Once We Were Human (The Commander Book 1) (23 page)

They left me in the padded room after the draw, save for the necessary exercise sessions.  Agent Bates provided the entertainment this time.  Not personally.  He brought me an entire box of sex toys, which drew embarrassed guffaws from the orderlies and a red-faced stammer from the much more puritanical Dr. Zielinski.  My amorous advances strained my exercise sessions with Larry.  He was interested in my advances but was not in a position to carry through.  Instead, he pushed me to exercise so hard I nearly had to crawl back to my padded cell.  Luckily, Bates’ sex toys, some of which I had never before imagined, had taken enough of the edge off to allow me to function with a semblance of normality.

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Two days after my third draw, Agent Bates had me dragged away from my solitary entertainments and into an unused office.  I hadn’t had a bath or shower since they tossed me into solitary, and I had no way to redo the chipped nail polish on my toenails.  I knew I smelled like a cathouse but I didn’t give a crap anymore.  The only pieces of normality I craved were the pictures of my children.  The rest could go hang.

“Mrs. Hancock, have a seat.”

“Hell, Bates, just close the door and fuck me, why don’t you?” I said, with a smirk.  “You understand my needs.  Do it.”

“I thought you were over that,” he said, and lit one of his Camels.

“Yah, but since you’ve been so nice to me, I thought I’d offer.  Last time I checked, men liked sex like this.”

He laughed.  “Tell you what,” he said.  “You take me up on my employment offer, and once I get you out of this damned place, I’ll make sure this lack goes away.”

“Is that a
personal
offer?” I batted my eyelashes at him.

“No.  I’m a married man, but several of the agents working for me are unmarried.  Some of them like it rough.”

I smiled.  He did understand. 

“In a few weeks, I think I can temporarily free you for a trial run on my employment offer.  We’re billing it as a way to get you some more exercise and as proof that you can work with FBI agents and other authorities,” Bates said.

“So, what’s the damned offer?” I asked.

“A Monster hunt.”

“You want to employ me to hunt Monsters?”  I’d wondered what possible job the FBI might offer me, and I had to admit Monster hunting sounded better than I expected.

It still sounded lame.

“What’s the fucking catch?” I asked.

“Before you can be let out of the Detention Center in such an unsupervised manner, I need at least a verbal agreement that you’re going to accept the employment offer,” Bates said.  “It’s the only way I can get around the local Missouri legal problems.”

Fucking blackmailer.

“Well, I’ve got a catch as well.  I need juice.  Much more often than I’m getting it here.”

His face fell.  Bates tried to hide it, but failed.  “Sure.  No problem.”

“You’re lying.”

Bates turned away from me.  “If I can get you out of here, and mobile, I’m sure we can fix the sort of problems we’re currently having.”

Another lie.  “You’re just guessing.  You have no idea how to get me Transforms regularly, do you?”

“I’m…

“You’re just leading me on.  Dammit, Bates, without juice I die!  With low juice I end up doing insane things, like slapping people around all the time.  You get the juice problem solved and I’ll sign on.  Not until then.”

“We can’t afford to wait.”

Now he told the truth.  “How come?” I asked, with as much control over my emotions as I could muster.

“Politics.  Politics in the FBI.”

“Solve them.”

“I need you first, Mrs. Hancock.  I don’t have enough to bargain with.”  Bates took a drag and polluted the air.  “You’re not a housewife anymore.  You’re starting to get rough and tough.  Not enough, though.  You need training, you need experience.  You’re not getting any of that here.  Only way out of here is to take chances and get out in the real world.  Your best chance is going to be with me.”  He was telling the truth with his assessment of my expertise, but just guessing about the last.

I laughed.  “Without juice, going with you is suicide.  Fix the juice problem and I’m yours.”  I had an idea.  “You’re wife is a Transform, right?  She’s got a Focus, right?  If worse comes to worse, then…”

He turned back to look at me, his face livid with anger.  “Transforms under the care of a Focus are off limits to you.  Any household Transform belonging to any Focus,” he said.  I’d never heard Bates angry before.  He growled like a bear.  “The whole point of the job I’m offering you is to protect those household Transforms, Mrs. Hancock.  Taking them for your juice would be murder.  I’d kill you if you even
tried
to take one of them.”

“You would try,” I said with a growl of my own.  I wanted to fight.  I looked him over and noticed he
had drawn his handgun and had it pointed at me.  A big handgun, with a barrel wide enough for me to stick one of my fingers down.  Probably made to take down Monsters and Arms.

“Get out of here, Mrs. Hancock.  Our conversation is done, today.”

I had the urge to fight him for the hell of it.  Luckily, I’d drawn juice two days ago and wasn’t feeling stupid.  I could control my urge to fight.  Barely.  Yes, there was a little voice inside me that screamed that I was an idiot to think that I, Carol Hancock, former housewife, might be able to fight a big strong man with a gun.

“Fine,” I said.  I stood and backed away toward the office door.  “You want me for your FBI program, arrange for the juice first.  Then we’ll talk.”

“I doubt I’ll have the chance, Mrs. Hancock.”

On that ominous note, I left.  The orderlies chained me up and I remained chained the rest of the day, even during my exercise sessions.

Bob Scalini: October 9, 1966 – October 16, 1966

Bob Scalini sat in the Medical section of the downtown branch of the St. Louis Public Library.  He had a favorite table at the far end of the stacks that escaped most people’s notice.  One small table, with two chairs.  He could surround himself with books and periodicals, and study to his heart’s content.

The library was an excellent place, once he got used to the idea, silent and solitary.  No one bothered him, even if he spent long hours there.  He had been able to do all sorts of reading, especially research on Transform Sickness. 

He didn’t trust what he read.  The books and articles sounded so confident and authoritative when they talked about the Shakes.  Yet, so much of what they said did not match the things he experienced.  The literature didn’t mention dross.  They talked of men and women Transforms as if they were all the same, but he saw variation among the Transforms when he looked at them.  Not only was he convinced there were things about Transform Sickness the researchers didn’t understand, he was sure most of what they wrote was mistaken. 

Today, he wasn’t reading, he was writing.  After finishing the letter, he realized he
had slipped up and signed his name as Bob Scalini.  He angrily ripped up the last page of the letter.  He wasn’t ‘Bob’ anymore. 
Gilgamesh,
he thought to himself.  Gilgamesh! 

He had to stop thinking of himself as Bob. 

Bob Scalini was dead. 

Gilgamesh rewrote the letter.  Letters were a wonderful idea, and he had already thanked Midgard for suggesting them.  They had exchanged two letters, and it had turned out to be a pleasant way to exchange information.  The letters provided human contact and information, but without the stress of a physical meeting. 

Midgard’s letters were a delight to read. 

---

Midgard

Congratulations on taking dross from the Detention Center.  No, I don’t mind, and no, it’s not just you – it was disturbing to me too, the first time I took from the Center.  I’ve been spending time in the library and I’ve found out a lot of information on the Transform woman held in the St. Louis Detention Center.

She’s an Arm, and her real name is Carol Hancock (I like Tiamat better).  She’s what they call a ‘victim of Armenigar’s Syndrome’, a ‘failed Focus’.  They’re fools.  She’s no more a ‘failed Focus’ than I am.

All but one of the previous American Arms died soon after their transformations.  The one who lived is Stacy Keaton – yes, Stacy Keaton the serial killer.  I’m convinced she’s Zaltu.  I’m not surprised both of us fear her, despite the fact that as best as we can tell, she can’t sense us.

Hidden in the far back of the library, I found a book on Transforms you might enjoy: “The Transformation of a Species” by a Dr. Earnest Hammel.  To him, Transform Sickness is not just a disease, but a single mutation caused or activated by a disease trigger.  He says the differentiation of Transforms into male Transforms, female Transforms and Focuses is an example of specialization, a natural next step when a species evolves.  He also says: “Although the problem of female infertility among Transforms would normally preclude the specialization event’s success, we do believe that the Transformation Sickness is not finished with humanity, and that something will turn up to address this problem”.

I find his thesis interesting, even if he doesn’t say anything about Crows, but I have a problem with the idea of a single mutation causing the six known Transform varieties (if you count the Beast Men rumors as true).  And multiple simultaneous mutations seems to me to be beyond the bounds of probability.  So I suspect no one knows what Transform Sickness is in truth.

Take care.

Gilgamesh

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Gilgamesh

Thank you for the information on Tiamat and Zaltu.  I cowered for several hours after I realized that we might be playing with Stacy Keaton, but I came out of my panic when I realized that to her – like to everyone else – we Crows are invisible.  I don’t know if you’ve run into this little treasure before, but there are times when I actually have to attract a normal’s attention before he’ll notice that I’m standing right in front of him.

I should warn you, though, about the rumors that Focuses can sense us if we get too close to their households.  I’m not sure how long their metasense range is but according to the rumors it’s around a hundred feet.

I need to think of a more calming subject, so why don’t I tell you about my past.  I transformed in Birmingham, Alabama in mid-September of last year.  Another Crow, by the name of Phobos, found me just after I awoke from my coma.  He took me to his home and calmed me.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you during your transformation, out on your own and in the world-hell of panic.  He taught me the basics, and then sent me on my way because there wasn’t enough dross in Birmingham.  As if there’s ever enough dross anywhere.

I’ve never found a spot to settle down.  I’ve run into other, older Crows during my wanderings, and it’s strange, but the older the Crow, the more abrupt and less kind they were to me.  Still, even the older Crows speak kindly about the ones they call the ‘senior Crows’ – likely the first Crows in America.  I know of two living somewhere in the New York – New England area: Thomas the Dreamer, who lives in a cabin in Maine and Shadow, who owns a stationery shop in New York City. 

Crows I’ve met include your acquaintance Sinclair (he sure does get around – I met him in Memphis), Hephaestus in Dallas, Rook in Baton Rouge, and a scary older Crow named Wandering Shade in Kansas City.

I think you can count the Beast Men rumors as true.  All the older Crows warn you to watch out for them, and several have met and fled from them.  According to what I’ve learned, Beast Men are dangerous because they can sense us – and because they are as mindless and violent as these Arms.

Take care.

Midgard

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Midgard

Thanks for the information on Beast Men.  If my suppositions are correct, they’re the predator who preys on Crows.  On the other hand, I’m not sure the Arms are mindless.  I’ve read the newspaper articles that refer to them as the Monster version of Focuses, but from watching Tiamat, I believe she can still talk.  Zaltu goes shopping and bar hopping, for gosh sakes.  I suspect the Arms can even pass as normal women.

What do you know about Monsters and psychotic men?  The papers say how dangerous and mindless they are, but I do wonder how correct these reports are, given how incorrect the papers are about everything else.

I’ve found quite a few puzzling spots of dross scattered around St. Louis, unconnected with any known Transform activities.  They are located…

… and so those two spots in the hospital are my fault.  I hadn’t meant to kill the two men who attacked me.  I’m not so sure how sorry I am, though.

Good luck.

Gilgamesh

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Gilgamesh