The only good news was that no one in their right mind in the FBI, from Hoover on down, wanted Zielinski brought to trial. He knew far too much. So far the Johnson administration agreed, and discretely interfered with all the prosecutors involved. Save for the ‘kill all the Transforms’ idiot prosecutor in Mississippi, the indictments would likely all be quickly dropped. The scuttlebutt around the Addi was that the Mississippi guy would need to be bought off.
This was only a couple of days of legal trouble. Zielinski couldn’t predict what the next week would bring.
“So, what information have you managed to dig up?” Bates said.
“Quite a lot, but all of it basic.” His new Crow friends had been willing to go on at quite impressive length in their whispered voices when they talked about dross. He had learned about gristle and sweet dross and spicy dross, where it all came from and the many differences in flavor. He hadn’t learned anything about Crow politics. Every time he tried to talk politics with a Crow, he found himself in a theoretical discussion of Marxist doctrine, or pure Adam Smith doctrine vs. its modern adaptations. Or government theory as it affected socio-economic development, or differences in feudal systems between medieval Europe and Japan. Or sports.
When he finished his report to Tommy, the room grew quiet for a moment. “In any event, Hank, your four Crows are out of here as of this morning,” Bates said, snuffing out his cigarette. Unfiltered Camels, which always made Zielinski feel like he was about to break out in hives. Almost as bad as Muriel Air Tips and Swisher Sweets. “Whoever’s giving them orders or suggestions…”
“Shadow,” Zielinski said, interrupting. “Their Guru, although we’re not quite sure what ‘Guru’ means to a Crow. Teacher. Inventor. Famous artist. Just about anything but ‘master’.” He paused. “So Shadow pulled them out after just two days. Any idea?”
“Uh huh. New project. Got a broken Crow for you to fix by the name of Sky, a Crow who apparently went nuts. Shadow thinks you might be able to save him. You’ve impressed him.” Zielinski suspected Occum’s good word also helped a lot, especially relevant after he learned Occum also looked to Shadow to be his Guru. “He’s going to cough up something big for the Network. For this, you might even get a few medical supplies, if…”
“Yes!” Zielinski said, bouncing out of his chair. “I need juice count samplers and a juice analyzer. The TI 1232 would do nicely, or a 1228 if you want to get an outdated version. I’ll need cleaning equipment, a biopsy needle, a…” Zielinski continued on, requesting an entire catalog of equipment, most of which would never be approved. All the groundwork he did with Occum had really paid off.
Goldstein laughed. “Zielinski, you’re just unbelievable. You’ve got a mob contract out on you paid for by one of the first Focuses. You’ve got a juice poisoning problem that could kill you at any time. Patrelle’s Transform Task Force could kark you at any moment. You’ve got Federal prosecutors after you just to make a point. I even know of several former Network contacts who would shoot you on sight for what you do with the Arms. And despite all that, you still act like you’re the king of the world.” The lawyer paused. “And pull all the strings necessary to pull it off. Simply unbelievable.”
---
The Crow Sky huddled in the corner of the cell, still wearing the straightjacket and shackles a nervous FBI doctor had ordered up. The Crow was ‘extremely dangerous’, in their opinion. Zielinski just rolled his eyes and made sure he had a bunch of extra food with him and also made sure he would be left alone. Warm, freshly cooked food. He sat down next to Sky and talked to him in a carefully calm, considerate tone of voice.
About twenty minutes later, Sky finally nodded. “I agree Doc we can give it a try though this is a very strange method of meditation and I hope you don’t get tired of hearing me talk because once I get started I can barely ever stop.”
Zielinski plucked a key out of his pocket, unshackled Sky, and removed his straightjacket. He remembered the voice; this Crow had once been the disguised truck driver who ferried him from Montreal to Boston. Interesting.
Sky tore into the food as if he had never seen food before. After he finished, he knelt in front of Zielinski and concentrated for about a half hour.
Sky looked up when he finished, frowning. “Doc, I’m not cured I hoped I was cured but I’m not everything’s still going by at a million miles an hour and I can’t stop Doc make me stop. Can I?”
Zielinski rubbed his chin. “Hold out your arm.” Sky did, but his arm shook; he grabbed his right arm with his left arm and steadied it, somewhat. Zielinski studied the fingers on Sky’s right arm.
“Asymmetric finger muscle spasms. You’re still technically in juice withdrawal.” Zielinski had hoped his own personal yet meager supply of dross and the suggested meditation technique would be enough to bring the Crow out. No luck.
“Withdrawal? You’re not a Transform Doc you shouldn’t have any dross at all and your dross is strange like it’s watered down and skunky to start with which is impossible as dross only gets skunky after big violent things or lots of time has passed Doc what are you anyway I swear I’ve seen you before.”
Every Crow in the entire country seemed to have their own personal terminology for what they did as Transforms. The personal terminology was enough to drive Zielinski buggy. He suspected a world-view difference lay behind the differences in terminology, as if the world was slightly different to the perceptions of each Crow. Which made no sense. The worst he had encountered was Orange Sunshine, who used inappropriate quantum mechanics terminology to explain everything.
“Technically speaking, it’s peri-withdrawal, the edge of withdrawal. Crows must be relatively tolerant of peri-withdrawal. Something is draining your juice, but stops when your juice runs out.”
“You try this and tell me then how this isn’t horrible it’s horrible I can’t hardly remember anything of my life I’ve been in this state too long this whole thing is horrible what’s with the fingers Doc why can’t I stop thinking or speaking or seeing or anything this just keeps coming and going and doing and I have no idea how to stop this Doc help me.”
“As far as my dross is concerned, some bad guys injected me with Monster juice a little over a year ago,” Zielinski said. “At one time, I thought I had it all cleaned out, but I recently learned that a little remains behind, and has tricked half my adrenal gland into a partial transformation. My problem area produces contaminated juice, which you Crows can see as dross and remove from me. Unfortunately, I had my latest batch stripped from me two days ago, so I didn’t have much to offer.”
“That’s okay Doc dross hasn’t done much for me yet Focus Rizzari made sure I had lots and lots and lots I just use it up almost immediately what about the fingers?”
Rizzari? Sky knows Rizzari? She had never mentioned him. Damn that woman. She’s near as bad as I am about such things, Zielinski decided. Then he figured everything out.
Hell. No wonder everyone kept quiet about Rizzari’s lover. Her lover was a Crow! That explained why she had been so distracted. Who knows what insanity the juice would pull on two Major Transforms who fell for each other.
“The fingers?” Zielinski said. “I’ve seen it before, on a Focus who got so worked up over pleasing her people that she ran herself down to the edge of withdrawal and got herself stuck there, which is a rather strange state for a juice producer to get into. She forced herself to use juice faster than she produced it, an artificial withdrawal state. Of course whenever she pushed herself into the edge of withdrawal she stopped being able to move juice, which brought her back enough to come out for a moment, then the whole thing would cycle back. That’s what produces the asymmetric shaking.” Sky curled up on the floor. Zielinski knelt down beside him.
“What were you doing when you fell into this state?” Zielinski asked.
“Uh I can’t say Doc it’s a big secret save that SHE would come by and torture me if I ever breathed a word to anyone and in this state Doc I’m not sure I can co
ntrol myself so don’t ask if I ever have to die I would rather it not be in HER hands I’d rather withdrawal or put a bullet in my head SHE is the darkness the void my dreadful Kali and I can’t speak of HER at all because SHE would kill me anyway Doc.”
Zielinski nodded, able to decipher Sky’s statements with ease. Sky must have accompanied Lori and Keaton on their rescue of Hancock. Biggioni had said that bad juice polluted the CDC’s Detention Center building. Had the bad juice driven Sky into such a state? The Crow didn’t have the greasy feeling of bad juice now, though – someone else must have removed the bad juice. Unfortunately, simple removal hadn’t cured the state. Puzzling. Sky’s problem implied the bad juice had caused permanent changes.
What, then, was bad juice? How could bad juice do such things?
“Um, although you can’t say anything about the details, Sky, did SHE know you were a Crow?” It didn’t stretch the brain much to figure out who SHE was, as there was only one SHE in the country able to do such things. Unless Sky meant the Canadian SHE, but he doubted it. The Canadian SHE didn’t get along with people much at all, according to his sources.
“No Doc of course SHE didn’t I’m here talking to you instead of being her pet she thought I was a Transform but everyone else knew who I was including Focus Rizzari who I shouldn’t say anything about.” Sky started to cry.
Zielinski thought about it while he held Sky’s hand and tried to comfort him. The Focus feedback loop, which led to artificial withdrawal, started after the Focus decided she was losing control of the juice in her household. She had been pushing juice back and forth for no reason at all, to where she had driven herself into juice exhaustion. He finally took her out of range of all her household Transforms. Five days later, the residual linkages between the Focus and her household dissipated, and the feedback loop stopped. Whatever residual linkages were. Most household Transforms could go substantially more than five days without juice adjustment, though quite a few Focuses refused to admit it.
Sky had overused something, but Zielinski had no idea what. He didn’t understand how Crows functioned and what they used juice for. What use was the dross they craved? Did they convert it to juice. Why bother? Why not just be a straight juice producer?
Sky’s condition would need some thought and study. Zielinski turned away from the Crow and smiled, sensing fruitful work ahead.
Chapter 14
In 1967 it is estimated that 7 male Sports transformed in the United States. Of those only 1 is known to have survived 9 months past his transformation.
“Understanding Transform Sickness as a Disease”
Carol Hancock: ?
It was dark. It was cool and dark. I liked the cool and the dark.
I hurt. I curled around myself, folded up as tight as possible, in the cool, silent darkness. My lord and master’s servant tended me.
I craved. I needed juice. The need for juice was a burning longing inside of me. There had been lots of juice not too long ago, but the juice went away so very quickly.
I hurt.
I curled tight around myself, but I was not in the cool darkness. There was light, bright, terrible light, and the vibrations of motion.
My lord and master came to me and led me through the bright light places.
Off in the distance, the bright glow of Transform prey appeared to my metasense.
My lord and master led me to the prey.
“Kill,” the terrible voice of my lord and master said.
I killed.
It was dark. It was cool and dark. I liked the cool and the dark.
The craving was a nagging, low-grade thing. I wanted more. The juice lasted such a short amount of time.
I hurt. I hurt terribly. The agony within me was a horror.
When I uncurled from my tight ball the convulsions came, horrible, agonizing, thrashing things, as every muscle contracted and cramped, and then spasmed and twitched. Terrible, muscle locking eternal agony. On and on and on. My master’s servant comforted me and I clung to him as if he was the only thing keeping me from madness.
It was dark. It was cool and dark. I liked the cool and the dark.
The craving was a nagging, low-grade thing. I wanted more.
I hurt. I hurt terribly. The agony within me was a horror.
My lord and master and her servant had left me alone in the cool darkness. I dared to uncurl from my tight ball. I did not suffer from convulsions this time.
I was hungry. There was food in a bowl on the floor. I ate.
I noticed there was exercise equipment in the darkness with me. I knew exercise would make the hurt better. I crept to a bench.
I tried to push up the bar over the bench, but the bar was too heavy. I went to the next bench to try something different, but the chain on my leg tangled and I fell.
It was dark. It was cool and dark. I liked the cool and the dark. I curled into my ball.
I craved. I needed juice. The need for juice was a burning longing inside of me.
I hurt.
I curled up tight around myself, but I was not in the cool darkness. I was in the back of a car, traveling mile after long mile in the bright light.
Off in the distance the bright glow of a Transform appeared to my metasense. I went wild, so my lord and master brought out the Demon, who tamed me momentarily. Then my lord and master brought me closer and closer and closer to my juice, directed by my lord and master’s servant. Out of the car into the bright light. Right up to the prey.
“Kill,” my lord and master said to me.
I killed.
The kill was good. The kill left me with a half-satisfied longing.
I wanted more juice.
I craved. I needed juice. It was a burning longing inside of me.
I hurt.
I curled up tight around myself, in the back of the car, as my lord and master drove me to my juice. My lord and master let me out of the car, and I sniffed. My prey was that way. I ran. My lord and master followed, at a distance. My lord and master was happy I ran. I reached my prey. My prey was bound, unmoving, among the trees.
“Kill,” my lord and master said.
I did as my lord and master said. I killed.
I wanted more than this.
I cried.
The terrible horror consumed me and I cried and cried and cried. I could not stop. There was nothing but the horror, and the nightmare, and the terrible consuming misery. I cried for hour after hour, broken, shattered tears, dragged out of me like monsters pulling my insides out. Wracking, heartrending sobs.
The lord and master’s servant held me, rocked me, cried with me. I knew love, but his love didn’t suffice.
I ate, and slept, and cried again. The misery, the hell, hour after hour after hour. So soon after my last kill, I craved juice again. I knew the craving came too soon. I did not know why.
“Kill,” my lord and master said. More prey, tied before me.
I killed.
Something changed inside me. I knew myself. I was not able to speak but I knew myself.
I was Carol.
I was Carol Hancock.
I was an Arm.
No.
I am Carol Hancock, and I’m an Arm.
…
My name is Carol Hancock and I’m an Arm. As usual, I’m in my usual habitat: deep deep shit.
But I’m getting better.
From the cohort of 12,600 who survived the initial disease (Listeriosis B and C) and who didn’t make a Transformation (11,400), that left 1,200 who would later be proven to be immune to all forms of Transformation. Although this immunity was well known in this era among researchers, the actual very important number of those in the general population who were actively immune to Listeriosis B and C was not known nor could it then be estimated.
“Understanding Transform Sickness as a Disease”
Dr. Henry Zielinski et al., 1978
Books by this Author
The Commander Series:
Once We Were Huma
n
Now We Are Monsters
All Beasts Together
A Method Truly Sublime
No Sorrow Like Separation
In This Night We Own
All That We Are
The supplementary Commander Series books:
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio One
All Conscience Fled (The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Two)
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Three
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Four
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Five
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Six
No Chains Shall Bind Me (The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Seven)
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Eight
The Good Doctor’s Tales Folio Nine
Focus
Other
99 Gods: War
99 Gods: Betrayer [to be epublished in 2014]
99 Gods: Odysseia [to be epublished in 2014]
Author’s Afterword
Thanks to Randy and Margaret Scheers, Michelle and Karl Stembol, Gary and Judy Williams, Maurice Gehin, Alex Farmer, and as always my wife, Marjorie Farmer. Without their help this novel would have never been made.
Photo attributions to MSVG for the VW van photo and Andrew Hill for the smoke plume.
After I collected many helpful but non-monetary responses from various other publishing venues regarding this novel, I decided the best way to introduce the Commander series to a wider audience was via the ebook market. I have two traditionally published short stories, one in Analog and the other in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine.
I hope you enjoyed reading this novel.
If you enjoyed this novel, you can find out further information about the Commander series, the background mythos of the Commander series, and about other fiction, on http://majortransform.com. You can also follow me on my Facebook author page at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Randall-Allen-Farmer/106603522801212. Interesting and helpful comments are encouraged. Tell your friends. Post reviews.
A Method Truly Sublime (The Commander) Page 35
