by Arthur Stone
“And as he walks, all the girls come out to meet him, and the creatures of the land and sea bring gifts...”
“Right. It is only a legend, a fable.”
“But I am on my way to reenacting it, it seems. I am the beginning of the fable.”
“Yes, you have consumed a pearl right from the outset, and it has clearly generated significant anomalies.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“To be frank, Boiler, no. What I perceive in you, I am unable to verbally express. I do not comprehend you. I do not even see this clockstopper skill you say manifested last night. Your psychomental essence is akin to a black hole. I have never even heard of anything like you before. The closest was a woman with three abilities, two of which were quite well developed, but that case is quite distant from yours. If anything, that woman was closer to those with no abilities at all than she was to you. You must speak with another healer, one with more experience and a stronger gift. I am unable to ascertain what other abilities you may have.”
“But someone else could?”
“I cannot say, since my perception of you is so unclear. Something is happening to you. And it has only just begun. Perhaps the turbulence will cease tomorrow, or in a week, and I would be able to tell you more, but I am afraid I will not be here by then.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I have decided to head west. In fact, the caravan I am joining is departing in a couple of hours.”
“Are there any other healers in the area?”
“This is just a miniscule stable poised on the edge of the East. I have difficulty finding enough work here as it is. The gift of the healer is uncommon, and we usually relocate to more populated areas to make the greatest use of it.”
“I see. Well, perhaps at least you can tell me how to use this gift that has manifested.”
“I do not understand your meaning.”
“I have no idea how to activate it. How to slow down time. Last night, it just happened on its own, without any intention on my part, so I have no idea how to use it. That’s really inconvenient, especially if I’m going to end up passed out every time it happens.”
“Ah, I understand. Your mind has a switch. Somewhere.”
“So... how do I flip it?”
“Can you wiggle your ears?”
“What? No.”
“Try it. Or perhaps there is some other funny movement you could work on.”
“I can try, but I really don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“Well, using abilities is similar to movements like that. To start, try wiggling your ears, and imagine that as soon as they move, time will slow down. Link one to the other, and eventually your brain will figure out the rest.”
“Weird. Sounds like an innovative method, at least.”
“There are many sorts of methods out there, but this one is most to my liking. It is simple and easy to learn. But do not be overly hasty to test the full extent of your gift. At first, you will be unable to activate it, but that will gradually become easier and easier, until a single thought will be enough. Our brains are quite adept at acquisition. Then slow down time for just a short while. Make a couple of gradual movements. Your body will actually be moving at such speed that impacts could injure you, even break your bones, so take it easy.
“Increase the pace of your actions gradually, and your body will grow used to this new mode of operation. Consider each and every movement carefully, and keep the total number to a minimum. And never slow down time if you are spore-starved. I promise you that the overexertion will later make you wish you were dead, that is, if it fails to kill you first. One final thing: consume grayball solution at every opportunity.”
“Grayballs?” Just when I thought I was getting a hang of the lingo.
“The common name for them is peas, but I prefer ‘grayballs.’”
“I’ve got one of those.”
“You will need more, but I suppose you must start somewhere. Pour vinegar into a glass, up to a third full, fill the rest with water, and then toss the grayball in. It will dissolve quickly. Neutralize the acid with soda, then strain the resulting mixture through a gauze filter, five or six layers thick. This will remove the poisonous flakes. Then drink the result.”
“What is it with this place and disgusting beverages?”
“It is no luxury cocktail, this is true. You can also use strong alcohol to dissolve the grayball, with the same filtering procedure, but that will take an extended period of time, an hour or so. Vinegar can complete the process in five minutes.”
“How will this help develop my ability?”
“Despite being the subject of much debate and study, the way our bodies interact with the parasite is unknown. But the more grayballs you consume, the longer you will be able to remain in an accelerated state, and the less severe the negative consequences will be. In other words, you will experience a reduced intensity of microtrauma events on your joints, ligaments, and tendons. In fact, if you train your body as I have described, you will soon barely notice the consequences.”
“What about blacking out?”
“Try not to stay in your accelerated state for as long as you can. As soon as you feel a sense of ‘swimming,’ that sense that something is wrong with the environment around you, return to normal speed. In other words, when you can move easily, you have nothing to worry about, but as soon as your body begins to protest, or something about the motion around you seems unusual, or something bright shines in the sky, exit your accelerated state. Then, allow yourself a reasonable time for rest before entering that state again. You must not continually manipulate time repeatedly. Actually, that is not quite correct. You may use your ability repeatedly, but only if it is for very short periods of time, without ever reaching those signs of breakdown I just discussed. Is that clear?”
“I’ll try to remember all of that.”
“You will learn quickly. Just remember to train. Ah, yes, and this training will cost you. Entering a state of acceleration consumes a great deal of energy. You will need to eat immense amounts of food and frequently consume a solution of spores. Much more than usual.”
“How much?”
“At least one spore every twenty-four hours. You may need as many as two per day, though, especially if you activate your new ability frequently. And do not delay if you start to feel the symptoms of spore deprivation. Immediately take a swallow or two.”
“Overdosing is harmful, I thought.”
“Only chronic overdosing. If that happens, your nose will start to bleed, and then your nails and eyes will begin to yellow. So if your nose starts bleeding, rest and try not to let the jaundice set in. You do not want to experience what comes afterwards.”
“What does come afterwards?”
“Nothing good. Unless you desire to look like an infected, it is best not to find out.”
“I see. So the same thing could happen to me that happens to those who have bad luck with pearls?”
“There are similarities. Your mind would remain intact, but your body would change. Though continue overdosing could destroy your mind, as well.”
“If that happens, your chances of survival drop below zero. Everything that sees you will try to kill you. No one will bother asking whether you’re immune or infected.”
“Actually, some live with this malady without overabundant difficulty. But they must avoid the more wild stables, and even in the peaceful ones must take care of their appearance. Clean clothing, well-groomed hair, and so on. Their behavior is an issue, too, for they must not be perceived to be jumping out suddenly around a corner. And at night, they are advised to stay inside. I am sure you see why.”
“Interesting. Of course. Infecteds never take care of their clothes and so on, but at night, such differences would not be noticed.”
“You will see one of these sooner or later. When you are in this town, do not keep a bullet in your chamber. And keep your safety on. Imagine that you
are in a populous stable, where you might see a quasi at any time. As you draw your gun, disable the safety, and take aim, he or she will have plenty of time to alert you to his or her status, most likely with a string of choice vulgarities. Thus you will realize your target is no infected.”
“So they’re called ‘quasis’?”
“Correct. Remember, you could have been one of them, if your luck had not held when you consumed that pearl.”
“Yeah.” His forgotten rage reappeared. “Those fuckers! They should have told...”
“I assure you, they are not to blame for anything.”
“Right, right, you consider being a quasi an acceptable risk, I know. OK, thank you. Let me pay you and get going. I still need to find Gloom.”
“Just go right one lot and across the street. Her residence is the largest in town. You will not miss it. The fire for the water heater sends up a decent amount of smoke, too. Many raiders come here to wash. I visited once, but the steam room did not agree with me. It was inadequate and dirty.”
“Still, I need it. My clothes are a mess. I really need some clean stuff.”
“Raiders bring Gloom all kinds of things to trade for a night’s stay and a strong drink, so she has plenty of things to sell. You will find something to your liking. And no, do not hand me any spores. I will refuse them.”
“Why?”
“I was unable to offer you the help you needed.”
“I think you’ve helped a lot.”
“I have not. But more than that, you are a very unusual case. We healers must learn and develop our ability, just like everyone else. That includes learning new information. Other healers wish to hear about people like you. I will tell them your story, and in exchange, they will divulge their own secrets to me.”
“So I’m worth it to you for the information.”
“Precisely. To healers, information is worth more than money.”
“Thanks for your honesty. Five spores is not a trivial thing to come by.”
“Farewell, Boiler. Perhaps we shall see each other again.”
Chapter 28
Outside, Charcoal set to sniffing the nearby bushes. Despite his phenomenal interest in the invisible distraction, Boiler walked on, declining to wait for him. The cat wouldn’t get himself lost. He would find his human friend when he wanted to. And if he never wanted to, well, Boiler had no claim to him. Sure, he had fed him and given him lifejuice, but the animal had paid him back in full and then some, risking his own fur more than once to save Boiler from certain death.
He was useful to have around, and Boiler had grown attached to him. If the cat left, the man would be sad, but what could he do about it?
Boiler crossed the street and headed for the oversized, untidy building with “Gloom” written all over it, in both the figurative and literal senses. The decoration was not haphazard, though. Graphical depictions elucidated the services offered there, serving as both information and advertisement. A large bottle next to a glass, a fried chicken, and a girl of unnatural proportions wearing little more than a devilish red-lipped smile. No one had drawn a depiction of the bathhouse, but a column of smoke rose from behind the large building, accompanied by the distinct aroma of burning pine wood.
Before Boiler made it to the double doors entering the establishment, though, yet another event delayed his coveted wash time. A man covered in blood but not by any clothing except a tattered shirt ran out from the narrow alleyway, fell to the ground, and banged his forehead on a pathetically tiny piece of asphalt that still, against all odds, refused to part with its existence. The blow confused him profoundly, rendering him unable to rise again no matter the effort he expended on the attempt.
A muscular man of about thirty sporting a shaved head and the camouflage get-up of some unknown army emerged from the same cranny. Certainly not the U.S. Army. Something else. Full of purpose, the soldier marched towards the bottomless prone man, who was just beginning to rise, and kicked him back down, slamming his face into the pavement yet again.
Camo turned to face Boiler with a threatening mumble. “What’d you call me, freak?”
Boiler had never even seen the man before, not to mention insult him, but he could tell this encounter would not be ruled by logic. This guy wanted to escalate things to a fight as quickly as possible, not talk them out. Actually, the fight had already started—Boiler had just not quite yet been invited.
His invitation came enveloped in a sweeping right hook. Boiler declined to put up his guard, instead going down with the blow as he swung his hand in a jab straight at the man’s liver. His adversary held his footing, stepped back with a grimace, and spoke, without a hint of malice in his voice. “I’ll bury you in the pavement for that. I don’t like you.”
“Look, buddy, what’s your problem with that guy?” Boiler pointed to the body on the pavement. “Night of passion skewered you too hard? Finding it too painful to sit down?”
Most people would be enraged by this, and an infuriated opponent is a clumsy opponent. This man merely grinned and charged.
The might of the blow took Boiler’s breath clean out of him, and that coming from a man whose fighting had been so unremarkable seconds before. The shock overflowed from the merely physical into the mental. The newcomer tried to retreat, but something unexpected aborted his plans as he felt like an invisible hand was pressing against his chest, causing him to lose his balance. Boiler might have held his stance nevertheless, but his injured shin gave way, bringing him down. All he could manage was to rotate his body—right into the incoming sole of the man’s boot.
He slid off to the side, struggled to regain his balance, then drew his knife and swung, missing by mere inches. The attacker hopped back, drawing his own knife. “A knife fight, eh? Big mistake, bitch.”
The man’s agility made Boiler realize that this situation was much worse than he had thought. The bastard was skilled with his feet in a fight, but he was at least as good with a knife. Boiler could not hope to compete. His leg was failing him, some invisible hand of the non-economic variety was pressing on his chest, and he was carrying a backpack, a gun, and a sheathed sword, which did not improve his mobility. The last two things could help him a great deal, but there was no way his opponent would let him draw them.
What the hell was pushing on his chest? Something supernatural was going on here. Was this the attacker’s gift?
The knife came at him, and he barely dodged. He was forced to retreat again to avoid a close-combat battle against an opponent that outclassed him entirely. A blade in the ribs was not one of his objectives at this stable.
Camo grinned, puckered his lips, and blew while waving both of his hands. Boiler felt like he was slapped on the forehead. His head jerked and he recoiled, involuntarily stepping back another couple of steps. He waved his knife around in the air, threatening the invisible menace before it could strike a third time.
“Cut it out! I said cut it out. Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Windbag had appeared out of nowhere. He stood just a few steps away, pistol drawn. Dicer approached him, no weapon drawn but a holstered gun clearly visible around his belt, with some kind of wild redneck type behind him, wielding a submachine gun.
The aggressive camouflaged bastard stepped back, saluted with his knife, and sheathed it. Boiler did the same, but without the military flair.
Dicer approached, shaking his head. “I told you to leave shit like this outside my town, Boiler.”
“I didn’t start this.”
“What was the knife for, then? Skinning invisible apples?”
The man on the pavement groaned and spat blood. “Calm down, Dicer, this stranger had nothing to do with this.”
“I told him not to make trouble.”
“He sure as hell was not making trouble. Neither was I. I just got out of Gloom’s and was heading straight to the bathhouse. Then this one just attacked, and he’s a skilled kinetic. I got slammed into walls, thrown into the ground. He was starting to do t
he same to this guy here. What the hell is wrong with this place? We’re just living honest lives, trying to relax a little, and we get assaulted by wild kinetics in the streets?”
“Cool it, I’m not making trouble, either. This fucker’s not one of ours.” Dicer pointed at Boiler’s adversary, who stood there grinning. “What’s your name? Where are you from? Who are you?”
“Seeing as I fucked your mother, I guess that makes me your daddy.”
The bloodied man laughed. “Looks like your authority here isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Dicer.”
“Shut up. I’ll deal with this. Take this one down to the cellar and we’ll finish our talk with him. You OK, Boiler? We’re hard on knives here. When I heard, I rushed over.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Boiler wasn’t about to clarify that he had drawn his knife first, turning a fistfight into a deadlier one. The other man had attacked first.
He caught the bastard’s eye for a moment and saw a distant glee, a look of celebration barely concealed from most of the world. As if he now possessed precisely what he had wanted.
He’s nuts. Being locked in a basement is nothing to celebrate about. And judging by Dicer’s look, his time there would be unpleasant. This place had no police, no militia, no human rights workers—all authority rested in the hands of Dicer and his gang. But even if they went so far as to burn the fucker alive, Boiler would hardly mourn. If Dicer had shown up just a few seconds later, Boiler would’ve had to visit the healer again, assuming he was still alive at all.
As he resumed his route to the showers, he reflected on how he had never in his life seen someone fight so skillfully with a knife.
* * *
In a flash, Boiler drew his gun and went to load a round into the chamber, but a single word stopped him. “Relax.”
A ghoul was telling him to relax. Right, of course. Her skin had developed that fine mesh of creases, her cheeks hung off her face like a bulldog baring its teeth, and her shoulders were all hunched. She looked like a highly-developed runner, about to embark on the long process of losing her human form entirely.
