Tuesday April 4 2006
Escondido
John Lynch was a man with problems. He was being hunted by powerful, ruthless people who were somewhat less than sane. His weird psychic powers were a burden on his mind, and made him sometimes suspect his own sanity. He shared his house with five teenagers who were the foci of forces beyond all ken, and could conceivably end the world as he knew it. He had a growing responsibility to hundreds of people, from the ninety Gens he'd released into the wild to the worldwide organization of associates he used to foil his former employers. But the issue occupying his thoughts since yesterday afternoon was something rather more mundane and immediate.
He was wondering if his wife was falling for his best friend.
She'd insisted on going to meet Colby in Boulder alone. "I don't want you within a hundred miles of IO headquarters," she'd said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his nose. She'd promised to call, and she had, as soon as she'd arrived in Boulder on Sunday afternoon. But her next call had been late Monday morning, and her conversation was clipped and uninformative, very unlike her.
He'd found himself going through her wardrobe. He'd cursed himself for being a jealous teenager, even as he'd noted the absence of a very slinky cocktail dress and some of her most provocative underthings.
He'd forced himself to take a mental step back. He didn't own her, had never even told her he loved her. He didn't have a clue what she saw in him, or how long the attraction would hold. He didn't even understand how she could feel love, with no glands or instincts to shape her feelings. Anna was a force beyond understanding.
But then, he thought, what man ever understood women?
Her unannounced return last evening, with no luggage and in strange clothes, had set off his alarms. So had her greeting: she'd practically pushed him into the bedroom and torn his clothes off. Anna was ever a willing partner, and comfortable in an aggressor's role, but there'd been a desperation to her behavior that had made him think she was seeking some sort of reassurance or affirmation from him.
Afterwards, lying in his arms, she'd told him about the raid on the meeting, and her escape and flight over the mountains, much of it on foot. She'd told him Colby's parting words. But she hadn't told him about the meeting itself, or what she'd learned. She'd told him it had been broken up too soon for any substantive exchange. His unease had almost subsided when, as she nested her head into his neck, she'd said, "Did you ever notice how much he resembles Bobby?"
He stood in the kitchen, looking at the secure phone and the card with Colby's number. Colby's "couple of days" wasn't quite up yet, but Lynch, ever a man to face problems squarely, decided it had been long enough.
-0-
"So that's it?" Caitlin met Sarah's and Anna's eyes without expression. She'd listened without visible reaction while Anna had told her about Roxanne's real father, while Sarah swallowed and wished she had Anna's senses, looking for a clue what was going on in the big redhead's mind.
"That's it, hon. I can't tell you how her mom made the mistake, or if it was a deliberate subterfuge, but her father is Sarah's dad, not yours."
"Another of God's little jokes." She scoffed, looking at the floor. "I was so insistent about knowing Sarah's true parentage, wasn't I?" She looked up, and Sarah was transfixed by her emerald eyes. "So now I'm supposed to shrug and just, sort of, hand her over, is that it? Like a father giving his daughter away at the altar?"
Sarah's heart sank. Another wedge driven between us. Caitlin…
"My father's brother raised me, you remember. He had a daughter two years older than me. Our only physical connection is a grandfather we never met. There wasn't much resemblance even before the change. We were just kids, and almost strangers. But she shared her room with me from kindergarten until we went to college, without the slightest hint I didn't belong there. She shared her parents the same way. We borrowed each other's clothes and books and makeup. We put each other to sleep at night, talking about the craziest things. She pestered me about boys, and I nagged her about schoolwork. We fought over stupid stuff, and backed each other up on everything that mattered. Karen was my sister, in every way except the one that matters to stockbreeders. Still is, even if I never see her again."
Sarah held her breath, certain of Caitlin's next words, but afraid of her conclusions.
"I got closer than friends with Roxy before we ever compared birth certificates. And how I feel about her isn't going to change because of a name on a piece of paper." Caitlin looked from one to the other. "The way I see it, we're all sisters now."
Sarah let out a tiny puff of air, still holding most of it in. "You mean it? It's okay?"
"Sarah, it's better than okay. It's a gift."
Anna's eyes shone. "If ever there was a time for a group hug…"
A few moments later, Caitlin said, "Does she know?"
"Just us three," Anna said. "I thought we could sort of put our heads together on how to proceed."
"Roxy next," Caitlin said without hesitation. "Then the guys all together. No problem. The only one it may matter to is Eddie."
"I wonder," Anna shrugged her head. "I don't know why, but I think it will mean something to Jack. After all, he knew both men."
"But it won't change the way he looks at Roxy. That's what I was getting at."
"Hey, Mom?" Bobby stuck his head into the room. "Dad's on the phone with that guy Frank. He wants you to listen in."
-0-
Colby took a swallow of water from his glass. "I won't say it was easy," he said into the phone. "She's very suspicious. I'm sure I'm not in the clear yet. But she conditionally bought into my story that I was investigating your little friend." He took another sip, trying not to show Ivana how desperate he'd been for a drink. He had to hold the glass with both hands, since they were cuffed together.
From the nearby console, Ruche nodded to her.
"Just glad to hear you're okay. This one was too close. I think we'd better review our contact arrangements. In fact, maybe we'd better not see each other again. I appreciate all your help-"
"No. We've got unfinished business." He added deliberately, "She told me about the others, Jack."
A pause. "Oh?"
"Yes. If they start a war with IO, your kids will get caught. If you know anybody in a Genactive guerilla movement, Jack, you need to talk to them. If you bring me along, you can show you've got inside contacts and know what you're talking about."
"Frank, she didn't tell you about Regional Command."
His heart leaped. "No. But I had an idea. If you can take me to them, I can help."
Ruche looked up again and twitched his eyebrows.
They think I'm lying about being willing to help, but I'm really just lying about being able to. "Everything's under control at this end, Jack. But it'll all fall apart if our people start dying at the hands of Twelve-fives in public massacres. Arrange a meet. Let's talk to them together."
Agree, Top. Then take my warning, hang up the phone, and never call again.
-0-
"I'll get right back to you." Lynch shut off the speaker and folded the phone gently, with six pairs of eyes on him. "They've got him. He's warning me off."
His son frowned. "It sounded like he wanted to see you right away."
Anna's eyes were round. "He never calls you 'Jack.' They were at his elbow."
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. If I stand him up, they'll kill him." He turned to leave the kitchen.
"Not by yourself." Bobby's voice. Caitlin and Roxanne closed their mouths and nodded. Eddie put an arm around Roxanne's waist; Bobby, around Sarah's.
For once, his wife kept her hands to herself. "What do we need to do, Jack?"
He inhaled deeply as he looked them over. They waited: patient, ready, unafraid. "I've been keeping you away from these people for years."
"You were protecting children." Caitlin's arm circled Anna's waist. "Mr. Lynch, you've been calling us a team since we came with you. We're saying, it's time to be a team."
"Yeah, Dad. Share the load."
"Forget that," Roxy said from Eddie's shoulder. "Time you quit hogging all the fun."
"Jack." Anna looked up at him earnestly. "This is a perfect opportunity to win back our freedom. But we need the kids to make it work. They can do it."
"I don't care if they can catch bullets in their teeth. They're no better organized than a Little League team. They'll get in each others' way, drop out of contact. Even if they don't simply ignore orders, they'll get caught up and forget the plan."
"Darling." Anna left Caitlin's arm to reach for him. "That's what we'll use you for. To make sure that doesn't happen." She looked at him squarely. "Plan the op. Use the assets you've got. You have everything you need, if you'll use it."
"Word. You got a freakin army." Eddie gave Roxanne a quick squeeze for emphasis.
He felt the chill from Colby's call melt away. He put both arms around his girl, and imagined steel under the skin; then he looked at the others, and did the same. "An army. Sure enough, I do. A half-trained, undisciplined, bumping-into-each-other-like-billiard-balls-at-the-break army." The kids' smiles faded, until he said, "We are going to make them rue the day. They're going to make us their campfire story, the one they scare the new recruits with."
"Yes!" Anna bounced in his arms. "We're going to kick ass!"
He grinned as the others laughed. Then he let go of her to address them. "All right. We keep the plan simple, especially on the ground, to compensate for your lack of unit training. We'll go in as a raiding party, a loose formation of supporting pairs. By twos, that is. But no couples." He gave a stern look to the four still holding waists. "I'm sure your discipline's not up to the test. Not this time, anyway." His awareness of them receded a bit as he planned. "We'll need speed, and surprise, even though they're waiting for us, no doubt with a few surprises of their own." He nodded to himself. "If we could just lead off with an airstrike, and come in close behind. Or an artillery barrage."
"Uh, lost us, Dad."
"Up till now, all our scraps with IO have been up close and personal, small unit stuff. This time, we'll be making a frontal assault against a prepared position. We need a standoff weapon. Some way to engage them at a distance without risk."
"I can throw stuff," Kat said. "From a distance, though, I can't be sure of my accuracy."
"Thanks, Caitlin, but that's not what we're looking for. We have to hit them everywhere at once for the proper effect. Something that'll reduce their defenses, play Hob with their command-and-control, demoralize them. Make their strong place feel like a trap."
"Bad storms scare the crap out of me." Roxanne glanced at Sarah, drawing the others' eyes to the dark-haired girl on Bobby's arm.
Eddie grinned. "What do you say, Sarah? O Spirit of Nature? I know you made it rain before. Can you whip up a real storm?"
She looked at him like a hawk from its perch. "'Whip up a storm.' Eddie, a storm isn't something you 'whip up,' like a cake. Have you ever looked at storm patterns on TV? They're miles across, tons of air and water vapor. You see clouds, wind, high and low pressure zones. Water vapor rising off the sea and coming down as rain. It's all thermal energy, nuke-bomb amounts of it. Making a storm... creating a few kilovolts of electrical potential across an air gap is a card trick by comparison."
The boy's face fell. "Sorry. I really thought. I was sure you could call a storm that'd make em scared to come out of their holes." He shrugged. "Well…"
"Oh, I didn't say I couldn't do it; I just need time." She turned to Lynch. "Please. Just tell me we've got a few hours, at least."
He looked at Anna, then nodded. "The rest of us need time to prepare, too." He flipped the phone open, and watched them while he connected. "All right, Frank. You've got your meet. Since you're the closest watched, you pick the place. I just hope it's better than the last one."
"Guaranteed. Tell Anna we should have stuck with the mine shafts." Colby gave an address in Chula Vista, a suburb in the foothills bounding the metro area's far southeast quarter about two miles from the Mexican border. Lynch guessed it would be an industrial section, rather than a residential one, and as secluded as IO could manage. "Midnight okay?"
He looked at his wife, who shook her head urgently and wiggled her fingers, indicating twenty-four hours. "Too soon. It's going to take some time to set this up at the other end. And, all things considered, I'd be a little uncomfortable going in alone. I'd like to bring a couple of friends."
A deliberate pause. "Sure. The more the merrier. Bringing your little girlfriend, Jack?"
He tried to sound amused as he replied, "Frank, you couldn't handle her. Keep your head down, and I'll see you at midnight tomorrow." He hung up the phone. "We need something small and violent, like a tornado. And carefully aimed; I don't want to see a lot of innocent bystanders hurt or homeless. What can you give us in twenty-four hours, Sarah?"
"We're going in at noon? Not midnight?"
"I'm sure they're there already, setting up," he said. "I'm betting Colby will be there by noon. Can you do a tornado in time?"
"I don't think it should be a tornado. I'm sure I could generate one, but they're skittish and hard to control." Her eyes got sleepy-looking. "But… I have an idea. I think I can create a package of violent weather and confine the destruction to a few city blocks. Will that do?"
"Perfect. I'm sure IO will keep witnesses at least that far away. What have you got in mind?"
"Something unusual. IO won't have any doubt it's our work."
"In this case, that's a plus. But I don't see how you're going to fill our requirements with a storm."
Her eyebrows rose. "In weather, very little is impossible, Mr. Lynch. Have you heard of hailstones and lightning from a clear sky, or airliners falling a thousand feet in a pocket of low pressure with no reason to be? Weirdly shaped symmetrical clouds that get mistaken for UFOs? On one hand, the chain of cause-and-effect for such things is so unlikely that they don't happen often. On the other hand, climate and weather are such a Dodgem rink of variables that they're bound to happen once in a while." Her voice got soft, thoughtful, distant. "I just need to… reach into the chain of cause-and-effect, identify the pertinent underlying forces at work, tweak one here, suppress another there… guide it into being." She turned away. "I need to be alone for a little while. I'm going to my room."
Anna left his side. "And I need to go shopping."
"Good God, woman. That seems to be your answer to everything these days."
-0-
"Uniforms?"
Anna nodded happily, holding up a pair of camouflage pants mottled in six shades of gray. "What better way to show them we're organized and we mean business? They may be in uniform, too, dressed like SWAT cops. But this pattern is better for operations in uncertain light… which the Princess will be providing, I think." She produced a gray tee shirt and a matching vest with numerous pockets, and passed them to Bobby, along with a pair of sturdy black hiking shoes. "By the way, where is she?"
"Still in her room, meditating, or communing with the spirits, or something," Eddie said.
"She can have hers later, then. Everything should fit. I have all your sizes." She passed clothing to Eddie and Roxanne, then looked at Caitlin, sitting on the couch. "You were a challenge, though."
The girl's face twisted in a familiar expression. "Couldn't find something big enough, I suppose."
"Oh, no. Surplus stores sell BDUs to fit a grizzly. But… remember what happened to your jacket at the mall? And everything in New Mexico?" Caitlin didn't answer, but color rose in her cheeks. Bobby raised an eyebrow; Eddie eyed the big redhead speculatively, until Roxanne glowered at him. Then he returned his attention to Anna, rearranging his face into a picture of innocent attention.
Anna produced a parcel which obviously hadn't come from a military surplus store: it was twine-handled and quite fancy and no bigger than a sandwich bag. "Hon, you tend to draw fire. When that happens, you're going to need something you know will stay close to your skin. Can't have you getting distracted by worries about your modesty." She passed the bag over.
Kat reached in and drew out a fistful of black Spandex. She shook it out, and it assumed the form of a leotard for a ten-year-old. Her eyes widened. "No way. This wouldn't fit you."
"It's chain-stitched and double-knit, very stretchy and durable. The sales girl assured me it would fit you like a glove."
"A surgical glove, maybe. Anna, even if I can squeeze into this, I'll never get it over a bra."
"No," she said. "You won't. Probably not even panties."
The girl's cheeks flamed. "Anna."
"You wear it under your clothes, hon. No one's going to see it unless something happens to your BDUs. In which case, you might be very glad you're wearing something skintight that covers you from collarbones to crotch." She glanced at the boys, who were staring at the tiny garment hanging from Kat's hand. Roxanne was pounding Eddie's shoulder to no effect. "Maybe I should have shown it to you in private. Sorry, hon."
Kat dropped it into the bag. "I'm not saying I'll wear it, but thanks, anyway."
Next, Anna presented each of them with a hinged-lid box, slightly larger than a case for glasses. Eddie lifted the lid to reveal a pair of transparent amber sports glasses. He put them on, fiddling with the flexible microphone stalk built into one ear bow. "Futurific. How do I look?"
"Like an extra from some low-budget sci-fi movie," Bobby said, as he put his own set on.
"Dude. You look like Booster Gold."
"I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult, and I'm afraid to ask for an explanation."
"Let me guess," Kat said, holding the open box in her hand and looking at the amber lenses. "Improve your vision in dim light?"
Anna nodded. "The transceiver is low-power FM, range maybe three miles. One shared channel, so practice strict radio discipline. As team leader, Kat can use it to talk to anyone, but the rest of you use it only to talk to her. It has the best commercial encryption system available, which means IO could crack it in about half a second. So be circumspect in your radio traffic; no names, and no mention of home or what we do when we're not dropping the hammer on IO. If we ever have to do something like this again, I'll make sure we have better gear, but this is the best I could get off the shelf." She showed them a tiny dial. "Three positions: off, on, and voice-activated. Just cough or click your tongue before you talk, so Kat doesn't miss your first word. How are you kids planning to pair off?"
"Bobby with Roxanne, Eddie with Sarah." The tall redhead looked down at her. "Are you going with Mr. Lynch?"
She shook her head. "You can't go in alone. You're the team leader. You need someone to watch your back. Jack will be okay by himself." She gathered up the rest of her purchases. "You may have to fend for yourselves at dinnertime. There's plenty in the freezer to choose from."
"Got it covered, Anna," Kat said. "Where are you going?"
"To my room." She offered the girl a tiny smile. "I think I need to commune with the spirits too."
Once in her room, she locked the door and sat on the bed, thinking deeply. She browsed her catalogue of "experimental" behaviors, trying to assemble a persona that would be immediately different from the one she'd been crafting for two years. This new personality couldn't be too over-the-top to be believable, but she'd have to be someone who could throw a scare into anyone who met her. She'd have to be a lot less like Tinkerbelle, and a lot more like Two. She culled heroines and villainesses from television and movie portrayals, and settled on a blueprint for a Genactive guerilla largely based on, but distinct from, Anna the housekeeper. The conversion program included a time-to-completion estimate; she was surprised to see how long the change would require, and how extensive the alterations to her core personality.
She sighed. It has to be done. We've only got one chance at this; it's got to work the first time. She set the program running. It would be a while before she felt any changes, as components of her personality were buffered and moved aside to make room for the almost-stranger entering her conscious mind. She'd have to be very careful around the kids, and hold back the most obvious personality changes, until they were all committed, and she'd had a chance to explain.
She looked at her reflection in the mirrored closet door: a tiny girl with short blonde hair, sitting primly with knees together on the edge of the bed. She looked as dangerous as a housecat. That was one of her design specifications, she knew, but now she needed to look dangerous, and she had to do it without making any gross changes to her appearance. This might not be the last time IO would have to be confronted by a Gen Twelve-five, and there was only so much she could do to change her looks; similarities in body and facial structure would have to be explained convincingly.
Sisters. Five sisters.
-0-
"Well, what do you think?" Kat turned, twisting her head, trying to get a good look at herself without a mirror. Her expression was dubious.
Roxy lay on her sister's bed with a Teen Beat spread on her chest. Two years sharing a bedroom had eroded Kat's ridiculous hang-ups about showing skin, at least to her. "Doesn't hide much," she said diplomatically. Actually, even though it was opaque, the leotard didn't hide a thing. It looked sprayed on, in fact, with a lot of thinner in the paint. She could even see how much her sister shaved off her landing strip, and a tiny birthmark on the side of her right breast. If Kat had had a mirror in her bedroom, like any normal female her age, the outfit wouldn't have stayed on for ten seconds. "How's it feel?"
"Like a second skin, only I can feel a little warmth from it. More comfortable than I expected."
"Well, that's what's important, right? If anybody gets a chance to see you in it, it means you're already in deep shit." She grinned. "Maybe it'll spoil their aim."
"So you think I should?"
"Course." She grinned again. "I would."
Kat nodded and started to strip it off. Roxy lifted her magazine up to her eyes and looked over it. There are times I'd kill for a bod like that; you can bet I'd know how to use it. Grunge would never look at another girl again, just for starts. And she acts like it's a costume that doesn't fit right.
Which reminded her. "I need to hit a carryout before we leave. I need a pack of cigs and a lighter."
Kat's brows knitted. "Didn't you buy a pack yesterday? And what's wrong with your lighter?"
"I put the cigs in my case already. I'm not taking those with me. The jacket either."
"Why?"
She shrugged. "Hard to explain. I just don't want to risk running into the original owner with his stuff on." Or anyone who'd recognize those things as belonging to somebody Mr. Lynch left in the guardhouse shower.
"How are you feeling?" Kat stepped into her panties and reached for her bra, which looked about as sturdy – and as sexy - as a suspension bridge. "About tomorrow, I mean."
"Petrified. Not of getting killed, of getting caught. You?"
"Angry. Ready to hit something. When Mr. Lynch talked about us becoming a Keeper campfire story, I could have kissed him." She slipped on a white tee and pulled on her jeans.
"If you hurt somebody you don't need to, you'll be mad at yourself later."
"I know." Kat sat on the edge of the bed to tie her shoes. "I'm glad Anna's coming with. What do you suppose she's doing in her room?"
"Can't guess. Course, I don't know what Sarah's doing, either. What's that thing they call each other now?"
"Shikasin? I don't know. But it's an endearment, which puts it light-years ahead of what she was calling Anna just a month ago."
"A week ago. It's, like, alien abduction or something. She's not the same girl, I swear."
"I just hope it lasts. Bobby doesn't need his heart broken."
"They're really… Really?"
"She's coming out of his room the past two mornings to go to the bathroom and brush her teeth. Further deponent sayeth not."
-0-
Anna, sitting at the computer in Jack's study, hit the print command and watched the three-page document drop into the out tray. When she picked it up, she removed a blank sheet, folded it into quarters, and wrote a short note on the inside, as if it were a greeting card. Then, all four sheets in hand, she put her head out the door to make sure the hall was clear, and hurried next door to the bedroom.
Back in her room, she took out her five wigs. They were all made from real hair, and expensive, the two long ones ruinously so. But they fit well, and looked quite real, as long as they were secure. She tried them on, trying to create a look that fitted the persona taking shape in her mind. The short, dark brown one seemed the most sensible, because a longer one might be difficult to keep on in a running battle. But when she placed it on her head, something about her image in the mirror made her pull it back off. I wonder what Ivana's hair is like? The light brown and chestnut ones fit well enough, she supposed, but they didn't appeal. That left the blonde and black ones, both utterly impractical because of their length.
She set the blonde wig on her head; the honey-colored tresses hung past her waist, making her look like a pint-sized Lady Godiva. She shook her head violently, and the wig twisted on her head. I'd have to glue it on. She set it on a floor stand, brought it to the mirror, and looked at her face as she ran her fingers through the heavy locks.
She thought back to her recently uncovered memories of combat with her "sisters." Five had shoulder-length hair, light brown. Four's was black, straight, and very long. Two's was blonde. I'd bet real money that One and Three had brown hair too, even though I bought these wigs before my first vision. But why did I buy the blonde one?
She looked down at it. Her fingers had gathered the hair into three heavy strands and were braiding it. But she had no memory of ever braiding hair. She checked her file log, and discovered the Alpha file at the top of her queue. Creator, why would hair braiding be in a combat-skills program?
She rubbed the strands between her fingers. Wrong color. It should be black. Aha. She let it slip from her fingers. Then she ran a hand through the cap of short blonde hair on her head. How did they attach this? So far as I know, they never fall out. But they must wear out sooner or later; there must be some way of installing more. She grasped a single hair, pulling gently; it held fast. Like the old joke about the balding guy, holding a hair in his hand and saying, "What held it in yesterday?"
Suddenly, the image of her grasping a hair swelled in her vision until the single strand looked the thickness of a pencil. She followed it down until it disappeared into her magnified scalp. A number appeared in her mind:
110.201.137
An address. Let go, she thought, and the hair came free. She stared at it a moment, then, with the address firmly in her mind, tried to poke it back into her head. She felt her hand guided unerringly to the same site, felt the hair touch her scalp and be accepted. She tugged; it was as firmly rooted as ever. It must be like the seams for my guns. She removed and replaced random hairs from all over her head, until she had a map of the sectors designated by the address system.
She looked at the wig in front of her. Using her nails, she carefully nipped a single hair. She experimented, and discovered that her scalp would accept the new hair as readily as the original.
She stared into the mirror a moment, gathering her nerve. Then she gathered a double fistful of hair and let it fall out. She dropped it into a small shopping bag and continued the process until only her eyebrows and lashes remained. Then she cut the wig free from its matting, leaving her with a thick fistful of hair, and began inserting replacements, one hand feeding individual hairs into the fingers of the other. Her speed increased until her fingers were a blur, moving like a sewing-machine needle. But there are over a hundred thousand hairs on the human head. At this rate, I won't be done till morning. Guess I'll be testing my husband's understanding again tonight.
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