Chapter #43The Boy Who Said Yes by: Seuzz   You? A Stellae But you feel like you're a nobody!
"You are a nobody," Rick bluntly retorts when you voice the thought. "Everyone is. Name me someone who isn't."
"What I mean is, I don't feel like I'm anyone special! How can I be a -- ?" You can only wordlessly gesture at Rick and at Swann.
"Kid, there's nothing special about being a Stellae. We all got jobs -- well, except for mooches like Swann -- we're all just people. Only we know a little more about the world, and got a few tricks to deal with it." He shrugs wearily.
It's that shrug that probably convinces you. Even with the mind and memories of Julian Dey and Jameson Hyde-White, you have felt exposed and unbalanced by the night's adventures, like you're standing on the needle-sharp point of a very tall mountain with icy abysses all about you, into which the tiniest gust of air might push you. It's all so strange, so rarefied, so peculiar, the sort of the world into which only very special people can step into and hope to survive.
But if it's just ordinary people fumbling about while doing their best ...
Rick doesn't look like a magician, but like a homeless man. Swann doesn't look like a graduate of Hogwarts, but like a university student slightly past his sell-by date. They know what they are doing, and they're treating Fane and its demonic plans with sturdy and unemotional contempt.
Always say 'yes', your dad told you about the job application, at least until they make the final offer. You realize you've been saying "yes" since the moment the fake Joe called you up. Why not continue?
This feels like a final offer, and it's the weary sag of Rick Bredon's shoulders that gives you the courage to answer.
"Okay," you tell him with a kind of gulping breathlessness. "If you think you can use me, I'll do it." But fear begins to reassert itself almost immediately. "I don't feel like I'm up to it, though. I don't really know anything about you guys or what you do. And even if I've got, uh, talents like you guys have, I don't know how to use them, I don't know how I turned myself invisible--"
"Alright, that's enough," Rick interrupts. "You told me what I needed to know."
"What's that?"
"That you'll do it, even though you're scared and modest. That makes you passable material, at least. For now, just don't frighten yourself by looking too far ahead. Let's concentrate on getting the kid and cadet back together. The girl, too. Can you do that?"
"I think so," you cautiously reply. It's just a matter of running some machinery.
"There, you see? The journey is hard, but each step is easy." Rick starts to get out of the car, then pauses. "You've been very Prescott-like since I caught up to you. But we need you to be this Fane asshole for the next little bit. Can you manage that?"
A ripple runs through you: You'd almost forgotten who you look like, who you can be: Julian Dey, panther in the night. "Yeah, he's here with me," you say as your cock stiffens a little with confidence. "I can manage."
"Show me."
It takes a second to center. Then you turn a coldly amused glance onto Swann, and slip a cigarette into the corner of your mouth. "So how's that Five Year Plan to get laid before you're thirty working out?" you ask him. His jaw drops a little.
* * * * *
You lead your companions into the bay where the fleet of trucks are kept; most of them have their hoods up. "The fuck's going on here," you demand of the guards.
They all jump. "Sir!" one gaps. "Bit o' trouble wif the, uh--" He jerks his head at the nearest truck. "Can't get 'em to turn over."
"You get my packages to the airfield at least? Lucky break," you add when he shakes his head. "Saves me bringing them back. Unload 'em and follow me in."
Several of the guards leap into action, but the one who spoke eyes Rick and Swann suspiciously. "Got a problem with the company I keep," you softly ask. He covers his embarrassment by barking at the others. Hands in your pockets, you glide over to the freight elevator with Rick and Swann trailing behind.
It takes only fifteen minutes to get the containers holding Frank and Joe and Verity transferred to the operating theater. Swann darts from corner to corner looking it over and muttering excitedly. Wryly, you wallow a little in Dey's completely unearned pride in it -- unearned, because it was the Vulcan technicians and engineers that put it all together. He only knows how to run it.
It's a large space, maybe seventy-five feet to a side, with a white floor, white walls, and a white ceiling; a control room on one side looks into the theater through wide glass windows. A metal slab lays in the middle, directly under a bank of lasers like those in Dey's private duplication room. At one end of the slab is a mechanical device like that in his vault: a robotic arm tipped with a glass drill head. A long, flexible tube made of spun glass goes from the drill head to the control room. Nearby, another machine with a similar arm and a similar drill and a similar tube rests nearer the floor.
"Do the girl first," Rick says. "You can take her off to talk while we handle the boys."
You like the suggestion, but warn him it will be a little shocking: "She's not looking like herself." Rick just grunts. He helps you lift the lid, and raises his eyebrows when he sees what's inside.
It's a white slab, like a monolith of chalk, five feet in length. It's quite heavy too, and the three of you grunt as you lift and transfer it to the operating slab. "Her substratum," you explain. "What's left after you've torn all the other bits off her."
Swann runs his cell phone over it and mutters cheerfully to himself. "Knew I should've paid more attention to Kali's lectures in biomedical metaphysics."
"What is that, a fucking tricorder?" You frown when he nods absent-mindedly. "Well, don't queer anything."
"Nothing to queer," he retorts. "I'm not getting anything from it." He picks at the monolith with his fingernail, but Rick warns him off with a sharp word.
There are three pockets inside the carrying pod. "Personal Characteristics Type One," you say as you pull out a bronze-colored disk that's the size of an old-fashioned vinyl record but the thickness of a table top. "Body and memories. It's what got put onto me when I fell into Dey's duplication chamber."
"What happened to your, uh, personal characteristics type one," Rick asks.
"Erased. There's ways of getting it back, but that'll be a problem." You've avoided thinking about it, since it would involve hitting Patterson's Diana operations. You hand the disk to Swann while pulling out a silver disc that's the same size but thinner than the first. "This is her Personal Characteristics Type Two. The Libra calls it essentia. All we know is that it's what gives the Stellae their powers."
"Prodigies," Swann corrects you. He rubs the surface of the disc gently and lets out a low whistle. "Check it out, Rick. They all come with things like this?" he asks you.
He's pointed to some intricate figures inscribed on the surface of the disc. It looks like the Moon with a sunburst peeking over its upper limb.
"No," you say. "Only Frank and Joe had stuff like that on their P2 discs. Everyone else just gets something that looks like a Spirograph."
"Did the boys' have the same symbols?" Rick asks.
"No, Joe's was a sunburst surrounded by things that looked like angels' wings. Frank's was a mailed fist holding a scythe."
"I suppose that makes sense," Rick says. "If that's the pattern, it marks the girl as Sulva and Arbol. Moon and Sun. Interesting that the Moon is partially eclipsing the Sun. Well, something for Kali and Reilly to interpret."
"And this--" You draw out the last disc, the golden one. "This is her soul." Your throat tightens. Her name is inscribed in ruby-red letters around its circumference. "Personal Characteristics Type Three. It's what we pulled out of Frank and Joe, replaced with -- " You almost say "with mine", but correct yourself at the last moment. "With Julian Dey's."
"How can one soul be in two places," Swann asks.
"It's divisible. P2 is divisible too. You can pull out up to ten portions from someone. Well, ten portions from Frank and Joe. We -- I mean, the engineers never got more than seven portions from anyone else, but they got ten portions from them. But you can insert the P2 and the P3 into multiple persons. That's what Dey did, he put one portion of his P3 in them."
"Is there anything like telepathy or other sympathetic attraction to link people with shared P3?" Swann asks.
"No. In fact, it's pretty dangerous to use. Joe and Frank were totally independent of each other and from Dey, but they felt like they were Dey, but had gone through a body swap. There was a real risk of jealousy and a fratricidal battle for control. But Dey wouldn't have trusted any other P3 inside them, and he managed the tensions by giving them wide latitude. Basically, he sent them to the States and never talked to them unless they called him for help or advice. He just ran support and came up with strategy.
"You know," you add after a moment's thought. "That's a way of keeping control of Vulcan. We could dissemble Dey and fill him with part of your P3, Rick. Or Swann's."
"Reflection's good for the soul," Rick says. "I doubt dissection is. We'll figure out another way to handle these guys." You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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