All Beasts Together (The Commander) (42 page)

“That’s Odin, one of the Chimera’s I’ve run into,” I said.
  I sifted through more of the newspapers and reports scattered over the table.

“Damn,” Bobby said.  “They sure do get around, don’t they?”  He paused and thought.  “What was he doing?  Do they
need that much juice?”

“My guess is he was out hunting for more women Transforms to stick in his harem.”  Bobby nodded and went back to his articles. 
I strongly suspected Chimeras cheated, able to take juice repeatedly from their harem women, and giving them a huge advantage over me.

Buried in the back of the Wall Street Journal (
the indispensable paper for the discerning Arm) I found another useful tidbit, which I cut out for Bobby to put in our files.  Some doctor in California had received a present late last year of a Chimera corpse.  He didn’t realize the corpse was a Major Transform and hadn’t acted quickly enough.  The corpse did some sort of fast decay a week later, before the doctor had finished the autopsy and preservation.  That fit with what I knew on the subject.  Chimeras, like Monsters and presumably Crows, were so full of bad juice that once their body parts finished dying, they fell apart into mush very quickly…after the parts attempted to slither away on their own, of course.  The researcher had also estimated the Chimera’s live weight, strength and speed in the article, all well hyped by the reporter.

“Jesus Christ
!” Bobby said, after I passed the article over and he had read it.  I smelled his fear.  “I thought you said you could handle these Chimeras?”

I guess I had been somewhat cavalier about their threat.  “They
are
strong and dangerous, but I’m faster and quicker.  I’m also better trained, from what I’ve seen.  They’re not to be taken lightly, though.”  I dug through my own stack of articles on the sideboard and passed over to him Focus Rizzari’s report on Bug Boy’s autopsy, delivered to me by Focus Warren.

Rizzari’s report was the only bit of information I
had gotten from my supposed boon companions, Keaton and Zielinski, in the past month.  Both Keaton and Zielinski had gone quiet on me; I had no idea what Keaton was up to, but reading between the lines it was obvious Focus Rizzari had sat on Hank.  She did the letter writing now.  At least she and Zielinski now supported my hypothesis that Officer Canon was a Focus.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we, Carol,” Bobby said
, after he put down the report on Bug-boy’s autopsy.  The odor of his fear had gone from faint to overwhelming.  “They’re too powerful, like something out of Greco-Roman myth.  What’re we going to do?”

“We?” I laughed.  “I’m going to be staying as close to Chicago as possible.  I’m also coming up with a plan to take down the next Chimera who threatens me.”  He asked the obvious question, but I didn’t answer.

Nobody but me got to know my plans.

The vultures were circling above me.

Gilgamesh: February 7, 1968 – February 8, 1968

Dear Gilgamesh,

I know by the time you get this letter, you probably already found a way to communicate with Tiamat.  Still, I need to tell you: what you are doing is dangerous.  Be careful!  Please!  However, I agree with you that we Crows do need this information.  You’ve gone farther and pushed yourself harder than any Crow your age I know.  Please attempt not to destroy yourself.  If you encounter any situations where you seem to become giddy from the panic, or you feel as though you are detached from your body, back off.  We term this climax stress, and it is a very dangerous condition.  I’m surprised this didn’t happen to you when you met your Arm in person – though you might be too embarrassed to tell me.  Don’t be embarrassed.  Climax stress has afflicted many Crows over the years.

I thank you for your speculations on the identity of Crow Killer.  As I’ve said before, many Crows are under the opinion the Arm you follow is Crow Killer.  Your experiences watching her seem to have dispelled that notion for some Crows, at least.  I think, however,
many Crows will resist the idea that Crow Killer is a mixed group of Major Transforms.  If you could procure some hard evidence of this, it would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Shadow

---

They left the message in the aptly named Crow Island Woods, one of the standard Crow drop points in Chicago, just outside of Gilgamesh’s range. 
Chrysler and Phobos, followers of Guru Chevalier.  The next night, Gilgamesh spent time in the Woods, waiting.  Clouds covered the sky, hiding the moon, and the darkness was deep even to a Crow’s eyes.  Sporadic wind gusts whipped through the trees, threatening an incoming storm.  Around 10 p.m., the Crows appeared to his metasense, coming in from the north.  Gilgamesh waited, letting them approach him.  They stopped a quarter mile away, on the far edge of the Woods, easily within Crow whispering range.

“
Did you hear the news?” Chrysler said, after the ritual naming of names.  “Crow Killer took Oberon last week, in Memphis.”  The wind rustled the trees, nearly overwhelming the faint sound of the Crow’s voice.

Damn.  “No, I
didn’t know.”

“Would you mind telling us what your Arm was doing, last week?  How close a watch do you keep on her, anyway?”

Gilgamesh considered Chrysler’s words.  “Tiamat was in town all last week.  She left town yesterday, though.  I’d expect her back, today.”

“Yes.  We wouldn’t be talking to you if she was in town,” Phobos said. 
His voice was even fainter than Chrysler’s, but the wind had temporarily died and Gilgamesh heard.  “Filthy predator.  Animal.”

Gilgamesh sighed.  He
had hoped Phobos would be more open-minded on the subject, but Arms were dangerous and anything dangerous and unfamiliar disturbed a Crow.  Many Crows thought of the less familiar Arms as they thought of the more familiar Beast Men and Monsters: mindless animals.

“Chicago is large enough so she rarely
needs to hunt outside the metro area,” Gilgamesh said, letting his voice become louder than theirs in irritation.  Neither Chrysler nor Phobos seemed willing to approach any closer.  “Even less likely now.  She’s been attacked by Beast Men herself and believes they’re hunting her, attempting to force her out of Chicago.”  The other Crows concealed themselves among the trees and he couldn’t see them with his eyes.

“Few believe Crow Killer is a Beast Man,”
Chrysler whispered.  “Beast Men can’t think and can’t use dross to hide themselves.”

“Some Beasts think,” Gilgamesh said.  “Enkidu can think and talk very well.”

“We have only your word on that,” Phobos said.  He moved a little farther away, and his faint voice became fainter still.

“Send a letter to Tiamat.  She’ll tell you of her encounter with Enkidu.  Enkidu spoke words to her, as well.  Would you like the address she uses?”

Chrysler moved back as well.  “No.”  Horror filled both Phobos’s and Chrysler’s glows when they realized Gilgamesh was in contact with Tiamat.

A moment later
Chrysler and Phobos ran.

Gilgamesh shook his head. 
He needed to answer Shadow’s letter.  He had to convince the other Crows that Tiamat was the least of their problems before some idiot Crow got brave enough to stick his nose where it didn’t belong and tell the authorities where Tiamat lived.

Enkidu: February 8, 1968

The armored car drove up to the 1
st
Federal Savings and Loan on Cass Avenue.  Enkidu had cased the St. Louis bank’s procedures for a week.  The armored car contained seven grocery stores’ worth of cash, enough to keep his pack going for a year.

He drove the Apollo Electrical truck up behind the armored car, ignoring the stench of vomit, blood and entrails in the cab.  The previous owner hadn’t been interested in letting Enkidu take the truck.
The pack had taken care of that little objection.

He
felt strange to be undertaking an operation in his man form.  Man form had its advantages, though.  He passed for human, for one, after a shave.  He could use guns.  Drive trucks.

He
had sold the pack on the heist by promising them they would no longer have to live in poverty.  The Gals weren’t as fond of the country life as he and Cleo, and petty theft didn’t supply enough to keep them happy.  They needed money, and money meant the use of reeking machinery like this truck.  He had grown to hate the things.  Hell, he had grown to hate every aspect of urban life with a passion.  It stank.

When the Hunters took over they
would burn the cities.  Depopulate them.  Return everyone to a more natural rural lifestyle.  Enslave what few normals survived to raise farm animals for the Hunters to eat.  Modern America didn’t support near enough game anymore and Enkidu wondered if there would ever be enough game to support the Hunters and their packs’ needs.  They needed agriculture, or at least ranches.

The Wandering Shade refused to alter the Law regarding eating humans.  That would solve many problems, but since it was the Law, it wasn’t open for debate.

Enkidu barked out an order.  His pack sprang from the back of the truck, led by Cleo.  Seven Gals now capable with hand guns and a Pack Alpha who used heavy caliber weapons would make short work of the two armored car drivers.  If the heist went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to lift a finger.  He would just drive.

So many changes.  He didn’t have to physically fight
constantly for absolutely everything any more.  He had an intelligent partner, someone to talk to when he needed to plan an operation.

The attack was over in a moment.  He sprinted to the armored car, already opened, grabbed the keys from Cleo and took off.  Several of the Gals need
ed healing, but he would do the healing later.  As long as the Gals didn’t do too much bleeding on the money everything would be just fine.  He had a second truck set up only six blocks away, inside an abandoned store.  He drove the armored car in, moved the money, and left.  The police were on their way, but Enkidu and his pack finished the switch to their new truck before the police even arrived at the bank.

Henry Zielinski: February 10, 1968

“I can’t,
Doc,” Autumn said.

Zielinski walked over to her, wishing he
had remembered to put a sweater on before he entered the cold gym.  The heels of his shoes clicked on the wooden floor of the undersized basketball court.

Autumn Idoux was sixteen and still had the adolescent gawks
, with slender legs showing between baggy gym shorts and oversized sneakers.  Sweat stained the old Buffalo Springfield t-shirt she wore and dripped from her temples down the sides of her face.  Even her perky brown ponytail drooped with exhaustion.  She was one of his better Transform trainees and had been cleared to start bodyguard training just after he discovered the training optimum.  She and Parker Maybray had quit a local private high school in late September after nine of their schoolmates hazed them to the point of almost killing them for being Transforms.  The school gave Inferno an ultimatum: take legal action against any of the nine and we’ll never let any of your children into the school again.  Inferno didn’t have the staff to teach all the children attending the school and the younger kids, especially the normals, encountered far less trouble than the older teens.  The two had made mistakes of their own, though not mistakes enough to justify what happened to them.  Parker and Autumn had let the other students learn they were going steady or whatever term the kids used these days, and their peers realized the two didn’t have to worry about nasty side effects like pregnancy if they indulged in sex, because of the Transform infertility problem.  Such a minor flicker of abnormality, but the other students became inflamed enough to beat the two almost to death.  Unfair?  Massively.  Typical?  Sadly.

Autumn
had caught the Cause from the event.  She wanted to contribute however she could, perfect for Zielinski’s experimentation.

“Your legs may be tired, but that’s when your Transform benefits kick in and allow you to train as a Transform.  Access your juice.  Incentive two.”

‘Incentive two’ cued a juice pattern.  Lori had applied Focus technology to the training effort and now Zielinski worked with a complex juice pattern specifically made for training Transforms. The pattern at base maintained the Transform at their training optimum no matter how much juice he or she used.  As a little extra, Lori built in pain stimulation triggers, to allow Zielinski to add the necessary stress without resorting to his crude faux-Arm tactics.  Now he needed to figure out how to induce his Transform trainees to use enough juice to make a difference.

With the joy of progress motivating him,
he had poured himself into his uncompleted project, living it at every moment.  The project helped him ignore his fears: that Focus Schrum controlled Lori and might order his death at any time, and that Chimeras hunted Carol, who wouldn’t abandon her new home.

Behind his back
Inferno now called him Doc Pain.  Despite the nickname, as results started to pile up, all the bodyguards wanted his training.  He wasn’t ready for them yet; he hadn’t codified nearly enough of his results.  Besides, his only significant results came from the adolescents.  Jim, his single adult test subject, hadn’t made any noticeable progress.  The other bodyguards would just have to spend their time on the waiting list until he figured out why not.