by P. S. Power
Lancaster made a noise from the driver's seat. It sounded... slightly amused.
“Not that I blame him for being pissed, but that didn't help the cause overly. I warned him about that. A lot of people that were on the fence turned against the IPB that day. Hearing that the police took a hero hostage and nearly tortured him to death like that makes the public uneasy. The police are supposed to be the good guys, right? Finding out they're sometimes just bigots and killers does not play well in the bible belt.”
That led to Denis asking about the whole story, then kind of regretting having opened his mouth. No wonder Yi kept spazing out when the cops showed up. They kept trying to hurt him. Worse, the first couple of times it happened either no one helped him at all, or they got in his way making the whole thing even worse. Marcia didn't name names as she spoke. It was kind of a pointed thing though, avoiding saying who exactly had done it. For a second Denis wondered if it was her, but figured it out quickly enough.
Karen winced so openly sitting in the row in front of him, hunching down as if to hide almost, that Denis reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. Friendlier than he normally got, but she moved to rest her face against his hand for comfort, so obviously not a horrible idea on his part as far as she was concerned. The contact was nice.
“It was me. I... didn't get why he kept fighting with the police and it seemed so violent, I knew he was nice, we were friends even then, and I worked with him every day... I figured it had to be a first mode thing, or maybe that he'd gone insane, because everything is so hard on him. So I kept hitting him with my power, which let the police hurt him more... finally I... my power...” She didn't continue at all. Couldn't. Marcia finished it for her friend, her voice gentle but matter of fact. It was something Quartz was good at, not sugar coating things.
“Her power screwed him up. Made him hyper-suicidal for a while, like we had to strap him down in the psych ward for weeks, Brian still almost managed to kill himself nearly a dozen times, even totally immobilized. Freaking resourceful. He also beat her up. Well, Lady Glory, not Karen. He didn't know that they were the same person then. Karen doesn't hide who she is, but Brian never went in for being a super-hero groupie I guess. Barely even recognized Prime when he first got to the base.”
That was all news to Denis. He fought to process it all.
“Wait, he kicked your ass and now you're dating? Are you both sure that's... healthy? I... can get that things are strange once you add in powers and first modes, but, is... it a problem? More to the point, does that mean I have to date him too? Cause he's kicked my ass like four times now. Of course, I deserved it, trying to kill him most of those times. Ineptly, but still... not really my type.” He meant it as a joke and nearly winced at the hurt look Karen gave him over her shoulder. Marcia, bless her, reached over and pushed his arm a bit. Not hard, gentle for her really. He flew lightly into the side of the van. Probably wouldn't even bruise. Much.
“Right-oh. Normally that would make sense. Them not dating I mean. Not you dating Brian. That would be both kinky and interesting. Still, it's their decision and it wasn't abuse or anything, just a bad set of first modes and powers clashing and combining. At least in their case. What your deal was I never got.”
Ah. Right. Denis nodded then and kept his mouth shut until his turn to drive again. It wasn't that he didn't think she deserved to know the truth, he just wasn't ready to tell everyone yet.
When they got back he got a single day to rest, meaning Hobbs and Carl the trainer from fifteen stuck him in a walk in freezer while playing techno-pop at him and insisting he try to sit on a cloth mat and focus on the warmth inside his body. Nude. The only saving grace in all of this being that the red-haired bum looking guy always did everything with him and made sure that he went in first and got out last. Hard to whine to a person going through exactly what you were at the same time. Not impossible, but Denis didn't bother anymore. Hobbs would just smile at him and clap him on the back if he tried.
It was frustrating really. The man always seemed so happy about everything, no matter how much it hurt. He assured Denis that it was cultivated and not a first mode at all. It was just how he chose to be. The man also felt that Denis had it in him to do the same, with effort, if he should decide to.
Kind of nice to know that someone believed in you.
When they finished that there was running, cold still aching in the limbs, dragging at him, making him slow and weak and his right elbow throbbing bitterly. They practiced very basic fighting too. All left handed moves and stepping exercises meant to help him learn to position himself properly. It made his ankles a bit sore, since a lot of the moves involved strong twisting motions there. He felt like someone had drugged him every time he stepped out on the floor to practice next to Hobbs, the other man moving so smoothly it sometimes didn't look like movement at all.
Before even getting to the shower he got called to the Director's office, Marcia coming to collect him and Hobbs both. She wouldn't tell them why, but didn't smile or seem teasing about it either. Considering they both still had to put cloths on that was saying something. He got to wear sweats for running, thank goodness, since that got done in the open gym, but they were covered with funk.
Then again, Marcia couldn't really smell it, could she?
So Denis figured that there wouldn't be cake involved. Too bad, he liked cake.
For a half second he felt like a little boy sent to see the Prophet Darren in his chambers, wondering if it would just be whipping or some worse punishment. Never, not even once, had it been a reward or word of praise. Beatings and deprivations mostly. Four times a month, more if he ever broke a rule and there were a million of those, most of which no one told him. The Director wasn't a power mad “Christian” though. So maybe it would all be OK?
“Hobbs, Denis, come in please. Marcia, the door... and security measures if you would?” The old man, gray hair, blue professional suit, slightly blocky looking, sat still and waited, not offering the men a chair or speaking at all as Quartz, back in her standard heavy white uniform, quickly searched the office and pulled out three different devices from different drawers. She didn't say what they were, but Denis had seen enough television to get the overall idea. Sweeps, snoops and jammers. Something like that. After about ten minutes she turned and nodded.
“Five minutes,” she said clearly, her tone strong and words crisp and fast. “After that the system may or may not alert to what we're doing. The only thing we know for sure is that we don't know anything as far as who's watching us, or with what.”
The older man nodded.
“Quickly then. Alright, we want you two to go ahead to San Francisco and infiltrate a group known as “The Pure”. It's an anti-Infected hate group with strong religious leanings. Christian fundamentalists. Denis... you were brought up with such things, do you think you could manage to pass in such a group?”
It wasn't something he'd ever want to do, but he nodded. Yeah, he could quote the bible out of context still and use circular arguments that fit the needs of the moment. It wasn't something you forgot when it was literally tortured into your head.
Next to him Hobbs smiled and gave a small nod.
“I also will endeavor to play my role. What is required of me?”
Marcia spoke from near the door, her voice soft and barely audible, “we need you, to both blend in, and protect Den if something goes wrong. You'll have to learn a bit about the Christian religion and fast I...”
Giving the man a hard look, Denis, feeling a little anxious already, clenched his jaw. “I'll get you up to speed. A few catch phrases should hold you. Most religious nuts only have about twenty scriptures they use over and over again anyway. Some a lot less. Not a problem.”
The Director handed him a sheet of paper with an address on it and told him to memorize it. He tried. Hobbs moved to look at it for about a minute and then sat down again. Hopefully that meant it was committed to memory, because Denis didn't feel any too certain h
e had it. He kept repeating it hoping it would stick.
“That's the introduction point. If you can get in there, they'll take you to the real meeting. Once in place learn what you can and try to get word back to us. We can't send you in with backup, because Hooper has spies in all the other agencies and that may well tip The Pure off. This is not an ideal situation but...”
Right, they just didn't have a lot of other options. Not even Chris with her telepathy. Once she knew who to target she could find them anywhere in the world, but it had to be hard to find out things about an organization with only a vague name as a starting point. “The Pure” was pretty generic as far as names like that went. A full third of all the similar anti-Infected groups used something similar as their main message.
The second they left the office on the third floor, both of them got taken to see the make-up lady. For Denis that didn't mean a lot, just some new clothes, a full wardrobe of modern Christian bland. Button up shirts and slacks, tennis shoes and a single pair of nice black shiny ones to go with the two suits they gave him.
Hobbs got shorn. Hard, if with more gentleness than Denis had coming out of lock-up. His hair couldn't have been two inches long when Clari got done with him and his face was as smooth as any Denis had ever seen. The guy looked totally different. Not bad, just like someone had replaced him somehow. If Yi had dead eyes, the soul behind this man's sang of peace and joy. Really he looked a bit too happy for a fearful radical Christian, but they'd work on it. If nothing else they could claim he had a religious experience that woke him to the joys of the lord. The people that claimed that often had that dreamy look to them.
That would probably be the best plan really. A new convert wouldn't be expected to know nearly what someone raised Christian would after all, and depending on how deep the Pure were into religion, that would make a difference. He didn't speak about it, waiting for later when they had reason to think it would go unnoticed. Everything was being watched at the base.
Then the man got put in clothing a lot like what Denis had. In the end they looked ready to finish up their day's labor at the compound and then get right to prayers.
Praise the lord.
Of course they couldn't really just take IPB credit cards with them, so they each got some cash, about six hundred dollars between them, since too much money would look out of place and they had to use Greyhound to get to San Francisco. The trip only took about four days, that long mainly because they didn't want to show up as if coming from the base directly, so doubled back to Illinois, home of the largest pocket of anti-Infected hate in the world outside of Asia, and then worked their way back. It ate up time and money, but did give them both a slightly seedy “traveled” look.
They got in at midnight and really couldn't afford a hotel with their cover story, not even a flea bag, so they walked the streets carrying their travel duffel bags with their religious symbols all over them. Crosses, fish outlines and the T-C-C legend on the side in two inch high letters, which informed those in the know that they were “Totally Clean Christians”. The current code for “bigot”. They'd spent the whole time reading from the bible and discussing what it meant.
The copy that Denis had was old, and worn, looking well read and thumbed by generations of someone's family. The black cover was a fine leather and the gold lettering in the front had mainly flaked out, leaving just enough color to let you know it was an inlay. They studied the whole time except for when they slept and neither of them did a lot of that, one of them always awake just in case. Denis had Hobbs pray before meals too. Each of them. For a while the other riders kept looking at them funny, but Christians being over the top just got left alone in the States still, even if they did promote a lot of the violence. People noticed, but no one tried to comment on it within earshot. If someone had complained, Denis would have loudly claimed that they were being persecuted, which generally served to get people to shut up.
So it was four and a half days later that they were finally let into the living room of the first vetting point. The house, a clean and very tidy white structure in a nice neighborhood, was owned by an older woman, a widow, named Georgia Carless. She smiled and welcomed them both in the second she saw the trappings they carried, a pleased smile on her face.
“Oh, so nice of you to come! We have so many interesting and new people coming this week for the event. Where did you gentlemen say you were from?” Her voice sounded suspicious, but that was her job, making sure they were who they claimed to be.
“Illinois ma'am. Though both of us are from different locations originally. I'm from Nebraska and John here is from...” Denis scrambled for a moment, not remembering where Hobbs was supposed to have been born at all.
“Wisconsin.” He said, his voice mimicking the flat accent of a television announcer rather than someone from that part of the country, well enough that it made the whole idea seem a lot more plausible than coming from another reality stream.
“A long time ago.”
Mrs. Carless nodded happily and didn't, as Denis had half expected, insist they start producing bible quotes. Instead she invited them in and gave them some lemonade, the day not hot enough for it yet, but it beat the drinking fountain water they'd both been living on. Not too sweet either, and with a twist of real lemon added. The glasses were small, about twelve ounces, and had ice filled to the brim.
Settling in calmly, she started asking questions then, ones that would have set his nerves on edge, if he hadn't been ready for the kind of hate people like Georgia were capable of. It seemed that to join “The Pure” being a Christian wasn't really required, just hating Infected. Only Denis didn't “hate” the Infected at all when Georgia asked how they felt on the issue, her sensibilities obviously delicate on the issue. It was a risk, but one he hoped would make them seem more real. Good Christians didn't often admit to hate after all. It was a bit of a balancing act.
Shaking his head when asked, Denis clarified, hoping he read the woman correctly, “to despise a person afflicted would be against the word of God. Now... don't get me wrong, we have to protect ourselves, our families and people too weak or innocent to act for themselves, but the lord never preached hatred. He told us to love our neighbors. So I work hard to do so, even while seeing that we also have to help ourselves as well.”
The old woman nodded, seeming satisfied enough with that answer, and turned to Hobbs.
“How about you dear?” Her voice sounded sweet, almost like she'd just been offering cookies instead of the road to a hate group. She wore a very proper dress in black and white, covered collar to ankles, a bit of lace around the edges. Thin and smiling, no matter the topic it seemed.
Hobbs, looking decently dapper compared to his norm smiled a little. A mean smile, dark and portentous. He glanced at Denis, who was just using his real name since no one would know who he was yet. Not overly. He was on a television show, but it hadn't aired yet and wouldn't for weeks. Using his own name meant he wouldn't mess up and not answer at the right time.
“Well,” Hobbs spoke softly, sounding a little rough.
“I wish I could be as charitable as Denis here. My personal take is that we need to move against the Infected before they understand what has to happen. Waiting just gives them, the strongest of them, a chance to fight. It is a mighty challenge that the good lord sets before us. Take them fast and hard, I say. Without all the warning and shouting we're doing now with these public rallies. I think those are a... mistake.” He still managed to sound pretty white bread and didn't look the other man after he spoke, as if it were an issue between them.
Just as planned.
Hobbs claimed not to have any acting skills, but he made up for it in focus on what he was doing at the moment. He lived the role.
Georgia said that all sounded fine to her, and made a single phone call while the “boys” ate some of her homemade apple pie. For a bigot she did a pretty good job on it, light flaky crust and not soggy on the bottom at all. Denis kept expecting it to be
poisoned or something and to wake up blindfolded in the trunk of a car. Instead they just had to wait an hour to be passed on to the next level in the organization. While they hung out Hobbs helped out with household chores, even cleaning her rain gutters for her, Denis just held the ladder for him. The old woman beamed as if they were doing circus tricks.
At least one good thing would come of all this then.
Clear flow of water off her roof if it ever rained.
The men that came for them were comfortably older, mid-fifties or so, both large, one tall enough his head nearly hit the ceiling of the car they brought, a small economy thing imported from Japan in the last century. It was, for some unknown reason, a banana yellow color, but in good repair and clean. The license tabs weren't set to expire for six months and the driver, a beefy looking fellow in a plain, cream colored button up shirt with short sleeves, nodded when Denis noticed.
“We keep it legal and above board whenever possible. We aren't criminals. Please, if you will, we don't have a lot of time before the noon meeting. Seraphim will want to meet you herself I think.” Putting on a pair of big box store cheap sunglasses the man got behind the wheel quickly and started the engine before anyone else managed to find a seat. If either of the men, nameless as far as they'd mentioned, had a weapon of any sort they didn't show it. So whoever they were they had enough discipline to blend in and not try to use intimidation on what might end up being their own people if all went well.
The trip took about an hour, mainly because of all the circling and turning around they did, probably to keep Denis from memorizing the route. Sitting in the small backseat, a bench made smaller due to the fact that for some reason a large hump had been built into the middle so no one but a masochist would even contemplate sitting there, wasn't totally uncomfortable.
