Chapter 43

 

 

 

Once upon a time there had been the Fights.

That had to do with Great Causes and High Ideals, at least so Oliver said; it had to do with where their people were going, and what they were going to do, and what their children were going to do, all of them, the ones in their own places, the ones in the material universe, growing strong, growing powerful, growing useful.

Growing dangerous, of course, but that was another matter; what they could do with their power was limited if they didn't know they had it, or how it could be used. The children in the material universe had been kept ignorant through all the centuries, the most powerful drawn away from time to time and tried, but they had never before been powerful enough.

And besides, as the centuries passed, their way of life in these places changed and so the goals changed. Generations came and went, and the original home became a story told to children, recorded on scrolls stored between where they did not gather dust. The goal now was to have power here, not power there, and the children on both sides were the key to that.

The question was what to do with the power and who would make the decision, and that was where Oliver and CeeAnn and all of that generation, that sad lost generation, made their stand, their several stands, as it happened. And Maud did remember that, all too well; she had been too young to join in the Fights and she had been too strong to be denied a place, so there she was, with unpleasant memories, a strained relationship with Oliver, a difficult connection with her own children, far too many secrets from those she loved, who had a right to know – but how could she tell them what she had known and done, and what had been planned and what had been prevented and what this could have meant to them and what it did mean to them – all of this, and a phobia about rats.

And skills with weapons.

It was obvious that weapons were going to be needed; they had discussed this at length, even before the dream attack on Willis and the explosion of the party decorations.

Maud had been upset to learn of the personal attacks on Gina. She hoped that with the caged Its out of the neighborhood, Gina would be safe from these attacks, but then there was that creature who shot at Gina's school, the day after the bomb in Cara's classroom. Nothing had upset Maud as much as that. She wanted to make someone pay; she had gone at Lincoln so seriously that she frightened Sandy and drove Lt. Price into near hysterics. They need not have worried. She wouldn't have his filthy blood on her hands – or on Lt. Price's carpet, for that matter.

But she hadn't expected an attack on Willis, who was brilliant in innumerable ways but not as sensitive in his mind as Gina, not, you would think, as attractive a target. And she hadn't expected a bomb on the doorstep of the house he shared with Ann; she hadn't thought a bomb could get through their defenses.

They needed to find the Its and their headquarters; they had been working on this, but so far they had only guesses, nothing certain. And the matter of weapons took on a greater urgency. They had captured some of them, but obviously there were more.

At least they could begin to prepare themselves.

In the beginning Sandy knew only the rudiments; she knew how to pull a trigger and which end of the pistol to point where. Logan knew nothing at all of such things. Lt. Price, who felt that she knew everything, did her best to teach them. Sandy could now reliably hit the side of a very large building; what did they used to say, a place they kept domestic animals before they had weatherproof force fields, a barn? Logan was another matter. He was inclined, like Lt. Price, to think he knew more than he did; he had shot out poor Nelson's window because he insisted he could hit the plastic bottle on the fence post, and he took the rifle away from Lt. Price before she could object, or Maud could intervene. He turned his back to the Hardesty house, took up a strong stance on his new legs, aimed the rifle stock at the fence post, rested the rifle barrel on his shoulder, and shot out the window behind him. Maud had never seen anything quite like that before. She got out of there, just like Jared, before she attracted everyone's attention laughing.

Maud knew all about the reproof Jared had given Lt. Price. She herself didn't bother with Lt. Price, who had showed poor judgment in trying to teach Logan to shoot right there beside the Hardesty house, but had tried her best anyway, and shouldered the blame without complaint. Logan was unshakably convinced of his competence even in this strange universe, and it would take a stronger-minded person than Lt. Price to cope.

No, Maud didn't add a word to what Jared had already said; she cornered Logan and spoke to him instead. She understood the class from which he had come, at least better than Jared did. Her own people had descended from this class. She knew his perspective, and she had no sympathy with it, any more than she sympathized with Oliver's image of himself. She made it clear to Logan that he might be a highly evolved, highly educated individual of high status in his former universe, but here he was an ignorant fool, a bare step from a drooling idiot; even her unborn grandson, she said, knew more than Logan and handled the world better, and Logan had better keep this in mind.

"Where you came from, what you were there, doesn't matter worth a damn," she told him, pointing her nicely-manicured fingernail at him; he backed away, satisfying to watch. "Here you're nothing. Accept this. You have no choice whatsoever. Adapt to what you find here. Adapt or die. This is what our people did. This is what you have to do. The Its, damn it to hell, are doing it. The wrong way, but they're doing it. And you and your people think you can come in here and – well, get it in your head that you can't. And act accordingly."

"I am trying," said Logan. "I am truly trying. I did not mean to shoot the rifle backwards and break the window, and I do not think it was a small thing, not important, that I did so. Dr. Ramirez is right; I could have hurt someone. This was wrong of me. You are not responsible," he said to Lt. Price, sunk in gloom on the corner of the cramped table in her little efficiency apartment. "Had I known what Dr. Ramirez said to you, I would have told him so. It is not your fault. It was my mistake. I have made mistakes. It was my mistake to hurt Sandy as I did. At first I did not know, but I have no excuse later, only that I did what I thought I needed to do."

"At least you didn't stay in her body," Maud conceded, "like those Its try to do. You found another way."

"Yes, and I am truly not trying," said Logan, "as you said just now, what you think we wish to do – we have entered here with no such thoughts. We are in a place not our own, never to be our own, exiled; we hope only to survive to correct the situation so no more from either side are exiled so – which was not our doing at the start, remember."

"According to the history I have read," said Maud, "it wasn't our doing at the start, either. We were driven out by your ancestors, or some related species, and the doors were closed behind us. And locked."

"And you plan –" said Logan.

"By all the ancient gods," said Maud, finding Lt. Price looking with big eyes from one to the other of them, bewildered, mind filled with whatever inflated tales she had been told about the Fights. "We want what Dr. Ramirez and his people want. We want the doors shut and locked and this universe, which is now our universe also, shared with all these other people, left alone. So we can go back to the lives we chose. Years ago," she said to Lt. Price, to answer those big eyes.

Logan seemed confused. "But your young, your children, so carefully bred – "

"Our key," said Maud, "to the development of our race."

"But the ability they have! I assumed, after these many centuries –"

"You're talking about my family!" said Maud. "that horrible risk and my family; no, I have no plan, and no intention –"

Where they might have gone from there, into what sort of understanding or misunderstanding or outright war, would never be known. Sandy arrived with Nelson, who had driven her over and who regarded the scene in the cramped apartment with that shy sweet little smile. "Are we interrupting?" he asked.

"Did they fix your window?" Maud demanded, getting back to basics.

"Yes," said Nelson, who seemed pleased about it. With that dithering female for a mother and that self-important little jerk for a stepfather, he was accustomed to taking life as he found it. If his window was broken it was too bad, and he could always block the chilly breezes with a sheet of foamboard until he was able to replace the glass by himself. If his window was fixed for him, it was very nice bonus and he was very thankful for it, but he didn't expect it. Maud couldn't imagine Carter as a father figure, but he couldn't have done much worse than Glen Clancy, she thought.

Just as she couldn't have done much worse than Margo Lindstrom, a thought she would never admit and never forget. She thought Lalia was doing the right thing with Brett, even if Oliver grumbled how unnecessary it all was.

But Nelson was a sweet man, she had come to see, and she appreciated that, and she shoved Logan over and made room for Nelson at the table; Sandy sat down beside Lt. Price, who had moved to the mattress on the floor. "I heard," she said. "I guess you're not quite ready to carry a weapon, Logan."

"Well," he said, a word he was comfortable with in its several permutations.

"Dr. Ramirez suggested a shooting range," said Lt. Price. "This is a good idea. I should have thought of it myself. You can practice there without hurting anyone, with correct targets at measured distances. We can try that tomorrow. Perhaps in the evening, when you can come too," she said to Nelson.

"I shoot well enough," he said. "I used to hunt with Dad."

"Do you have a gun?" asked Sandy. "Do you still have the rifle, Lt. Price? Or did Lillian take it away?"

"And Dr. Ramirez told her to lock it up," said Lt. Price, "but I have another. In the safe. And if Mr. Clancy needs a weapon, I have extras. And we can get into the storage room in the basement, if we need to." She took hold of her pendant, and Sandy and Logan and Maud all grabbed it and Logan succeeded in pulling it out of her hand. Logan had found himself with her on the roof of the Skyline Commerce building the other day, and it had taken her nearly half an hour to get them down to street level again – in fact they had ended up in what Sandy called her default location, the Hardesty basement, and just barely avoided Lillian. Skyline Commerce had given Logan an astonishing view of Bridgeton and even a glimpse of the meadows over the river, but he didn't have his wings now and he didn't find heights quite so exhilarating without wings. He hadn't enjoyed standing there with the wind buffeting his new body and the sun beating down on it, waiting for Lt. Price to figure out the right buttons.

Logan wasn't finding it all that easy in this universe, and Lt. Price's mistakes weren't helping.

Anyway Maud thought she had made her point with him. He apologized very nicely to her, and to Nelson, and to Lt. Price, who had got all the blame, and Nelson drove him home with Sandy, coming in quietly while everyone was busy with evening activities, and parking in back of the Hardesty house where no one much would see them. Nelson had a way of doing that, moving so unobtrusively that even the powerful ones in the neighborhood often overlooked him.

So far they were flying pretty well under the scope, Maud believed. Jared had noticed something, but he would. Maud had accepted that years ago. She thought she had put him off pretty well. Rejecting his offer of help, she had accidentally hit some sensitive button and he had backed away from the subject as if he felt he was pushing where he had no business to be.

Well, she didn't need his help; he had his hands full as it was, and she had a perspective on the situation that no one else could have. And she was going to use it.

 

The shooting range gave Sandy a chance to practice; she could, within a session or two, hit the side of a medium-sized building, if it wasn't moving, if the wind wasn't blowing, if the smaller and larger moons were in proper alignment. She would be fine in a situation that called for a barrage of unaimed shots, pinning down an enemy, for instance, providing cover for someone who really could shoot to get into position. And Logan now knew which end of his rifle to point at the target, even if he couldn't come close to hitting it. He looked impressive waving it around; that was where he was going to be the most useful.

Lt. Price was a pretty good shot, although she was prone to impulses and misjudgments, including misjudgments of her own abilities. Maud wasn't sure she would care to entrust her life to Lt. Price. The girl would do her best, no question, but her best was pretty erratic.

Nelson was, as usual, surprising. He drove Logan and Sandy to the shooting range after dinner, when they could slip away unnoticed, and stood with Maud watching with his sweet little smile, no more than mildly interested through the first session. On the second night, Sandy handed him her pistol and told him to try for himself. "This would be an excellent idea," said Lt. Price, when he hesitated, holding the pistol with an awkward grip as if not sure how to handle it. "We should all practice, to be ready for what happens."

"And we should know about one another," Maud said. "The level of skill, so we know who is best at what." Who, in short, to depend on, who to avoid. Nelson glanced at her with his little smile and then he shrugged and stepped up to the line and put five shots, one after the other, through the dead center of the target.

"Oh, my," said Sandy.

"I used to hunt with Dad," Nelson said again, almost apologetically, and then he turned and handed the pistol to Maud and stepped away with that smile and folded his arms, waiting. Logan lowered his rifle and turned to look, and so did Sandy, and Lt. Price moved back as one giving Maud room to perform. Maud thought of declining; she was, whether anyone acknowledged it or not, the leader of their little group, and she didn't have to prove her competence at anything. In fact, an older woman, a cultured woman clad in silk and imported true cotton, with diamonds on her fingers, diamonds at her ears, was not expected to be a sharpshooter like Lt. Price. She didn't look like one, she didn't act like one, and she had never claimed to be one.

But perhaps they should know, just as she should know about their ability or lack of it. "It's been awhile," she said, which was true. She had last been target shooting with Jared; that was years ago. Shooting at that filthy fool Lincoln didn't count. But she stepped up to the line and raised Sandy's pistol to the new target.

The first shot went a little to the right, whether poor aim or the pistol, Maud wasn't sure, but she corrected to the left and the second shot was better. Like Nelson she got off five shots and then she checked the charge, still good, and offered it to Sandy, grip first. Sandy closed her mouth and took it and looked at it as if making sure it was the same pistol she had brought with her.

"Oh, my, that was very good," said Lt. Price, regarding Maud with large awed eyes.

"I am sorry for my poor skills," said Logan, "which cannot be compared."

Nelson nodded with his little smile and dropped back, out of the way, and so did Maud, and after a moment or two, Lt. Price got their novice shooters going again. With Maud and Nelson there, she pointed out, they had a lot to live up to.

"Would you mind if I asked where you learned to shoot?" Nelson asked, eyes fixed on Logan.

Maud snorted laughter. "I used to hunt with my Dad," she said, which was true enough, not specifying what exactly they hunted.

"Ah," said Nelson. Logan got off a shot that missed the target altogether, and it was a large target, hard to miss. Lt. Price, with commendable patience, tried again to show him how to aim his rifle, and Sandy actually hit the top of her target near the right-hand corner, confirming Maud's impression.

"Her pistol pulls to the right," she said to Nelson.

"Yes," he said. "I noticed that."

Lt. Price offered him one of her pistols the next time they went to the range, and after a little hesitation he accepted it; he said he had had one, but it had disappeared last winter, during the hassle with the Lincolns, and he hadn't replaced it because he hadn't thought, in a peaceful family neighborhood, he would need it. Lt. Price shook her head in disbelief at such ignorance; Sandy laughed.

Her aim improved. Logan's aim – well, you could say he was trying.

 

Jared and Cara had finally chosen a car for her, a Zephyr, probably in support of Jared's choice; it was the same make, a more compact model. And it was a good enough car, but not spectacular.

So Maud selected something spectacular, the Verve in red and silver, knowing that Cara would loyally transfer it to Azuri/zai, but unable to resist the challenge and the gesture anyway, that little dig at Jared. She spent a good part of Monday morning selecting accessories and signing papers and transferring credits. The dealership promised – swore – that they would have it delivered the next afternoon. The salesman did, anyway; the young assistants who would do the job looked less than enthused. They had had some experience with this address.

After that she had time to connect with Chazaerte and find out how Gina had done with the year end tests. She expected good results; the girl was brighter than any of them had guessed – much brighter, if she could judge by the tests when Gina and Sofi finally got home. And that was gratifying.

Lt. Price said it would be a good time for the Its to attack, when everyone was at Issio's house enjoying Gina's triumph; she took up a position by the front door, where she could see out and watch for any forces somehow eluding Rocky and the gargoyles and moving in with weapons ready. But the Its had been quiet since that bomb blast, and the damage was mostly repaired, and no one else was going to think about it tonight. This was Gina's night.

Maud left with Chazaerte a little after the Ramirez family and Saizy, Lt Price still on guard. Sandy had already gone back to her room, and Logan had gone home after an abortive effort to open a conversation with Grace, who was occupying as little space as possible on the very end of the couch. Denise and Faashi escorted her home. The D'ubians and Terry were still playing their music; Chazaerte lingered to listen to the end of the song, the start of the next one. "He's very good," he remarked. "I don't know where he got it."

Maud knew who had, in their family tree, been musical, and it made her sad, that CeeAnn had never known either of Maud's children, or their children, and would never hear Terry play his music, and it made her angry that such things happened, then or now. "They're all talented," she said to Chazaerte, "in one way or another."

"Yes. I'm very proud of all of them," said Chazaerte quite simply, with none of his usual posing and posturing, which put Maud in charity with him; she patted his arm and left him there on the lawn and went home for a little while, just to rest where the physical forces of the material world could not touch her.