Ill Wind (Chaos Witches Volume Two)

by Tal Turing

  He had barely started to experience the memory when, in a flash, she flew across the space between them, her thin body slamming against his, pressing into his chest, her arms wrapping around him.

  “Caught you!” she laughed even as she burrowed closer to him. “I am very glad you are here,” she said, “and I will explain your duties...after you have rested.” And then in a whisper she added “Doctors need them, so do you.”

  And then, just as quickly, her lips pecked his cheek and she was gone, the door closing behind her. Ryk looked at the closed door, feeling a mixture of delight and concern, familiar emotions when it came to Miri.

  But why the little parting riddle? It was something parents tell their children - Doctors need them and so do you. Patients. Patience. It was a way to say 'be patient'.

  Miriam

  Miriam sat making small talk with the oldest Harilla, and he with her. And, she was pretty sure, both were pretending they were not interested in the interaction between Donnie and Brad, who were were seated at a table nearby.

  Steve Harilla, Senior Officer of Transom's Corporate Strategy and Relations branch, was present because this was an official meeting, during business hours. In theory he was meeting Donnie who had a similar rank with the similar branch at Humantis. But Steve had allowed himself to be distracted by Miriam and Donnie had walked off to speak with Brad. But Steve was acting a part.

  Sure, he was looking at her in a familiar way, and his questions and comments were standard, but his heart wasn't in it, there was no fire. He was engaged in a ruse, the same as she, but she knew why she was playing this game. But what was he doing? Could he be so easily distracted?

  Perhaps she was wrong, maybe he really was that into sitting with her and listening to himself speak. But she didn't think so.

  She decided to put her theory to the test, before the Bugs woke up and she became useless.

  “Shouldn't you be with them? As chaperon?” she teased Steve, “What if our Donnie is fishing secrets out of your brother?”

  Steve looked at her, first amused and then indignant.

  “The Cabbs and the Harillas are family friends, and Brad can take care of himself,” he added.

  “No offense, I'm new in town remember? But back in Techview, a private, informal conversation between a senior strategy officer of one company and a mere officer of another would be considered taboo. Still I suppose you have different rules here,” she smiled deviously. “I wonder what they are talking about? Donnie seems fascinated...”

  She stood up. Steve tried to dissuade her but she walked toward the other pair. Brad saw her and gave her a happy smile as he chattered on like a drunken schoolboy. Of course he would be delighted to see her approach. He was, after all, bound to her, not Donnie. So although there was a good deal of deception and double-dealing going around, she was much more in control than any of them could guess.

  “What are you boys whispering about?” she smiled. Donnie looked at her, concerned. Brad looked at her, his eyes delighted. She did not reward him, she needed to keep the focus on the relationship between Donnie and Brad.

  “We were just speaking about the silly passwords that people choose, you know, like your pet's name or the middle name of a family member,” Brad replied helpfully.

  “Just ask him,” Miriam said under her breath to Donnie, “he is in stage two, you won't have any problem...” but at the same time, her finger swept across Brad's hand and she knew he would respond quickly to whatever Donnie asked. She turned and walked away just as Steve joined the group. As she retreated, she could hear Bradly explaining to the two men what he knew about Transom Security passwords.

  Alone, in a corner, Miriam had her own manipulators with which to contend. The Bugs were awake and were unhappy. So she called Petyr.

  “Petyr, where are you? You are supposed to observe the subject with me...” she complained.

  “I trust you to handle that, I need to be at the laboratory.”

  “But my Uncle can do the lab work...that is why...”

  “Have you forgotten? You said he could escort your friend around the villages...so he is not here.”

  She had? Miriam paused for a moment. Yes, she remembered that now, but she hadn't intended it to be a priority over Petyr's work.

  “I had forgotten. I will come over myself.”

  “No, no, my dear. I can handle it. You stay there and attend to our friends. Make sure they are convinced as to the effectiveness of the Peithonova.”

  Finally, the Bugs, already uneasy, prodded and cajoled her until she just said it.

  “Petyr, is everything okay? Are you...are you unhappy with me?” As those words escaped her lips there was a part of her that was revolted at her neediness. But the Bugs insisted and waited, in full attention, for his answer.

  “Don't be silly, my dear,” he spoke with just a touch of annoyance in his voice. “I'll see you when I get back, probably tonight.”

  Then the comm link was closed and he was gone. And the wrathful song of the Bugs rose in her ear, so loud she could hardly think. And, worse, she now could feel the full effects of her opioid addiction. The Bugs were no longer blocking that pain.

  Second Techview Interlude

  Gwenyth

  The First Sister of the Techview Seven Sisters Sanctuary made her way around the various exercise rooms observing the sisters as they talked, taught and ran drills. Gwenyth scolded herself for having appeared today for a different reason than to simply watch or to be a part. Before coming to Techview, she had been an instructor and had loved it but now, as First Sister, there were so many tasks and duties and meetings.

  “Thank you for coming, Sister”, whispered an instructor, approaching from the side.

  “That is her? Over in the corner?” Gwenyth asked.

  “Yes, Kirsten has been with us almost a year but she tended to keep to herself. At first, I thought one of the games would bring her out of her shell and in a way, I guess it has. But now her only interest in the others is in defeating those she has not already beat. I was even silly enough to play her, despite knowing she was pretty quick, it seemed so important to her. She is not a very gracious winner, I will tell you that.”

  “We may need to start communicating the purpose of these games more effectively,” Gwenyth declared softly as she walked toward the novice. She had already spoken to others about this and had made up her mind.

  Kirsten was delighted to receive the attention of the church elder and brightened up immediately. After some small talk, the First Sister changed topics.

  “Kirsten, I have heard that your reflexes are as quick as a cat and then some?”

  The pretty, blue-eyed girl smiled, pleased.

  “I am undefeated in the lightning game, honestly it hasn't even been close, I just...”

  “Really? I was pretty quick back in my novice days as well,” Gwenyth placed a mild emphasis on the word 'novice' and then looked away slowly, allowing a look of disinterest to form on her face.

  “Ooooh, please grant me a contest?” Kirsten pleaded, “It won't take even a second.”

  “But I hear you are the best of all the novices, it is unfair to...”

  “I have beat all the sisters, well most of them. The ones who dare to play me...” Kirsten's liquid blue eyes gleamed.

  Gwenyth took a step closer, her straight yellow hair, pale skin, frumpy gown and slippers contrasted to Kirsten's lush, golden hair; short, athletic, curves; and pink, leaper shoes.

  “I don't believe it is even the same game as when I was your age. How do you do it? You just pull your hand away?”

  “No,” Kirsten insisted helpfully, “you press your hands together and hold them out in front of you. Then, just try to pull them away. Anytime you want! The other sisters make you wait until they make the first move but I'm much better than that. You can try whenever you want. It's an advantage for you!”

  “How? Like this?” Gwenyth raised her arms lazily into the air, her white hands pointed towa
rd Kirsten but her attention was distracted, her eyes drifting over to a pair of sisters engaged in voice coding.

  “You have to try!” protested Kirsten with a pout, “It's no fun if you don't! Please, First Sister? I'm sure you are very good. You said you were.”

  “Of course, dear, I will try my best,” Gwenyth smiled indulgently, pressing one hand into the other like a slow clap, her eyes drifting into those of Kirsten and subtly locking them as one finger twisted the ring of another finger. Then Gwenyth flinched.

  Kirsten's hands were a blur and her face broke into a wild smile as her palms closed on those of the First Sister, slapping them hard from both sides. Gwen's face remained calm, even as she felt the impact. The younger girl cried out, releasing her and falling back, large drops of blood splattered the floor as Kirsten wailed in confusion and pain.

  Conversations stopped as the other sisters turned toward the pair. Kirsten cried in disbelief, tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Did you win?” the First Sister asked simply. Her calm and controlled demeanor reassuring the others as they crowded around with interest to hear what Gwenyth had to say.

  Gwen took a lazy step forward, closing in on Kirsten.

  “Why?” Kirsten blustered even as her muscles spasmed and she crumpled to the floor.

  “I thought we were playing a game?” Gwen continued, “To see who was better? To see who was more prepared. Answer my question, did you win?”

  “Not fair,” Kirsten cried as her chest heaved.

  “No? Perhaps you don't understand what we we do here,” Gwenyth began, her voice level rising even as she turned around, making sure the rest were paying attention. “We do not train you for jest, or so you can compete like dumb males or brag about your conquests. We train you to stay alive, to protect yourself and each other. So what was your strategy here? Did you think I would try to best you where your strength lies? Do you think that even men are so stupid?”

  A red-haired woman broke into the circle and fell to Kirsten's side, assessing her condition. She looked up at the First Sister, questioning.

  Gwen held up one arm, a dark-green loop surrounded her pale wrist.

  “This bracelet is alive, a piece of a hybrid vine that my village developed. It is alive, obtaining nutrients and moisture from my skin and light from its surroundings. All of you would not be enough to pull it apart. But you could cut it off in a second.

  You've seen the stibnite armor worn by the corper guards? Neither a knife nor a laser nor a bullet would pierce it; the full weight of a vehicle would not deform it; and if you were foolish enough to grasp it with your hands, it would cut and burn you. But if you look carefully, you'll find small openings beneath the scales of the knees, the elbows and the side of the neck.” Strength is just a word we use when defining weakness.”

  “She's having trouble breathing,” Sister Victoria muttered.

  Gwen did not respond to her fellow elder. “We engage in games, but it is not for sport. We role play, but we are not making theater. Each of you, each of us holds greatness within, but renown is nothing we seek. Knowing why is core to being a Sister of this Sanctuary.”

  She waved her hand and two of the older novices helped Kirsten to the infirmary.

  Sister Victoria glared at Gwenyth.

  “You did not have to make an example of her like that,” Victoria spoke evenly and authoritatively to the younger First Sister.

  “I considered it carefully, do so yourself and we can discuss it later. If Annabelle were here, she might feel I was too lenient.”

  “Fine but there is another matter, Gwenyth,” Victoria insisted, her beautiful gray eyes still agitated. “I am concerned you have interfered in yet another of my girls.”

  Gwen's kind yellow eyes looked back at Victoria, concerned.

  “I have an appointment, you can walk with me?”

  “Fine,” Victoria agreed walking quickly beside.

  “When you say 'your girls'?” began Gwenyth.

  “A corper girl, an asset.”

  “Okay, but I do not consider any...”

  “Conceded. But did you grant an assignment to one of them? And then neglect to tell me?”

  “I did not...” Gwen began, “Wait. I am mistaken. I did ask a favor...”

  “Cynnamon?”

  The First Sister, stopped walking.

  “Yes, a small matter, I only asked her...”

  “Gwenyth, she has left the city, she is in New Berlyn. You sent her there?”

  “No!” Gwen exclaimed, and then checked herself, continuing in a whisper, “I asked her only to keep her ears open, that was all. I learned she is from New Berlyn, I thought she might know someone or hear something and...and I told her about Sister Lyn. But I did not ask her to go there! I told her to be passive, no ripples.”

  “Okay,” Victoria sighed. “I didn't really think you were able to pull corporate strings and have her sent there. But her handlers did just that, for whatever reason. And my contacts in Transom tell me that no one has heard from her since and that she can't be reached.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Gwenyth, perplexed. “It can't be a coincidence. Have you spoken to Ann?”

  “Ann is making some progress. The question is whether we should ask Ann to look for Cynnamon, as well. It might bring her unwanted attention...”

  “We will wait on that,” Gwen answered. “I am aware that we do not all agree on embedding our girls with the corpers, but living underground is their life, what they learn to do, the water in which they swim. We have to let them function in that capacity. At least for now.”

  The Transom Asset

  The Station

  Cyn walked along the great hugger train, inside the large, white tube which held it. Numbers were painted on the wall in regular intervals and they decreased one by one as she walked until, finally, she left the bright tube to be swallowed up by a large, dark chamber, one that was distantly familiar to her.

  New Berlyn Station was not as large or ornate as the one in Techview, where she had begun her trip, still she felt as if she had been thrust into the distant past. The walls were tainted, old stone and the ceiling was at least three stories high, too grandiose for anything modern, even by corper standards. The floors shone from recent polish but were marred and scratched by generations of travelers. Thus the building itself must be a relic from the days before Maltiempo. She thought with helpless sadness about a time she had never seen and would never see, when the sky was bright and the air was still and warm; a time when humans covered the Earth.

  The hull of the building was, no doubt, scavenged from some bus depot or train terminal of an old city whose name no longer mattered and which no longer existed even as a shadow of its former self. The room was littered with long, brown benches, also scavenged, the new paint couldn't completely hide the etchings and writings of travelers past.

  Even upon entering, she witnessed the last of her fellow travelers leaving, hurrying for cabs or buses or whatever would take them away from here. And as they left, she began to hear her own boot heels sound against the floor causing echoes in the building.

  Cynnamon spied a large bag, alone just like her, within a caged compartment. She moved quickly toward it, in steady strides from her long legs, eager for anything that would retrieve her fully from the persistent, clinging dream which had lingered. She reached the metal cage but it was locked. Then, remembering her AI, she pulled the black rimmed spectacles from her face for inspection; the unit was off, but shouldn't it be on?

  Acting on instinct, she activated it, a function she had performed countless times in her life, and her temples buzzed as the device made a connection to the sensory implants nestled within her brain, surgically placed on the same day she was accepted into Sponsorship, into corporate slavery. It was one of many mandatory procedures.

  Now, the unit engaged, she saw the world differently. The cage was asking her for an obscenely large claim code which her AI presented promptly. Then the door
opened and she retrieved the bag, her bag.

  But as her AI had become active, it reached out into the station, querying for information and announcing her presence. And the station was responding, querying her unit back, sending announcements, invitations and offers of assistance.

  A large wall shimmered to life, first displaying only digital lettering but soon adding sound and animation as well. It was some sort of status report broken down into only two categories: Winners and Losers.

  She had seen displays like this before, corporate rankings of all the companies of Las Joyas, all of known civilization now. In Techview, only the top rankings were displayed, the so-called 'winners'. She had never seen listings of those at the bottom of the rankings and if they had been shown they never would have been labeled as 'Losers'. Obviously New Berlyn was a harsher and more competitive place.

  As she watched, the name in the top position, the #1 position, sparkled and shimmered in gold and the room was filled with the soft sound of that institution's anthem.

  But then a new category was announced and new rankings were shown, and another anthem was played. And on it went. Some companies seemed to always be near the top, companies like Urbanic Inc, SkyTran Corporation, Halstrom, Providence and Daneel Tech, the makers of her AI spectacles.

  The categories changed: gross sales, net sales, dividend payout ratio, dividend yield, earnings per share, price to earnings, price to earnings ratio to growth ratio, price to book...

  Cyn walked on, toward an empty bench, they were all empty. Then she stopped, familiar music entering her ear. It was not agreeable, but it was strongly familiar. She turned and looked up again at the wall of rankings and there it was.

  The category was 'Number of Services Offered' and in the lead position was Transom Industries. Its slogans: 'Anything as a Service' and 'All Roads Lead to Transom Industries'. Its anthem was a silly jingle she had heard countless times before and the crest had been animated to become a slowly spinning, segmented globe, its vertical and horizontal grid lines forming cubicles which themselves held icons representing various aspects of the huge conglomerate. The lock represented Transom Security Services, the quill representing Transom Legal Services, the shield: Transom Security Services, it went on and on. Transom, as far as she knew, had never been the most powerful nor the most profitable company in Las Joyas and they had never been able to develop a wildly successful product, but its depth and breadth of services were unsurpassed.