Got that? I certainly wouldn’t have during Teas’ interview.
Hmm. February 2nd was the day after a bank robbery in Kalamazoo, Michigan. I had spent the day doing paperwork…oh, and I got the letter from Gilgamesh detailing his Crows-eye-view of the goings on in Philadelphia at the end of my training. I had done a lot of meditating and thinking that day, worried about how sucky the Arms’ political situation was and how smart I was to try and make friends with Gilgamesh.
“I woke up in the morning in my home in Chicago and worked out. I went to my Chicago office, did paperwork regarding my business activities, went home, worked out again, ate dinner, went to a gym and worked out again, including some sparring with a couple different boxers. After the gym closed I did a full Arm-style workout, the type nobody else is supposed to see.”
“Did you hunt down any Transforms on February 2nd?”
“No.”
“Did you have any other interactions with any Transforms on February 2nd?”
“No.” A lie, sort of. I wasn’t sure reading a letter from a Crow counted, and I wasn’t giving up Gilgamesh.
“Have you ever hunted Detroit?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I never felt like it,” I said. Another lie, told to cover Keaton, who claimed Detroit as her territory. I was willing to talk about Keaton’s Philadelphia activities and hunting, but information about Detroit was current. No way would I give up Keaton.
The questions went on and on, strange questions. From the questions and the involuntary reactions of Teas and her people, I learned that someone had been killing tagged Transforms. Twenty-six if my count was correct; twenty-seven if you added in the one I did kill, Kensington, which Teas did ask me about.
The funny thing is, Teas didn’t think I had killed anyone besides Kensington. These questions weren’t hers, but someone else’s. She just followed the party line. Which I found both distressing and interesting.
Sometime around dinner Teas finished with me. She knew how bad off I was, worry I saw on her face once or twice. Just after Teas left McIntyre came to visit, also in the official visiting area.
“Good news, Carol,” McIntyre said. He had a zinger, I read in his body language. “We have juice for you.”
It took all I was worth to keep from dropping into a stalk or going full predator. A quick glance at McIntyre showed his disappointment, so I rushed the Monster-proof net, grabbed it, shook it, and gave McIntyre a few low-wattage snarls. “Yes,” I said. “Juice. I need it badly.”
“You’re going to have to wait.” McIntyre smiled, happy with my display. Yup, the zinger. “It’s scheduled for 4:30 tomorrow morning, followed immediately by the surgery you requested. However, the doctors have requested their aides have access to your cell tonight to set up for the surgery. So, if you wouldn’t mind, we’re going to place you back in your original cell for the juice draw.”
I wanted to lose my temper then, but didn’t. I didn’t like being played with, so I turned it around on him. “So, McIntyre, are you going to be my volunteer sex slave after the surgery’s done?” I smiled and gave him a full dose of seductive predator.
He waved his hands at me and walked away, muttering “Disgusting” under his breath.
My cell door opened to admit a squad of armed guards, to move me to my old cell. I went quietly.
Gilgamesh: March 12, 1968 – March 14, 1968
HC
How about this? You join me and be mine. If you’re right and we rescue the Student, then you go back to being hers. This will remove these trust issues we’re having and allow us to have a complete conversation about the issue at hand.
SK
SK
I must apologize. I cannot do what you desire. Your former student and I were reborn at about the same time, and I fear for my independence around those who are more experienced. Including those of my own kind.
HC
HC
I can’t say I can’t sympathize, given my problems with the Ladies. I guess we’ll do this the hard way. To rebuild my trust, I need to know many things. Let’s start with my most basic bit of ignorance: how good is your fancy eyesight and what the fuck does it sense?
SK
SK
Pardon my difficulties with this; this is information those of my kind consider confidential and does vary from one of us to the other. My fancy eyesight reaches about 5 miles. I sense waste products, those who produce them, and often what is in their immediate possession.
Also pardon my worries for the student’s sake. I fear our discussion is taking too long.
HC
Carol Hancock: March 15, 1968
“You only need the upper body cast for today,” Dr. Wilson said. “Given your proven rate of healing, 14 hours should suffice. However, I’m going to suggest you refrain from high intensity exercises for 36 hours after the cast is taken off.”
“I like your tie,” I said. “Who’s whispering?”
I was high on juice and Dr. Wilson had just finished his surgery. He had indeed consulted with Zielinski. According to him.
Dr. Wilson wrote down notes. “I don’t hear any whispering.”
Surgery while I was out from a juice draw left me feeling stretched, like a drop of blood squeezed between two microscope slides. I wasn’t at all horny, but with a little stimulation I bet I would get interested. I listened to the whispering again and focused my hearing.
Nothing changed.
Oh. So the voices were in my head. Great. “You’re right. It’s in my head. I’ll get used to them,” I said. “By the way, not only does your wife have good taste in clothes, I like her perfume.”
The whispering didn’t go away. While I recovered and ate a late breakfast only an Arm would be able to enjoy, I was able to make out the whispered word: ‘Murderer’. Spoken by many different tongues.
---
“…despite appearances, she isn’t secure,” McIntyre said. He sounded on the futile end of a losing argument.
“No problem,” a woman’s voice said. Focus Teas. She hadn’t been a low-juice hallucination! I wasn’t sure whether my realization was good news or bad. “I’m a leading Focus and I have her measure. She’s no threat to me.”
“Ma’am, she can rip you in half.”
“So?” Teas said, ending her comment with one of her common laugh-punctuations. “I’d probably survive. Focuses are just as tough as Arms, even if we can’t deal out the punishment the same way an Arm can.” Another laugh. “My guards have a sewing kit and needles, just in case.”
They both came around the bed where I lay shackled, still in lockdown from the surgery. Teas had two bodyguards in the room, both normals. I sensed around with my metasense, ever more painful to use, alas, and found two more bodyguards in the viewing area, both Transforms.
I needed to pay attention and stop letting my mind wander into high-juice diversions. This was my first chance to deal with either Teas or McIntyre with decent juice. If I ever had a time to take advantage of my non-combat Arm tricks, the time was now.
Teas was in a bad mood, although she covered her emotions well.
“Arm Hancock,” she said. “I’ve been instructed to use a harsher variety of questioning than I’ve used before. It would be in your best interest to behave.”
She did something that shivered my juice. I recalled Lori’s threat display and nodded. I wasn’t in any position to fight back and I didn’t want to become a Monster.
I also had to stomp hard on my own instinctive threat displays. Going fully Arm right now would ruin my façade of cooperation. On the other hand…
“You dare!” I bellowed, allowing some mild predator into my voice. “I’m not cooperating with this travesty in the slightest, bitch.”
Both McIntyre and Teas flinched but didn’t step back. “I’ll remind you, Hancock, that we just did you a huge favor with this surgery,” McIntyre said. “You will cooperate if you ever want to get out of this bed. I believe Dr. White is interested
in the changes your body’s gone through and would like to examine them closely.” McIntyre made a throat cutting motion. White climbed ever higher on my personal shit list. After a long stage-acted pause, McIntyre continued. “You owe us, Hancock.”
I made a show of fighting down my rage. “Fine,” I said, not meeting either gaze. “Don’t expect me to like this. I endured enough torture as Keaton’s student. I ever tell you about the time she eviscerated me and left my guts hanging…” McIntyre glared and I stopped my spiel.
Teas snapped her fingers and one of her bodyguards approached, carrying a thick notepad and the tape recorder. Teas came up close to me and started to sing, softly, making goofy hand gestures while she did so. She mixed into the hand gestures a message, using the Transform non-verbal communication tricks Zielinski and Keaton taught me: “Don’t take this personal. I was ordered to do this.” Her singing gave me an instant headache; I recognized her trick as an advanced Focus charisma technique.
I caught a lot more from Teas than she wanted me to learn; I buried my knowledge deep to think about later.
“Describe your activities of February 2nd, 1968, please,” Teas sang. “In full.”
Oh. This set of questions, again. I relaxed inside, because I wouldn’t need to overtly lie to answer them.
Teas’ charisma lacked the strength to compel any answers from me, but while under her charisma I wouldn’t be able to successfully tell any overt lies.
To add verisimilitude to the entire arrangement, I decided to tell a version of the truth where I had overtly lied before.
For instance, when the question about why I didn’t hunt Detroit came up, I answered: “I was ordered by the Arm, Stacy Keaton, not to hunt Detroit. I don’t know why, exactly.” A minor fib: Keaton liked to hunt there, for whatever screwy reason. My shading of this bit of truth passed inspection, as did my others.
What I picked up from Teas was that she was both defying and betraying her superiors in her night-time recruitment sessions. I found her betrayal most intriguing and troubling. Teas wasn’t at all trustworthy and I needed to be careful around her.
---
“With my juice count up, I think I can help you in a way I’ve never helped, before,” I told McIntyre. I had just finished my lunch and he and I were chatting, or to look at things a different way, I subtly and slowly recruited him. I wasn’t making fast progress. He may have been a thoroughly rotten bastard, but he was a seasoned and willful professional FBI agent, which made him damned hard to recruit.
I had his interest now. “How so?” He half expected me to make another pass at him.
I sprung my surprise. “Get me a lump of drawing charcoal and a drawing pad and I’ll show you.”
McIntyre paused and smiled. I didn’t have to explain, him being a quite smart thoroughly rotten bastard. He told the intercom to make it so. Ten minutes later I had what I requested.
I first drew him a picture of Enkidu. I had drawn Enkidu before, so this was easy. “Chimeras change shape, but this is what he looked like back in September.”
“Interesting.”
“I could color it in if I had some colored pencils…”
McIntyre laughed. “Right. Try something less useful as a weapon. Chalk, for instance.”
“Sure. Have your people leave the chalk when you’re done questioning me.” I doubted they had artist’s chalk easily accessible. I did another charcoal drawing, this time of Officer Canon.
“You’ve got to be shitting me, Hancock.”
I smiled at the success of my gambit. “You know him, don’t you?”
McIntyre paced, worried. “I’ve met him several times, and, yes, I’ve always thought he was a bit off.”
“He struck you as effeminate not because he’s a homosexual, but because he’s a she, a Focus in disguise.” Heh. Time to get what I needed to someday exact my revenge. “What name do you know him by?” I said, doing my predatory damnedest to seduce the information out of McIntyre.
“No way,” McIntyre said. He turned to look at me. The motherfucker had played me as much as I had been playing him; he wasn’t the least affected by my blandishments. “I’m familiar with your games, Carol. You’re not getting shit out of me.”
Fuck.
“He set me up, dammit! Well, she, if my guess is correct she’s a Focus.”
“For which he or she deserves the fucking Congressional Medal of Honor,” McIntyre said. “You want brownie points from me? Draw me a picture of the Chimera you call Odin.”
I did. I suspected my drawing would win back his trust.
“Finished,” I said, showing my artwork to McIntyre.
He nodded and smiled. “Thought so. Thank you. If you’re interested, I now believe your suppositions about the Big Rig Killers, that they’re Chimeras and their packs, not an Arm playing games. Odin, here, is known of in FBI circles as ‘Big Dick’; I’ve seen very good photographs of him we’ve kept out of the media.”
“Glad to be of help,” I said. “They’re a threat to all Transforms.” I drew another. “This is Odin’s man-shape.”
McIntyre whistled and actually grinned at me. His reactions were puzzling and interesting. He told me far more than he should have with his comments about Odin and the Big Rig Killers, a definite violation of interrogation procedures. Which meant I had gotten to him in a significant fashion. Yet he hadn’t given me Officer Canon’s name.
So far in my career I had recruited mostly low-end types. I was able to fully recruit those people, and I did so with far less effort than I expended on McIntyre. The dance I did with McIntyre showed that recruiting high-end types wouldn’t be anywhere near as easy as thug recruiting. McIntyre was a complex man with many twists and turns in his soul. I only got his edges; his core remained out of my reach and would likely remain so unless I found a way to come up with a much better lever.
I drew some more. “Here’s a picture of the Chimera I killed.” I would be able to keep this up forever.
Someday I wanted recruits as good as McIntyre.
---
Dr. Wilson removed my upper body cast at 10 PM and I started to exercise, a long slow process. My shoulder did feel much better, although it was weak. No escaping now, not only because of my shoulder, but also because I didn’t have a complete plan. I would be able to get through the door by burning when someone came in and I would be able to force the second door I knew about only by sound, because they hadn’t reinforced the second door enough to stop me. Beyond the second door? Nothing. I suspected this place was set up so I wouldn’t be able to survive a straightforward escape. I needed a trick, or some decent help.
The damned whispering didn’t ever stop. I even tried talking to the whispers but didn’t get a response. I was fucking tired of the whispers calling me a murderer, thank you very much.
One source of help came by at midnight to talk to me.
“Focus Teas,” I said, and stopped my lunge set (at one hundred thirty five). “Why don’t you come join me in here?”
“I would if I could,” laugh. “Your door is sealed at night and takes three people to open, and they all need to know the codes.” Focus Teas came up to the Monster-proof net. “You look a lot better. Your juice reactions are just amazing!”
Yet more good intel.
What I had caught when Teas interviewed me earlier dampened my already low enthusiasm for working with her. I had peered into her dark heart and she was a betrayer. She betrayed her bosses, her friends, likely even her own Transforms, on a regular basis. Worse? She often betrayed herself. She was far too whimsical to be trustworthy.
She also spewed information like a fire hose.
“So,” I said. “How are you going to get me out of here?”
“Oh, there are several ways,” she said. Laugh. “The easiest would be to have you sign a contract with the Federal Marshals to be a consultant. You’d be working with me and for me, of course.”
Oh. The final authority over my disposition would be with the Feder
al Marshals, not the FBI, and Teas had the Federal Marshals under her petite cultured thumb.
“What if the Feds get sticky about letting me go?”
“That’s always a problem,” laugh. “I might be able to talk them into simply releasing you. If not, there’s a scheme we’ve used with Focuses before, similar to how you shipped a dead male Monster to a mutual friend of ours.”
Perhaps two fire hoses. She implied Focuses escaped from places this secure in the past, some Focuses changed identities (which I hadn’t expected), and she and Focus Rizzari exchanged information. I sure as hell hoped Lori understood how dangerous it was to dance with this betraying twit.
“I’m not setting myself up to be autopsied, Sarah!”
“Oh posh and twaddle,” Teas said. Laugh. “Pain’s just the way the universe reminds you you’re a damned Major Transform. You’d survive being ‘dead’ and formaldehyde’s a good preservative. Besides, doctors are far easier to influence than Federal agents.”
Thanks for the tip. I will admit I practically lost my composure with her formaldehyde comment. To put this in Keatonic terms: how fucking much could I survive, anyway?
“Why don’t we work on having you talk them into letting me go,” I said. “Say, tomorrow.”
Now she got nervous. “One thing, though,” she said.
“Yes?”
“You have to let me tag you.”
“Huh? But Focuses can only tag Transforms.”
“A Focus can tag anything, even the furniture.” Laugh. “One of my discoveries. I’ve made a lot of them. Now, I wasn’t the first of the Focuses who figured out a Focus could tag other people besides her own Transforms. Focus Patterson did, when she found a way to tag an already tagged Transform and not displace the existing tag. I did the rest.”
A Method Truly Sublime (The Commander) Page 8
