The Shadow of the Progenitors: A Transforms Novel (The Cause Book 1) (8 page)

Gloria wasn’t strong enough for this test.  I had several more tests to do, after Gloria recovered, but I was beginning to doubt Gloria was a strong enough Focus to move juice to an Arm.

---

Visualize.  Locate.  There!  Finally!  A dross-encrusted rubber washer, tricked up to radiate juice to the metasense.

Metasense exercises.  Bah.  I stood, stretched, and took a deep breath.  My bedroom overlooked a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by my house.  In the spring my people would plant and tend flowers.  Right now, the dark Chicago sky rained on old snow.

Honing my metasense fulfilled my current work quota on the juice moving project.  I couldn’t do the next test until Gloria recovered, and the other item on my practice list, learning to interrupt my juice draw mid-draw, disgusted me too much to even contemplate.

Somewhere in the house Gilgamesh shrieked.  My adrenaline shot up, I covered myself with my best defenses, and I ran toward him; my house was supposed to be his safe haven.  My scrumptious Crow had been driving himself batty with overwork, so much so that he had become nearly worthless in bed.  Doing dross construct training exercises.  Teaching Crows, in particular Newton, how to teach other Crows the intricacies of how to clean ancient dross from a Focus household.  He wouldn’t say, but his overwork craze kept him from thinking about what Lori and Sky were doing with the no-longer-secret tag tuning project.  He had been attempting to woo Lori, and we all knew if the project succeeded, our ever-indecisive Focus would finally settle on Sky.

Gilgamesh, also covered in his best defenses, passed me in the hallway going the other direction.  We were so well defended we didn’t even noticed each other until we passed, which would have been damned stupid in a fight, and was also, unfortunately, typical.  He radiated terror and anger, and I couldn’t tell which would win in the end.  I turned around, as did he.

“Read this!  This is crap!  Insane!”

Anger.

He handed me a letter.

Gilgamesh,

You have exceeded your position and authority as a Crow.  You have not earned the right to teach, and you spread forbidden knowledge and misguided information that endangers all Crows.

You will cease instructing other Crows, you will cease all aid to The Cause, and you will cease all contact with any of the other Major Transforms, or you will suffer the consequences.

The letter wasn’t signed.  “Someone’s cruis’n for a bruise’n,” I said, speaking Chitown Mobster.  Nobody messed with
my Crow
.

“Although the letter isn’t signed, it’s from Guru Chevalier and his cronies,” Gilgamesh said.  “I’ve gotten warning letters many times, from many other Crows, but never an ultimatum of this nature.”

“What can they do to you?”

Gilgamesh didn’t roll his eyes, not wanting to disrespect me, but I metasensed the truth behind the non-eye roll.  “They could ruin me in dozens of ways.  The most obvious would be to grab me, take me to San Francisco, and enslave me.  Chevalier already has one enslaved Crow working for him, Hoptoad, and all Hoptoad did was, well, marry a Focus.”

“All.”

“All.  Whatever happened to the idea of freedom?”

Gilgamesh knew better.  He was just angry.  “Chevalier could just say he was keeping Hoptoad from being killed by the first Focuses,” I said.  True, as well.  “What could Guru Chevalier do to you?  Is there any way around this?”

“Carol,” he said.  “There’s only one way around this.  I need to become a Guru.”  Gain the rank to qualify him for what he was already doing.  Gurus earned the right to make such strategic decisions.  “This won’t be easy.  I’ll be gone for months, perhaps a full year, depending on how the training goes.  Shadow offered this to me at the North Tonawanda meeting.  I told him at the time I couldn’t desert you.”

“Well, he did predict the discovery and presentation of the Eskimo Spear was going to cause a firestorm,” I said.  “I guess he was right.  Go.  Think of the Cause, Gilgamesh.  The more Crow Gurus we have on board, the better for all of us.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Gilgamesh said.  “Now wouldn’t be a good time for any of our old personal problems to resurface.”  He had gone off against my wishes once before.  I had nearly permanently disowned him for doing so.  Arms don’t appreciate disloyalty or betrayal, and I was especially prickly on the subject.

“You have to.  I’ll have to cope.  Given what Haggerty’s dumped on my plate, I’m not going to be getting much free time, anyway.”  After doing a bunch of thinking, and after Keaton’s move to California, Amy re-upped the priority of my ‘rebuild the Arm tag hierarchy’ project.  She, too, was starting to get nervous about the boulder she had started rolling down our great big hill.  In typical Amy style, she didn’t lower the priority of anything else to make room.

We said our goodbyes, and Gilgamesh was off.

Months of work stared down at us, and had won, taking dominance over us both.

Dark Clouds, Big Storms

“Where do self-sustaining dross ‘clouds’ come from, why are they never seen near urban areas, how long do they last, and why and how do they vanish?” – from Arm Haggerty’s Speculative Projects List

(Five months later)

Sinclair: June 6, 1972 – June 9, 1972

“Squire Chet on the phone for you, Master Sinclair,” Callie said.  Crow Master Sinclair looked up from his bill-strewn desk, bleary eyed.  He would cover the month’s electric bill with money conjured from nowhere, again, but as often was the case the food would be a little lean.  He ran his hands through his wavy butterscotch hair, stood, and stretched.

“Ahh.”  He sighed, as his stiff back cracked.  “On my way.”

“Great!” Callie said, then stopped and put her clawed hands on her hips.  “What was I doing before I answered the phone?”

Despite being a Crow Master for nearly eighteen months, the mental problems of his commoners never ceased to sadden him.

“I believe you were knitting,” Sinclair said.  He patted Callie on the shoulder, and went to pick up the phone.

“Long Island Barony.  Is there a problem?” Sinclair said.  He wasn’t yet used to the household’s new name, or the ‘barony’ term, or even the term ‘commoner’ for the household Transforms.  The term changes were the Nobles’ response to Arm Haggerty’s call to ‘force the Cause’, in this case regularizing the Noble’s terminology.

Sinclair heard yelling in the background over the bad connection.  “Master Sinclair,” Chet said, his deep voice cutting through the yelling.  “I have a problem.  She’s very distraught.”

“Who’s distraught?” Sinclair asked.  “What have you gotten yourself into this time, my lord?”  Sinclair hastily appended the ‘my lord’ on at the end, to soften his ire-tinged comment.  Squire Chet was a never-ending source of trouble.  He was supposed to be on a proving mission to prove he could pass himself off as human.  Success would give him the Noble rank of Knight, at which point Sinclair would ship him off to Watchmaker’s Diamond Barony in the Ozarks.

He had failed his last ‘proving mission’, nearly destroying a gas station.

“Master Sinclair, it’s this lonely lost nearly-oversupplied Transform woman.  I don’t know what to do with her,” Squire Chet said.  “She doesn’t have a Focus.”  Interesting.  The burr of distress in the Noble’s voice meant Squire Chet had taken responsibility for the woman.  As Sinclair was fully aware, neither hell nor high water would keep a Noble from carrying out his responsibility.

Squire Chet Davis’s proving mission had been to purchase some bulk staples for the Barony from a Transform-friendly grocery supply firm in Centereach and pass as human.  Not to go hunting for Transforms.  However, saving women Transforms who didn’t have Focuses always took precedence.  Without Major Transform support from a Focus or a Noble household, unattached women Transforms always transformed into Monsters, and mindless newly transformed Monsters were a threat to any innocents nearby.

“I’ll come get you myself,” Sinclair said.  “Where are you?”

---

Sinclair ended up stuck driving the van on the way back to the Barony, as his Noble bodyguard, Sir Randolph McGee, couldn’t pass as human nor drive at the moment, and Squire Chet needed to drive the pickup truck.  The last Noble member of his household, Duke Hoskins, was off on a mission and unavailable.

The Transform woman beside him dried her eyes.  She was a small woman with a light build and dark hair.  Mildly attractive, but not exceptional.  Mid-twenties.  As a Crow Master and now wise in the ways of Transforms, he calmed the woman Transform with his presence.

“Audrie,” she said.  “Audrie Mich…”

“No.  No last names,” Sinclair said.

“Why?”

“Your former life is done.”  Her jitters made him doubt this one, and her survival chances.

“Oh.  Oh.  Okay,” she said.  “I’m really a Transform?”

He nodded.

“I’ve heard of Nobles, but I didn’t know they could save Transforms.  Don’t I need a Focus?”

“We do the best we can, Audrie,” Sinclair said.  “You need to know that we can’t save everyone.  Not every Transform can make it in a Noble household.  Also, far more people transform than exist places for Transforms with Focuses, even women Transforms.  I don’t know if we can find a place for you on such short notice.”

“Short notice?”

“You feel so bad because you’re about to go over into Monster.”  Tonight or early tomorrow morning.  Transform women produced juice – para-procorticotrophin, for the scientific.  Transform men consumed juice, and Focuses moved the juice between them.  This was the axiom of Transform life.  When Audrie built up too much juice she would suffer the dramatic physical and mental changes people called ‘going Monster’.

“Oh,” Audrie said.  She sniffled.  “I might die.”

Sinclair nodded.

“Can I live in a Noble household?”

Sinclair looked her over and took in her wet eyes.  Brains, yes.  The raw willpower needed to exist around the always-rough Nobles?  Not clear.  “I don’t know, yet, Audrie.  When we get back to the Barony, I have some tests I’m going to run.”

“Tests?  Medical tests?”

Sinclair shook his head.  “No.  Just some questions.”  Psychological tests.

---

“Sergeant Eichenzeit,” Sinclair said, into the telephone.

“Master Crow, Focus Keistermann can see you now.”  Shot Eichenziet belonged to Focus Keistermann’s household.

“We’ll be there in half an hour.”  Sinclair made his farewells and hung up.  He opened the door to his room and called into the hallway for Sir Chet to follow him, as bodyguard.  One minor ceremony lay between Squire Chet becoming Sir Chet, but in Sinclair’s mind, he was Sir Chet already.  “Find Audrie,” Sinclair said, when Sir Chet’s shaggy brown-haired head came into sight up the stairwell.  Follow the sound of the crying and wailing.  “We’ll take the van.”

Sinclair ran a comb through his short hair, adjusted his shirt, put on a tie, tie tack and suit coat.  In the mirror, he checked himself over.  Perfect, as needed for his always formal meetings with Focus Keistermann.  At five eight, and with a light build, he wasn’t at all menacing, and since he was a Crow, he had no need to worry about shaving.  His preferred formality, though, took work.  He checked carefully for dirt and smudges, and found none, which was good.  Being a Crow Master was a hands on job, and dirt was always a problem in his barony.

Focus Keistermann’s estate had started as a farmhouse and its associated barn.  An agribusiness had purchased the farmland a generation ago, leaving a four acre homestead the Focus and her household purchased in the mid ‘60s after the original owners passed on.  She filled the homestead with trailers and newly built houses, a Focus household turned into a private suburb, matching the suburbs encroaching from the west.  In a few years this beautiful Long Island community would join the New York metropolis.  In the evening near dark, Sinclair sensed the encroachment through the lighting of the western sky.

The barn now served as the home base of the Focus household’s catering business, which supplied the high-ranking Focus and her household with plenty of money, with enough extra to also keep Sinclair’s Long Island Barony afloat.  Barely.  In return, he swept the dross, the noxious-to-Focuses byproduct of juice use, out of her household.  His service saved Focus Keistermann the expense of rebuilding her household’s dwellings, moving, or hiring one of the official Crow housecleaning crews.  Crows consumed dross, meaning Focuses and Crows who got along formed a symbiotic loop

The ‘getting along’ was the issue.

“Master Sinclair,” Focus Keistermann said, as she welcomed him and his people into her study.  She extended her hand and he gave it a polite sniff, which she returned graciously.  As a high-ranking Focus, with the tremendous responsibilities she carried on her shoulders, she should have looked haggard and old, but her Focus transformation kept her nineteen in appearance.  Instead of projecting youth and beauty, though, she projected wisdom and trustworthiness.  When he first met the Focus, she had used tricks of makeup, hairstyle and clothes to make her appear older, but recently, she had taken to wearing business suits and heavy corporate makeup, giving her the appearance of a young and overly serious Wall Street intern.

The study was a big room for its function, maybe fifteen by twenty feet.  Most Focus households wouldn’t have the room to spare, but Focus Keistermann ran a successful business.  Books and ledgers lay in shelves along the walls in the tastefully done room.  Polly’s big desk sat at one end of the room, and on the other, a comfortable sitting area with a couch, two high-backed chairs and three low trapezoidal tables.  The television in the sitting area showed a news program, some special report, the volume low.  Another Major Transform, under Focus Keistermann’s metasense shields, sat on the couch with his or her back to them, watching the television, engrossed.  “We’re a little busy here, tonight, but I understand this is an emergency,” Focus Keistermann said, projecting Crow calmness, a unique skill for a Focus.

“Yes, Focus,” Sinclair said.  He had first met Focus Keistermann three years ago, in the run-up to the Battle in Detroit, and instantly took a liking to her.  For a high ranking Focus, Keistermann was quite pleasant to deal with, though the force of her personality caused most Crows to flee in panic.  This never bothered Sinclair, since his force of personality, expressed through his perseverance and determination, matched hers quite well.  After he finished learning to be a Crow Master, the two of them worked out a deal.  Despite their business relationship, Focus Keistermann remained distant, even in the best of times, and difficult to truly befriend.

“May I present to you Audrie, a woman Transform who I’m sure you can sense is in big trouble.”

Focus Keistermann nodded her elegantly coifed head, and the person studying the television turned and smiled.  Arm Haggerty, currently number two in the Arm hierarchy.  Sinclair winced.

“Hi, Sinclair.  I didn’t know you were bringing me a present!”  She was a tall woman, dressed all in black.  Black pants, tight black t-shirt, and black leather bomber jacket.  Rich chestnut hair, heavily muscled as all Arms were, but Focus beautiful.  She didn’t stand up, but the flash of her predatory Arm face was enough to cause Sir Chet to take several steps back and growl and to cause poor Audrie to faint.  Focus Keistermann lowered her eyebrows and glared at Haggerty.

Unclaimed Transforms were prey for Arms like Haggerty.  “Sorry, Amy,” Sinclair said.  “Not for you.”

“Shucks,” the Arm said.  She turned back to the television, very unlike her.  Normally, she would be all over him and Sir Chet.  Verbal or physical friendliness or harassment, depending on her mood, but something.  Haggerty didn’t just ignore people.  Plus, Arms didn’t ever ignore unclaimed prey.

Sir Chet took a deep breath and steadied himself.  Haggerty visited the barony often to spar and schmooze with Duke Hoskins, and she had humiliated Sir Chet on several of those occasions.  She had no truck with frisky young Nobles who didn’t know their places.

“I take it she’s not suited for your Noble household, then?” Focus Keistermann said.

“Audrie failed nine out of the ten criteria.  Which means, from a Focus perspective, she passed nine out of ten criteria.  She’ll make some Focus a perfect Transform.”

“What was the one she passed?”

“Intelligence.  IQ over 120.  She’s potentially a leader Transform.”

“Well,” Focus Keistermann said.  “We don’t use the term ‘leader’, but you’re essentially correct.  I hate to have to do this, but I need to tag her to keep her alive.  She’s not going to like leaving my household, when it comes to that point, since I don’t have any openings for her.”  Focus Keistermann knelt and laid her hand on Audrie’s head.  Audrie woke up with a start and then skittered into a corner.  “Dear,” Focus Keistermann said.  “It’s okay, now.  You’re safe.  I’ve tagged you, and I’m going to make sure you get to a new home and Focus within a week.”  Audrie nodded.  “Sergeant Eichenzeit, why don’t you go find Audrie here a place to stay.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Focus Keistermann let Shot Eichenzeit help Audrie to her feet and steady the new Transform, as he led her out of the Focus’s study.  Then she smiled.  “I’ve got one for you, Sinclair.  A ten for ten woman Transform, perfect for a Noble household.”  To satisfy the authorities’ current requirements and the informal rules the Focuses followed, any movement of Transforms involved a trade.  Some poor woman Transform, already tagged by a Focus, would end up in his household, with a significant chance of dying within a year or two.  The methods Noble households used to preserve women Transforms always worked worse on the newly transformed.

“A ten out of ten, eh?  I thought unlivable spitfires like that got sent to be tamed by Focus Biggioni.”

“They would, save that Tonya never has enough open slots.  So,” Focus Keistermann said, “Have you heard the news?”

He shook his head.

“Come over here, then, you’re going to want to see this.”  She motioned, and he followed, claiming the high backed chair on the other side of Amy Haggerty.

“What’s going on?” Sinclair said.  The television showed a daylight shot of a building on fire.