Love and Darkness (The Cause Book 2)
Page 3
At the door to the meeting room, Del knocked and then knelt on the small oriental carpet at the entrance. Procedures. “Enter,” Ma’am Keaton said. Del stood, entered, and then knelt again before Ma’ams Keaton and Billington. Besides the chairs holding Ma’ams Keaton and Billington, five sturdy pale oak chairs and a cheap, thick rug smelling of old blood were the only furnishings in the spare room. Ma’am Keaton sat in her chair, a swiveling rocker, and showed no expression at all. Ma’am Billington sat on a low-backed chair to her right and attempted to conceal her emotions as well. Del read her unhappiness despite the older Arm’s attempt at emotional masking.
“Stand.” Del stood. Controlled. Quiet. She stood in the precise center of the bloodstained carpet. From the sound and feel of her weight as she stood, she sensed the presence of plastic sheeting underneath the carpet. The sheeting would keep any blood from soaking through to stain the immaculate floor.
Keaton swiveled her chair and examined Del for nearly three minutes. Ma’am Keaton had been doing a lot of examining for the past week, ever since Arm Kent’s graduation. Ma’am Keaton hadn’t said anything, though.
“According to the log books, you picked up just over nine weeks of standard training in the past ten days. I would like you to demonstrate each of these to me, now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Del demonstrated. Weapons handling, muscle control, breathing techniques. Stretches, lesson summaries, speed drills. She walked across the room on her fingertips, a technique she had mastered only hours before her hunt. Del knew Ma’am Keaton’s judgment should terrify her, but without the fear only reason remained. “Ma’am, several of these…”
“Require the use of the gym to demonstrate. Yes. Let’s go.”
Ma’am Billington’s jaw tightened with anger and her eyes followed Del with wary unease as they walked to the gym. Del picked up nothing from Ma’am Keaton. She never did.
In the gym, Del demonstrated the other techniques she had learned and signed for. Tumbling, combat forms, balance. Her knife throwing skills made her the most proud, as she could put ten knives into the center of the target at forty feet. So soon after a kill, her pride expressed itself as an aching in her loins. Eight hours of release after a kill wasn’t enough.
“Out back to the yard.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We did this once before, and I want you to explain the differences,” Ma’am Keaton said. Keaton sent Billington out along the narrow road that wound through the back section of the estate grounds and left the estate. Del recognized the exercise as one to measure the range and acuity of her metasense. She followed the procedures, and listed Billington’s location and range at precise fifteen second intervals. Billington flashed her metasense in the guise of a Transform, without any attempts to mask her presence. Ma’am Keaton called Billington back after fifteen minutes.
“Explain.” Ma’am Keaton handed Del a page from Ma’am Keaton’s notebook as Billington jogged back. The page showed the results of Del’s first metasense test, from before Del discovered her quiet pools.
“Ma’am, I did poorly before, because I couldn’t concentrate. Ma’am, I’m surprised I did this well on my first test. I don’t remember calling out any locations.” Del ignored the sweat dripping down from her sides and the burning heat of the sun. Bushes and trees hid the estate’s boundaries well, in contrast to the open exercise area.
“Student, you didn’t call out any locations. I picked up the data by reading your expressions. You sensed the target, but at only a thousand feet. Pathetic metasense range.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her previous limitations made sense. Before Del’s discovery of the quiet pools, she leaked her thoughts like a wet sponge leaked water. No more.
“Do you understand what having a 2100 foot metasense range means, for an Arm?” Ma’am Keaton perched herself halfway up the oversized monkey bars and followed Del with her dead expressionless eyes.
“No, ma’am. I apologize for not having yet read the book in the library that explains the significance of metasense ranges, ma’am.”
Ma’am Keaton listed five journal articles on the subject for Del to read.
Del listened impassively, letting the five names settle into her quiet pools, where now she forgot nothing. “Ma’am, I wasn’t aware I had permission to read the technical journals or peruse the unpublished papers file.”
“Student, you do now.” Ma’am Keaton jumped down from the monkey bars and walked toward Del, capturing Del’s gaze with her eyes. “What am I doing now, Student?”
“You’re utilizing your predator effect on me.”
Keaton stopped moving and just stared.
Del prostrated herself on the ground.
Keaton shifted positions, and Del stood.
“Half of my graduates can’t pick up on those signals, Student. None of them can do it without fear. Explain.”
“Ma’am? I don’t understand.”
“Think. Put your thoughts together, Student.”
Del directed a single stream of thought across the quiet pools of her mind. She examined the data and arguments backwards and forwards. While she did, she tuned out the distant traffic noise and the fainter sound of Ma’am Billington’s returning footsteps.
She had talked to Ma’am Keaton for hours about the quiet pools in her mind, and found that Ma’am Keaton didn’t visualize her own mind as Del did. No other Arm used the quiet pools.
“Ma’am. Recognizing your signals isn’t something I learned. They are instinctive. The lack of fear is learned, ma’am. Before my discovery of the quiet pools in my mind, I feared then-Student Kent, and learned to be a little less fearful of her. Once I discovered the quiet pools, I found my minor talent to resist my fear of Arm Kent became more potent. Your predator causes ripples in the quiet pools, but the ripples dissipate.”
Ma’am Keaton nodded. “Arm Sibrian deals with the predator in a similar fashion, but not as well as you do. You see no problem with obeying my orders?”
“No, ma’am. Should I?”
“Huh.” Ma’am Keaton smiled faintly, but Del didn’t understand the humor. “I tortured you and broke you, Student, multiple times. Did you forget? Why don’t you resent this?”
“I remember. Ma’am, I resented the breaking until I figured out the benefits. I find the results difficult to argue with.”
“The anger vanishes into your quiet pool and dissipates.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am Billington vaulted over the exercise area’s fence and came close. Del kept her attention on Ma’am Keaton, but Ma’am Keaton asked no more questions. Ma’am Billington radiated unhappiness. She glared at Del before bowing to Ma’am Keaton.
“Student, Ma’am Billington finds you frustrating, and yet worked with you despite her frustrations. I’m awarding her a half hour of combat, with you, as recompense.” Ma’am Keaton turned to Billington. “Anything goes, as long as she’s alive at the end.”
Ma’am Billington smiled, and Ma’am Keaton left them to their combat practice.
Del bowed, and fought valiantly. And uselessly. She remained as minorly talented in combat as any Arm of her age, and no more.
The session proved to be long and painful.
---
“You’re a goddamed fucking robot! Scream, dammit!”
Del and Student Maynard haunted the gym this evening, alone, supposedly to exercise. Instead, Student Maynard did what she now always did when she found Del alone.
Three weeks ago, Del might have felt fear. Now, her fear disappeared into her quiet pools and left her rational and efficient. She wiggled free of Student Maynard’s grasp, aimed a swift kick at Maynard’s kneecap on the way out, and took to her feet.
Maynard’s ceaseless persecution went beyond the elbows and knife-pricks of their rough apprenticeship, the soiling of food and the nighttime harassment, all the way to actual attempts to cause serious damage when they sparred and fought. Ma’am Keaton didn’t interfere, nor did Ma’am Billingt
on before she left nearly a week ago, after she pummeled Del into near unconsciousness and formally accepted Ma’am Keaton’s tag. Ma’am Keaton now personally trained both Del and Maynard, her business elsewhere concluded.
Del worked to understand combat with her newfound rationality, and Ma’am Keaton helped. Fighting was more than strength, speed and positioning. As when Del read a person’s thoughts and emotions, she learned to read a fighter. Fighters gave off tells, hints of their intentions. Ma’am Keaton, of course, walloped Del whenever Ma’am Keaton desired. Nor did Ma’am Keaton have any problem hiding her combat intentions, if she desired. However, to help Del, Ma’am Keaton telegraphed her moves, until Del picked up on the tell. Then Ma’am Keaton hid the tell and moved on to one more subtle. Del learned, and on the side studied Student Maynard.
“Your mind is a quiet pool of shit,” Maynard said, as she leapt at Del again. “You’re a zombie, nothing more than a fucking zombie being moved around by the juice. You have no passion, no reason to live, dammit! Fucking die!”
Anger choked Maynard’s mind. From Ma’am Keaton’s reaction, this was something common to most if not all Arms of Maynard’s age. Del once snarled the same way, before her discovery. Anger wasn’t a weakness, but a motivator.
Del now found her motivation in the quiet.
Maynard left herself open for only an instant. Slightly off balance, too much forward momentum for the attack she threw at Del. Del had waited for this for several days. Waiting. Watching. Ready.
Del remained barely stronger than a normal woman, a result of her short time since her transformation and her weeks of conflict with her mental voices. Student Maynard, months farther along in her transformation into an adult Arm, was already far stronger for her size than any normal woman or man. Worse, Maynard’s speed and quickness overshadowed her strength, marking her as one of the speed Arms instead of a strength-oriented Arm. Worst, her instinctive combat skills overshadowed them all. Still… Del stepped forward at just the right time and kicked at Maynard’s leg when her balance was just far enough off for the kick to matter. Maynard went sprawling. Del then used Maynard’s own momentum to lift herself off the ground, and then to fall heavily down on top of Maynard. They both skidded to a stop next to the weight machine, right where Maynard couldn’t maneuver to use her strength and speed advantages against Del. Del grabbed Maynard’s left arm and pinned her. Maynard’s right arm, wedged against the weight machine, couldn’t move. Victory. Del flicked her stiletto out of her ankle sheath and carefully poked it into Maynard’s neck, behind her anterior jugular vein and her windpipe. Maynard froze.
“You mistake control for lack of passion, a potentially fatal mistake,” Del said. Her triumph and glee disappeared into the quiet pools. Only a cold satisfaction of a job well done remained, and the ache of unsatisfied lust she always felt.
Maynard nodded with her eyes. The stench of terror wafted off Maynard in a flood.
“In private, I’m now Ma’am Sokolnik. From now on, you’ll treat me with respect, or you will die.”
Another nod of the eyes.
“I need more pleasure after a kill than I can find in the eight hours we’re allowed. Your responsibility, now.”
Another nod of the eyes.
“Say it.”
Del smelled the faint odor of urine and mentally sneered at her fallen opponent. An Arm of Maynard’s age should possess better self-control. Maynard managed to choke out a quiet “Yes, ma’am,” and Del removed her stiletto. The blade dripped tiny drops of blood on Maynard’s back and the already bloodstained concrete of the floor.
“Starting immediately.” Del was pleased. Her gambit had worked, and her success would satisfy two of her problems at once. Maynard wouldn’t stay humbled, but something done once could be done twice. Better, Del improved much faster than Maynard. Maynard had been a fool to provoke Del this way. Del, although months younger as an Arm than Maynard, was much older as a person, and counted herself as wise in the ways of the world. The next time, the stiletto would go through Maynard’s eye socket and into her brain.
Truthfully, Del had always preferred women to men, though as a schoolteacher coming of age in the ‘40s, she rarely had a chance for either. Unlike Maynard, Del well remembered her prior life, and in her prior life, teaching had been her passion. She had lived her life unmarried and virginal. Physical pleasure had been her undiscovered country.
As an Arm, she would be discovering that country. Starting now.
Gail Rickenbach: August 25, 1972
Oh God, Gail thought. She’s going to come in the front door!
Gail put down her Zielinski diagrams and dismissed her latest attempt at mastering the ‘automatic warning of juice flow irregularities’ juice pattern. She scrambled out of her office, almost bumping her head on the boxes precariously balanced over her desk, and ran down the crowded apartment hallway toward the apartment complex’s entryway, dodging furniture along the way.
Down the steps, around the corner, to almost flatten Elaine Crawford and her overflowing laundry basket. “Sorry!” Roger Grimm, with John Guynes at his side, beat Gail to the door because all they needed to do was stand and take two steps. The Arm casually took John’s favorite old-style revolver from his hands before John reacted.
“Arm Webberly! Come in!” Gail said, waving her right hand and wondering how she ended up with a boy’s 3T blue shirt in her left hand. Gail had been watching Rose on her patrols for three days, taking advantage of a couple of recently mastered metasense juice patterns. The new patterns allowed her to extend her metasense range, sort of, by focusing on a cone shaped area instead of her usual sphere. This morning, she finally got up enough nerve to wave at the Arm and invite her over. She was so used to Teacher’s tendency to bounce in through windows that she forgot to warn her people about the Arm invitation.
“Is there a problem, Focus Rickenbach?” Rose said. Although Rose matched Gail’s height, her presence was far more striking and forceful. Both Roger and John remained frozen in place. What was Roger doing on door greeter duty today, anyway, Gail wondered. Although she loved him dearly, the older man had a grandfatherly tendency to wander off topic, forget names, and say the wrong courtesies, especially around Major Transforms. ‘Focus Gilgamesh, could you pass the peas’n’onions, please’ still brought a smile to Gail’s face when she remembered an incident from before Gilgamesh went out to learn to become a Guru.
“No, not at all,” Gail said. She motioned for the Arm to come in and the Arm did, handing Gail John’s revolver. Gail put the weapon and the 3T shirt down on a stack of chairs and led the Arm to the stairway down to the complex’s partial basement, converted from a storage area (thus the furniture lining all their hallways) to a small gym. “I was just getting, well, embarrassed about not formally inviting you over to do the teaching the Commander assigned you. I can’t put it off any longer.”
“Teaching? Interesting,” Rose said. Gail couldn’t tell Rose’s actual interest in this teaching, Rose being as emotionally shuttered as normal. The black Arm had suffered mightily under Keaton’s training, and responded by dampening her emotions and projecting coldness and hardness. Gail liked what she sensed of Rose anyway, typical for one of Teacher’s recruits and allies. Teacher’s people and allies were all likeable, eventually, and the most instantly off-putting tended to be the most fascinating over time. They were all interesting to talk to, and had such strange backgrounds. “That shouldn’t be an issue. Why don’t you show me where you are in your lessons, and we’ll take it from there.”
---
Gail carefully lifted the loaded chest press bar back on the rack. “Did you feel the difference?” Rose said. Gail nodded. “Even a quarter inch off form impedes your ability to properly lift. Your body’s juice-based physiology compensates automatically for your form errors, causing you to use juice during simple exercise you otherwise wouldn’t need to use.”
“This is important to you,” Gail said, looking up at Rose from the bench
and breathing heavily. “May I ask why?” With Rose, Gail didn’t need to ‘yes ma’am’ her, which made Gail a bit nervous, so instead she mirrored Rose’s politeness and formality.
“Juice is life. Wasting juice wastes lives.”
Right. Arms hunted down their juice and killed untagged Transforms for it. As a Focus, Gail produced her own juice, and when she used juice faster she regenerated her juice faster because she was stuck in the low juice state natural to all Focuses.
“Now, let’s work on your squats,” Rose said. “We all think in terms of hand-eye coordination, so hand and arm form errors are easier to correct. Leg form errors are much more difficult, both to detect and correct.”
“Sure,” Gail said, as she rose from the bench with a muffled groan. Rose’s pace was exhausting and she never stopped. Before she gave herself to the Cause, Gail would have begged for a breather. Not any longer.
---
“So, ma’am, you’re an Arm?” Daisy said. She sat on the couch in Gale and Van’s living room, with research papers spread across the coffee table in front of her.
Rose wrinkled her nose at Daisy’s chain-smoker stench and nodded. Van had Daisy collating their work on the Baby Arm project in her off hours. The Arms had found too few newly transformed Arms in the last year, and so now Gail’s household tried to figure out where the missing baby Arms had gone, as part of their contribution to the Cause.
Daisy’s analysis on the subject served double duty. It helped the household and also kept Daisy’s incredible non-stop mind busy, which kept her from getting bored and getting high, her typical behavior when bored.
“Neat!” Daisy turned to Gail, who at the moment lay flat on the floor, eyes closed, attempting to fight off a low-juice headache gained from four grueling hours in the weight room and two exciting and more grueling hours sparring. Rose was a font of useful advice, having taught Gail more about how to compensate for her lack of fighting speed in two hours of instruction and sparring than Teacher had before, cumulatively.