especially when she could taste what her Transforms were eating. Worse, after Virgil Conte made off with their household’s savings, her secret embarrassing nighttime garbage runs had turned lean. Nobody wasted food anymore.
In this Night We Own (The Commander Book 6) Page 11
