The Shadow of the Progenitors: A Transforms Novel (The Cause Book 1)

by Randall Farmer

  “Second, we can make this easier to live with. Right now, we’re getting upset, fighting with each other, and copping out on our responsibilities. That’s no good. We need to support each other, instead. All of us. Look for chances to help other people get through, and avoid taking your own problems out on anyone else. We need to all work together, and I expect it of you.”

  The wind broke the silence, followed by a rumble of distant thunder. Her people waited, expectant, hoping she could come up with a miracle.

  “Third, I’ve told you for years why we rotate our household leaders so often: so that if a crisis happens we’ll have lots of people with leadership experience. The crisis time is now, and I’m going to be changing the household model into one better suited to a crisis.

  Some of her people nodded in agreement. Most did not, including the current household president, Manfred Cadriel.

  “The elected leadership council is hereby disbanded, and I’m in charge. What I say, goes, on any subject, at any time. I’m delegating responsibility to the following people. Gretchen Carlow is in charge of household maintenance, Kurt Dejung keeps his old job of head of household security, Helen Grimm is in charge of finance, and Sylvie Dejung is now formally my second in command, meaning if I’m not around and she is, what she says is what happens. Isabella Wheelhouse is in charge of the kitchen and reports to Gretchen, Betha Ebener is in charge of child care and reports to Gretchen…” Tonya’s corporate model required Gail to think of her household as a corporation, with Gail as the CEO. Painful. As Van suggested, though, she instead envisioned her household in a more Socialist fashion, with ministers and bureaus, not that she would ever tell them. Either way, the trick was to delegate authority. Steady the household and reward the household members using her charisma, not with juice. She wasn’t a baby Focus anymore, and save for emergencies, she was good enough to make the juice moving automatic, something everyone in the household could count on.

  Gail hadn’t given Bart Wheelhouse or Manfred Cadriel senior positions. She expected trouble from them, but she didn’t want either of them up at the top until they proved willing to take her orders. She expected to be hitting them often with her charisma to keep them in line.

  Besides, after dealing with Teacher, Bart and Manfred were small stuff.

  “The new changes take effect immediately. If anyone has any questions, you can come talk to me,” Gail said, after finishing the responsibility list. “One thing I want to be real clear about, though: I expect a lot out of all of you, because I know you’re capable of it if you try. I won’t punish you if you try your best and things don’t work out. I will punish you if you don’t give your best, or if you aren’t willing to cooperate with other people, or contribute to the well-being of the house, or if you have a problem taking orders.”

  Nobody moved. Gail barely heard her people breathe.

  “Which leads into the next subject. We’ve got that Arm coming through every couple of days. Last time, we did a lottery, which didn’t work. If you’re doing your best and doing a good job, you shouldn’t have to worry about the Arm. Tonight, Buddy is taking his turn as punishment, and I’ll assign the Arm as punishment for any other big screw ups. If you’re doing your best, you shouldn’t have a problem. For the rest of the time, I’m looking for volunteers.”

  Now her people murmured, but Gail continued speaking.

  “John Guynes already volunteered.” The murmurings grew louder; the word ‘volunteer’ was fraught with juice, and had been ever since Matt’s sacrifice. “I want you all to know that I am extremely proud of him. We as a household all owe him for this, and I owe him specifically. I want to promise you, John, that I will do everything I can to compensate you for the kind of selfless heroism you’re showing for the sake of everyone else, and I will also do everything I can to reduce the unpleasantness as much as possible.”

  This time, Gail stayed silent and let the murmurs continue. John beamed at the approval. Many people talked quietly, but Gail noticed thoughtful looks on several faces as they looked at John, and suspected she would get a few more volunteers.

  “Last, I need to let you know some of the details about what we’re doing with the Commander. I’ve talked to some of you already, but you all need to know. The Commander and I are looking for a breakthrough in the way Arms and Focuses interact. If we succeed, we’re going to achieve something that will make an impact all over the world. We believe there’s a tie between all the Major Transforms, and between the Major Transforms and household Transforms, a tie we need to improve. If we succeed, we’ll save untold lives, and make the lives of Transforms everywhere better.

  “We’re involved in something very important, and I want you to know that I think we couldn’t have a better group of people for this. You’re some of the best people in the country. It’ll be tough, and I’m going to run a tighter ship than before, but I know you all are up to this. We’re doing something important, and all of you will be able to stand tall with any other Transform household in the country. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of Melanie’s toughness in very difficult circumstances, I’m proud of John’s selfless heroism, I’m proud of the endurance and character every one of you has showed every day since the Arm showed up. We’re going to get through this together, and we’re going to be the better for it. I’m depending on all of you.”

  No one challenged her decision. Not a one.

  ---

  “So, finally gotten out your tin pot and decided to become a dictator?” the voice said from behind her. Gail restrained her reflex to jump and defend herself, and turned around to face Teacher. She was leaning back against the wall of the apartment that the Ebeners shared with the Cadriels.

  “Teacher,” Gail said, annoyed that the Arm had found yet another way to mask her metapresence.

  “You got another victim for today?” Teacher said. Betha blanched.

  “Betha, could you please go tell Buddy to report to my office?” Betha fled.

  “If you’re giving her any sort of responsibility, you’re making a bad call,” Teacher said, as Betha left the room.

  “She’ll do a good job handling the child care.”

  “I doubt it. She’s just going to get stressed out and temperamental.”

  “You know, why are you worrying about my household’s stress level? You’re the biggest stress they’ve got, Teacher.”

  Teacher grinned her feral grin. “I’m good for them. They’ll have some steel in their spines when we’re done. Speaking of which, I want another all day practice session this Saturday. There’s more to protection than defense. It’s time I taught them to be able to counterpunch and take the fight to the enemy. Make sure Melanie is there.”

  “Dammit! Haven’t you hurt Melanie enough?”

  “Nope. She folded up far too easily two nights ago. If she’s going to be one of your primary bodyguards, she needs to be a hell of a lot tougher. As do you. You’ve gotten a lot tougher since I showed up, but you’ve still got a long ways to go before you earn that big red S on your chest. So, upstairs. Time to get started.”

  Hell, Gail muttered to herself as she headed to the door. Here we go again.

  She didn’t let the juice slip, not even a bit.

  Gilgamesh: July 27, 1972 – August 8, 1972

  “I still think the Mets can do better. Third in the division is nothing,” Sinclair said. They had just passed Houston on I-10, heading east. Gilgamesh drove, giving Hoskins a rare break, and they would be stopping for the day in another hour or so. They would be hitting New Orleans tomorrow afternoon.

  “Nah, ’69 was a fluke,” Hoskins said. “Third is about right. They’re not going anywhere until they get their pitching straightened out.” The dank over-air conditioned air of the RV made Gilgamesh’s sinuses ache.

  “Huh uh,” Gilgamesh said. “It’s not the pitching. If they can get all the pitchers healthy again, they’ll be fine. Their hitters need to step up, and they need to do more fielding drills. They’re givin
g away far too many runs.”

  Hoskins suddenly perked up his head and rolled down the passenger side window. Gilgamesh frowned.

  “What is it, your grace?”

  “Monster,” Hoskins said.

  “What? How close?”

  Hoskins sniffed. “I can’t tell for sure. Maybe fifty miles or so.”

  “Fifty miles? How do you sense a Monster from fifty miles away?”

  “I smell them. I would have caught her earlier if we’d had the windows open. Let me see the atlas, we need to go north and back west a bit.”

  Gilgamesh looked hopelessly over at Sinclair, seated behind and between the two front seats. “We go north?”

  Sinclair nodded. “If there’s a Monster around, and we find her, she’s our responsibility. Besides, the Duke’s gone nearly a week since that woman in New Mexico.” Hoskins wasn’t in trouble yet, Gilgamesh knew, as Hoskins hadn’t been doing anything expensive such as shape shifting or healing, but they didn’t have any guarantees about Monsters later. Ignoring the opportunity would be foolish. Gilgamesh sighed.

  “North it is. Tell me where to turn.”

  Hoskins ran ahead of Sumeria now, stopping every few hundred yards to sniff the thick humid air as they drove through the narrow back-roads of the East Texas piney woods. Old slash pines towered over the road, narrow and tall. Daylight passed to night as they spent hours spent going in and out of back roads, attempting to locate the source of the scent.

  Gilgamesh caught something flickering on the edge of his metasense and slammed on the brakes. Sumeria ground to a ponderous halt by the side of the road. Hoskins turned around, startled, and Gilgamesh pointed: “Chimera.” Hoskins frowned as he extended his own metasense. Then he came running back to the camper.

  “What do we have?” Hoskins asked, leaning on the window and wiping sweat from his forehead. “I couldn’t sense the Chimera out there well enough to know if he’s a Hunter, a Noble, or a Beast Man.”

  Gilgamesh shrugged. “Two Hunters. No Gals.”

  Hoskins turned towards where they sensed the flicker. “All right, we’re going to have a fight on our hands.” A hint of a smile crept onto his lips as he climbed into Sumeria and started to root around under his bunk.

  “What are you doing, your grace?” Sinclair asked. “We need to get out of here.”

  “We can’t run, Master Sinclair. They’re in their combat forms. We fight here. Master Gilgamesh, I want you to back Sumeria as far into the trees as you can, and then you and Master Sinclair block the windows and doors as well as you can and take shelter inside. I think I can probably beat off a couple of junior Hunters. Look, Enkidu’s Hunters collect Crows. Be real careful, so they don’t discover you.”

  “Your grace, this is a trap,” Gilgamesh said.

  Hoskins turned back to Gilgamesh with a frown, but Sinclair nodded. “A Monster to lure us in, and then the Hunters to kill us once we’re caught. This isn’t good at all.”

  Hoskins squatted back on his heels, momentarily abandoning his excavations under the bed. He thought for a long moment. “How convinced are you that this is a trap?”

  Gilgamesh and Sinclair looked at each other. “Pretty much 100%,” Sinclair answered.

  Gilgamesh nodded agreement. “A Monster, not a Gal, far enough from the highway so we need to get ourselves stuck on the back roads. With two Hunters we didn’t metasense until we got too close to run. Two Hunters just hanging around near a Monster? If that was really a loose Monster, they would be hunting her the same way we are, not hanging around waiting for us.” He paused. “Let’s not forget the fact that no Chimera in his right mind would be anywhere near East Texas or Louisiana in July or August. Unless, of course, he was on a quest.”

  Hoskins nodded thoughtfully. “Master Gilgamesh, how good are those protections you put around the RV?”

  Gilgamesh winced. “Good. Not as good as I’d do for a fixed location, but good enough that no one but a senior Crow should be able to metasense through them. Or a senior Focus, but a senior Focus would need to be within 100 yards.”

  “So if this is a trap, it was arranged by a senior Crow.”

  “It seems so, your grace.”

  Hoskins thought for another long moment. “Master Gilgamesh.” Gilgamesh raised his eyebrows. “Master Gilgamesh, assuming we survive this trap, don’t ever stop moving unless you are under protections strong enough to withstand a senior Crow. You have powerful enemies, and I suspect the only reason you’re free and whole today is because your enemies can’t catch up with you. If they ever get a chance to catch up with you, you’re dead.”

  On that cheery note, Hoskins resumed his excavations under the bed. With a sinking knot of dread in his stomach, Gilgamesh reached around to the cabinet right behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a snub-nosed sub-machine gun. An Uzi. Tiamat’s gift from a couple of years ago.

  “Oh shit,” Sinclair said, seeing Gilgamesh’s weapon.

  “No, Master Gilgamesh,” Hoskins said. “This is no time for amateurs.”

  Gilgamesh checked the Uzi and slipped in a magazine. “I’ve gotten training from Tiamat, and you need support. I’ve mastered the Guru masking skills, and those Hunters won’t know I’m a Crow unless I want them to, or I reveal my tricks.” Or some senior Crow told them, but Gilgamesh hoped such senior Crow was at least working from a distance. “I’ve also got my little treasures…and I have fought Hunters before. This isn’t my first fight, even by Noble standards.” He patted his pockets of rotten eggs. “If this is a trap, they know already what you can do and are ready for you. We need to surprise them.”

  “Shit, all right. Combat-capable nearly-a-Guru. Got it. Get out and make whatever preparations you need to make. Master Sinclair, you park the camper and take cover. Master Gilgamesh, you hide yourself over there on the other side of the road. Don’t expose yourself until they’re fully focused on me and then get them from surprise. I’ll be there in a second to help you get settled in position. You’ll need to look out for yourself, because I’m going to be too busy.”

  Gilgamesh nodded, remembering his old rule: in a fight, listen to the predators and follow their advice. He only wished Hoskins had a less unwieldy combat form. His nightmarish land-crab-based combat form was too big for Sumeria, so he stayed in his man-shape. Worse, according to Sinclair and Occum, the farther a combat form was from a Noble’s human form, the longer the change took. Hoskins’ change took many hours and large quantities of élan they didn’t possess.

  “Ah hah,” Hoskins said, and pulled an immense knife out from under his bed. The blade was almost two feet long. He examined the edge and smiled before putting the blade back in the sheath. Even knowing he walked into a trap, the giant predator still looked forward to the fight.

  “Good Lord, that thing’s practically a sword,” Gilgamesh said.

  “No, Master Gilgamesh,” Hoskins said as he rooted around under the bed again and pulled out a huge bladed weapon. “This is a sword.” Gilgamesh didn’t have much experience with swords, but he was pretty sure swords weren’t normally five feet long. The weapon was straight and heavy, and the blade was four inches wide, no small delicate sword like one of Arm Sibrian’s Japanese katanas. This weapon was a cleaver, an instrument of sharp edges and brute force that would take inhuman strength to wield properly.

  “You’re serious? You’re actually going to fight with that sharpened I-Beam of yours?”

  “Certainly. Firearms are bad weapons for fighting Major Transforms one on one. Stopping a Major Transform with a firearm before they close is nearly impossible, and up close firearms are worthless. If you’re going to fight Major Transforms up close, and you’re not in your combat form, you want the biggest blade you can get your hands on.”

  “A sword,” Gilgamesh said, still unbelieving. How medieval. Still, he had seen Arm Haggerty fight once with a quiver full of CO2-charged shark repellant sticks and a crossbow bayonet of her own design. Predators.

  “The same thing applies to
your popgun. The piece will do damage, but don’t expect a machine gun to stop a Hunter. You know not to let them get close.”

  Gilgamesh looked at his Uzi, and nodded. Tiamat had trained him in firearms, difficult lessons for a panic-driven Crow, but she also told him the Uzi was for emergencies only. Depend on your feet, she said. Tiamat carried firearms, but when she fought Arms and Chimeras, she fought with knives.

  “You still want to fight, Master Gilgamesh?” Hoskins said.

  Gilgamesh nodded. “Absolutely,” he said, his voice reduced to a quiet whisper. Logic told him they wouldn’t survive unless he fought. Instincts told him to run like hell and never stop.

  Hoskins shook his head. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  The two Hunters waited five minutes before deciding to come after them, and took another ten to close. Hoskins took his position in the middle of the road, sword in one hand and knife in the other. The massive sword looked natural in his over-sized hands and he held the weapon the way a normal would hold a fencing sword. He looked, again, like some deity out of ancient myth, huge and powerful with his oversized sword in hand, glistening majestically in the starlight.

  Gilgamesh finished his own preparations several minutes before the Hunters arrived, and he crouched down in the shelter of a fallen tree to wait. His little dross construct had come together perfectly. This one was a variant on the construct protecting the truck, only smaller and personal, and tuned to a Hunter’s metasense rather than a Crow’s.

  Now his nerves began to jangle. What was he doing in yet another fight? Was he enough of a Guru to use his Guru tricks in a fight? Would he freeze, do something stupid, or break down in absolute hysterics?

  He stopped the thoughts and tossed away the panic. He was a senior Crow now. Fear was just another obstacle to deal with. Still, in all of the fights since his transformation, the only victories came with an Arm by his side. On the other hand, Hoskins was a Noble, as much a predator as an Arm.