[[ WISHWERE.ASC : 3341 in WISHWERE.ASC ]] [[ ONEMODAY.ASC : 3342 in ONEMODAY.ASC ]] [[ TASTRAGE.ASC : 3343 in TASTRAGE.ASC ]] [[ WEEKEND.ASC : 3338 in WEEKEND.ASC ]] [[ HOTTIME.ASC : 3339 in HOTTIME.ASC ]] [[ TANTRUMS.ASC : 3344 in TANTRUMS.ASC ]] [[ WORLDSUB.ASC : 3345 in WORLDSUB.ASC ]] [[ BEARMOUN.ASC : 3346 in BEARMOUN.ASC ]] [[ HUMANTOU.ASC : 3347 in HUMANTOU.ASC ]] [[ COLDFROM.ASC : 3340 in COLDFROM.ASC ]] [[ CHATEAU.ASC : 3348 in CHATEAU.ASC ]] [[ SUPERNAT.ASC : 3349 in SUPERNAT.ASC ]] [[ MUDERBAL.ASC : 3350 in MUDERBAL.ASC ]] [[ EMPIFAL1.ASC : 3351 in EMPIFAL1.ASC ]] [[ CENTAURS.ASC : 3352 in CENTAURS.ASC ]] Weekend at the Office by Rodford Edmiston Note: This story is set before the fall of the Soviet Union. It was a bright Saturday morning, the sort of late fall day when most people would have been glad for an excuse to go outside. Marian, however, had reception duty. The Center for Gifted Research was open all day, every day, by necessity. Marian therefore lay behind the lobby desk with her elbows propped on its top, reading a book, her radio softly playing rock music. It wasn't as if she had much else to do; given her dislike for public exposure since her transformation into a centaur, she tended to stay at the Center most of the time, anyway. Marian suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She looked up to see a young woman, surrounded by a yellow glow, push the front door open and fly in. She went from entrance to reception desk without touching the floor. There she touched down, the glow diminishing. "Hi, Blackbird," said Marian, smiling as she put her book down. "I need to see San Savant about a problem I'm having with the Russians from when I took a shortcut over their country last week even though I went as high as I could and..." "I'm sorry, Mr. San Savant is out right now." Marian hated to interrupt, but it was either that or listen to a five minute sentence. "What is your problem?" The young woman fidgeted, then emitted another burst of words. "The Russians have assigned this guy, one of their Gifted, to harass me because I flew over their country and he keeps popping in and yelling at me and shooting off sparks..." Blackbird, real name Shirley Strider, claimed to be twenty-one, but in Marian's judgement was closer to eighteen. She was a free spirit, using her Gift to tour the world. She was something of a celebrity, and seemed to feel that anything which infringed on her free passage to go wherever she wanted to go was ridiculous. "... fellow finds me wherever I am and keeps interrupting me and I can't get any peace and..." Right on cue, a thin, ragged looking young man in Russian military uniform appeared in the lobby, accompanied by a window-rattling thunderclap. Blackbird's aura immediately brightened and pulled more tightly around her. The stranger yelled "Decadent Imperialist Swine!" and extended his right hand. A fat blue spark jumped from his fingers and spent itself on Blackbird's shields. "See what I mean?" she cried, shaking her fists up and down in childish rage. Marian had jumped to her feet at the attack, and now the Russian was staring open-mouthed at her, muttering something in his native tongue. Apparently, he had never seen a centaur before. "He doesn't understand a word of English," complained Blackbird. "He just parrots these phrases and zaps me even though I have tried over and over to get him to stop and I can't see what he has against me that he could be so mean." An office door banged open and Fleet blurred into the room. Seeing no sign of an ongoing battle, he whipped to a stop beside Marian. "What's happening?" Before anyone could answer, the door to the stairs was pushed open by a feline muzzle. After taking a moment to examine the scene, a cheetah squeezed through and trotted over to join the others. Flow sat down, then unfolded into her human form. At each arrival, the Russian's eyes had grown wider, until Marian wondered if his Gift included the ability to extend them from their sockets. Blackbird took advantage of her tormenter's confusion to explain the situation to the newcomers. "Poor fellow," said Fleet, when the young Gifted woman had finished. "I almost feel sorry for him. I doubt he's seen much of the world, and certainly nothing like Flow, Marian and me." "By the way," said Blackbird "don't touch him because he carries a hefty electrical charge and it hurt me when I tried to grab him and shake some sense into him yesterday and get a civil reply from him..." "Where's Adamant when we need him," muttered Flow. Fleet and Flow began discussing how to deal with the problem, while Blackbird continued nonstop. The problem, meanwhile, had regained his composure and was talking loudly to them in Russian. Marian decided that enough was enough. "Quiet!" Since Marian was louder than any two of the rest of them combined, she got it. "You!" she said, crooking a finger at the Russian. "Come here!" He folded his arms defiantly across his chest and stood where he was. "American Capitalist Dog!" Marian was at a loss. It would be hours before San Savant returned and she didn't know anyone else who might be able to help. "Imperialist Pig Swine!" said the Russian, just to fill the silence. "Does anyone in the Center speak Russian?" asked Marian in desperation. With soft "whump" and a strong smell of brimstone, the Wizard suddenly appeared a cloud of yellow smoke, not three feet from the stranger. The Russian jumped back in alarm and raised his hands. He froze in confusion as he realized that he was about to zap an elderly man wearing an ankle-length cloak and a tall, conical cap, both dark blue and sprinkled with glittering stars of gold and silver. The Russian's expression changed to one of total disbelief. "I say," remarked the Wizard, in his affected British accent, "has the party started already?" "Its not a party and its tomorrow," said Marian, "but you may be able to help us with a problem." She nodded to Blackbird, who explained the situation yet again. The Wizard looked thoughtfully at the bedraggled stranger for a few moments, then approached him in a friendly manner. "Come now, my good fellow, surely we can arrive at some sort of reasonable compromise?" "He doesn't understand English," said Fleet. "Oh, he'll understand me," said the Wizard, casually. "Capitalist American Pig!" said the Russian. "I'm afraid you're wrong there, old man," the Wizard countered, eyes twinkling. "I have been a card carrying member of the American Communist Party since 1938. I was black listed by McCarthy and even had a personal confrontation with Nixon." The Russian opened his mouth to spout another insult. The Wizard made a gesture with his right hand. The stranger's eyes glazed over and his face went slack. "You don't know where Blackbird is." The Russian numbly repeated this in his own tongue. "You will not remember what happened here." This, too, was echoed. "You will begin to privately question what your superiors tell you," said the Wizard, his eyes twinkling madly. There was more Russian in reply. "You may go now." The Russian vanished. "Oh, wow, thanks," said Blackbird. "That was really wild!" "It won't last, I'm afraid," said the Wizard. "The spell will wear off in a few days. However, that should buy you some time to come up with a longer term solution." He turned to Marian. "Now, about that party..." "Its not a party," said Marian, more firmly this time. "It is a conference for Gifted and those normals associated with them. It starts here at five, local time. Food and drink will be served, but you are welcome to bring something." The Wizard smiled, bowed and vanished. Blackbird thanked them and floated out through the front door and then straight up. An outraged scream was heard from the second floor. "That sounded like Bodystocking," said Flow, grinning. "I better go explain what happened." She shifted into a cougar and ran off. Marian lay back down, stretched her human torso out across the desk and folded her arms over her head. "Its like working in Toon Town," she lamented, voice muffled. "At least Flaming Sword wasn't here," said Fleet, grinning. Marian had to smile at that, although it certainly hadn't been funny at the time. A disturbed Gifted man, described as "crazy but harmless" by the authorities, had been sent to the Center by a sanitarium. Upon seeing Pinky, he had shoved his two attendants aside, materialized a long sword of fire, and then proceeded to chase the receptionist around the lobby, waving the sword over his head and screaming "No prisoners!" It had taken Sturdy, Fleet and Adamant to corral him. "My strength and speed are superhuman," said Marian, raising her head. "I can lift a small car and almost out-run one. But some of the Gifted make me feel about as effective as a sideshow freak." "I know what you mean," Fleet replied. "A good sports car can go faster than me, and for longer. Still, its not what you have that counts, but how you use it." "Ancient Oriental philosophy?" That brought a smile from him. Fleet's ancestry may have been pure Chinese, but his upbringing was pure American. "Look, Muscle Man spends his time on talk shows, celebrity gatherings and hobnobbing with big-name people, just so he can show off his strength and pretend he's someone important. The Wizard travels the world looking for parties. Kid Power is trying to get his own TV show. Even Casey, for all his environmental activism, has done little to directly help people." Fleet tapped a finger on the desk. "We help people," he said, emphasizing it. "Those of us here at the Center have done a lot to aid others, both Gifted and normal. Think of what we have done for Bodystocking, the Monster, and all the rest." Marian nodded. There was a long, thoughtful silence between them. Then Fleet began to chuckle. "What?" asked Marian. "I just had a thought," said Fleet, grinning broadly. "You can do something that none of the rest of us can." "And what might that be?" "Go out in public with no clothes on below the waist." Marian shook her head. "You've been hanging around Adamant too much." END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 2830 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 Hot Time by Rodford Edmiston Marian luxuriated in her shower, letting warm water from the three fixed nozzles pour over her, and using the spray massage to reach where they didn't. The plumber had finished installing the special shower stall three days earlier, and just in time; the temperature had dropped below freezing the night before and the day was still quite cool. Even though most Gifted felt environmental extremes less than normals, and Marian's bulk generally meant that she had trouble keeping cool, bathing outside in this weather was more than she was willing to put up with. The reason for her preparation was the conference of Gifted being held in the Center that afternoon. Marian was very nervous about the meeting. It would be the first time she had been in such a crowd since she had been changed by the Gifting. Finally having enough, she turned off the water and began the long process of drying herself. The hair on her head was little problem, but the coat on her equine portion was winter thick, and the hair in her tail was long and hard to reach. Fortunately, a combination of toweling and blow-drying usually did the job. Marian dried as well as she could with towels in the oversized shower stall to keep water off the bathroom floor, but for safety's sake she stepped out before using the dryer. She was nearly finished when she heard someone knocking. Muttering under her breath, Marian grabbed a towel and hurried toward the door. She wrapped the towel around her torso as she went, not realizing until then that it was soaking wet. The drips weren't important; like the other quarters here at the Center, Marian's was a converted office, and had a tile floor. She hated getting wet again, however. Already irritated, she yanked the door open and found Adamant. "Pinky's having trouble with an obnoxious reporter and sent me to get your help." Adamant had started a bit at seeing her in just a towel, and now was grinning. "He wants to know about the meeting and is getting aggressive." "Why me, when you were handy?" snapped Marian, angry at being interrupted over something that shouldn't have concerned her. "Hey, my way of dealing with guys like that is to call them at three in the morning for the next fifty years," he replied, shrugging. "Besides, you're more imposing than Pinky and me put together." That made sense. With most of the regular inhabitants of the building out buying supplies for the conference, Marian was probably the best remaining choice for bouncer. "All right, hang on a minute while I get dressed." "Better hurry," said Adamant, as Marian closed the door. She threw the towel into the bathroom, where it struck the far wall with a satisfying splat, and yanked a t-shirt out of her top drawer. She put the shirt on as she moved back to the door, fighting to pull the fabric over her damp skin and nearly falling when she slipped in a wet spot. None of this helped her mood. Adamant stared at Marian as she came out of her room. Knowing how much she liked to dress well, he was surprised that she would be this casual, even in a minor emergency. "Let's go," snapped Marian, pushing past him to the stairs. "I didn't know you went in for wet t-shirts!" Adamant called after her. Either she didn't hear him, or decided to ignore the comment. Marian thundered down the ramps, Adamant catching up by the simple expedient of vaulting over each rail to the flight below. As Marian entered the lobby, she saw Pinky chasing a man, presumably the reporter, who was running toward Mr. San Savant's office. That could cause trouble. Mr. San Savant hated to have his meditation period interrupted. "Hey, stop!" Marian called, putting her oversized lungs and vocal cords to good use. The man ignored her, yanking the office door open. He froze as he saw what was inside. So did Pinky, Marian and Adamant. Instead of the small, simply furnished room which should have been there, the door opened onto a dimensionless black void. Inside, about where the desk was supposed to be, was Mr. San Savant. He was floating in lotus position, softly glowing, his eyes closed. The reporter stared for a long moment, then shut the door and leaned weakly against it. "I think I'll make an appointment." Marian moved up beside the man, and he finally noticed her. "This is private property," she told him, her voice as low as it would comfortably go, and in the same tone she had once used on an older boy she had caught bullying one of her sons. "Either leave or get thrown out. And you don't want to know how far I can throw you." The reporter meekly left, but kept glancing back at Marian as he walked toward the door. "Well, I'm glad that's over," said Marian, raising the pitch of her voice back to the range she preferred. Pinky was staring at her. "Did you know your shirt says 'Four On The Floor'?" Marian checked her shirt, then glared at Adamant, who was busy looking completely innocent. Marian walked over, grabbed him by the hair and lifted him to her eye level. "I don't know how you did it," she told him, voice again very low. "I don't want to know. Don't do it again." She dropped him and stomped off, not on easy feat for a centaur. "Considering how hard it is to find things in her size," mused Pinky, "you'd think she'd be more grateful." "You did it!" Adamant yelped, in sudden realization. "You've got to tell her! She'll never believe me!" Pinky just smiled and returned to her desk. * * * The first guests hadn't even arrived yet, and already Marian was nervous. Sure, most of them would be Gifted, and some of them would have received physical changes nearly as great as Marian's own. She was still uncertain about mingling with so many strangers at once. "One side!" announced Sturdy, as he carried a pair of beer kegs behind the refreshment table. For him, they weren't very heavy, but they were an awkward load. Sturdy, real name Martin Grant, stood nearly seven feet tall and was heavy in proportion. "You should have let me carry those," she told him. Sturdy was far stronger than Marian, but her larger size and four-legged stability made her more suitable for some tasks. The strongman grinned at Marian, as he bedded the kegs in tubs of ice. "You'll ruin your dress." Normally, Marian only clothed her human portion, but for the party she had modified an elegant black dress to her form. The dress was draped over her equine back and hung down in front of her forelegs. It was too short, of course, but that kept her from stepping on it. Marian turned from the drink table to watch as Fleet, moving slowly for a change, came in with a stack of soft drink cases. San Savant was actually in charge, but he had shown a surprising lack of talent when it came to organizing the incidentals for the meeting, so Flow and Marian had volunteered to arrange for refreshments. They had even managed to get advanced copies of the next issue of "Gift Rap" by fax. Marian heard someone whistling "Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress)" and turned to find Adamant watching her. "I'll take that as a compliment." "That's how I meant it," he replied, grinning. A tall, heavy man with dark grey wings sprouting from his back came walking in the side door. "Ah!," said San Savant, "the Lexington contingent has arrived." The man wore a mask, and in public went by the name Shadow Hawk. The wings were not permanent; like many other Gifted he could alter his body to a limited extent. In this case, he could produce the wings when he wanted them, then retract them later. Behind him came several other people, many of them masked or otherwise concealing their identities. One member of the group was a small woman with feline features, including fur, pointed ears, slit pupils and a real, live tail. One man had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder and was wearing camouflage clothing and makeup. The last two through the door were both tall, thin, bearded men wearing glasses; one had black hair and the other brown. These two were talking in an animated fashion about something which Marian couldn't make head or tails of. "We're here!" cried one of the masked men. "Break out the food and the booze!" Some of the others in the group gave him a dark look. San Savant knew most of these people already. He welcomed them by name and told them to make themselves at home, then hurried off to greet the next arrivals, just coming in. * * * Half an hour later, the meeting was in full swing. Donald Criswold, the primary financial backer of the Center for Gifted Research, had given the opening address, and the next three speakers had been to the podium and back. Refreshments were being served constantly but quietly. Marian, standing behind the drink table, found that her height and reach made her very handy at the job. She also found the talks interesting. Chuck, the current speaker, was the brown haired man from the Lexington group. He had conducted a detailed statistical evaluation of the Gifting, and established some tentative rules for the occurrence. The majority of Gifts had been received in a broad, curving band roughly two hundred miles wide, stretching across the United States from Eastern Texas to Virginia. On either side of this band the number of Gifts dropped off sharply. The center of the curve was at the island in the Florida Keys where the mysterious explosion had occurred at the moment of the Gifting. Something had apparently expanded outward from the island, traveling for several hundred miles, occasionally Gifting someone; then it had suddenly begun Gifting people at a vastly greater rate. Where there were few people, such as on the ocean and in eastern Mexico, the band was displaced further out from the center and was broader. The portion headed due south had passed over Central America, then moved on into the Antarctic, crossed the pole and continued Northward, to drop a scattering of Gifts in India, China and the Soviet Union. Cuba, being so close to the island, had received almost no Gifts. More surprising was Chuck's statement that his study had shown there were a total of 4328 Gifted in the world. Marian had previously known of only a few more than three hundred. "The majority of these people may not know that they are Gifted," Chuck explained. "We keep hearing of someone discovering that they have powers. We can assume that they were Gifted at the same time as the rest, but only recently learned about their new abilities." The next speaker was the Center's own physician, Dr. William Swenson. He gave a short outline on the physical changes experienced by the majority of the Gifted, and some of the more common abilities. Most of this Marian already knew; Gifted healed completely from any non-lethal injury, and had immunity to diseases and an increased tolerance of damage. Any Gifted person who had previously worn glasses could now see perfectly, with or without them, after only a few seconds of adjustment. "Roughly ten percent of the Gifted receive a permanent physical change. Many of these changes would not be noticeable to anyone who had not known the person before. However, just over half of these changes make the person appear unusual." After Dr. Swenson's talk, San Savant called an intermission. Marian was relieved from her duties by a volunteer from the guests, and decided to mingle. She wandered around the lobby, catching snatches of conversation. "...boss likes my new abilities, for the most part, but..." "...shot him several times and he just laughed..." "...having a shape shifter for a lover makes life very interesting..." Now that was a bit of information Marian filed away for future reference. "...was going to call himself Mr. Transistor, then realized that would make him a son of a switch." This was from the tall, dark-haired man from Lexington, a fellow named Red. "...nearly crashed into an oak tree the first time..." "...won the Amazing Randi's award within two weeks of the Gifting..." Marian was pleased to note that few people gave her more than a passing glance. As she wandered back to the beverage table, however, she found Red there ahead of her, and noticed that he kept looking at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Uh, no," he replied, laughing in embarrassment. "Just professional curiosity. I have a black belt and was wondering how a person might go about throwing a centaur." Well, at least it was an original answer. "Why do they call you Red? Is it because of your Gift?" "Oh, I'm not Gifted," he said, smiling. "Can't you tell? The Gifted do have certain presents about them." Marian groaned. "I'm going to have to introduce you to Ed Wilson," she told Red. "Better known as Adamant, the Indestructible Man." "I think I'm up to the challenge. After all, I am armor punetrating." Marian resumed mingling, occasionally stopping to chat with someone she knew. The meeting was going well, and being with so many people was easier than she had thought. As she looked around the room, though, Marian spotted a potential trouble situation. Muscleman had the Wizard cornered, and the older man's famous sense of humor was obviously becoming strained. "I have received several of the best Gifts," the strongman bragged. "I can leap an eighth of a mile, hold my breath for hours and even artillery shells can't break my skin!" It was Muscleman's usual spiel, worn thin by endless repetition. "Ah, yes," said the Wizard, rallying, "but can you work magic?" "Magic?" Muscleman frowned. "Here's a simple test," said the Wizard. "Say 'Ibble Bibble Bop.'" The frown deepened. "Ibble Bibble Bop?" Muscleman vanished with the sound of a very large balloon breaking. "Where did you send him?" asked Marian. "The Red Sea." The Wizard smiled contentedly. "The bottom of the Red Sea." * * * Marian was standing on the lawn behind the Center, looking out at the parking lot. After she had left Red with Adamant, the crowd had suddenly gotten to her. There were just too many people in the room, and she needed some time alone. As Red would have put it, she was tired of being the centaur of attention. Besides, her neck was sore from twisting around to make sure no one was in her way; she constantly worried about stepping on someone. She was beginning to feel better, now, and was considering going back inside, when she heard voices, approaching from around the building. Two elderly men came walking along the driveway. One was short and grizzled, the other tall and thin, with black hair. They reminded Marian of George Burns and Fred Astaire, except that the tall one was carrying a large convertible. "You should get rid of that piece of junk," said the short one. "Because of you, we're late." "This car is a classic!" "Yeah, a classic mistake. If its such a collector's item, sell it and use the money to buy one of those Japanese compacts." "You wouldn't know a fine automobile if it ran over you." The pair continued bickering as the tall one put the car carefully down, taking two parking spaces, then turned to enter the building. It was then that they noticed Marian. "Excuse me, young lady," said the tall one, recovering first. "Is this where the Gifted conference is being held?" "Derek, use your brain for once," snapped the short one. "You ask someone looking like that if this is where there are Gifted. Sheesh." "It was a politeness question, not an information question," countered the tall one. "Although I shouldn't be surprised that you wouldn't know anything about politeness." "You must be Heckle and Jibe," Marian said quickly, hoping to interrupt another exchange. "Well, if we must, I suppose we'll just have to make the best of it," said the short one. These were a pair of famous retired actors, turned activists for the elderly. Since the Gifting, they had also included promoting Gifted rights in their interests. Some of their actions of late had been far from legal, but they were much respected and admired, by Gifted and normal alike. "So, are we going to stand out here all night?" asked the short one in a gruff voice. Laughing, Marian accompanied the two old Vaudevillians inside. END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 7020 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 The Cold From Beyond by Rodford Edmiston Paul walked slowly down the shadowy street, weaving a bit and staggering every now and then. He was bait, in an attempt to draw out whoever was toasting street people. There had been over thirty mysterious deaths in Louisville the past week, and the mayor had asked the Kentucky State Police for help. They, in turn, had included Paul in the project, since there were indications that the deaths might be the work of one or more rogue Gifted. It was cold enough to make Paul shiver inside his threadbare "bum's" outfit, and the eerie light-dark patterns on these back streets didn't help his mood. He just hoped that the two policemen assigned as his backup were on the alert; he hadn't spotted them in over an hour. Paul and the others in the special team had been taken to the morgue to view the remains, in the hope that this might help them recognize the perpetrator. Actually, the bodies looked less like they had been burned than left in an oven for too long. They had a kind of cooked, dried-out appearance to them; they were desiccated and browned, and the skin had split, leaving an ooze of thickened blood on much of the body and clothing. One look had been enough for Paul. Homeless people were so frightened that they were committing minor crimes to be thrown in jail for the night. The unusual appearance of the corpses had experts convinced that something paranormal was at work. Which probably meant Gifted. If it was a Gifted gone wrong, Paul wanted to stop him or her now, before anyone else was killed. Paul had heard from a number of sources that they expected a witch hunt against the Gifted any day now, due to the trouble that the small number of rogues had already caused. Something like this could touch that off. It was three in the morning and Paul had been on the job for more than two hours. There were other decoys performing the same job in other areas, and other officers watching them as backup. Paul, due to his abilities and experience, had been assigned the most likely block. He didn't enjoy the situation, but had to admit that he was the best qualified for the job. Still, there didn't seem to be much happening. The only people he had seen were wary and secretive, some actually fleeing Paul's approach. They were scared; the whole city was scared. Then, with typical suddenness, it all went wrong. A man stepped out of the alley ahead, and came straight for Paul. He didn't hurry, he didn't swerve, he simply walked purposefully forward and reached out. Paul dodged back, confident that his heightened speed and dexterity would enable him to evade the other's grasp. He was almost right. The stranger's hand grazed Paul's shoulder, and that brief touch sent an agony of cold through the whole left side of his body. Paul gasped, and staggered backward as the stranger came at him again, this time with inhuman speed. Paul knew one thing; he couldn't let himself be touched like that again. He dodged, already recovering, and started yelling for help. The stranger ignored Paul's cries and continued grabbing. Paul kicked the man in the stomach, hoping that his thick boots would protect him. They did; he only felt a little of that strange cold. The blow had been hard enough to pulp a normal man, but the stranger only grunted and fell backwards. Paul decided to put a little distance between them. He shifted into a cheetah and sprinted down the street. A block away Paul stopped, and switched back to human form. Already he could hear his partners running to his aid, but the stranger was charging out of the alley with incredible speed. Paul picked up a concrete bench and threw it at the man. The stranger dodged, then started as he realized that there were two other people approaching, and whirled to face them. He snarled a wordless challenge at the officers as they slid to a stop, shotguns ready. "Watch it!" Paul called in warning. "He's at least a strong as I am!" Seeing the two normals pause, the stranger snarled at them again, and turned his attention back to Paul. Officer Grady ordered him to halt, twice, then fired a warning shot. The strange figure ignored him and continued toward Paul. As it reached the circle of light under the street lamp, Paul saw it clearly for the first time, and he suddenly knew that this thing, whatever it might once have been, was not human. Paul grabbed a traffic sign and twisted it until it snapped off just above the sidewalk. Brandishing his makeshift spear, he circled, maneuvering so that policemen had a clear line of fire. The creature snarled at him, but there was a hungry gleam in it's eyes that told Paul it wasn't about to give up. Without warning, it charged. Both officers fired, both hitting. The thing screamed and staggered, but continued it's charge. Paul braced himself, and aimed the jagged point of the channel post at its heart. The creature impaled itself neatly. That wasn't the end of it. There was an eruption of energy, a flare of silver light as the metal entered the thing's body. Paul yelled and jumped back, dropping ungracefully into a sitting position, shielding his eyes against the glare in an effort to see what was happening. In moments it was over, and all that was left was a pile of ashes and a half-melted post. * * * "Don't ask me what it was," said Paul, back at the Precinct headquarters. "I don't know. We may never know. But at least we got it." "You think so?" asked Detective Anderson, who was heading the special task force assigned this duty. "Just before you arrived, we got a call from a unit sent to check on another of our decoy parties. The black-and-white found three more of those shriveled bodies, two of them in uniforms. All their weapons had been fired, some of them emptied." "Oh, God," groaned Paul, in dismay. "There's more than one of them." * * * It was ridiculous; here Marian was, letting herself be tossed around like an empty garbage can by a man a fraction her weight! And a normal man at that! Of course, she had asked for this, literally. Since she seemed to keep getting involved in dangerous situations, Marian had finally decided to learn to fight, so she would know how to handle herself in a violent confrontation. Of course, she hadn't realized just how humiliating this sort of thing was for a beginner. "Pay attention," Red told her, gently but firmly. "All right, give it a try." He had forbidden Marian the use of her paranormal strength, instead insisting that she first learn the proper way to do each technique, without muscling her way through. Red had explained that learning to do it without "cheating" would not only help her against opponents who were stronger than she, it would teach her the control needed to keep from hurting those weaker. That made enough sense that Marian had kept strict obedience. She grabbed Red in the kumi kata, the formal grip, pulling him to her, then lifting and pushing backwards in a circular motion while catching him behind the knee with a forefoot. Red landed ten feet away, his fall padded by the thick grass on the Center's back lawn and blunted by a double slap at the ground. Marian watched in envy as he then bounded lightly to his feet, smiling. "Very good. Now, again." Marian winced, but reminded herself that she needed this practice. They resumed the formal positioning, and Marian performed the throw again. "Not quite a smooth this time, but still good. Again." Marian was wearing the top to Red's Judo gi. He had made a point of insisting that she wear something under it, and after he had thrown her a couple of times she had seen why. A Judo top is supposed to be loose. They practiced the kouchigari until Red was satisfied, then moved on to another throw. They had started their workouts three weeks earlier, with what Red referred to as the "hard" techniques; blocks, punches and kicks. Then he had begun showing her on the "soft" system: throws, chokes and joint locks. The main difficulty had been in finding procedures appropriate to Marian's unusual form. Many maneuvers simply wouldn't work for her, and others had to be adapted. Still, she now had about a dozen attacks and defenses which she was confident with in her arsenal. As an added benefit, she was becoming more dexterous and aware of her physical self. If for no other reason, that was enough for Marian to continue. A car pulled into the parking lot behind the Center, and sounded its horn. It was Clint. "I guess we can break a little early for once," Red announced, grinning, as Marian turned to wave. "Now, where did I put my glasses?" Clint walked over to join them as Red gathered their equipment. "Are you finished beating on my love for now?" Clint asked, as he affectionately put his arm around Marian's waist. "I'm havin' trouble gettin' her to work out on her own," Red told Clint, his accent back now that class was over. "I don't need the exercise," Marian countered. "My Gift keeps me in perfect physical condition." "Yeah, but exercise also helps train body and mind to work together," Red explained. "So keep it up." "Yes, kyoshi," she sighed, teasing him with his title. "That's all she needs," grumped Clint, jokingly. "More muscles." "That's all she needs," repeated Marian, duplicating Clint's voice exactly. "More muscles." "That's all she needs," repeated Red, doing a fair imitation of Clint's voice. "More muscles." "Great," the paramedic muttered, "now I'm getting it in stereo." They walked back into the Center slowly, Marian tired but contentedly swishing her tail, Clint with his arm around her waist, Red buoyant, talking the whole time. When they entered the lobby and saw the people gathered there, however, he stopped his chatter and peered owlishly about. It was San Savant's "Council of War," the group he called together whenever something needing special attention by the Center came up. The members looked quite serious, as much so as Red could ever recall. "Good, you're finished early," San Savant told Red. "We are waiting on you and Paul Lee to arrive before we start." "Just let me get changed," Red told them, ducking into the Men's room with his gym bag. About half the council were the actual field operatives. The other ten, including Red and Marian, were the planners and directors. Marian wondered what had happened overnight that was grave enough to call the group together for. "This looks serious," said Marian. "Are you going to need me?" San Savant looked at Marian and Clint for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Oh, well," Clint sighed. "That's what I get for dating an executive type. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll reschedule." Clint stood on tip-toe and kissed Marian goodbye. She watched him leave, regret showing on her face, then turned to find Flow looking at her. "What are you grinning about?" "Just thinking about how much you have changed since we first met, at Donald Criswold's mansion last year," Flow replied. "You've gone from being shy and almost painfully insecure, to practically running this place." "That's pretty much the way my whole life has been." Marian shrugged. "Take my job at the real estate agency. I started there five years ago as a secretary, and today am an executive assistant. My boss is even talking now about making me an assistant manager." "Those who have been successful since gettin' their Gift were generally successful before gettin' it," Red pointed out, as he re-joined the group. Paul Lee arrived a few minutes later, looking tired. San Savant led the group into the conference room and started the meeting. "My friends, there is a menace loose in the city of Louisville which so far has claimed thirty-eight lives that we know of," San Savant began. "Last night, Paul confronted a monster in human form that seems to be connected to these deaths, and destroyed it. Unfortunately, it now appears that there may be more than one of these creatures. Paul, would you please tell them the details of what happened to you, and what you have learned since?" Paul obliged, and the group listened as he matter-of-factly recounted the events of the previous night. "So it seems that there is at least one more of these things running around Louisville." Paul stopped to take a long drink from the mug of coffee before him. "Anyway, the various officials involved agree that this problem requires the Center's help. I'm here to get it." "So lead shotgun pellets - or were they steel?" asked Red. "Never mind - anyway, the shotgun blasts didn't hurt it much, but spearing it did." "I don't know if that was because I did more damage or if I just grounded it." Paul paused a moment, thinking. "I'll tell you something else; it was colder the closer I got to that thing." * * * Marian had never seen such an assembly of Gifted before, not even at the conference a few months back. More strangely, all of them were outfitted for battle. With Paul's experience to go on, the were heavily dressed, including gloves and boots. Some wore actual armor of one kind or another. There were even several normals in the group, Red included. Most of these were armed, either with guns or something more unusual. Only a few of the Gifted carried weapons. What impressed Marian most of all was that this was only the first of three shifts! The scene was the lobby of the Louisville City Hall. At San Savant's request, dozens of Gifted from all over the region, and a handful from farther afield, had converged here in less than 24 hours. The strange murders had continued, despite the fact that the special patrols had destroyed two more of the human-like creatures. Marian was beginning to wonder if this was an epidemic. "May I have your attention, please," called Police Detective Samuel Anderson. He was the unofficial expert in the paranormal on the Louisville Police Department, and had worked with Gifted individuals on several previous cases where their help was needed. Now he was in charge of this madhouse. "A few final words. From what we learned last night, we now know that these things are not all the same. One of the murderers killed last night was much more cunning that the other one, which was more like what Paul fought two nights ago. Also, is seems that they will go after Gifted in preference to normals. So be careful. Now, does everyone have their assignment?" There was a chorus of affirmatives. "Okay. Get with your police partners. Do what they tell you. And for heaven's sake, don't attack unless you or someone else is in danger! Now go to it." Marian watched them leave with a deep feeling of unease. She was on third shift, early the next morning, and would be teamed with a couple of officers she hadn't met yet. Meantime, she was helping run the command center which had been set up to deal with the situation. She wasn't looking forward to her duty the next morning, but Louisville was a big place, and every available pair of eyes was needed to comb through the possible hiding spots. She just hoped she wouldn't have to kill. She didn't think she could handle that, especially something which looked so human. Marian came out of her reverie as she noticed that Anderson was talking quietly to San Savant. Curious, she walked over to them, her rubber shoes squeaking on the polished floor. "Hello, Marian," sighed San Savant. "Detective Anderson just delivered some disturbing details about one of the creatures which were killed last night. It seems they've identified the person." "You mean that this was someone real, and not just a creature that looked like a person?" "Apparently," said Anderson. "This one was killed outside a house. It was just standing there, looking in a window. When it attacked the officers who went to question it, and they killed it - by the way, Pietr, thank you for the suggestion about the spear guns - anyway, the occupant came out to see what all the noise was, and became hysterical. Turns out it was her son, who disappeared a couple of days ago." "We don't know yet whether these things are somehow possessing humans, or merely duplicating them, but except for the damage this one accumulated it appears to match the person it looks like exactly, right down to dental records and finger prints." San Savant thought for a moment, then turned to Anderson. "We need one alive to study. I know that is asking a lot, but it has to be done." "I'll pass the word," Anderson told him. "But don't expect me to jeopardize either police of civilians to get your specimen." * * * The body was bloated, spattered with blood, the lips full and ruddy, and there was stench of decay about it, although the corpse appeared fresh. "She's breathing!" whispered Officer Blount. "I think you will find that its heart is beating, also," San Savant offered. "What good is a dead host to a parasite?" "It has just been lying there since those boys found it, this morning," said Detective Anderson. "I ordered a guard put on this place, but left it alone, like you wanted." "Excellent," San Savant replied. "The only way we will be able to understand these creatures is by careful study. That can't be done in the middle of a fight." "Think you'll be all right working close to that thing?" "I have a number of charms and spells active to protect me," San Savant told him. He glanced over at the three officers armed with spear guns, standing by. "Besides, the metal shafts of those spears worked well enough the past two nights." "Well, be careful, anyway," returned Anderson, as he and Blount moved away. "Believe me, I will." San Savant crouched down near the creature, examining it for a moment. Then he reached into his case and produced several items, laying them out on the floor in front of him. "Now, my friend, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disturb your rest." It took over an hour, but San Savant finally gained the information he wanted. He stood, stretched, then moved away. The creature continued to strain futilely at the magical restraints placed upon it, howling and screaming. "You might as well destroy it," San Savant told Anderson. "There's no chance of a cure?" "None," the wizard replied, shaking his head. "There's nothing left to be saved. Oh, there are a few memory traces left, but for the most part all the synaptic paths have been burned away, except for the motor control area and other portions needed to keep the host going." Anderson motioned for his men to move forward. "Y'know, that bit about some of the memories still being active might explain why they sometimes return home." "It could, indeed," replied San Savant, wincing as the creature shrieked before finally crumbling to dust. Later, at the room in City Hall which had been set aside for their use, San Savant held a briefing to relay what he had learned. "When I first heard Paul's story, it rang a faint chime in the dim recesses of my memory," he told them. "I began checking my library, and called around to a number of friends and acquaintances, here and in Europe. These helped me organize my recollections, and to locate a first-order source." San Savant pulled an ancient, leather-bound journal out of his briefcase, placing it reverently on the table. "As it turned out, that source was written by an ancestor of mine, roughly a century and a half ago. He was an official in my homeland, and therefore had his nose into just about everything which went on there. One of the strangest events, which to this day is related to the children of my family in the form of a fairy tale, talks of a series of mysterious deaths, with the corpses resembling closely those left by the creatures we are fighting. It was part of what seems to have been almost a plague, spread throughout the continent." There was a general murmur around the conference room table at this. "Ancient superstitions and hokey religions strike again," was Red's comment. "The problem was dealt with, and its source discovered," San Savant continued. "Taking into account the archaic phrasing, the, to you, foreign language and the fact that none of those involved had modern scientific training, I have paraphrased the conclusions reached." San Savant pulled a sheaf of notes from his case, and began to read. "'A hole was formed in space, in some manner unknown to us. Through this hole came a creature, immaterial and invisible to us, but a creature nonetheless, an animal with an animal's hunger. Our world was alien to it, so much so that it could not exist unaltered. To aid its survival it took possession of an innocent farm maid, using her as its vessel. Acting with great cunning, it hid by day and came out at night to feed, which it did by draining the life from its victims.'" San Savant lowered his notes and looked up at those around him. "'In many ways this creature resembles the Greek legend of the Burcolakas or Vroucolaca, also known as the as Vrykolakas or, more commonly, the vampire.'" There was a general stir, which San Savant allowed to die down before continuing. "The creatures which are the actual vampires come from a universe of vastly different physical properties from ours," he explained. "Its contents are almost entirely energy, the inhabitants feeding upon its various forms and permutations, and upon each other. It seems that there is an entire ecosystem there. The creatures are as varied as owls and alligators. When the hole opened, some of them fell through, and they found themselves both drowning and starving. Like the Gift, and Life itself, they are partly electricity. Thus, some of them are able to enter living organisms, taking control of them. Since humans are the largest and most common organism in this city, humans are what they have possessed." "The fact that there are so many different types explains why they act so differently," said Adamant, excitedly. "Exactly. Some are grazers, some hunters, some trappers, and so on. None appear sentient, but we should be on the watch for such." "What about finding the hole?" asked Red. "The Wizard and Chuck are working on that, with help from a couple of Gifted who are clairvoyant. It should be located soon, and sealed soon after that." "This sounds a lot like the gremlin invasion of the M. I. King library at UK last year," Red added. "Yes, and in the future we need to establish some way to detect these dimensional rifts as they appear. There will likely be a lot more of them, since the Gifting." "Poor things," said Flow. "They get sucked into our world, find themselves suddenly in trouble and latch blindly onto the first food source they come across. They aren't really to blame." "Maybe not," observed Paul, "but they are still killing people. Once they are all dead, then I'll feel sorry for them." "One important word of caution," San Savant told them. "They would find Gifted far more appetizing than normal humans. And far more energizing." "What about me?" asked Adamant, looking worried. "Yes, Ed, they can even steal your energy, but more slowly, due to the fact that it is so tightly bound to your physical substance." There was nothing more to be said, so the group dispersed and went back to work. * * * "You should have seen it!" announced Reach, as he and Red entered the lobby. "Pow! One shot, right in the head! Must have been sixty feet away!" "Will you stop saying that!" Red snapped. Everyone was tired and irritable. It was three days since San Savant's study of the captured vampire, and all those working on the "Vampire Situation," as the media had dubbed it, were nearly exhausted. A total of twenty-three creatures had been found and dispatched, the hole had been located and sealed, and there had been no reports of bodies or attacks in twelve hours. Since San Savant claimed that the creatures couldn't go for more than about twenty hours without feeding, it seemed that the crisis would soon be over. Detective Anderson entered just then, and his face announced the news before he opened his mouth. "Three more bodies," he told them, grimly. "Right in the middle of town. One of them no more than four hours old." San Savant moved to the assignment board and began reading off the teams which would cover the buildings and other areas of possible concealment He planed for the them to cover a large radius from the location of the freshest body; this was probably the last vampire and he had no intention of letting it remain at large for long. Marian and Adamant were given responsibility for a construction sight, without police escort, since they, too, were stretched to the breaking point. "Can't I sit this one out?" asked Marian. So far she had not needed to kill any of the creatures, and had only seen three in the process of being eliminated. Somehow, she felt that this time would be different. "Sorry. There aren't any alternates recovered enough yet to go in your place." Marian sighed and moved over to the table where she had laid her purse, gloves and jacket, as well as the blankets she used to wrap her equine portion, as protection against the vampires' touch. The Wizard intercepted her. "A little something to help," he offered. "There aren't enough protective charms to go around, but I have a spell which should provide the same benefits, if only for the next few hours." He reached up to cup Marian's head in his hands, and began chanting in a low murmur. Marian felt a warmth and vitality spread into her face, and from there down into the rest of her body. This continued for several long moments, before the Wizard, looking tired, broke contact. Marian felt wired. She tingled from her head to her hooves. "Thank you," she replied, simply. It was all she could think to say. "I take care of my friends," the Wizard told her. "Lord knows, at my age I have few enough of them left." * * * The place was eerily silent, only an occasional cold breeze causing any stir. Being Sunday, the site was empty of workers, and the downtown area was practically abandoned anyway due the panic over the vampires. Even the watchman normally present was gone. The building was about half finished. The steel framework was up, the lower two floors had the exterior walls in place, and even some of the plumbing was working. Construction equipment and materials were everywhere, creating a jumble that would take hours to search. Marian, who knew nothing about this sort of thing, spread her hands helplessly, and turned to Adamant. "Where do we start?" For the first time, Marian noticed that the indestructible man was staring at a gem in his hand. "Something new," he told her, absently, as he noticed her staring. "Chuck and the Wizard developed this while they were working on a way to find the hole." He swung slowly back and forth, the crystal occasionally flashing dimly blue. Adamant shook his head. "It's in there, somewhere, but all this metal is blocking the signal. Let's go in." Adamant led the way, glancing at his doodlebug from time to time. Marian nervously gripped the spear gun she had been issued. Adamant was armed, as usual, with only his wits and the exploding charm he had used months earlier against the Monster. They were walking next to a stack of I-beams, when the crystal flared hurtfully bright. A noise made Marian look up; there, on top of the beams, was their target. Unfortunately, it seemed to think that they were the prey. It dropped onto Adamant, as Marian shied violently back. "Run!" Adamant yelled, as he grappled with the creature. Tiny sparks suddenly flickered across his skin. Marian knew what that meant; she quickly ducked behind a wall. There was an enormous crack! and the sound of huge masses of metal falling. When it was quiet, Marian looked around to see what had happened. There was no sign of Ed or the vampire. Presumably, the first was buried under the beams, while the latter had been destroyed. At least, she hoped so. Leaving her spear gun propped against the wall, Marian moved in and began shifting the debris. She saw something moving, and stood back. Her caution paid off. It was the vampire. Apparently, it had been blown away from Adamant, and then only lightly buried by the beams. Now, it was coming for her. It looked hungry. Marian, realizing that Adamant was both safe and helpless for the moment, wheeled and ran. The vampire charged after her, but it was injured and she was fast enough that her lead increased. She came into an area where equipment was stored; there was a poured concrete floor and a ceiling, but the only walls were those at the outside of the building, creating a large, open space. Marian couldn't see an easy way out; besides, if she left, the thing would be gone before she could bring back help. She looked for something to throw. Nearby there were two large groupings of welding tanks, which looked heavy and sturdy enough to do some damage. She grabbed a green one and heaved it at the vampire as it came through the doorway. She missed, but the clangor and sparks seemed to unnerve the creature. She tossed another, forcing the vampire to dodge. The third tank hit on its valve, and went skittering away with a deafening hiss. That gave Marian an idea. She placed the next tank carefully on the ground, aiming it at the creature, which was still advancing towards her. She stamped down with her left forefoot, shearing the neck off. The tank shot across the floor, catching the creature across the legs and knocking it down. Marian thought for a moment that it was finished, but it gave a cry and tried to struggle back to its feet. Marian began throwing tanks frantically, hitting nearly half the time now. Still the thing came towards her, crawling and shrieking terribly, its body damaged by the combination of Adamant's blast and the impact of the tanks. Still, these things healed supernaturally fast; Marian hoped she could hurt it faster than it regenerated. Marian ran out of green tanks and shifted to the nearby stack of red ones. She grabbed a tank and lobbed it at the vampire, knocking the creature down again. Another tank followed, and another, breaking the necks off several of them as they hit the floor, filling the air with a terrible hissing. She was keeping the monster at a distance, but couldn't drive it away. Finally, she dropped another tank clangorously onto the concrete, nudged it into alignment with a hoof, and stamped. It shot away, towards her assailant, trailing sparks. Suddenly, a ball of flame erupted outward from the tank. Marian had time to realize that she had done something stupid, before the fire engulfed her. Adamant struggled vainly to free himself. He could barely move, and lacked the strength to push any of the wreckage aside. He kept working at it, even though he realized that he would probably have to wait for help, or even the several hours it would take for the amulet to recharge. Suddenly, there was a blast of heat, and a strange impact that was less like an explosion than a powerful gust of wind. The beams shifted, much of the pile being forced off Adamant. With a wrench of desperate strength, he forced an arm free. In minutes he had wriggled out of the trap, leaving most of his clothing behind in the process. Now, to find Marian. He knew which way she had run, and that worried him, because it was also the direction from which the explosion had come. Adamant hoped Marian was all right, but had a dread feeling that she wasn't. The work area was a disaster. The blast had ignited every flammable item inside the walls, including cans of tar, filling the place with thick smoke. In what seemed to have been the center of the conflagration Adamant saw the blackened remains of a human, apparently the vampire. About forty feet away was a young woman, naked, lying face down and unmoving. Of Marian there was no sign. Adamant wanted to look for her, but the stranger obviously needed help. She must have been Gifted, otherwise she couldn't have survived, but she just as obviously hadn't come through the fire without harm. As Adamant ran to her, he noticed that her skin had a strange, pinkish sheen to it, like the beginning of a sunburn. He knelt down next to the woman, and gently rolled her over. The face seemed strangely familiar, but at first he couldn't place it. Then it hit him like a blow. It was Marian. A dozen thoughts tried to run through Adamant's brain at once. He chased them away, concentrating on the need of the moment. The woman, undeniably Marian, had a pulse and was breathing, but was soundly unconscious. The strange flush, which Adamant had originally thought to be from burns, he now realized was caused by the fact that her skin was baby-new, perfect and unblemished. Adamant remembered the few examples he knew of a Gifted changing after a near-death experience. In every case, there had been a serious shock to the system, requiring medical care. He looked around, vaguely hoping that the ruckus of the past few minutes might have drawn some attention, but could neither see nor hear any sign that help was approaching. Adamant cradled Marian in his arms and stood. He chanted the words that would activate the "City Hall Express" which San Savant had set up for emergencies. * * * The expression on Pinky's face as they suddenly appeared in the circle drawn on the conference room floor was priceless. There stood Adamant, nearly naked, holding a young woman, who was completely so. If the situation had been less serious, Adamant would have laughed out loud. "That's Marian!" gasped Pinky, before Adamant could say anything. She ran ahead of him, opening doors and leading the way to the infirmary. Doctor Swenson looked up, surprised, from dabbing iodine on Kid Power's arm, then abruptly went into medical emergency mode. He shooed Kid Power aside and had Adamant put Marian on the table, then chased everyone but his two nurses out, despite Adamant's protests. Then he slammed the door. Adamant was pacing back and forth when San Savant, the Wizard and several others arrived. "What happened, Ed?" San Savant asked. Adamant told them what he knew, then what he had guessed. "She must have known that she couldn't get away, and tried something desperate. From the sounds I could hear, there was quite a fight before the explosion, and the vampire looked like it had been pretty well battered in addition to being flash-fried." "What's going to happen to her?" asked Mrs. Thomas, Kid Power's mother. "We know of at least five similar instances previous to this," San Savant explained to her. "That is, a great physical trauma causing a change in the expression of a person's Gift. In most cases there is a complete recovery. Since, from what Adamant said, Marian appears healthy, I think there's good reason to hope for the best." "I wonder what powers she'll have this time?" mused Kid Power. Just then the door opened, and Dr. Swenson looked out. "Pietr, I need to see you. The rest of you have to stay out here, but I'll leave the door open so you can see." As San Savant entered, the others crowded around the doorway to look. Marian, covered now with a sheet, was lying on the examination table, still unconscious. One nurse was taking her blood pressure while the other examined a thermometer. Swenson and San Savant stepped to the far end of the table, near Marian's head, and began talking quietly. "My guess is that she'll regain consciousness soon," said Swenson. "I don't know what sort of mental state she'll be in or how she'll react to her change, so I want you here to calm her, and maybe help deal with any new powers she might manifest." San Savant nodded. He bent over the young woman. "Marian," he said softly. "Marian, can you hear me?" Was it his imagination, or had her lips moved slightly? Dr. Swenson motioned the nurses back. "Marian, you're safe now," San Savant continued. "Open your eyes. Wake up." Marian definitely stirred this time. Then she moaned slightly, and opened her eyes, looking up at San Savant. For a moment this scene held, like a freeze frame. Then, with startling suddenness, four legs and a tail pushed out from under the sheet. The table, with a metallic death cry, collapsed, dumping a kicking Marian unceremoniously on the floor. She floundered around for a moment, the clambered to her (four!) feet, clutching the sheet to her torso. "Why on earth did you put me on that flimsy table!" she exclaimed. She paused, looking around in confusion. "And how did I get here? And where are my clothes?!" There was a confused gabble of explanation, from which Marian managed to extract a few pertinent facts. "Wait a moment, you mean I was human again for a while?" "Actually, you have always been human," said San Savant. "Don't get picky, you know what I mean." She turned to look at her friends, in the room and clustered in the hall. Despite the circumstances, she felt good knowing that there were that many people who cared for her. "I have told you before, being stuck as a centaur was most likely caused by the incomplete integration of your Gift," San Savant explained. "Through these past months, that situation has been slowly improving. The physical trauma you have recently undergone was the final stimulus needed to complete the integration." "Then why am I still part horse?" "Because you awoke expecting to be." Marian looked at him doubtfully. "You mean that all I have to do is will it, and I'll change back to normal?" "Most likely." Marian looked from San Savant down at herself, then to the crowd outside. Her friends all knew how much she wanted this and were rooting for her. That was all the encouragement she needed. Marian closed her eyes, and pictured herself as she had been before the Gifting. It was hard to remember her old appearance; she concentrated for several seconds before the image seemed to suddenly lock in. There was a strange feeling throughout her body, a sort of tingling. Then she opened her eyes with a yell, as she started to fall. Kid Power, in front because he was shortest, caught her, followed closely by Adamant. A cheer went up. Dizzy, Marian looked down at the two very human feet peeping out from under the sheet. She gave a weak smile, swaying, then turned to Adamant. "Watch your hands," she muttered, still smiling. * * * "So it's over," said Paul. He took anther drink of coffee, then looked around the conference room at the Gifted and normals there. "There have been no signs of any additional vampires since Marian killed that one two days ago," San Savant told him. "Since they can't exist for longer than a day without life energy, this means they are all dead." "And the hole is sealed," the Wizard added, in review. "San Savant and I, with several other magically-talented Gifted, have established a system of mystic alarms which will alert us if another such breach occurs at any place on the globe." "Good. Now, how is Marian doing?" "Quite well, though somewhat disappointed," San Savant told Paul. "She can only maintain human form for a few hours at a time, then reverts to a centaur. I believe that this will improve with practice." "So we have a happy ending all around," Red observed. "For the most part." San Savant took a swallow of his own coffee, then frowned into the cup, as if seeing something distasteful in the brown liquid. "Most people now realize that the vampires were not our fault, and applaud us for our efforts in destroying them. The Center as a group, and several Gifted as individuals, have received commendations from the Governor of Kentucky and the Mayor of Louisville. There are still a few who believe the Gifted were behind the problem." "We don't need 'em," growled Ranger. "Be that as it may, we still must make every effort not only to behave in a law abiding manner ourselves, but to help the authorities deal with those Gifted who abuse their Gifts," San Savant told him. "Otherwise, we could find ourselves the subject of a pogrom." "Never happen," declared Flow, firmly. "Not in this country." "It has happened in this country," Sturdy told her quietly. "To the future," announced Red, lifting his can of Mountain Dew. "Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best." END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 5450 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 IF WISHES WERE HORSES by Rodford Edmiston The half-ton pickup stopped at the wide sidewalk leading to the front door of the country mansion. In the back was a large, very well-endowed woman with black hair and wearing glasses, who was leaning on an old blanket folded and draped over the side of the truck. The driver, a pleasant-looking woman in her late twenties, hurried around to lower the tailgate. Her cargo, who had a windblown look from riding in the open, watched her with haunted eyes and a numb expression. Once the gate was down the second woman stood... and revealed herself to be something other than human. The torso was attached to the body of a large, well-figured mare. As the centaur clambered carefully to the ground, the pickup's suspension rebounded with an audible groan. Inside the mansion the arrival was noted and word spread: their new subject was here. "Are you sure you'll be all right?" asked Charlene, reaching up to put a hand on the centaur's arm as the creature from mythology gathered her luggage. "I mean, you'll be stuck here all by yourself with no way home if something comes up." The front door of the mansion opened; a man and a woman in medical coats came out. More people stood behind them. "I'll be fine," said Marian, with an assurance she didn't feel. "Don't worry, I'll call if I need anything." Still not certain she was doing the right thing, Charlene got into the truck and drove slowly down the long, curving gravel driveway to the country road, looking back several times. Marian waved farewell, both glad and reluctant to see her go. After she had learned of this investigation it had taken nearly a week before she had worked up the courage to call for an appointment, and then she had learned that the next available opening was nearly another week away. She had been quite anxious to begin by the time Charlene had stopped by with her husband's truck to give Marian a ride. Now Marian was having doubts again. Marian Holst turned toward the small group of people standing on the front porch. A stocky, middle-aged man with iron grey hair came briskly toward her. Close behind him came another man of about the same age, though leaner and more formally dressed. "Marian Holst? I'm Donald Criswold." He reached up and shook Marian's hand with a firm grip, then turned to the other man. "This is Harv. He'll take care of your bags and show you to your room. Anything you need, just ask him; he runs the place for me." Criswold escorted her to the front porch, waiting politely while Marian carefully negotiated the five steps. He then introduced her to the people standing there. Harv waited patiently behind them with the suitcases. "These are doctors William Swenson and Louise Carter," said Criswold, with a casual wave. "They and their lab assistants will carry out the examinations. This lovely woman is Ruth Thomas, and that little rascal is her son, Paul. He's one of you folk, though he didn't change shape like you did." Marian had heard of others who had been affected by whatever it was that had turned her into a centaur, and even seen some of them in the media. Paul, who looked about 11, was the first she had met. There were some mumbled greetings on all sides, the situation leaving Marian feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Paul, bless him, broke the ice. "Are you stuck that way or can you change back?" "Paul!" scolded his mother. "I'm afraid I'm stuck this way," said Marian, managing a slight smile. Criswold motioned the group inside, Marian having to duck to clear the door. The house was old, and carefully restored, causing Marian to move more carefully than usual as the odd entourage made its way through the foyer and down one long hall. As promised, Harv led Marian to her room. Fortunately, this was on the ground floor, at the back of the house in what had apparently been servants quarters in another era. Out of consideration for Marian's weight, the bed had been dismantled and the mattress laid directly on the floor. This bit of thoughtfulness caused her a deep pang; Marian's husband had done the same thing a month earlier, then announced that he was sleeping on the couch. Criswold explained the layout of the house as Harv placed her luggage on the floor. Marian was distressed to learn that the examining rooms were in the basement. She told Criswold that she wasn't sure she could negotiate the steps. "Hey, I'll carry you down," Paul offered. "I'm awful strong." "Paul!" Ruth said. Marian got the impression that this was a common response from her to her son. "You certainly got this enterprise off the ground quickly," Marian told Criswold. "It has only been four and a bit weeks since whatever it was happened." "Yeah, well, I've always had a knack for being able to get down to work in a hurry," said Criswold. "I already had the house available - my ex decorated it so I didn't have much use for it - and figured it would do until I found something more permanent. I also knew where I could find some medical people, from my experience in aerospace research. So I just put the two together. We've been open just over a week, and have already seen nine people, not counting you and Paul." As if to tell Marian that they were all too busy to stand around chatting, Criswold ushered everyone out but her. There was barely time for Dr. Swenson to tell Marian that they were ready to start the examination when she was. Once she was alone, Marian decided to change into something more suited to wearing indoors. She loved to dress well, and had chosen her traveling attire as a compromise between appearance and practicality. Since the staff wanted to start right away, Marian decided on a simple blouse. No jewelry, no new makeup. As she sorted through her suitcase, she caught sight of her reflection in the dresser mirror and winced. Without clothing, the conundrum Marian presented was more obvious. At first glance she seemed to be a normal human from the waist up and a Tennessee Walking Horse mare from the waist down. Her torso might have seemed unchanged from before, but a second look made it apparent that it was actually larger, in scale with the horse part. She now stood at better than eight feet from hoof to crown. Additionally, Marian's breasts had increased in size even more than the rest of her upper body. Fortunately, though they were huge they were also well shaped and not pendulous. Marian hadn't found any bras yet that fit, and she was very glad that her new endowments were self-supporting. Even after more than a month, her appearance still occasionally caught her by surprise. Marian sighed, slipped the blouse on and regarded her reflection. With nothing underneath she showed far more than she liked, even if one credited her equine portion as not requiring clothes. Still, she knew better than to dress too elaborately when going to a physical examination. With the same numb resignation she had felt since her transformation, Marian opened the door and headed for the downstairs lab. * * * "I'll admit, I was reluctant to come here," said Marian, as she stood in front of Dr. Swenson, her hands fluttering nervously. "I've been poked and prodded so much the past month..." "I understand," he replied, soothingly. "We'll try to avoid anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Don't be afraid to speak up, either; your anatomy is different from what we are used to, and we might not anticipate all the differences." The first series of tests was similar to what Marian had already been through several times. After carefully making her way across the parquet floor of the kitchen and down the stairs into the basement, she was weighed, measured and questioned, and her medical history was reviewed. Dr. Swenson, who appeared to be in charge of the research, also took pains to question Marian extensively about all aspects of her new form. Then various samples were taken. That took up the rest of the morning. Marian had worried about getting back up the stairs for lunch, but fortunately a thoughtful aide arranged for her meal to be brought down to the staff break room. She also learned that there was a door which led directly outside from the basement, which was a welcome relief. "Is that all you're going to eat?" asked Dr. Swenson, when he saw the food left on Marian's plate. "I'm not really hungry," said Marian, voice almost inaudible. "That's barely enough for a normal-sized person," Dr. Swenson persisted. "I thought you looked a little thin. Is this as much as you normally have?" "I weigh enough already," said Marian, shrugging. "No, you don't." Swenson looked her in the eye. "I had already planned to call in a vet, to ask his opinion about your health. I'm going to make sure and work with him to provide some guidelines about what you should eat and how much. I'm also calling a farrier so that you can get some shoes. And don't look at me like that. I don't know much about horses, but even I can see that your hooves already are showing some signs of damage." "If you think it necessary," replied Marian, without enthusiasm. In the afternoon the procedure took a different tack. For instance, there was a series of physical tests, to learn, among other things, just how strong Marian was. One third of the basement had been set aside for the necessary equipment. There were weight racks, nautilus machines and items Marian couldn't identify. Marty, the physical therapist in charge of this part of the investigation, guided her first to a strange device which consisted of a steel bar on an adjustable stand. A cable ran from the bar and around two pulleys to a weight rack. "Just grab that bar and do a curl," Marty told her. "Yeah, like that." "How much am I lifting?" Marian asked, as she raised the bar to her chest with little effort. "That's three hundred pounds," he replied, not noticing Marian's startled expression. "I figured you'd be pretty strong. That's why I went straight to this gizmo. Now, since that was easy for you, let's step up to an even thousand." Marian found that she could, without difficulty, curl a ton, which was as high as the makeshift equipment could go. Marty wasn't surprised. "I knew I was stronger, now," said Marian, amazed. "I mean, I broke several things by accident the first few days - but this...!" "We've had several people in here who went the limit. Even Kid Power. Great strength seems to be pretty common with you people. Guess we'll have to get better equipment." "Kid Power?" said Marian. "You mean Paul? I remember someone else calling him that." "Yeah, he's picked that as a nickname," the technician replied, with a smile and a shake of his head. "Seems to think he's a super hero, or something." They also wanted to test Marian's speed, but Swenson decided to postpone that part until later. Instead, Marian went directly to the psychological evaluation. "Why do you need to put me through that?" she demanded, a bit irritated. "Do you think this is all in my head?" "Not exactly," said Dr. Swenson, grinning. "Every bit of data helps. It may be that all the people who were affected by this have some mental characteristic in common. Also, I expect that many of you will need therapy to help you adjust, and the sooner that is started, the better." Dr. Carter conducted that exam, first simply going down a list of questions and marking Marian's replies. This took a little over an hour. Then she switched to a more personal tact. "Tell me about what bothers you, mentally and physically," Dr. Carter asked her, leaning back and putting the pencil eraser to her lips. "I want to know about your discomforts, gripes, pains and peeves." "I guess my biggest problem is with the way people react to me," said Marian, starting slowly, as she unconsciously kneaded her hands together. "Some of them stare, some of them don't stare but peer at me out of the corner of their eye. Some of them ignore me, as if they hope I'll go away. And then there are the people who see me as a target, for whatever reason. I've even been used as an example by a fundamentalist preacher, who claims that I'm being punished for not staying at home and caring for my children." Marian stopped and took a deep breath. Her voice had grown steadily louder and shriller as she talked, and there were tears in her eyes. She paused for a moment to regain control, accepting the tissue Dr. Carter offered. "Physically I feel fine," she continued. "I haven't been sick since I changed; even my allergies have gone." She took her glasses off, and waved them around. "I don't even need these any more, although I still wear them out of habit." "We have only examined ten people so far," Dr. Carter said. "Most of those have some problem associated with their new abilities or form, which is why they came here. Two of them have had their bodies changed drastically, much as you have. What's interesting is that seven of the remaining eight, as well as some others we have learned about, can change into an alternate form or back at will." Marian nodded politely, not sure what the point was. "There is a chance that you and the others who have been physically changed may have the same ability, and simply haven't managed to access it yet," Dr. Carter continued. "A cure could be as simple as learning how to change back." "That would be great," said Marian, though without much enthusiasm. "I just don't think that's the case with me, though. I don't know why, but I have a feeling that I'm stuck this way." Dr. Carter ended the session by making it clear that free counseling was available for Marian if she felt she needed it. Marian hesitated for a moment, tail swishing nervously, then decided to confide in her. "Actually, I'm glad you are here," she said, almost meekly. "I've... been through a lot lately. As if the change weren't enough, I've been having major mood swings, though those seem to have settled down some the past week. On top of that, people have been making things worse. My sons saw me change, and now are frightened of me. Someone spray painted the crude outline of a horse on the side of my house. My husband packed his bags and moved out the day after the vandalism, giving me the excuse that his mother needed help with the boys. I later heard through a friend that he had already seen a lawyer. He filed for divorce just last week. "Even if you could change me back tomorrow, my life would still be permanently marred by what has happened to me," Marian concluded, lowering her head, as more tears welled. "There are times I just want to scream 'It's not my fault, I didn't choose to be like this!' But what would that help?" "You'd be surprised," said Dr. Carter, gently. "Most of the people I treat would be a lot better off if they would scream occasionally. Try it; you just might feel better if you let off a little steam. And any time you need to talk about something, just let me know. Meanwhile, I want you to think of the things that haven't changed. What is still stable in your life?" "Well, there's Charlene and Frank Potter, the friends I'm staying with now," said Marian, with a shy grin. "There's also Craig Switzer, my boss. He called recently and said he needed me at the office. He's always been good to me." "That's the sort of thing," said Carter, encouragingly. "Between now and tomorrow, I want you to keep on thinking of who and what you can still depend on." Marian agreed and left; oddly, she felt better already. For the last part of her first day's participation in the program, Dr. Swenson asked Marian into his office to explain what had been learned from her and from the other subjects they had studied. Marian was surprised to see that he had thought to provide a thick foam pad for her to lie on. Once she had settled herself, Swenson sat in his own chair, behind a desk. Her head was still higher than his, but not so much now. "Where shall we begin?" he said, smiling. "I can guess at some of your questions. While we don't have any positive answers yet on what has caused this strange phenomenon, I can provide you with some educated guesses. Before we get into the speculation, though, let me tell you what is known for certain. "On an otherwise ordinary Spring day, several hundred - at least - people had something strange happen to them. While there have been reports from the rest of the country and other parts of the world, these Gifts seem to have appeared mainly in the south-eastern United States." "Gifts?" asked Marian, hearing the capital letter emphasis. "The term we are using for these sets of powers," replied Swenson. "It seems fitting. A large portion of these Gifts seem to include the capacity for physical transformation. One of the first Gifted to make a public appearance is a young woman who is calling herself Cheetah Girl. She was spotted running down Limestone Street in Lexington, Kentucky, only minutes after the Gifting occurred. In the form of a cheetah, of course. "Gifted people in general seem to have been granted perfect health," Swenson continued. "They also heal completely from any injury, without scars. You told me that all your fillings fell out within a few hours, pushed out by healthy enamel. That's typical. Even artificial body parts were rejected and replaced, which has caused some problems. Gifted can't wear pierced earrings, either, since the holes heal shut in a couple of hours, even if an earring or post is kept in it. The foreign object is simply ejected. "In most cases, biochemistry and DNA remain unchanged," Swenson told her. "That's why you can eat meat and such. Despite appearances you are not part horse." "But what is causing this?" demanded Marian, surprised at the intensity of emotion in her voice. "That is still open to speculation," Swenson said, spreading his hands. "The best theory I have heard so far is that this is simply something which happens from time to time, and that previous such events are responsible for many of the myths and legends of our world." "All right," Marian said thoughtfully, "if this is indeed the same sort of event which was responsible for mythologies, I can almost understand why I am a centaur. But why did my breasts get so large?" "Did you ever wish you had larger breasts?" asked Swenson. "What does that have to do with it?" Marian frowned. Swenson shifted slightly, and shrugged. "There is strong evidence that the exact expression of many Gifts was influenced by the receiver's personality or secret desires." "Oh. My. God." Marian leaned back in shock. "Is something wrong?" asked Swenson, suddenly concerned. "When I was a little girl," said Marian, quietly, "I wanted to be a horse." "I beg your pardon?" Marian shook herself, as if coming out of a trance. "When I was seven years old, I decided that when I grew up I was going to be a horse." She sighed. "I trotted instead of running, and whinnied and tossed my head. In short, I acted as much like a horse as a little girl could." "That doesn't mean that your current physical state..." "No, I have to admit it to myself," said Marian. "My current physical state, as you put it, is my own fault." She gave him a sad smile. "Be careful what you wish." "There is something else," Swenson told her, quietly. He pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. While looking at it, he made a graceful gesture in the air, and muttered something under his breath. A ball of light appeared at his fingertips. Under his direction it floated around the room for a few seconds, before vanishing. Marian was staring at him, mouth agape. "Magic works, now," he explained. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I call it magic because I don't know what else to call it. The fact is that anyone who is willing to learn can perform such feats as you just saw. One of our first subjects taught me that spell six days ago. Some Gifted seem to have an innate ability for magic. But, as you can see, anyone can learn." * * * "Look out below!" cried Paul. Marian glanced up just in time to see his plummeting figure come sailing over the mansion. She ducked reflexively, as Paul thumped gracelessly into the ground beside her. "Gotta work on those landings," he announced cheerfully, as he clambered to his feet. "Dr. Bill asked me to tell you that they're ready for your running test." "You were flying!" gasped Marian. The boy was wearing a costume he obviously made himself from a pair of pajamas and a bath towel. The letters "KP" were crudely stitched on the front. Paul lifted off the ground a few inches, hovered waveringly, then dropped back down. "Still learning, but I'm getting better every day." Marian, smiling, reached out and stroked his hair, causing Paul to grin and duck his head. The two of them had developed an interesting rapport in just over a day. For his part, Paul found Marian's form fascinating, and his open curiosity and enthusiasm made her feel comfortable around him. Besides, with his strength and resilience Marian didn't have to worry about accidentally hurting him. Fortunately, his mother didn't seem to mind the two of them being friends, and even encouraged it. "Paul!" came a faint cry. "Gotta go!" He leapt into the air, careened around the corner at low level, and disappeared. Marian sighed and turned the other way. This second day of examination had been more of the same, for the most part. The major portion had been spent on further testing Marian's physical limits. Now they wanted her to run. There was an old practice track on the other side of the mansion, dating back to the days when this had been a horse farm, instead of an industrialist's country home. Criswold had ordered it cleared before Marian had even heard of him, since another common power was enhanced speed. Marian didn't like the idea of running around on a horse track, but Dr. Swenson had persuaded her to participate anyway. "Ah, there you are," said "Dr. Bill" Swenson. "If you will stand at the line, there, I want you to just start running as fast as you can when I say 'go.'" Marian took her mark and waited, then lurched forward on command. Her initial strides were awkward, clumsy; this was the first time since her transformation that she had tried to run. She soon got into the rhythm, though, and found that she enjoyed the sensation. The wind whistled through her hair, and she strained to go faster. Finally, Swenson signaled her to stop, though she was not really tired. "How fast did I go?" gasped Marian, breathing hard more from excitement than exertion. "Your best lap was just over forty miles per hour," Swenson told her. "Don't get smug, though. Last week we had a guy here who hit over a hundred. Still, maybe we ought to start training you for the Kentucky Derby." Marian was timed in sprints over various distances, and her jump measured. By that time she was tired, and welcomed the announcement that the tests were over for the day. She was even feeling hungry. "To paraphrase an old joke, I must be glowing like a cart horse," said Marian, a bit breathless. "I'm hot." "You're falling prey to the squared-cubed law," Swenson explained. "You have a lot more mass per unit of surface area, now, so it is harder for you to get rid of heat." Marian was actually glad to join the others in the dining room, and not just because of her newfound appetite. Swenson had brought the pad from his office and placed it on the floor by the table her first evening at the mansion, and again at every subsequent meal. This meant that Marian could eat comfortably from a table like a normal person again. For that alone, she felt that the trip here had been worthwhile. "Working out of my basement is okay for the short term," Criswold announced, as the conversation wandered from the day's test results to what they would like to do in the future. "We need something larger for any sort of long-term effort." "Maybe I can help," said Marian, tentatively. "I work in a real estate office. Let me know what you want, and what you'll pay for it, and I'll try to find you something." "You do that," promised Criswold, "and I'll give you a free lifetime membership!" "Just tell me one thing," said Marian. "Why are you doing all this?" "I could claim altruism, and be at least partly honest," Criswold told her, without having to pause for thought. "To be completely honest, though, I need to tell you something about myself. I've been flying most of my life. I'm pretty good at it, too. I was a Korean War jet ace, and a test pilot afterwards." He smiled at Marian. "You see, I want to fly. For real, not with a machine. If we can figure out how you folks do what you do, that dream may become a reality." * * * "I'll say one thing," announced the farrier, "you're my first talkin' customer!" Marian decided not to reply to this, since the only responses she could think of were retorts. Instead she twisted around and tried to watch as the man filed her left rear hoof. He inspected Marian's foot with a practiced eye, then nodded and lowered it to the ground. He was a surprisingly young man, in his late twenties, and had the unlikely name of Dobbins. "That's got the shaping done. That left forefoot was a near thing. You let the wall get pretty chipped and worn down, and the sole was beginning to suffer for it. You must've let your hooves get too wet, which makes 'em brittle when they dry." He walked back to his truck and put away the rasp, then returned with a horseshoe in each hand. "This is the standard steel shoe for something your size. This is its rubber counterpart. I recommend the rubber shoe for you. Not only will it protect any floors you walk on, it'll be better for you, since you'll be walkin' so much on hard surfaces." In addition to feeling uncomfortable about having a non-medical stranger examining her body, Marian had been rather unnerved when she had seen the tools he had brought out. Fortunately, Dobbins' matter-of-fact manner and obvious skill had gradually put her at ease. He was a professional, and as a professional herself, she could deal with him on that level. "I didn't know there were such things!" exclaimed Marian, as she examined the rubber shoe. "Oh, yeah," replied the farrier. "Horses, mules and donkeys that walk on pavement a lot wear them. Most police horses, for instance. You think that's somethin', there's even pullover rubber boots! Anyway, these rubber shoes'll give you better traction than either steel shoes or bare feet." "I better take the rubber shoes," Marian decided. "How long will they last?" "Depends," Dobbins replied, as he brought three additional rubber shoes and his shoeing box over. "On how much you walk, on what surfaces and how fast, and how much you carry. Maybe a month, maybe more. You'll need your feet tended about every month or two, anyway, so that will come about the time you'll need new shoes." He lifted Marian's left forefoot and placed it deftly between his thighs, talking as he worked. He either didn't notice or didn't show that he noticed that this intimate contact made Marian very uneasy. Dobbins placed the shoe, positioned the nail, and began hammering. This was unnerving, though not painful. The impacts were transmitted up through the complex structure of the hoof, through the leg and into Marian's body, and seemed to jar her from teeth to tail. The farrier explained what he was doing as he worked, which Marian appreciated, and went on to tell her about what she needed to do to keep her feet healthy. "I can barely reach my rear feet, let alone clean them," Marian interrupted. "Then you'll have to get someone else to do it for you," he replied. "I can recommend several good farriers in your area, if you want." When he was finished, Marian lifted a foot and shook it experimentally. "I can barely feel them." "Them rubber shoes is light," Dobbins said. "Also, I had to trim a lot off your hooves, especially the rear ones. There's not much change in weight." Marian walked around the old barnyard a few times, then trotted to the house and back. Satisfied, she thanked Dobbins. "Don't mention it. This is somethin' I can tell my grandkids about." * * * Criswold walked from room to empty room, looking into everything, and even occasionally moving some stray piece of debris aside. "Looks good," he said, finally. "If we can come to terms on a price, I'll take it." Craig Switzer, Marian's boss from the real estate agency, nodded, and the two men began talking money. Marian heard something from the stairs, and turned to see Dr. Swenson returning from his tour of the upper floors. "It has everything we need," he told Marian. "Even a small elevator. We can remodel the upstairs into quarters for the patients and use the ground level for offices and examination and testing rooms. The basement can be used for storage, and maybe for the heavy test equipment." "And its already zoned for medical use," Marian added, smiling. It had felt surprisingly good to get back into the business of matching buyer with property, and Craig had insisted on Marian receiving the commission, in spite of the fact that she had moved from sales to management over two years earlier. She felt so good, in fact, that she was starting back to work on a regular basis Monday. "Well, that's that," said Criswold, smiling and rubbing his hands as he approached Marian and Swenson. "We have a deal." "We'll close tomorrow, and you can get your contractors in as soon after that as you want," Craig added. There was some congratulatory small talk; then Criswold managed to maneuver Marian into one of the side rooms on a pretense. "This is really coming together," Criswold told her. "We've got the building and most of the staff is lined up, waiting to start. We should be in business by the end of next month." "Is that what you lured me in here for?" asked Marian. "No," said Criswold, losing some of his bravado. "Listen, I heard that the divorce judge gave your husband the house. I want you to know that I meant what I said at the mansion. You have a room here for as long as you want. We planned from the start to provide a place to stay for those who need help; that's why we were so picky about the zoning. We will have a set of rooms which can be altered to help any Gifted person who has some physical change that requires special support, you included. You'll have furniture that fits and floors that you won't have to worry about holding you." "All right, all right, I'm convinced!" exclaimed Marian, grinning. "Frankly, I'm relieved. I didn't want to have to stay with Charlene and Frank any longer; I've imposed on them enough as it is. Speaking of which, I'm also going to need some sort of vehicle. I can't keep hitching rides in the back of a pickup." "We'll work on it," promised Criswold. END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 3330 Words Frankfort, KY 40601 One More Day by Rodford Edmiston "Look, Mommy! A horse lady!" Marian ignored the pointing child, as she paused for a moment in the underground parking garage to steel herself before entering the bank. The employees were used to her by now, but most of the people in the lobby would only have heard of the famous centaur woman. Seeing a real, live creature from mythology would be a new experience for them. She wasn't looking forward to their reactions. The mother of the small boy was behaving in what Marian had come to think of as the typical way. She was trying to ignore Marian, while still watching her out of the corner of her eye. It was worse than open staring. The fact that her boss still asked Marian to deposit the receipts from the real estate business each day was a point of pride to her. He had kept Marian on after her transformation, despite pressure from several sources. That trust and support were more than enough to make her go through this ordeal five times a week. Besides, Marian felt that she had to get out in public at least some, and this gave her both justification and opportunity. So, through the doors and up the steps she went. Her rubber shoes making tiny squeaks on the polished floor, Marian entered the lobby and moved to a vacant window. Behind her, some wit made a low whinny. Marian ignored him; she had learned that reacting to such provocation only made things worse. Instead, she handed the money bag to the teller. The woman, whom Marian had known for years, smiled up at her. It was a timid but sincere expression. She might have done better, if Marian had not towered imposingly over her. Take a large mare, replace the neck and head with the upper half of a woman, enlarged to proportion, and you have a creature easily eight feet tall. "Here you go, Ms. Holst," the teller said, after a few moments. She handed the receipt book and empty bag back. "Have a nice day." Marian mechanically returned her smile, checked to see that nothing was in her way, and carefully turned around. Even the relatively open area of the lobby was a bit cramped for something the size of a plow horse. The way was clear; now she only had to worry about negotiating the stairs back down to the garage. Marian's large van was in a space marked for handicapped use. She felt a bit guilty about this, even though the vehicle had the appropriate plates, but not guilty enough to park further away. Although no nation had yet formally recognized the strange occurrence known as the Gifting, many regional and local governments had already been forced to deal with it's results. Marian, for instance, had been officially declared disabled, due to her mobility problems, and therefore eligible for the same assistance as others considered handicapped. More than one person had observed that it was fortunate that most of the people directly affected by the Gifting were in the United States. There were already reports from other parts of the world about mob attacks on Gifted people with obvious physical changes or who had been incautious about revealing their Gifts. Marian opened the rear doors of her van and climbed laboriously in, human torso bent well over. She squeezed her way to the driver's position and lay down on the special pad installed there, closing the doors with a lever. The steering column was equipped with hand controls for the brakes and gas, the same as used by paraplegics. Marian started the engine and carefully backed out of her space. Only a few hundred people were known to have been Gifted on that early Spring afternoon, when magic had re-entered the world, and only a few of those had received noticeable changes to their forms. However, these few had attracted a great deal of attention, far above that generated by the more normal-looking Gifted. This attention had been sensationalistic as well as helpful. Marian had received several offers to sell her story and/or appearance to various media. Three men's magazines had even tried to get her to pose for nude photos, probably because her breasts had been enlarged even more than the rest of her torso. Much of a Gift seemed to be pure wish fulfillment. Traffic was already getting heavy, even though it was still early in the afternoon. Marian maneuvered her bulky vehicle carefully, glad that her workday started at seven. She felt awkward using the hand controls, and preferred to drive when there were few other vehicles on the road. One of her greatest fears was of being involved in a traffic accident. The thought of standing out in the road, explaining to a police officer what had happened, while people drove by, gawking, was enough to make her run hot and cold at the same time. She was almost to the Center when she realized that the van needed gas. Marian spotted a full-service station ahead, and pulled up to the pumps. A handsome young man with the name "Mike" embroidered on his coveralls came out, smiling as he saw Marian. "Fill it up?" he asked cheerfully. "Yes, please." Marian was a bit puzzled at his casual attitude. Since her transformation, more than two months earlier, few people had reacted this calmly on meeting her. The attendant made a show of the job, accompanying every movement with a flourish. Marian found herself watching him with more than casual attention. Although her form had changed, her tastes had not; she was still attracted to broad-shouldered, good looking men, such as this one. Unfortunately, Marian's shyness concerning her new body, as well as the practical difficulties involved in trying to form a relationship with a normal man, kept her from doing anything about her feelings. She therefore found the attendant's presence irritating. Once the fuel was flowing into the tank, Mike moved back to the driver's window and began making conversation. It suddenly occurred to Marian that from his angle all he saw was a well-dressed, well-endowed young woman, sitting behind the wheel of a van. That made her even more nervous, dreading his reaction should he discover just who - and what - he was talking to. "Do you live around here? I think I've seen you drive by a few times." "Not far from here," Marian replied, keeping her tone neutral, while wishing he would just do his job. "Well, I get off at five. Want to go try that new restaurant out on Loudon?" His grin broadened. "I could pick you up at six, sharp." Marian's embarrassment began turning to anger. She knew it wasn't his fault that he was ignorant of her situation, but that didn't help much. "No, thank you, I have other plans." She stared straight ahead, hoping he would give up. "Well, how about tomorrow night?" Seeing that she was about to refuse again, he quickly added, "Don't be too hasty. I might just turn out to be what you've been waiting for." Marian had noticed him looking at her hands. She hadn't worn her rings since the divorce, so he knew that she probably wasn't married. Still, his line and his smugness were infuriating. "The answer is still no," she said, deliberately being rude. "Frankly, I don't think you're man enough for me." The attendant's grin changed to a leer, and he leaned closer. "You never know until you try." Would nothing discourage him? Marian reached out with her left hand, grabbed him by the front of the coveralls and lifted him to her eye level. In addition to turning her into a centaur and giving her what an acquaintance had snickeringly referred to as "mythic proportions," Marian's Gift had given her enough strength to chin her new self one-handed. She pulled Mike up to the window so he could see inside the van. He opened his mouth to protest the rough treatment, then froze as he saw the equine body the human torso was attached to. His eyes bugged and he turned quite pale. When Marian saw the expression on his face all her anger vanished. She was not a vindictive person, and the action she had just taken now repelled her. She set the attendant gently down, mumbling an apology. To his credit, he didn't run screaming. Instead, he finished his work, took the money Marian offered, then stood watching dumbly as she drove away. * * * Marian banged her head as she climbed out at the Center for Gifted Research. It was a minor thing, but on top of what had just happened it made her want to cry. Marian spent a few seconds on self pity, mourning her fate of being one of a kind, then went glumly inside. "Hi!" called Pinky, as Marian walked toward her desk in the reception area. "My, you certainly look cheerful." "I don't feel like talking about it. Besides, I doubt you'd be able to understand how I feel." Aside from having skin the color of bubble gum, the receptionist looked quite normal. A little judicious makeup and you would never know she was Gifted. "You might be surprised, honey," said Pinky, smiling. "Before the Gifting, I was a man." The large yellow cat which had apparently been napping on the couch across from the desk suddenly stirred. It's form expanded and shifted until it became a thirtyish, slightly stocky woman. "That's at least the fifth origin I've heard you give," said the former cat. Pinky stuck her tongue out at Wanda Lafontaine, also known as Flow, and went back to doing her nails. Wanda turned to Marian. "I've been waiting for you," Flow said. "Mr. San Savant wants to see you in his office. Something about you having a bad day." It didn't surprise Marian that the Director of the Center already knew about her troubles. His particular Gift seemed to make him part seer and part psychotherapist. Still, she didn't feel like seeing him right away. Marian decided instead to go to her room, change clothes and rest a while. Looking nice had always been important to Marian, and had grown more so since she had been involuntarily transformed into something out of legend. Dressing well had expanded to replace several of her previous outlets, which were now denied Marian by her Gift. Marian took the stairway, of course. The small elevator would barely hold her, and she didn't trust it anyway, not when she weighed over half a ton. One of the other members of the Center had laid neoprene-covered ramps on all the stairs, which made it easy for her to use them, although the boards were very noisy. Of course, the hand rails were awkwardly low, but Marian's quadrupedal stability made them unnecessary. She began plodding slowly upwards, ducking under the low spots. She was about halfway to her floor when she heard something behind her. Glancing back, she saw Adamant come around the turn, running tirelessly up flight after flight. He looked like he had been tunneling; he and his clothes were filthy and disheveled. As usual, he wore only shorts, a t-shirt and running shoes. "Hi, Equus!" he called, swatting Marian on the rump as he went by. Marian gasped in shock and outrage and flinched away, lurching into a wall. Adamant continued on, heedless, as Marian yelled after him. "Don't call me that!" She knew it was hopeless. How did you discipline someone who couldn't be hurt? She finally made it to her floor and pushed through the fire door. San Savant, blast him, was waiting for her. "We need to talk," he announced, in his slight Eastern European accent. Marian meekly followed him back down the stairs. Near the bottom, Adamant, looking even more bedraggled, passed them, again going up. This time he took no liberties, due no doubt to the presence of San Savant. It wasn't just that the man was Adamant's boss, and head of an organization dedicated to easing the adjustment of the Gifted to their Gifts. San Savant had a sort of paternal charisma about him which brought even the indestructible man under control. This may or may not have been part of his Gift, but it certainly made his self-appointed job easier. San Savant watched as Adamant rounded the corner above them, then rolled his eyes. "He claims he's teaching himself how to fly." "You mean he's..." "Jumping off the roof, yes." He heaved a sigh. "Actually, he's trying to cure himself of his phobia about falling, using saturation therapy." Contemplating the spectacle of Adamant repeatedly jumping off the roof of the Center took Marian's mind off her troubles until they reached San Savant's office. There she was able to lie down on a pad similar to those in her van and her room. Even prone, she was nearly as tall as San Savant, who was slim and a bit below average height. San Savant brought out some papers, and as soon as Marian was settled he began. "I have been talking to our lawyers. They say there is a good chance that the judge's decision concerning the custody of your children can be overturned." This was not what Marian had expected him to talk about. After a startled pause, she abruptly shook her head. "You don't want to be a mother to your two sons?" San Savant looked surprised. "They saw their mother turn into a monster, then have a screaming panic." Marian swallowed hard, remembering the events of that April afternoon. "Every time they've seen me since, they have reacted in terror." "I am sorry you feel that way. Perhaps you will reconsider later." San Savant busied himself for a few moments with putting the papers away. Marian sat quietly, memories of that eventful Monday pouring unbidden through her mind. That she soon found out she wasn't alone hadn't helped her mental state much, and hadn't prevented her husband from filing for divorce only two weeks later. Brad had been awarded the children, their home and half their savings, and Marian couldn't even hate him for it. "There is something else." San Savant's voice startled Marian back to the present. "I need you to help Adamant." That was almost laughable. What possible problem could an indestructible man have? "What do you mean?" "Think for a moment. How would you feel if you knew that you would most likely outlive everyone around you?" San Savant seemed quite sad at the thought. "His physical form is locked in its current state. He will be 26 years old forever. How would you react, knowing that everyone you see will be dust in a thousand years, while you just keep going on and on?" Marian shivered. "I - hadn't thought of that." "Adamant's rudeness is an attempt to distance himself from others," continued San Savant. "He wants to spare himself grief in the future. His attitude is understandable, but far from healthy. I want all of you at the Center to make an effort to break through this insulating layer, and help him to relate to other people." "I'm not sure what to do." "Just be nice to him. Get him to share your activities. I know he annoys you, especially by using that nickname Pinky gave you. You might get him to stop by calling him Ed." Actually, Marian had never heard his real name before, or even thought of him as having one. "I won't promise anything, but I'll keep what you said in mind." She gave San Savant a wily grin. "And don't think I don't realize what you're doing. You figure that if I help him, I'll feel better about my own problems." He smiled and spread his hands. "An old technique and an effective one." * * * It was about an hour later. Marian had changed clothes and now wore only a bikini top, a risky situation, considering how much she had to cover. She was heading out the back door, carrying a coiled hose, a bucket full of soap, shampoo, brushes and combs, and several towels. No bathtub or shower would hold her since she had changed. To stay clean she had to wash outside, on the patio behind the Center. She didn't know what she would do, once the weather turned cold. "I'll be in my usual spot," she told Pinky, who, being on the phone, merely waved back. Marian began with her head and worked down and back. She was just starting on her equine portion, her black coat shining wet, when Adamant came running around the building. He looked like he had been run over by a train. Several times. He started when he saw Marian, twisted around to wash her lower back, then grinned. "Gee, can I help?" he asked, in a little-boy voice. Marian's first impulse was to refuse, vigorously. Then she reconsidered, thinking of San Savant's advice. "I always have trouble reaching my hindquarters," she said, tentatively. "If you promise to behave yourself, you can start there." Adamant traced an 'X' on his chest. "Cross my heart and hope to be seriously embarrassed." To Marian's surprise, Adamant not only kept his mind and hands on business but seemed to know what he was doing. "You're very good at that, Ed," she said, making sure to use his real name. Adamant gave a modest grin and shrugged. "I used to work on a horse farm." "I've heard about all your odd jobs," Marian replied, trying to start a conversation. "Sturdy says you worked for a temporary employment agency to pay your way through college." "Something like that," Adamant replied, noncommittally. He washed for a few moments more, then paused. "You know, you don't smell like a horse." "The doctors say that all my tissues are still human," Marian explained. "My Gift didn't make me part horse; it reshaped and enlarged my body to look like it is part horse." Adamant resumed his grooming, whistling as he worked. They were just about finished, needing only to dry her coat, when Marian froze. Then she lifted both hind legs and lashed out, hard. Adamant flew twenty feet, bounced off a tree and dropped to the ground. He sat up immediately. "Any particular reason for that?" He pretended indifference, but Marian could sense the anger barely held in check. "You were whistling 'We Gotta Get You a Woman,'" said Marian, hands on hips and leaning forward as she gave him a firm look. He stared at her in open-mouthed amazement for a long moment, then abruptly slugged himself across the jaw. "Bad subconscious!" He grinned, anger gone, and rose to his feet. "Oh, well, at least it wasn't 'I'm Going To Catch That Horse If I Can'." Now it was Marian's turn to stare. Then she began to giggle. That turned into laughter, and she couldn't stop for several minutes. Finally, so weak that she was weaving, she managed to get control and wipe the tears from her eyes. "Ohhhh. Thank you, Ed. That's the first time I've really laughed in over two months." "Since the Gifting," said Adamant, turning sombre. "Come on," said Marian, trying to get him back in a good mood, "help me dry, then you can get the hose. I'll carry the rest of the stuff." Adamant nodded, and grabbed a towel. "By the way," said Marian, as they rubbed her down, "the proper name for that song is 'Chestnut Mare.'" She paused a moment, gazing wistfully off into space. "I used to love that song. Even sang it to my kids." He nodded again, absently. They finished drying Marian's coat and tail, gathered the gear and then walked back inside. San Savant had been right; she did feel better. The End Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 3020 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 A Taste of Rage by Rodford Edmiston Marian didn't know what to do with her hands. This was a constant problem since the change, because she no longer needed to swing her arms to provide balance for a two-legged gait. It was especially bothersome when she was nervous, as she was now. She usually settled for folding her arms across her stomach. San Savant was supposed to see her for counseling in a few minutes, and waiting outside his office before one of these sessions always made her tense. Pacing might have helped, except that there were several people in the lobby area of the Center for Gifted Research, most of them strangers, and Marian was afraid of stepping on someone. Besides, being a centaur was bad enough without having people think she was a neurotic as well. Finally, the door opened. Lucille Pierce, also known as Cinnamon Girl, came out, filling the air with her delicious scent. Except for the minor side effect of producing that distinctive aroma, Lucille had complete control over her powers. This was true for most of the several hundred people directly affected by the mysterious event which had come to be known as the Gifting. Unfortunately, though her Gift itself caused her little trouble, Lucille was currently having problems with her family. Her parents and sister were reluctant to accept that she had changed. They either tried to pretend that nothing had happened, or avoided her. To get help in dealing with both reactions, she had scheduled a series of counseling sessions with San Savant. "Good morning," said Lucille, looking up at Marian as she held the door open for her. "Good morning," Marian responded, smiling in spite of her own troubles. Lucille's ability to manipulate pheromones made it difficult to be anything but happy in her presence. "Good morning," called San Savant, as Marian entered. His greeting contained a carefully calculated amount of restrained cheerfulness. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Marian was grateful to see that one of the pads she used was positioned in front of his desk. She stalled by settling herself on it, carefully folding her four legs under her. Even in this position, she was nearly as tall as San Savant. At half a ton in weight and nearly eight feet tall, Marian was probably the largest human on earth... if you could still count her as human. "You remember that I told you about what I did to that service station attendant," she began, finally, referring to an event from a few days before, when she had lifted a rude pump jockey off the ground by the front of his shirt. "That is just one example of the acts I have been committing lately which disturb me." "In what way are they disturbing?" Marian spread her hands, trying to find the right words. "That sort of aggressive behavior just isn't me! I mean, the actions seem natural and right at the time, but later the things I do or almost do appall me." San Savant had her give a few more examples, then thought for a moment. "This could be one of two things." He looked off into the distance, rubbing his chin. "You could simply be taking your frustrations over your change out on the most immediate irritant. Or, the increased vitality of your new form could be acting as a stimulant. You told me yourself that you now feel as energetic and restless as you did when you were a child." "That could be," said Marian, slowly, "but I also know that some Gifts bring mental changes." "And you are worried that you might no longer be your own master." San Savant smiled sympathetically. "Well, since you have so far refrained from hurting anyone and are disturbed by your uncharacteristic actions and thoughts, I would say that your Gift does not include a change in mental patterns." They talked for several more minutes, then Marian had to make way for the next session. She was somewhat reassured, but still unsettled. On the way out, Marian ran into Bodystocking, previously known as Celia Dobbs. She was now permanently intangible, but had the ability to animate flat sheets of material, wrapping them around her like a second skin. In this state she looked like a hairless woman wearing a head-to-toe, skin-tight costume. Marian looked askance at Bodystocking's current garment. "Wall paper?" asked Marian. "Worse yet, flower pattern wall paper?" "Never mind how I look," snapped Bodystocking, surprising Marian. The young woman usually knew how to take a joke. "I've been trying to find you. Kiddo stupidly parked on the grass this morning, and now his car is stuck." "Kiddo" was Martin Thurber, a twenty-eight year old accountant whose Gift had regressed him to the physical age of eight. It was too early to tell if he would grow naturally. Martin had been heard to remark that he didn't know which would be worse; staying eight forever or going through puberty again. "Why not get Sturdy to help?" It was a reasonable question. Sturdy was over a hundred times as strong as a normal man. "He's off on a mission," replied Bodystocking. "So is Flow, or I would ask her to change into an elephant or something. You're the only person strong enough who's handy." Marian's Gift wasn't all bad. She was even stronger than she looked, and could run faster than a thoroughbred. Also, like most Gifted, she could heal completely and quickly from any non-fatal injury, never got sick and was in perfect physical condition. "All right," sighed Marian, "let's get it over with." * * * Marian was dreaming of thunder. As usual, she slept on her waterbed, the largest she had been able to find, with the equine part of her body laid along one edge and her human torso at ninety degrees to it, parallel to the headboard. Her legs were folded against her underside, her arms wrapped around a pillow. There was a sudden shock that set the water in the mattress sloshing. That woke Marian. At first she thought the noises she still heard were part of a real thunderstorm she had simply inserted into her dream. Then she realized that the sounds were more like dull explosions. She lumbered out of the bed and onto her feet. A quick glance at her clock showed that it was just after 4:00 AM. Grabbing a robe from the coatrack, she went out into the hall. Many of the inhabitants of the Center were already up and about, some milling around in confusion, others simply peeking out of their doorways. Like Marian, most of the dozen or so people staying at the Center for Gifted Research had some problem with their Gift which made it awkward for them to live normally. There was yelling in the distance. Marian couldn't catch the words, but they sounded urgent. There was another jolt, and the lights flickered. The strange pounding noises stopped after that, but the yelling continued. "What's going on?" yelled Bodystocking, near panic. Marian decided to see. She ran down the stairway ramps to the lobby, and found that several members of the Center staff were already there. Sturdy and San Savant were shouting orders to members of the Center's volunteer troubleshooting team, while Pinky was busy on the phone. Flow ran past Marian, heading for the stairs. "The Monster is loose!" she shouted, answering the obvious question before Marian could ask it. That was bad news, indeed. The Monster was a Gifted mass murderer, horrendously strong and tough, and mindlessly violent. He had been placed in a special cell in the basement of the Center, after police had realized that no jail would hold him. Marian shivered. From what she had heard, the Monster could tear her apart, despite her own great strength. The Monster been in the Center for two months, and had long ago given up trying to batter down the door to his room. According to what Marian was able to gather, something, no one knew what, had set him off again. This time, instead of attacking the door, he had turned his attentions to the reinforced concrete basement wall. This still should have held him, but he had somehow broken through and burrowed to the surface. Marian heard San Savant calling her, and trotted over to see what he wanted. "We are forming search teams," he told her. "Each team will have one person who can delay the Monster and another who can quickly summon help. I want you to go with Adamant." That was unexpected. The members of San Savant's taskforce were used to violence and danger, but Marian wasn't. She started to refuse, but the thought of the Monster free among the suburbs near the Center made her hesitate. Then, surprising herself, she nodded. * * * Marian and Adamant started with the others, at the hole in the ground where the Monster had emerged. Marian had taken the time to put on her warm-up top, with a light jacket over it. Due to her bulk, low temperatures didn't affect Marian much. Adamant was wearing his usual shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, despite the cold of the night. Low temperatures didn't bother the indestructible man at all. After receiving their final instructions, the five teams took off. Marian and Adamant headed North, moving at Adamant's quickest pace. Although Marian was far faster, Adamant never tired, and could move at a dead run until he had to sleep. She found herself forced to alternate between her walk and her trot. Bipedal locomotion was continuously variable, but quadrupedal creatures, such as Marian now was, were limited by anatomy to certain paces. Still, the unlikely pair made very good time. They had gone nearly a mile before finding the first sign of anything unusual. A chain link fence beside a four lane divided highway had a section torn down. "Ed, should I go back and tell the others?" "No." Adamant, used to making decisions under fire, had already made up his mind. "We aren't sure this was actually done by him, and even if it was, we better find him first." Marian jumped nimbly over the deep, concrete lined ditches on each side of the road, Adamant following as best he could. On the other side they found more evidence: something had broken through the white plank fence separating the large back yard of a fancy house from the road. As Marian looked ahead, she spotted a figure walking quickly towards the open field on the other side of the yard. "Is that him?" "Where?" Adamant peered into the shadows, shielding his eyes from the nearby street light. Marian, like many Gifted, had excellent night vision. She was surprised that Adamant didn't. Suddenly, her partner stiffened. "That's him! Hurry, he's getting away!" "You better get on," said Marian, offering him a hand. This was the first time anyone had actually been on her back, and Marian found the sensation uncomfortable. Fortunately, Adamant, though not a great horseman, had ridden before. He clamped his legs around her barrel and wrapped his arms around her torso, getting a good hold. Marian started off at a trot, then increased speed when it seemed that the Monster might drop out of sight behind a small rise. Marian got her first good look at their quarry as they topped the rise. The Monster didn't appear very threatening. He was a small, slim man dressed in ragged, dirty clothes, and from the expression on his face he seemed more like a lost child than someone who had killed and mutilated at least twenty-three people. However, there was something about those vacant eyes which sent a chill through Marian. The Monster heard their approach and turned to watch them. Adamant stopped Marian about twenty yards from the fugitive and slipped to the ground. "Get out of here," said Adamant. "I'll keep him busy." Marian didn't argue, but wheeled and ran. She had covered about a hundred yards when something struck her a glancing blow on the left side. She went head over hooves. As Marian struggled to rise, she felt a sharp pain in her equine chest. "Are you all right?" It was Adamant, jumping to his feet from where he had landed ahead of her. "He threw me at you!" "I can't... breath..." "He knocked the wind out of you." Adamant paused and looked back towards the Monster, who was steadily advancing on them. The indestructible man looked both angry and determined. "Listen, get to the ditch and lie down. I'm going to take this guy out." With that he ran towards the Monster. Marian managed to get to her feet in spite of the pain, and moved at a fast walk back towards the highway. She glanced over her shoulder as she went, and saw Adamant tackle the Monster, knocking him to the ground. He then straddled the madman and began systematically pummeling him. Adamant's strength was only human, but he had boxed some in college and could put his full strength into every blow, without tiring or fear of injury. "Hurry!" Somehow, Marian managed a trot. She had almost made it back to the board fence when a bright flash split the night. This was closely followed by a sound like a giant firecracker, and a shockwave which nearly pushed Marian off balance. She turned, gasping at the pain which stabbed her side, and ran back towards the fight. It was all over long before she got there. The Monster lay unmoving near the edge of a large burned spot. Adamant, naked except for a large medallion on a chain around his neck, was sitting on the opposite side of the scorch. "Uh, can I borrow your jacket?" "How did you..." Adamant fingered the medallion, grinning like a boy with a new train set. "San Savant got it for me, after I kept complaining about not having enough offensive capability." He laughed. "It's a defective magic item. Instead of releasing it's energy in a controlled fashion, it all lets go at once. Nearly killed the guy who made it." As Adamant tied the jacket around his waist, a huge, leathery form glided silently overhead, then banked and returned to land nearby. "You got him," said Wurm, apparently not surprised. Marian shivered, although the incongruity of an eighteen year old girl's voice coming from a dragon helped dilute the sinister image a bit. "You better carry him to the Center," said Adamant. "Marian's hurt, so we may be a while getting back." The dragon nodded solemnly, seized the Monster in a hind claw, and took to the air. * * * "I lost one of my shoes," said Marian, absently. "And one of the others is loose." Although she was wrapped in blankets and sipping hot soup from an oversized mug, Marian couldn't seem to stop shivering. "I really blew it, didn't I?" "Nonsense," said San Savant. "From what Adamant told me, you did quite well." Marian's injury had been diagnosed as a pair of cracked ribs, nothing serious but rather painful. Now she was in the lobby at the Center, along with the rest of the volunteers and some of the guests. Wurm, back in her human form of Christine Criswold, was gamely trying to stay awake on the couch beside Marian. "Listen, champ, anyone can have a bit of bad luck." Sturdy shrugged his massive shoulders. "Yeah," said Flow, putting her arm around Marian, "what's important is that you helped capture a dangerous menace." "Well, I know one thing," said Marian. "I am no longer worried about being overly aggressive. After tonight, I'll think twice before swatting a fly." "What I want to know," said Sturdy, "is why San Savant doesn't just remove his powers." Marian had wondered that herself. This solution had been offered to her shortly after San Savant had begun working at the Center. Anyone could work magic since the Gifting, and some people, such as San Savant, had received a talent for it. With that talent, San Savant had quickly worked out a way of removing a person's Gift. Marian had considered the offer, then refused it. There was a chance that getting rid of her Gift might not return her to her normal form, leaving her a centaur without the benefits of being Gifted. "Taking the Gift from a willing subject is mildly hazardous but usually successful," San Savant explained. "Taking it from an unwilling person would most likely be fatal." Wurm had dropped off to sleep. Marian was tempted to join her, but it was nearly time to get up anyway. Marian sighed, and rose to get ready for work. * * * Later, after things had settled down and everyone else had either returned to bed or gone to work, Adamant went to San Savant's office. The older man motioned him to be seated. "What did you want to see me about?" asked Adamant. "The Monster could not have broken out of his cell without help," said San Savant. "I just finished confirming this. Someone cast a spell to weaken the barriers I had erected, and another to incite him to escape." "Do you know who it was?" San Savant shook his head. "I could tell that it was done from a distance, most likely though a skrying device. I could not trace the culprit." "Could it be von Druben again?" Adamant looked thoughtful, as he recalled the last time the rogue wizard had troubled them. "If so, we'll have to warn the Lexington Contingent." "This is not his style." San Savant sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling a tiredness that was due to more than simple lack of sleep. "I fear that we have a new enemy. Or an old one who has gained new power." Adamant shrugged. "Whatever it is, we can deal with it," he announced confidently. "Either alone, or with help from our friends." "I hope you are right," San Savant replied. "I sincerely hope you are right." END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 1830 Words Frankfort, KY 4060-1034 The Price of Their Tantrums by Rodford Edmiston As Marian turned the corner in the drive at the Center for Gifted Research, she could see San Savant, Adamant, Flow, Sturdy and Fleet standing at the Garden Express. She parked her van and got out, wondering what was going on. San Savant approached, looking worried. "I can't believe that even he would do something like that to that nice old man!" Marian stamped a hoof in anger. "He might have killed him!" Marian's outrage was easy to understand. The folks at the Center for Gifted Research had just received word that the Wizard had been beaten nearly to death by Muscle Man. "Well, the Wizard did pull a nasty prank on him, a couple of months ago," said Sturdy. "Muscle Man isn't the kind of person who takes jokes at his expense lightly." It turned out that this assault wasn't the only crime Muscle Man had committed. His problems started when he tried to crash a party in Chicago. Actually, he did crash the party, literally. The host and the guests tried to ignore him, and for a while things went fairly peacefully. Then Muscle Man discovered that the Wizard was also there. Muscle Man, whom several people described as having been drinking heavily, caught the Wizard by surprise with a sucker punch, and continued pounding on him after he was down. When security men tried to pull him off, Muscle Man went out of his way to hurt them, finally leaving after most of the guests had stampeded out of the ballroom. The police were notified, and an APB had been put out for the errant Gifted, but so far this had only resulted in several policemen being injured and several police cars being turned into scrap. "Guess it all shows that the only difference between Gifted and normal is the price or their tantrums," remarked Adamant. "This could be a serious setback to public opinion concerning the Gifted," explained San Savant. "I'm sending Wanda, Sturdy, Adamant and Fleet to Chicago via Garden Express to help the local police hunt down and capture Muscle Man. With luck, they may be able to persuade him to surrender peacefully." "Don't count on it," said Fleet. "Can you send me with them?" asked Marian. "I want to go visit the Wizard." "No problem," replied Adamant. "We'll be appearing in the middle of a park, not too far from the hospital, anyway. The chief of police is already expecting us." "Yeah," added Sturdy, "it'll be nice to have you along." San Savant finished priming the enchanted area of ground, targeting it for the desired location. Now all that was needed was for someone to say the trigger phrase, and anyone within the circle would be transported to the desired location. "All aboard!" called Adamant, as Marian hurried to join them. With her and Sturdy both in the circle, things were a bit crowded. The quintet squeezed together, Marian keeping an eye on Adamant. Sturdy, as team leader, chanted a short set of apparently nonsense words, and there was a sudden, brief sensation of giddiness. Then they were standing in the middle of a small park, with tall buildings all around. The promised police escort was there, all right. Unfortunately, they were not in any condition to help the team, since Muscle Man was there, too, and had already dealt with them. "Well, well," the rogue Gifted remarked casually, from where he sat on an overturned police car, "look who's coming to the rescue." Adamant strode forward, looking irritated. "What's he doing?" hissed Marian. "He goes in first, as a negotiator," explained Flow. "If he can't persuade someone to surrender, there's no danger, since he can't be hurt." "Okay, muscle mouth," snapped Adamant, leaning forward with his hands on his hips. "You coming quietly or are we going to have some fun kicking you all over this city?" "Of course, with Adamant doing the talking, few people ever consider surrender," sighed Fleet. Muscle Man instructed Adamant to perform a difficult feat of autoeroticism, then grabbed for him. Adamant dodged nimbly out of the they way, and poked his forked fingers into Muscle Man's eyes. "Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!" chortled Adamant, dodging again as Muscle Man reached blindly for him. Muscle Man was too tough for someone with normal strength to hurt, even in this way, but the attack had put him off, made him loose some of his confidence. Adamant danced around Muscle Man, punching, jabbing, and jeering. "You little worm!" Muscle Man screamed, after Adamant kicked him in the groin for the third time. "Ah, you're just mad 'cause your parents wanted a boy." Muscle Man suddenly lunged forward, catching Adamant off guard. He grabbed Adamant's shirt, and yanked him into the air, winding up for a punch with his other arm. "Oh, well," sighed Adamant, resignedly. "I'll try to write!" The blow launched Adamant upward and backward; he vanished behind a row of buildings. Before Muscle Man could turn back to the others, Fleet blew by, flattening him. Marian had wondered why he always carried that baseball bat when he went on one of these missions. Now she new. Muscle Man, not really hurt, clambered back to his feet, only to be knocked onto his face, as Fleet came back the other way. The aluminum bat made an almost musical note as it contacted Muscle Man's back. The big Gifted shook his head, then lurched upright again. This time, he saw Fleet coming. He waited until the last moment, then stepped to the side and held out his arm, meaning to clothesline his tormentor. Now Marian understood why Fleet wore those heavy leather pads on the elbows, knees and seat of his jumpsuit. Unable to dodge in time, he simply dropped and slid, passing safely under Muscle Man's arm. Now it was Sturdy's turn. He moved in slowly, with Muscle Man watching warily. Suddenly, when they were about ten feet apart, Muscle Man lunged at Sturdy, swinging wildly. Sturdy dodged, and rabbit punched his opponent over the sternum. Sturdy tried to follow this up, but Muscle Man quickly pulled back. He approached again, more cautiously this time, and the two of them got down to a serious slug fest. Marian watched in awe as the two of them battled. They were about even in strength, with Muscle Man's slightly greater speed and agility being balanced against Sturdy's superior experience. For several tense seconds, it looked like the fight could go either way. Then, Sturdy managed to land an incredible blow, which bounced Muscle Man off the front of a nearby building. Sturdy hustled over to make use of his momentary advantage, but Muscle Man staggered to his feet before he could get there. Apparently deciding that he didn't want any more, Muscle Man turned and jumped, disappearing into the cloudy sky. "Damn." Sturdy turned back to the others. "Flow, you head after him. Report back here if you find him. Fleet, same thing, but go that way. Marian, go see if Adamant needs help climbing out of a hole or something. I'll wait here." Marian took off at a trot, ignoring the stares from bystanders. It was late afternoon, and away from where the battle had forced people to run for cover the streets were crowded with traffic, causing Marian some difficulty as she moved away from the park. She couldn't just take to the sidewalks; they were too full of people for her to move without stepping on someone. Adamant had gone farther than she had initially thought. She finally found him several blocks from where he had started. He had hit the ground outside a power substation, sliding through the fence before stopping. Muscle Man had found him first, but that wasn't a problem, for one very obvious reason. Adamant was standing with one hand over his head, gripping the terminal of a transformer. His hair was standing on end, his shoes were on fire, and he was surrounded by a coronal glow. "Go ahead," he taunted Muscle Man, grinning, "hit me." Marian suddenly remembered that Adamant had one other ability besides being indestructible. Under certain conditions, he could absorb energy and release it at will. Of course, if he didn't let go soon, his clothes would burn off, but that didn't seem to have occurred to him. Marian wondered what she should do, finally deciding that she should just stand and watch. She would be no more than an annoyance to Muscle Man, and might interfere with whatever Adamant was planning. As it turned out, her decision was the right one. A bird swooped down over Muscle Man, turned into an elephant, and dropped on him with all four feet. The elephant then turned into a jaguar and limped away; elephants aren't built for jumping. As the jaguar turned into Flow, Adamant left his post and ran to the stunned Muscle Man, reaching down to touch him. Marian, having an idea of what was coming, closed her eyes and covered her ears. As a result, she was only mildly blinded and deafened by the bright flash and loud crack. * * * "So we put the sleep charm on him and waited for the police," Marian explained to the Wizard. "We offered to take him back to the Center, but they politely declined. They said they had a facility that would hold him." "I doubt that," whispered the Wizard, with only a hint of his normal verve. "Still, I suppose they must learn through bitter experience." He didn't look nearly as bad as Marian had expected from the description of his injuries. Of course, he had been hurt nearly a full day before, and like most Gifted tended to heal fast. The Wizard lay perfectly straight in the bed, both legs and one arm in casts, IV tubes running into his unencased limb, and his white beard on top of the sheet. A nurse came in and told Marian that she had just five more minutes. "Oh, well, guess this will be it for a while," she sighed. "I'll try to get permission to use the Garden Express to come over for another visit as soon as I can, but that may be several days." "Don't trouble yourself, child," the Wizard wheezed. "I'll be ambulatory in less than a week. Then I can give the five of you a proper heroes' banquet as thanks for capturing my assailant." "You don't have to do that," said Marian, embarrassed. "My involvement was an accident, and I really didn't do anything." "You came here," he told her. The nurse returned and chased Marian off, showing no signs of being intimidated by someone nearly eight times her weight. Marian rose from where she lay and turned for the door, pausing on the way out for a final wave. The Wizard's eyes were closed, and he might have already been asleep. END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 2430 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 A World of Her Own by Rodford Edmiston Marian glanced around the small office, reflecting on the odd crew gathered there at San Savant's request. There was herself, Marian Holst, the centaur woman; then there was Adamant the Indestructible Man; Flow the animal form shapeshifter, currently being a large cat; and San Savant, part wizard and part business manager. Hardly the sort of people you would expect to see at a staff meeting. Exactly why they were there, Marian was not sure. Flow had said something about San Savant wanting her to go on a mission, which was definitely unusual. While Adamant and Flow were field agents for the Center For Gifted Research, Marian was one of the more-or-less permanent guests at the Center, and considered herself a non-combatant. She shifted her half-ton bulk uneasily on her pad, trying to work all four legs into comfortable positions. San Savant finally finished shuffling his papers and raised his head to address the others. He blinked in mild surprise when he saw Flow, whose real name was Wanda Lafontaine, and she gave him a toothy yawn. Deciding it wasn't worth delaying the meeting over, he began. "We have received a call for help from the mother of a 15 year old girl who lives not far from here." As usual, Marian found San Savant's mild, unidentifiable accent and precise speech charming. He spread a map of Ohio and pointed to a small town, north of Cincinnati. "Her daughter is Gifted, and is apparently suffering some sort of emotional trauma." It had been nearly six months since a mysterious event had unleashed magic upon the mundane world. Shortly after realizing just how much trouble this Gifting and its aftermath would bring, Donald Criswold had bought the building they were in to house an organization dedicated to handling these problems. The work primarily involved helping people who had been physically or mentally affected by their Gift, but also included giving aid to local, state and Federal governments. Criswold had put San Savant in charge of the Center, and as part of his work here the wizard had formed a team of troubleshooters, mostly to help various law enforcement agencies deal with unruly Gifted. This team normally consisted of Adamant, Fleet, Flow, Sturdy and, lately, Wurm, who was Criswold's daughter by a previous marriage. Marian was not a part of this group, and had no interest in joining. The one time she had gone on a mission - actually a local emergency - she had suffered three broken ribs. "It appears that the child has retreated into a sort of private world she has created in her room." Mr. San Savant paused to hand Adamant a hand-drawn map of the neighborhood, with the address and other pertinent information written on it. "I have decided to send Flow to talk with this girl, since this is a case where we need persuasion more than force. Adamant will be along in case something goes wrong." He turned to Marian. "They are located fairly near here, just fifty miles to the north. I would like you to go along, to help Flow talk with this young woman. I feel that as a mother, yourself, you will have a good chance of reaching the child. Please understand that this is strictly voluntary, and that I wouldn't even ask if I thought there were any serious chance of danger." "All right," said Marian, nodding. "I'll go." "The only complication I can see is that the family lives in a neighborhood primarily occupied by negroes." Marian winced a bit, and filed this comment away, along with a number of other strange things San Savant had said or done. She knew that he was originally from another country, but at times it seemed as if he were from another century. Oddly, he had no problem working with the people of color he knew, which was fortunate. Sturdy, who was about as black as one could get, was an important member of his troubleshooting team. Flow shifted back to human form, and stood. The others followed suit. "I guess we'll have to take my van, if I'm going," said Marian. "None of the other vehicles here will hold me." "Can I drive?" asked Adamant, in his little-boy voice. "No!" said Marian, Flow and San Savant in unison. "Why not?" he returned, obviously taken aback by their reply. "You drive like you think you're indestructible," said Flow, elbowing him in the ribs as she grinned. "But I am indestructible!" "That's not the point," said Flow. "You drive like everyone is indestructible." "Besides," Marian added, "there aren't any pedals and you don't know how to work the hand controls." * * * "She's in here," said Mrs. Warton. She opened the bedroom door, then stood back. It was a jungle in there. Or rather, a forest. "I can't see the end of it." Flow peered through the door, into the heavy growth. "I've been too afraid to go in there," said Mrs. Warton, wringing her hands. "Kathy, Julia's younger sister, went in a couple of times, but never got far or found Julia." "Well, let's get on with it," said Adamant, stepping through. He walked a short distance in, then stopped to look around. "Hey, this continues in the other direction, too," he announced, surprised. "The door just seems to be hanging in space." Marian sighed; then, ducking a bit, she went through. She immediately noticed the change, and saw Adamant staring at her. She was smaller, barely six feet from hoof to crown instead of her normal eight plus, and her clothes were different. Formerly, she had been wearing a blouse and jacket, and a moderate amount of jewelry. Now she wore only a sort of long tunic, which hung down between her forelegs. Her equine coat had switched from black to a wild array of pastel colors. Marian wished she had a mirror; her face also felt different, and what she could see of her hair was colored similarly to her horse part. Flow had stepped through right behind Marian, and had changed as well. She was much slimmer, with a narrow face and high cheekbones. "You look like an elf," said Adamant, speaking to Flow. "And both of you have pointed ears." While Marian felt her ears, Adamant turned to Mrs. Warton, who was watching them through the doorway. "Did Kathy change when she came in here?" "No," Mrs. Warton replied. She seemed as surprised as the rest of them. "It must only affect Gifted!" said Flow, even her voice touched by the overt magic of the place. She turned to glare at Adamant. "Why didn't you change?" "Physically immutable, remember?" he countered, grinning. Marian, frowning at a strange sensation between her forelegs, lifted her tunic, to find a set of male genitals. She jerked the fabric back into place, blushing. "She must have read Varley," said Adamant, his grin growing broader. Marian noticed Flow surreptitiously checking her own anatomy, then looking relieved. "Let's get this over with," growled Marian. She had seen shapeshifting before, but except for her initial transformation had never experienced it. She found the process disturbing. "There's a path over there. It must lead somewhere." "I suppose that's as good a place to start as any," said Adamant, shrugging. They set off into the woods. * * * It was a pleasant enough walk. The path ran through the cool, twilight forest, meandering only slightly. There were tall, ancient, gnarled trees, strange vines and odd flowering plants all around. None of the three from the Center could place the geology or botany; but then, none of them was an expert with either subject. However, even a casual examination told them that there was something definitely weird about this forest. "She seems to have combined bits and pieces from every fairy tale, fantasy and science fiction story she has ever read to make this world," said Adamant, as he observed a giant Venus fly trap struggling with a rabbit. "There's no telling what we may run into." "Thank you for those reassuring words," snapped Marian, still uneasy over her involuntary change. A movement on the ground caught her eye, and she abruptly shied away from a group of red army ants, which were carrying miniature rifles and wearing miniature helmets, the latter emblazoned with a miniature hammer and sickle. "Looks like she watched cartoons, too," Adamant added, as he peered past the thoroughly spooked Marian. Moments later they discovered that the woods might have more to offer than just interesting plants and animals. A swarm of small, glowing specks moved towards them, swirling in a complex pattern as it approached. At they bits came closer, the trio saw that these were no fireflies, but tiny, winged women, glowing with a soft yellow light. They were without clothes, but this didn't matter, since their bodies were as lacking in anatomical detail as those of manikins. "Well, that's one form of fairy," said Adamant, frowning as the creatures swirled around them. It seemed at first that they might only be curious; after a few moments of inspection they flew off. They soon returned, however, bearing flowers, which they delivered to Flow and Marian. Seeing that these were accepted peacefully, the fairies became bolder. They settled in the women's hair and on their clothing, and all along Marian's equine back. Adamant looked irritated at being left out. They continued on along the path, their escort staying with them. The fairies made tiny, chittering conversation about the strangers' activities every time Marian, Wanda or Adamant did anything besides walk. It gave Marian the uncomfortable feeling she was being laughed at. Finally, the path opened out into a clearing. In the center was the largest, most ancient tree in the forest. They didn't need to be told that, or even to guess; it was simply obvious. Somehow, part of the base had been persuaded to grow in the shape of a massive throne, covered with a padding of moss. There, on the throne, sat the Queen of the Fairies. There was no doubt to that, either. She was very tall, thin almost to the point of gauntness, and her long, thick hair would have hung below her knees had she been standing. Her skin was as black as the gaps between stars, her eyes as bright and green as a sun-splashed leaf. Her bearing was quite regal. She regarded the trio with detachment, although it seemed that the glance she gave Adamant was a bit cold. "Welcome, sisters," she said, finally. "I am Luanna. Why do you bring this mortal to my realm?" "Adamant?" replied Flow, thinking quickly. "He's a friend. He's here to help us find a young mortal girl. You might know her. Her name is Julia Warton." "That name means nothing to me," said the Queen, stirring uncomfortably, "and I know of no mortal girl in my domain." "Are you sure?" asked Marian, taking her cue from Flow. "She's been missing for days, and her mother is very worried." "The affairs of the mortal world are none of my concern," said the Queen, looking even more unsettled. "Julia's sister is worried, too," said Adamant, for a change sounding sincere. "She has even come in here, looking for her, but hasn't found any trace. Her family and friends are beginning to give up hope." "I..." The Queen shook her head, looking confused. "I don't want to go back. It's not real out there. This is real!" "If this is real," asked Adamant, playing a hunch, "why are you so lonely?" "Julia, you mother loves you," said Flow, quickly. "She wants to know that you are safe." The Queen's appearance had changed subtly as they spoke. She was looking younger, now, and less formidable. She shifted on her throne again, then abruptly stood. "Let us go to this woman," she announced, after a moment of silence. "Perhaps I can persuade her that this child is not here." She set off at a quick walk, forcing the three from the Center to hurry down the path after her. The fairies were left far behind by their pace. The trip back was much shorter, taking only a few minutes. As soon as she saw the strange, open door standing in the small clearing at the other end of the path, Luanna stopped. Through the door they could see Mrs. Warton, although she had not yet noticed them. "I don't want to leave," said the Queen, sounding and looking more and more like the teenage girl she actually was. "Out there it rains on holidays, and people steal your lunch money. In here, everything is always right." "You can't stay in this dream world forever, honey," said Flow, gently. "Reality is other people, and putting up with them." "But it's so peaceful here," Luanna countered, sounding almost petulant. "Remember," said Marian, as another point occurred to her, "without Julia, Luanna couldn't exist." She still looked doubtful, and Marian wondered what else they could say. Force was out of the question, not only on moral grounds, but because they had no idea how she would respond, or what powers she might have. They would have to continue with persuasion. "You don't have to stay out there," said Adamant, with a gentleness which surprised Marian. Luanna turned to look at him, a strange, desperate expression in her eyes. "You have a place to come to when the world gets to be too much," Adamant elaborated. "Most people can only do this in their heads, but you have a special Gift. You can not only make your dreams physically real, you can invite friends to share them. And you can come back whenever you want." Luanna smiled at him, a tear glinting in the corner of one eye. Then she turned, and walked toward the door. Her mother started at the appearance of this strange woman. Then, as Luanna stepped through the door and was transformed back into Julia, Mrs. Warton gave a cry of joy and rushed forward to smother her daughter with hugs and kisses. "You did good, Ed," said Flow, patting Adamant on the back. They were all grinning as they watched the reunion. "I guess that's a job well done," remarked Adamant, starting forward. "Hold it," said Marian, catching him by the shoulder. "Let's wait for them to finish." It didn't take long. In a few moments, they were beckoned out by Mrs. Warton to join the celebration. END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 2500 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 Bear Came Over the Mountain by Rodford Edmiston It was late December, and Marian was planning to spend the holidays at her sister's. It would be the first Christmas she had spent away from Roger since their wedding, and the thought of him and their two boys still was enough to make Marian depressed. She had therefore decided to accept her sister's invitation, despite some uncertainty about being away from the facilities and people at the Center. Still, she couldn't spend the rest of her life in those narrow circles, no matter how familiar and comfortable. Marian had the van loaded with gifts and enough luggage for the stay, and had made the long drive safely. Unfortunately, Sue's family had moved since Marian's last visit, and naturally she couldn't find the new house. Todd, Sue's husband, still worked at the same warehouse outside of town, so Marian drove there. Marian parked the van near the main entrance and clambered out, ignoring the stares and whistles her appearance generated. Eastern Kentucky was quite a bit rougher than what she was used to, but the difference was a matter of degree rather than kind. "Whooee!" one wit called. "I shore would like to ride her!" "Careful, Millard, she'll hear you!" The steps up onto the loading dock were a bit of a problem for something with four legs, but Marian managed them without too much trouble, her breath billowing out in huge white clouds from the effort. She walked through the open door into the warehouse, then paused while her eyes adjusted. By that time, Todd had spotted her and was hurrying over. "Marian!" he called, waving as he approached. "Couldn't you find the house?" "I'm afraid not," she admitted, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she grinned in embarrassment. Todd Whitaker was a solid, stolid sort of person, one of those people who are rarely bothered by anything. He simply ignored Marian's altered state, treating her just as he always had. They talked for a few minutes, Todd mentioning the seasonal problems he was experiencing as part of managing the warehouse, and Marian making polite noises. With the formalities out of the way Todd drew her a map. With this in hand, Marian said goodbye and left. She found that someone had parked a pickup behind her van, blocking it completely. Marian felt a flash of rage, and for a moment was tempted to simply flip the truck onto it's side. She forced herself to calm down, then looked around. She spotted an empty parking space nearby, and smiled. She didn't know if the driver had deliberately blocked her, or was merely thoughtless, but either way he would be surprised when he came back out. Marian moved to the rear of the pickup, grabbed the bumper, and lifted. She pretended not to notice the reactions of the men who had earlier made the catcalls, but secretly was quite pleased at their gaping expressions. Walking the truck like an oversized wheelbarrow, Marian maneuvered it into the empty space. After dusting her hands off, she got into her van and drove away. The house was right where Todd had said it would be. It was larger than their previous one, and somewhat older, with a big back yard full of large trees. Beyond that, the hill on which the property sat merged into a small mountain. As Marian climbed from the van, her niece and nephew came screaming out of the house, jackets forgotten as they raced to her. "Aunt Marian! Aunt Marian!" they cried, leaping into her arms. Marian's own children had rejected their mother completely, but Randy and Kathy, not having seen her transformation and subsequent panic, seemed to feel that having and aunt who was a centaur was a great treat. As Marian walked up to the door, a child under each arm, her sister stepped out onto the front porch. "Hi, Sue!" Marian called. "I seem to have been attacked by two strange, tiny humanoids." "I'm glad you made it," Sue replied, smiling. "Todd called after you left and told me to watch for you." Marian set the kids down on the porch, only to have them immediately clamor for rides. "Now, what did I tell you about not bothering Aunt Marian while she's here for her visit?" scolded Sue. The kids gave vent to a chorus of protesting groans. "We'll go out for a walk later," Marian promised. "Right now, I have some gossiping to do with your mother." The two sisters talked for a while; then they went on the walk as Marian had promised. Both kids rode on her back, the younger Kathy in front, held in place by her big brother. Sue took Marian on a guided tour of the subdivision. Marian was surprised at how little attention she seemed to be getting from the neighbors. Randy and Kathy both protested when Sue declared it time to return home for lunch. They finished their meal, and were sitting in front of the television when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" yelled Randy. His mother hurried after him. She returned a few moments later with Randy in tow, and behind him the county Sheriff. "Miss Holst?" said the Sheriff, looking rather apologetic with his hat in his hand. "I'm Sheriff Tanner. We've got a problem that I think you might be able to help us with." "What sort of problem?" Marian had no idea what was going on, unless the driver of the pickup had complained. "Well, its Bear," explained the Sheriff, obscurely. "Bear Simpson, that is. The past few months, he's been acting more anti-social than ever. Two nights ago, he went over to Bunger's Bar and tore the place to pieces. I mean he leveled the building. People who saw him said he was incredibly strong. We think he might be one of your folks." "You mean he's Gifted?" said Marian, suddenly understanding. "Well, if you need help arresting him, or something, I can call the Center for Gifted Research and have them send a team over." "Will it take long?" asked the Sheriff. "Folks are gettin' a bit antsy about him bein' loose. He never was too friendly, and if he's as strong as they say, he could do some real damage." "I'll call right now and see," Marian promised, rising. She called the Center's 800 number, and told Pinky what the trouble was. After a few more minutes of conversation, Marian nodded, said goodbye and hung up. "We're in luck; they've got a team there and will send it right over." "How long will it take them to get here?" "If Sue will let me use her back yard," said Marian, "about three minutes." She received permission and went out back, leaving the Sheriff wondering whether she was having a joke at his expense. Marian had been taught how to target the Garden Express, but this was the first time she had actually used the procedure in the field. She drew the circle, said the words, made the gestures, then waited. Seconds later, three people appeared, along with a bag containing their "Gift Busting" equipment. "Hey, babe," said Adamant, grinning, "how's it shaking?" "Hello, Marian," said Sturdy, after a brief glare at Adamant. The third man was Paul Lee, whom Marian had met only twice, briefly, before. He was a tall, broad shouldered, handsome man with unusually large hands. He was roughly as strong as Marian, tough enough to consider handguns about as dangerous as hornets, and very fast. The expression of his Gift seemed relatively minor, compared to people like Sturdy and Kara, but Marian had heard claims that he was the most formidable hand-to-hand combatant on Earth. He was also a skilled shapeshifter. Marian briefed them on the situation, then led them inside to meet the Sheriff. Tanner's eyes bugged out when he saw Marian return with three strangers in tow. Sue was also rather surprised. Randy and Kathy, naturally, took the newcomers in stride. "Hey, I know you!" yelled Randy, pointing. "You're Sturdy! And you're Adamant!" Marian made introductions, then lay down beside the coffee table everyone else was sitting around. Randy and Kathy sat on her back, while the Sheriff and the trio from the Center made their assault plans. "We'll have to pick up Ted and Joe Simpson, Bear's cousins, on the way," the Sheriff told them, as the strategy session drew to a close. "We pass their place goin' to Bear's, and if we leave them loose they'll warn him we're coming." "Okay, that only leaves one question," said Paul, in his pleasant baritone. "How are we going to get everyone there?" "We can take Marian's van, if she'll let us," Sturdy suggested. "Can I drive?" asked Adamant, in his little-boy voice. "NO!" said Marian and Sturdy together. * * * The Simpson's house was on top of a small rise beside the road. The Sheriff told Marian to just drive up to it. "They won't know its me in this van until I get out," he told her. "By then, it'll be too late for them to hide. I'll bring them in the van and we'll go on to Bear's." Things went just as he had planned. Hearing the van, the brothers came out to see who their company was. They started when they saw the Sheriff, but reluctantly held their ground. Tanner talked with them for a few moments, then guided them back to the vehicle. When Tanner made them enter the van, they stared at it's contents, especially Marian. "Never mind her," snapped Tanner. "Which way do we go to get to Bear's?" Following directions from the Sheriff and the two cousins, Marian carefully drove her van along a series of steep, narrow and increasingly decrepit roads. She was beginning to worry that they would to have to leave the vehicle and continue on foot, when Ted suddenly announced that they were there. The cabin was actually a run-down, one room shack, it's walls and roof covered with tar paper. There was no place to park by the cabin; instead, there was a turnoff which ended a dozen yards away, in a small clearing covered with overgrown gravel. A trickle of smoke drifted from the pipe chimney, scenting the cold air with the smell of burning wood. Marian wondered how anyone could live like this, especially as bad as the weather had been this winter. She stopped the van, and they piled out. There was no sign of life from the building. "Might as well get this over with," muttered Sturdy, starting off, with Adamant and Paul right behind him. Sheriff Tanner had already deputized the trio, and had been persuaded, reluctantly, to stay with the van. It was safer all around this way, but that didn't keep him from feeling that he was letting others do his job. Marian glanced warily at Ted and Joe as Adamant, Paul and Sturdy crunched through the fallen leaves on their way to the cabin. She half expected the brothers to give some warning to their cousin, but they remained silent. Marian turned her attention back to the ramshackle building as the trio knocked, then entered. After a few moments, she heard voices. As usual, Adamant's high, annoying tenor came through clearly, but she also heard two base voices, Sturdy and someone else, presumably Bear. Suddenly, there was a yell, and Sturdy went flying through the roof, vanishing into the tops of the trees. "Thar went the big 'un," observed Ted. Next came Adamant, crashing through the wall and plowing through a considerable amount of brush and small trees before a large pine brought him to a halt. "Thar went the lit'l'un," announced Joe. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a third, unfamiliar figure flew through the only window, taking the frame and part of the wall with him. "Hey," said Ted, blinking in surprise, "thet were Bear!" Paul stepped through the newest opening and advanced on the big, hairy man, who rose to meet him. Bear swung a quart-sized right fist at Paul's head, but Paul dodged away nimbly, punching Bear's nose in response. Bear roared and swung a left roundhouse. Paul ducked, then started an uppercut from somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. The punch caught Bear on the point of his bearded chin and lifted him off his feet, depositing him twelve feet away. The big man lay still for a moment, then pushed himself upright, shaking his head. Paul, apparently deciding that drastic measures were called for, stepped quickly over to the wood pile and selected a log four feet long by six inches thick. As Bear struggled to rise, Paul moved forward and swung his massive club like a bat, catching Bear across the forehead. Marian winced at the sound the seasoned wood made at the impact. Bear slammed flat on his back and lay still. Paul wasn't even breathing hard. "That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen or heard tell of!" exclaimed Sheriff Tanner. "Now you know why we call him Stagger," said Adamant, walking back toward them. Marian noticed that he was using one hand to hold his shorts up. A crashing from the woods announced Sturdy's return. He slowed as he saw everyone just standing around. "He caught me by surprise," Sturdy muttered, looking embarrassed. "Don't worry about it," said Paul, mildly, "could happen to anyone." From some people that might have sounded condescending, but Paul obviously meant it. Sturdy went to Bear and placed a charm on his forehead. "That will keep him asleep until you remove it," he told Tanner. "Now what do we do with him?" asked the Sheriff. "He'll just bust out of my jail when he wakes up, and his folks will holler bloody murder if I keep that thing on him." "Can't you transfer dangerous prisoners to a State jail?" asked Sturdy. "Well, the Lexington Contingent's headquarters has been officially designated a State holding facility." "Yeah, we can put this luggnut in one of the special cells there," Adamant added, grinning as he cracked his knuckles. "You just give us a call when you want him for the trial. We'll even send a guard along to make sure he behaves." The trip back to town was uneventful and silent. Sturdy had fastened the sleep inducing charm securely around Bear's head, and then tied him with steel cable just in case. They would use the locus Marian had made in Sue's back yard to send Adamant, Paul, Sturdy and Bear to the Center, and from there they would take him to Lexington. Marian parked the van in front of her sister's house, and watched, along with the Sheriff, Sue and the two kids, as the four vanished. "Now maybe I can get on with my vacation," sighed Marian. End Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 2165 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 Chateau by Rodford Edmiston Marian slammed the phone down hard enough to endanger its continued integrity, then whirled to face Adamant. She paused a moment, slightly disoriented at having to look up at him; even after several weeks, she still wasn't completely used to being in human form again. "They aren't coming," said Marian, regaining her composure. "The storm is too bad for normal travel. And since we are in no danger, San Savant won't use the Garden Express to send them in or bring us out." "Makes sense," said Adamant, flopping down into an easy chair. "He's always complaining about people making frivolous use of it. I suppose we should be grateful he sent us here by it, instead of making us fly or something." "So we're stuck here until the storm blows over." Marian sighed, and rubbed her eyes. "After all the work we did getting ready for the conference... renting this chalet, stocking it with food, cleaning and preparing..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "Hey, may as well enjoy it," said Adamant, draping a leg over a chair arm. "I mean, we've got a free weekend in the Rockies, out in the wilderness and away from people, with a warm place to stay and plenty to eat." "A very large amount to eat," replied Marian, wryly. "You'd think that for something this important he'd have one of his wizard friends adjust the weather." "Nah," said Adamant, with a dismissive gesture. "That's something else he complains about. It's not nice to mess with Mother Nature." Marian started to say something, then suddenly frowned and swayed, feeling dizzy. "Are you all right?" asked Adamant, abruptly standing. "This is so weird," said Marian, shaking her head. "I feel like I'm about to change back, but it's not even sundown yet. I should have at least a couple more hours." "Don't forget, we moved two time zones west this morning," Adamant pointed out. "Uh-oh," said Marian. She started quickly for her room, hoping she could get in there and out of her human-sized clothes in time. She didn't make it. Marian had to stop and grab hold of the wall, as she was overcome by dizziness. She let out a shout of irritation as she changed back into her centaur form, this accompanied by multiple tearing sounds as she suddenly grew too large (and in some cases much the wrong shape) for her blouse, brassiere, skirt, panties and shoes. "Oh, SHIT!!" yelled Marian, trying to hold her clothing together with her hands. Adamant cackled gleefully and began to caper around the room. "Marian said a bad word, Marian said a bad word, Marian sammff..." Something soft and warm struck Adamant in the back of the head. He looked around, startled, to stare at Marian, who was now completely naked, hands on hips, glaring at him. She blushed, but decided that leaving Adamant in stunned silence for once was worth a little embarrassment. Summoning her dignity as best she could, Marian resumed the interrupted journey to her room, tail swishing behind her. * * * "I still can't believe you did that," said Adamant, later. "What's the big deal?" asked Marian, with a shrug. "You've seen me naked before. For that matter, I've seen you naked." "Yeah, but both times were during emergencies." Adamant paused a moment, then triumphantly delivered what he obviously felt to be a telling point. "Besides, if it didn't bother you being naked, why did you go and put a long-sleeved, heavy wool sweater on? I mean, you're the one who's always complaining about being too warm." "Ed, we're in the Rockies. It's cold outside. Even I am not that warm natured." "Speaking of cold, I better go and make sure the fuel tank on the generator is full." Adamant rose from the couch and stretched. "No sense having the power go out in the middle of the night, when we've got plenty of fuel." "I'll start supper, then," said Marian, also rising. He returned a few minutes later and joined her in the kitchen, reporting that all was well with the generator. He watched her for a moment, then casually asked if he could help. "I don't believe it!" exclaimed Marian, with exaggerated surprise. "You, volunteering to help with domestic chores!?" "I'm bored," said Adamant. "There's no TV, the only thing on the radio is blizzard updates, and there's nothing here to read." Marian put him to work peeling potatoes. With his help, supper was soon ready. "Whatever happened between you and Clint?" asked Adamant, as they washed the dishes after supper. "I mean, I know he moved away to take another job, but..." "I made a mistake," said Marian, wistfully. "Two of them, actually. I let him know I was ten years his elder. Then, when I saw his reaction, I hastened to reassure him that Gifted don't age, so he didn't have to worry about me growing old on him. Two days later, he told me he was taking a job offer in Cleveland." "Oy," said Adamant. "Well, I wasn't expecting it to last," said Marian, pulling the stopper and letting the dishwater run down the drain. "Though I did hope things would go on a little longer than they did." That killed the conversation for a while. With the dishes drying in the rack, they moved into the living room. Marian lay down in front of the fireplace, draping her arms over one end of the couch and leaning sideways, letting it support her upper body. To her surprise, Adamant lay down next to her, reclining against her lower portion and putting his arm around her waist. The wind howled outside, occasionally making the flames roar up into the chimney, as they lay there together, watching and listening. Marian was just beginning to enjoy the cozy feeling the situation had produced when Adamant's hand slipped between her forelegs. Marian couldn't help herself; she started, violently. Adamant jerked away, turning to stare back at her, eyes wide. "I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "Did I hurt you?" "Uh, no," said Marian, blushing again. "It's just that - well - that's a major erogenous zone for me." "There!?" said Adamant, disbelieving. "Well, its more psychological than physical," Marian replied, blushing even more. "Think about what part of my anatomy that corresponds to when I'm in human form." "Oh. I see. Yes," said Adamant, sliding even further away, this time mentally. Marian realized that she had unintentionally alienated him. Ed was a very shy man in some ways, and reacted in an exaggerated manner to even the slightest sign that he had done something accidentally offensive. "As opposed to being deliberately offensive," thought Marian, wryly, "which he does as a defense mechanism." "Look, we're all friends here," said Marian, after a moment. "I don't see any reason to be afraid of a little cuddling." "If you are feeling so casual about all this," said Adamant, slowly, "then why are your nipples trying to push through your sweater?" She suddenly realized that she was indeed aroused. "By Adamant?" some small portion of her mind asked. "Yes, by Adamant," another small portion replied. "He's not such a bad guy, once you get inside his shell." She considered a moment, then reached down and peeled off her sweater. "You know, you were right. It is too hot in here for this." She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Adamant stared at her huge breasts, and Marian hoped that her blushing wouldn't show in the ruddy light from the fire. "You were complaining about being bored," said Marian, trying to be casual. "Well, so am I. Or is it - that you would prefer me in human form? I could do that, now. I've rested long enough that I could stay human for a while." Adamant hesitated for so long, sitting there staring at her, that she was afraid she had gone too fast, or maybe just too far. Suddenly, he looked away - left, down, anywhere but at her. And then he looked her directly in the eye. "I never knew you before you became a centaur," said Adamant, softly. "This is the way I think of you. And I've always thought you were beautiful." He turned to stare into the fire, his hands twisting his shirttail. "I used to - fantasize about you, especially when I helped you wash, but..." "Actually, I'm glad you didn't take it any further," said Marian, gently, as he hesitated. "At that time, I wouldn't have known how to handle it. I was so shy and insecure about my appearance." He turned back to her, and Marian raised an eyebrow at him, an expectant look on her face. "That, however, is no longer true." With surprising grace, Adamant moved from his sitting position before the fire to kneel in front of Marian. He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her full on the lips. Marian returned the kiss, putting her arms around him to pull him closer, surprised at the intensity of her passion. She had been paying so much attention to their words that she hadn't realized how aroused she was by the situation. When the kiss went on a bit too long, Marian gently tickled him on the ribs. "Hey, no fair!" "Get your clothes off," said Marian, her voice deep and husky. She helped him, barely able to keep from tearing instead of unbuttoning. "Talk to me," breathed Marian, as Adamant gently cupped her breasts and began kissing them. "Just like a woman," he replied, grinning as he rubbed her hardened nipples with his thumbs. "Which do you want, sex or conversation?" "Just like a man," she returned, also grinning. "There's no reason you can't have both, at least at first. I like to talk during foreplay. It sets the pace, keeps the man from going too fast." Adamant complained, but complied, talking with her as he used his hands and mouth to caress her body. Marian dug her fingers into his flesh, kneading his back, thighs and buttocks, thinking about how nice it was to have a partner who could not be hurt by such treatment, who was immune to her great strength. Indeed, he seemed to enjoy the experience. To Marian's surprise, Adamant proved to be a talented and imaginative lover. After several minutes in front of her, he slid around to sit on her lower back. He wrapped his legs around her waist, so that the front of his body pressed tightly against her bare skin, and reached around to resume fondling her breasts as he kissed her neck and nibbled her ears. Marian felt his erection against her bare skin, warm and hard and pulsing. Then, slowly and deliberately, he slid his heels between her forelegs, gently working them against the muscles there. This produced such an intense erotic feeling that Marian thought she might climax just from that. Marian's reverie was interrupted by a rhythmic thumping. Startled, she realized that it was caused by her tail, which was striking the couch as she vigorously and unconsciously swished it back and forth. "I think I'm ready," she gasped, feeling dizzy. Adamant pushed away from her, sliding down her back and over her rump. This caused an almost overwhelming wave of unfamiliar sensation, leaving her thinking vaguely of mares and their mounting reflex. Before she could properly analyze this, Adamant deftly guided himself into her. Marian cried out in pleasurable surprise, then again as he began thrusting. Somehow he managed to use the angle she needed without being told, though he moved too fast at first, and Marian was afraid she would come too soon. Adamant seemed to realized this, or maybe it was just his style to change pace; he slowed, drawing out their pleasure until it was almost intolerable. The feel of his bare skin sliding across her rump, of his hands rubbing her sides, of him inside her, drove all conscious thought from Marian's mind. Finally, she climaxed, groaning uncontrollably through clenched teeth as the orgasm swept through her body. Adamant, in response, made several hard thrusts, grunting as he filled her. "Wow," gasped Marian, still panting a few minutes later. "That was great, Ed. I didn't know you had it in you." "Well, now it's in you," he quipped, returning to character all too soon. "Just name the colt after me." Marian was too pleasantly exhausted to hit him. * * * Marian woke with delicious slowness, still feeling a faint glow from the night before. The fire had died to embers, and a dim blush of light through the windows foretold the approach of dawn. She grinned as she realized that Adamant was lying face down, draped along her equine back, sound asleep and still naked. Her grin broadened as she noticed that he had a full erection. "Looks I'm not the only one who enjoyed last night," she thought. END Rodford E. Smith C Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 2260 Words Frankfort, KY 40601-1034 Supernatural Selection by Rodford Edmiston There was little light in the alley. The man and woman walking with easy confidence through the darkness were dressed very inappropriately for the area; he in a tuxedo and she in a slinky, backless, low-cut dress that clung to her shapely figure like it had been made specifically to fit her. Actually, she had made herself fit it. The bulb over the door had been removed - by the owner, a member of the select group meeting here tonight - some weeks earlier. The skyline could be seen dimly overhead, through a thin scudding of river fog. The lack of illumination didn't matter much to those who were supposed to be here. The couple approached and knocked. A muffled voice from inside asked for identification. "Karen Peltier and Edgar Larch," the man replied. There was silence for a moment, then the door opened. It was a little lighter inside. The newcomers walked down a narrow, dingy hall and then through another door, into a large room. This was already filled with people, an odd mixture of ages, colors, dress and mannerisms. One common factor was immediately obvious. Normally these gatherings had a party atmosphere, but tonight there was great tension. The conversation was quiet, though strained. The dim illumination would have been oppressive to most people, but the occupants found low illumination more comfortable, so that wasn't the cause. The refreshments were the same as usual; in the middle of one wall was a table upon which were several different styles of container, some heated electrically, most by candle warmers. Each container was carefully labeled as to what creature the contents had been obtained from. Karen felt her nostrils flare as a vagary in air circulation brought her the scent of fresh, warm blood. She ran her tongue over her enlarged canines in anticipation. Karen and Edgar made their way to the table, giving brief greetings as they went. Karen took a styrofoam cup and filled it with warmed beef blood. She drained half of it before noticing Edgar's expression. He, as usual, was drinking human blood. "Why don't you try this? Its pretty good tonight, better than usual," he told her. "Liberated straight from a blood bank; no one hurt in the process. Nothing to have any qualms about." "Maybe I'm just being sentimental," said Karen, defensively and a bit too firmly. "After all, I used to be human." She had first met Edgar nearly three years earlier, and they had hit it off immediately. The only flaw in that initial meeting was that he had tried to get her drunk. She thought at the time he wanted to take advantage of her, but later realized that this was the only way he knew to have fun at a party. Now that he was a vampire, the only real change was his beverage of choice. At least he had a generous nature. After being converted, he had offered to share his new power with Karen as soon as he had gained the strength necessary to do so. He had jokingly offered to do it by the traditional method, but Karen had firmly insisted on something less painful. Since for a willing subject only intimate physical contact and a transfer of bodily fluids was required, they had used sex as the medium. Afterwards, Edgar had readily agreed that this way was much more fun. That had been six months ago. After some minor problems, Karen had adjusted easily. She kept her refrigerator stocked with beef and pig blood, and had a couple of live guinea pigs for emergencies. She had adapted to living mostly at night, though she still worked days. Her job, fortunately, did not involve going out much, so she could avoid uncomfortable exposure to direct sunlight. Edgar had gone much farther in adopting the lifestyle of a traditional vampire, so much so that he now sometimes frightened and disturbed Karen. Still, she enjoyed the strength and vitality that came with being a vampire, as well as the heightened senses and other abilities. The benefits were extensive. For instance, sex was incredible since her conversion, having become a noisy, vigorous exercise in unbridled passion. She no longer feared attack by muggers and rapists, either. She was much less inhibited in other ways, now, as well. Her abilities included being able to alter her shape to a limited extent; Karen currently had a figure some women would have killed for. Karen wouldn't, but Edgar would never understand that. She used her old form when around people she knew, but more and more considered that to be a role she played, to avoid rousing suspicion among friends and family. Mostly, being a vampire had been good for her. She had thought that she could continue her masquerade indefinitely, playing the mousey secretary during the day and being the exotic, sensual vampiress at night. Lately, though, things had gone bad, and not just with Edgar. Many of those converted were not content to feed on animals, claiming that human blood was the only proper food for their kind. Members of this clique had given themselves the rather pompous title "The Night's Children." Some bragged about the number of humans they had fed on. Some even spoke with pride of how many they had killed, though it was not necessary for a victim to die from a feeding. These activities had caused a schism among the group, as well as reaction from the normal public. Lately, a number of vampires had been caught, either by police or Gifted. At first these had just been independent arrests, but now they were seeing the beginnings of an organized resistance. Karen tried some of the lamb's blood, ignoring Edgar's deliberate downing of an entire cup of human blood in one gulp. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she continued her musings. The most amazing part of all this was how quickly the world had changed, after the Gifting. Magic had begun working just two years earlier. Anyone could work spells now, if they cared to learn how. Unicorns, werewolves and many other supernatural creatures existed and were documented. Some were the direct result of the surge of magic that had been unleashed as part of the Gifting. Others had been created by human use of magic. The vampires were a case of the latter. A pair of wizards, a married couple, had researched ways of gaining personal power, to increase their abilities beyond the natural. They had felt jealous of the Gifted. The wizards felt that these people, whose abilities were apparently gained through random chance, did not deserve them. Power should only belong to those who earned it through their own efforts. But how to gain such power? Blood was their answer. It carried the life force of the creature it came from, and could be stored for days with little loss of vital energy. Some of the strongest vampires could drain a victim through touch alone, but most needed to actually ingest blood. The wizards had developed a method to duplicate the abilities of fictional vampires, and had used the process on themselves. They were ecstatic with the results, especially after they had learned that they could share their new power with others, once they had built enough strength to spare some. They had become creatures of legend, far greater than the mortals they had been. It never occurred to them that in a world fresh with magic there would be things more formidable than vampires. Karen's thoughts were interrupted as a speaker approached the podium. The already low noise of conversation dropped to a mumble, then ceased entirely. "My friends," the man, one of their seniors, announced, "We meet this evening to decide our future. Largely through the actions of some of our less cautious members..." This brought cries of protest from several present. The speaker waited until these died away, then continued. "Largely through the actions of some of our less cautious members, the public has become aware of us. The response has been much as we expected, and feared. This was why we had attempted to keep our existence secret." He paused a moment, looking over the assembly, his expression grim. "We have failed in that. Now, we face active opposition. Just this week, three of our number were captured, one being killed in the process. Normal humans are only a minor danger to us, but many Gifted are now or promise soon to be dedicated to our elimination. These include Nemesis, Stagger Lee, Tiger and Flaming Sword." The recitation of names caused a stir, and made Karen shiver. These people had received a Gift, a seed of magic which grew to become part of them, granting them direct use of great abilities, without need of spells or charms. There were several hundred Gifted, but while they had respectable powers most of them were no real danger to vampires, really being only normals with odd abilities. However, some Gifted were both formidable and aggressive. All of those mentioned were such, but Tiger, whose name had made others beside Karen shudder, was as much a creature of the night as any vampire. He was stronger, mentally and physically, than any but the greatest of their kind, and similarly outclassed them in nearly all other areas. He also had the sort of bloody mindedness that made a foe dangerous out of all proportion to what would be guessed from ability alone. "I have been informed, through means I won't elaborate on now, that the government is preparing to offer amnesty to any of us who voluntarily come forward and allow themselves to be returned to mortal existence." The disturbance this caused was both noisy and mixed. Many there were surprised at the announcement. A few welcomed it; a few rejected it in no uncertain terms. "This will have to be determined on an individual basis," the speaker continued, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. "But I strongly urge you all to accept. Any who don't will be hunted down like animals, a fate we don't deserve." "I won't surrender to cattle!" cried one man, hurling his cup of blood to the floor. "They belong to us, not us to them! Better to die, than to be what we once were!" Many in the crowd echoed this sentiment, Edgar among them. Karen felt an odd sense of the inevitable as she realized that she had lost him. She would not turn herself in, but neither would she participate in the underground war these people were advocating. Edgar would. And he would die. With a shock, Karen realized that she felt no grief at the thought, no anger. Only regret at what she - they - had lost. "I'm sorry you feel that way," said the speaker. His form shimmered oddly. Abruptly, he was Paul Lee, standing before them with calm self assurance. "This building is surrounded by forty police and eight Gifted. I suggest you all give yourselves up quietly." The room exploded. Some surged forward to attack Stagger, some stood frozen in place, some milled about, shouting in confusion. Many bolted. Edgar grabbed Karen's wrist and dragged her out a side door. As they left, Karen heard a crash, and looked back to see Nemesis and Creedmore dropping through a hole in the ceiling to aid Stagger. "Bet they don't know about this!!" Edgar yelled, as they ran down a darkened hallway. It ended in a heavy door, which Edgar crashed through, nearly falling. This let them into another building, built against the one where the meeting had been. From there they went down into the basement. Fumbling in a darkness thick enough that even they had trouble seeing, Edgar led her to a steep flight of steps, blocked at the top by a horizontal steel door. "This is how they bring supplies in. It opens in an alley, near where we parked." He cautiously unbolted the door and lifted it a bit, looking around. Satisfied, he pushed it open and slipped out, holding it for Karen. Edgar then lowered the door quietly back into place, and they set off down the alley. They didn't get far. A figure stepped out from behind a dumpster, blocking their path. "You're both under arrest," said Tiger, as casually as if commenting on the weather. Both vampires froze. Then Edgar, snarling, leaped at the figure. Tiger pivoted away from the attack, slashing with his right hand as the vampire hurled by. Edgar dropped to the pavement, hands clutching futilely at his ruined throat, gurgling as precious blood poured around his fingers. Tiger turned toward Karen. She closed her eyes and prepared to die. After several seconds she opened her eyes. Tiger was standing disturbingly near, nostrils flaring as he gave her a quizzical look. "You've never taken human blood," he stated. "N-no, only animal blood," she gasped. "Get out of here," said Tiger, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Wh-what...?" stammered Karen. "I don't kill vampires because they're vampires," he explained. "I kill them because they kill people. If you've got that much self control you're not a problem. Now get out of here before the police show up and start asking awkward questions." Karen suddenly realized that she was protesting her own pardon. She squeezed warily past Tiger, sparing one last, sad look at Edgar, and ran into the night. END Rodford E. Smith 730 Cline St. 6280 Words Frankfort, KY 40601 MURDER AT THE SHAPESHIFTER'S BALL by Rodford Edmiston John Florinson had expected his entrance to cause a stir, and he was right; heads started turning as soon as he appeared. As he had cleared the security devices at the foyer entrance to the penthouse suite of David Hanely, this year's host, he was mobbed. The response was quite gratifying. John had waited over a year and a half for this, and undergone three months of inconvenience, discomfort and occasional angst just for tonight. He was convinced that he would win the prize for "Best Technical Achievement" with his centaur. "Wow!" said Charlotte Brandenberg. She made him wait while she looked him all around, finally standing back and just staring, with a goofy smile on her face. This was all the more appropriate since the form she had chosen was Olive Oyl. "You've done an incredible job." John had taken the classic Greek myth, beard and all, and made it real, using his own body as the medium. He currently stood about three meters tall and massed nearly a metric ton. The human torso was modeled after an actual Greek statue, found buried just eight years earlier. The equine portion had been inspired by Medieval warhorses. As a final touch, all of the hair, both on the human head and on the equine body, was shiny black. In spite of all the changes, though, the face was still recognizable as John's. "One of the biggest problems was learning to walk again," John told Charlotte. "The algorithms I programmed into the neural structure didn't work nearly as well as I thought they would." People waved and pointed as John walked slowly through the suite, those who were looking at him calling to those who had not seen him yet. As he stepped out onto the patio and into plain view of the main body of guests, there was a collective intake of breath, followed by scattered applause. From this crowd, that meant a great deal. "Legend comes to life under the stars," called out someone John didn't recognize. He seemed more than a little drunk. "The night is full of magic!" John carefully made his way over to the snack table, using his height advantage to get a good look at the competition. Most shifters didn't have the dedication and motivation to endure the problems involved with a major change, and could generally be dismissed from the contest for "Best Technical." Only a handful of people had, like John, performed radical changes to their structure. Most of the somaforms present were the usual assortment of people with minor alterations; duplicates of celebrities and fictional characters, a lone caveman, and several wolfmen and people in various other anthropomorphic guises. Some of these would be eligible for "Best Artistic," "Best Recreation" or one of the other prizes, which were much coveted in their own right, but John wasn't interested in those. He was, after all, in the business, and winning the technical award would certainly not hurt his career. John spotted a familiar figure at the snack table, and moved toward him. "Congratulations," said Tom Sarant, handing John a drink. "You had talked about this for years, but I didn't think you could bring it off. Uh, you can drink, can't you?" Tom belonged to the group, making up about a third of those at the party, whose members preferred changes more subtle than overt somaforming. He specialized in bioluminescent displays, and generally glowed in various colors. This time, however, John noticed that Tom had done something different. The biologist's skin was aswirl with patterns of multiple colors, which changed slowly with time and more rapidly with Tom's movements. It was an interesting and challenging effect, and one which was probably lost on the majority of the attendees. "Yes, I can drink," John replied, with a wry grin. "Believe me, growing this form wasn't easy. Even after I had worked out all the details for the change, I still had to get access to the proper equipment to make the assemblers and monitor my progress. Fortunately, my boss at Preservation Research agreed to let me use their gear, if I would sign a contract stating that the company had first refusal on any commercial applications." "That sounds like a good deal," said Tom. He looked like he was going to say more, but they were interrupted by a commotion at the entrance. The crowd parted to make way for a leathery-winged, humanoid form, which looked like a giant bat. It was Marla Clost. She had finally delivered on her long-promised flying human. "There goes 'Best Technical,'" sighed John. Marla had extended the bones of her arms and fingers, to support wings of skin that ran between her arms and legs. Her hands were located about halfway out, with the bones of the last three fingers on each side extended and strengthened to carry the outer sections of the wings. That left her with just a thumb and forefinger, on hands located an awkward distance from her mouth, to use for manipulation. For flight stability, there was a flap of skin stretching from her buttocks, down between her legs, and to the middle of her calves. She had been wearing a cloak, which she had thrown off at her entrance, and now stood naked before them. Not that she had much to conceal. She had no breasts, or even nipples, and only a smooth stretch of skin between her legs. John wondered if she were routing her urine through her rectum, like a bird. Marla had always been a small woman, and now she was even smaller. She stood at under a meter and a half, and looked painfully gaunt. She smiled triumphantly at the crowd, producing a death's-head grin enhanced by her total lack of hair. John was ignored as people either rushed to examine and congratulate Marla, or simply began talking excitedly about her achievement. John, himself, didn't feel any resentment. He had known that his victory wasn't guaranteed, and that Marla was one of the prime contenders. In fact, his basic emotion right now was grudging admiration tinged with envy. "One for the archives?" John turned to see Wilson Smith, with his camera ready. John drew himself up and put on a fierce expression, and Wilson snapped the shot. "Are you ever going to switch to electronic media?" John asked the photographer, grinning. "If they ever get it to the point where it is better than film," Wilson replied, snapping another couple of shots. "I'm taking advantage of Marla's entrance, since you're so big that I have trouble getting all of you in a crowd." "It's crowded, all right," John remarked, looking around. "It gets worse every year." "Yeah, I'm afraid we'll have to start charging for membership instead of asking for donations," Wilson sighed. "And maybe have a pre-judging on the forms competition. It takes too long now." Wilson finished getting his pictures, then wandered off in search of more victims. Marla was still the center of attention, and there didn't seem to be much else going on, so John took consolation in appeasing his considerable appetite. He had made his new form as efficient as possible to reduce the inconvenience caused by fueling it, but he still ate a lot. After John had stuffed himself at the munchies table, he gathered a large handful of vegetables and began mingling, to get a better look at the other attendees. Eventually, he and Marla came together in the press of the crowd. She seemed almost embarrassed when she saw him. "I just wanted to congratulate you on your accomplishment," she told him, raising her voice to be heard above the party noises. "A shame we both had to make our breakthroughs at the same time." "How long did that take?" "Four weeks," Marla replied, with more than a trace of smugness. "I discovered a couple of interesting shortcuts, at least one of which has commercial possibilities. I'll send you the documentation... after I've got the patents." "What do you think of the rest of the competition?" John munched a celery stalk, then continued when it seemed that Marla wouldn't speak. "I don't see anyone in our class for 'Best Technical' but there are several possibilities for some of the other categories." "Adlai will win 'Best Artistic,'" said Marla. "He always does, and with good reason. One of the three Elvises will get 'Best Re-Creation;' its tradition." They talked a while longer, then someone came out to announce that Adlai was ready to make his appearance. John and Marla headed toward the suite, to watch the unveiling, but neither of could move particularly fast in the crowd. In John's case, it was because he was afraid of stepping on someone. Marla's form was simply awkward. They wound up together at the rear of the crowd. This was no problem for John, with his height, but Marla was the shortest adult there. After a quick discussion, John hoisted Marla onto his equine back, where she stood, holding his shoulders for balance. John was astonished at how light she was. The crowd hushed as the lights dimmed, leaving only a set of floods pointed at the sliding doors to David's living room, and a row of temporary walkway lights flanking the path to the stage. There was a recorded blare of trumpets, and the door opened. Adlai walked slowly, grandly onto the patio. "He" had changed gender and was now "she." This in itself was nothing new or even unusual. The rest of the form, however, was. She was beautiful, as much a creature from mythology as John. She was tall and lithe, with pale green skin and dark green hair, slightly pointed ears and cheekbones so high and fine that she looked other - better - than human. She wore only a translucent gown, which accented her attractiveness rather that concealing it. John suddenly found himself glad he had designed his current form to be sexually non-functional; an erection in public could be embarrassing for a centaur. Even the women on the patio were entranced, as Adlai continued her graceful walk across the patio. She was an artist by trade, and had worked in nearly every medium available in the middle of the twenty-first century, including her own body. No one who saw her now could doubt that she was her own best canvas. Finally, she reached the stage. She flowed smoothly up the steps, accepted the microphone from the chief judge as if it were her royal scepter, and spoke to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, in a voice that sounded the way honey tastes, "shapeshifters of all persuasions, let the Ball begin!" * * * "Has anyone seen Adlai?" asked Lyle Thompkins. "John, you're the tallest one here. Can you see her in the crowd anywhere?" John broke off his conversation with a four-armed Martian who stood nearly as tall as the centaur, looked around, then shook his head. It was getting late and he was feeling sleepy and not all that alert. "What's the problem?" "Well, the votes have been counted and the judges are ready to award the prize, but no one can find Adlai." Lyle frowned. "Its not like him - I mean her - to miss the awards, even if she isn't in the running, and especially if she is." "Has anyone looked in the apartment?" John asked. "Not yet," Lyle replied. "We thought she might be - uh - busy. You know." "Well, she should be finished by now," said John, grinning. "I'll look in the kitchen. I told Betty I'd bring some more snacks out anyway, since I ate so many of them." "Good. I'll try the living room." Lyle turned and headed toward the sliding doors. John entered the kitchen and took a quick look around for Adlai there and in the adjoining rooms. She was not in sight, so John began filling a tray with various munchies, nibbling as he worked. He was nearly finished when he heard the yell. John hurried awkwardly through the house toward the noise, and was perhaps the fifth one to arrive at the master bedroom in answer to it. He stared with Lyle and a couple of others at the scene in the bedroom: David, standing and gaping in shock, and Adlai, lying on the floor, with her beautiful, delicate skull battered to fragments. * * * Detective Bledsoe had commandeered the dining room for interviewing the party guests. There were a lot of them, which meant that this murder had more suspects than most. Bledsoe finished entering the data on number forty-one, and looked up at his assistant, Officer Kzir. "Okay, who's next?" Bledsoe asked. "Dr. John Florinson. He's a biochemist who works at Preservation Research, in Knoxville, Tennessee." Kzir continued with the pertinent information, which Bledsoe dutifully noted on his spreadsheet. It was an unusual scene for a murder. David Hanely was a respected man in Chicago, coming from a wealthy family with deep roots in the community. He was a businessman and entrepreneur, and no one doubted his financial acumen. Unfortunately, he had some strange hobbies. One of those had now led to a murder being committed in his penthouse, and Hanely was a suspect. The Detective finished his entry, then had Records confirm the information and send a picture of the individual in question. Bledsoe just hoped the guy actually looked like this. After what he had already seen tonight, that was by no means certain. "Okay, send him in." John watched the caveman leave the dining room, and knew his turn was next. In spite of the situation, John couldn't help but look at the man in consternation. The caveman, for his part, gave John a glare and continued silently on. John shook his head; the man's outfit and attitude just didn't fit in with the usual Shifter crowd. Still, there were a lot of newcomers at the Balls lately, and many of them were short-term faddists rather than dedicated Shifters. A lot of these newcomers were rude, loud and ignorant of tradition. Was tonight's violence a result of all the strangers who had joined recently? John had heard complaints about these people at recent Balls, but had dismissed such talk as nostalgia. Now he wondered if he was wrong, and had the sinking feeling that some sort of exclusion process was about to begin. John was brought back to the present as he heard his name called. He stepped forward, tail swishing nervously. The door to the patio opened, and Detective Bledsoe started, then stared, as John Florinson entered. "So far tonight, I've interviewed eight celebrity look-alikes, two wolf-men, a cave man and a guy with glowing skin," Bledsoe grumbled, after he recovered. "Don't you people have anything better to do?" John's ears turned red, but when he replied his voice was steady. "Excuse me, Detective, but do you have any hobbies?" "Well, yeah," he responded, confused by the unexpected question. "I collect and restore antique clocks." "Wouldn't your time be better spent if you gave that up, and concentrated on catching criminals?" To John's surprise, the man chuckled. "Point taken, Mr. Florinson." He offered John his hand, reaching up to close the gap in height. "I'm Detective Wendel Bledsoe, Homicide. And I hope you can sit down; I'm getting a crick in my neck." Bledsoe resumed his seat behind the table he had taken over as a makeshift desk, and John settled himself in front of it, tucking his four legs almost primly under his bulk. This put his head only slightly higher than the policeman's. "Now, then, just a few routine questions," the Detective began. He asked John where he had been at certain times, if he had seen anything unusual or suspicious, and so forth, continuing for several minutes. "I understand that you were one of those who found the body." "That's right," the biochemist replied, nodding. "I heard David yell and went to see what was wrong." "That would be David Hanely," Kzir supplied. "That's right." John gestured down at his bulk, and smiled wryly. "I'm not very maneuverable like this, I'm afraid. I got there after several of the others, and was at the back of the group, but I'm tall enough that I could see Adlai." "Please describe what you saw." John swallowed, looking a bit grey, but continued. "She was lying on the floor, her skull crushed. David was standing over her, horrified." John's eyes were distant, as he saw in his mind that bizarre scene. Adlai, with her elfin features a shattered mess, the stain slowly spreading on the carpet, and David, looking like a stereotypical Satan, frozen in shock. "You told the officer that you knew Mr. Darlin was dead. Your actual words were 'crushed beyond repair.' How did you know that?" "I've done a lot of work with neural repair assemblers," John explained. "I know terminal brain damage when I see it." He looked down at his hands, shaking his head. "What a waste. Adlai was a great sculptor. He was also one of the few people with genuine artistic talent to take up Shifting. Now, he's gone." "Why did he change himself?" Bledsoe asked, curious. "Why not design the change and have someone else take it?" "That's the attraction of being a Shifter," John explained. "You get to be whatever you want." "Do you think Hanely did it?" said Bledsoe, getting the inquiry back on track. "No," said John, firmly. "Aside from the fact that I don't believe David could commit murder, he was in plain view for over an hour before we noticed that Adlai was missing. When we found her, the blood was already drying. There wasn't time for that, between when we started looking and when David yelled." Bledsoe had already eliminated Hanely as a first-rank suspect for that and other reasons, and decided not to go into all the ways the man could have arranged the murder, then pretended to "discover" it later. Instead, he asked a few more questions, then told John he could rejoin the group on the patio. "Do you know why Adlai was killed?" John asked, as he rose to leave. "Robbery, probably," Bledsoe replied. "The robutler did a quick inventory, and there are several valuable items missing. There may also have been rape involved. The initial report says there was fresh semen in the victim's vagina." If the Detective was being bluntly clinical in an attempt to shock John into revealing something, it was wasted. Indeed, John was worried about shocking Bledsoe. "It probably wasn't rape," John told him, wondering how the officer would take the next bit of information. "A lot of shifters like to take advantage of a temporary gender change. In fact, I would say that was why Adlai left the party." To John's relief, this didn't even seem to phase the man. "We'll take DNA prints from everyone, anyway, and match them against what we got from the semen." The Detective suddenly looked thoughtful. "Or will that work with your crew?" "It should," John told him. "Shifters are required by law to keep their DNA type unchanged, except for legitimate therapeutic alterations." "That's a relief," said Bledsoe. "Assuming, that is, the murderer didn't break that law, too." "How long are you going to keep us here?" asked John. "I mean, there's no hurry, we usually party until late anyway, but I would like to know." "Mr. Hanely's security system locked the place up tight when he hit the alarm, so the odds are that our killer is still in the penthouse," said the Detective. "As of now, I intend to keep this suite sealed until we have caught the culprit." The idea that the murderer could still be among them caught John by surprise, and just as obviously worried him. What if the killer became desperate and tried to hurt someone else? Several of the forms being worn here tonight were rather fragile. He quickly said goodbye and left, tail switching. "Okay, who's next?" "Dr. Marla Clost. She's a biological researcher at the University of Kentucky." "Send her in." Marla walked in and gave the detective a nervous grin. "Three more years 'till retirement," muttered Bledsoe, staring. "Just three more years." * * * John walked back out to the deck, feeling uneasy at the thought that not only had one of their group committed murder, but that the killer was still close by. Was this a result of all the newcomers who had joined in the past couple of years? The conversation around the pool was hushed. If nothing else, this was the quietest Shapeshifter's Ball which had ever been held. John found himself eyeing the other members. He knew most of them by sight, even with their altered forms. Over half of those attending had, like John, been attending the Balls for more than six years, which was as long as they had been held. He found it difficult to believe that any of them could perform a deliberate act of violence. That left those he didn't know. He tried to be discrete with his observations, but was not very successful. It didn't matter; most of the people there were going though the same routine. John gave a wry smile when he caught a wolfman eying him with suspicion. * * * Bledsoe was through with his interviews and was waiting for the report from forensics, when one of the officers keeping watch on the crowd came running in to tell him that there was a fight. When he reached the patio, Bledsoe could see that the matter was already under control. The two apparent combatants were being held apart - and up on their toes - by Florinson, who had a tight, smug grin on his face. One of the culprits looked like Abraham Lincoln, the other like Ghandi; a strange pair to be caught in a fist fight. Hanely fluttered nearby, trying to control the situation. "What's going on?" demanded Bledsoe. "Just a case of nervous tempers," David hastily explained, as he stepped forward to meet the detective. "We're all on edge." Bledsoe was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Hanely's satanic appearance was completely at odds with his mannerisms. John set the two men down. After giving each other sullen looks, they separated, moving into the crowd. "You'd make a hell of a bouncer," commented Bledsoe. "Look, Detective, can't we get this over with?" someone in the crowd asked. "I'm working as quickly as I can," Bledsoe announced, raising his voice so that the immediate crowd could hear him. "I know this isn't easy on you, but it has to be done right. The more you cooperate, the sooner you will be out of here." Bledsoe looked around for a moment, to see if there were any more questions, then went back inside. The others in the cluster dispersed, merging back into the party. "Any progress being made?" John jumped, then turned to see Tom standing beside him. "Not much," John told him. "How many more does he have to interview?" "Just Wilson and Charlotte," said Tom. He heaved a big sigh, but said nothing more. "How can you be so calm?" John asked his friend. "David's right; this group is stretched to the breaking point." "I'm working on solving the murder," Tom replied. "We know about when it occurred. I'm excluding everyone who has at least two independent witnesses who can definitely place them elsewhere at that time. So far I've been able to clear about a third of the party." He grinned up at John. "You'll be happy to know that you were one of the first eliminated. You're just to big to escape notice." "That's impressive," replied John, remembering that Tom was famous for his ability to create mental arrays of data. Impressive it was, but watching him do it was boring. Eventually, John wandered over to an empty portion of the deck, near the balustrade, to look at the stars. The clean, cool air blew past him in a strong updraft as John gazed toward the zenith. He remembered his father remarking, more than once, about how it used to be impossible to see the stars from inside a city because of all the light pollution. John had trouble understanding why anyone would aim a light upwards. "Beautiful." John turned with a start, and almost stepped on Marla. She jumped back, then laughed. "Sorry about that," John muttered. "I need to pay more attention." "I shouldn't be so timid," Marla replied. "Considering the materials I had to use in this form, I'm probably the only one here you don't have to worry about hurting." "Graphite fiber reinforcement?" asked John. "Or one of the new polymers?" They talked shop for a few minutes, the routine keeping their thoughts away from the circumstances. Finally, though, they both fell silent, staring out at the night sky. "You know," said Marla, suddenly, "it may not be robbery." "You mean it may have been something personal?" John found it hard to believe that any shifter would kill Adlai from jealousy or because of some snub. "Not that," Marla corrected. "I mean something in his business dealings. He made a lot of enemies on that Hy-Flight stock mess two months ago." "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." Marla gave John a puzzled look. "It was in all the papers," she explained. "There was an official enquiry into what he knew and when. He was cleared, but there was a lot of bad blood about it." "Two months ago, I was deep into the final preparation for this form," John told her. "Well, let's just say that some people consider revenge for blowing a deal that costs them a lot of money as a sufficient motive for murder." If Marla was right, that meant the murderer was most likely a hired professional. That made John feel a little better; such a person wasn't likely to panic and try to take hostages, or blindly strike out at anyone in the way. However, it also meant that the killer was less likely to be caught. John heaved a huge sigh, his equine chest moving noticeably. "Such a shame," said Marla, echoing John's sigh. "Not only that Adlai is dead, but that such beauty has been defiled. She was perfect; slim, elfin and ethereal." John turned and gave her a puzzled look. He had known Marla for nearly five years, and had never heard her talk like this before. Normally, she was impish; bright and brassy. "You sound almost jealous." "I guess I am." Marla shrugged. "I am not and never will be artistic, but I can appreciate what looks good." John nodded in understanding. With her narrow features, pointed ears and coloration done all in shades of green, Adlai's "Fairy Queen" had been the hit of the party. John sighed again, and turned to look at the people clustered around the pool and stage. Most of them seemed afraid to leave the lit area, and John couldn't really blame them. As he gazed at the forms present, John saw the caveman again, and wondered why anyone would pick such a ridiculous form. Shifters occasionally took on a truly ugly guise as a joke, but that was rare, and this fellow wasn't unpleasant enough to be funny. Yet there he was, although his club was missing. John froze. His club was missing! "What's wrong?" asked Marla. "I need to find Tom," John told her. "I think I know who the killer is." * * * Tom heard John out and nodded thoughtfully. "I had just about come to the same conclusion. He's one of the five I haven't been able to alibi. Not only can no one say where he was for some time before or after the murder, no one here knows him." "Well, its obvious, now that you think about it," said Marla. "The guy just doesn't fit. I think we need to see the Detective." Bledsoe was polite but skeptical. "Aside from the fact that he was carrying an appropriate weapon which is now missing, what makes you think that this man is the killer?" John had explained his idea quickly, almost in a panic. He felt that every minute which went by with that man free increased the danger. He tried to think of some way to quickly convince Bledsoe that he was right. Then, suddenly, it came to him. "If you could look like anything you wanted," John said slowly, with emphasis, "would you look that ugly?" Bledsoe straightened, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You could be right. You know better than I who wouldn't fit in with this group, and its more likely that an outsider would cause trouble than one of your own." He looked John in the eye. "Now, how do we get this guy separated from the crowd without alerting him?" "Can't you just dart him?" "Won't work," said Bledsoe, shaking his head. "Too many people in the way, and even the best knockout juice available would still give him time to hurt someone. Besides, we only have a hunch that he is the perp. I want to question him, not provide grounds for an assault charge." "I've got it," said John. "Have Lyle announce that the awards for the shifting contest are going to be given. Everyone will bunch around the stage. This guy has been hanging on the edge of the group all evening; your crew can move in and escort him away without anyone else getting near." "I wish I could think of a better plan," said Bledsoe, after several minutes of musing, "but I can't. All right, we'll do it." * * * The crowd was already buzzing as the Detective called Lyle aside and talked quietly to him. Lyle then jumped up onto the stage and activated the PA. "May I have your attention, please! To give us something to do while the police work, the Detective in charge is allowing us to continue with the awards ceremony. So everybody gather around, and let's end the suspense!" There was some grumbling about disrespect for the dead, countered by remarks that it was what Adlai would have wanted. The shifters began to walk slowly toward the stage, the buzz of conversation and the confusion of their movement providing excellent distraction and cover for Bledsoe's people. John never learned what it was that alerted the caveman. It could have been that the police began their move too soon, or that he saw someone watching him. It could have been simple paranoia. Whatever the trigger, the caveman suddenly turned and sprinted towards the far side of the deck, toward the fire escape. Since there were police units stationed around the building, he most likely would have still been caught, but John supposed that the man wasn't thinking rationally just then. Not all of the shifters were at the stage, and several were in the path of the caveman. Marla Clost, awkward in her radically altered form, was one of these. The caveman spotted her. He swerved and scooped her light body into his arms, something silvery white glinting in his right hand. He turned to face the police, holding the white thing at Marla's short throat. She looked more surprised than frightened. "Ceramic knife," said Detective Bledsoe, analytically. "Detectors wouldn't pick it up. Looks like he was expecting trouble." "All of you, stay back!" the caveman shouted. "I want a tiltrotor here in five minutes, or bat girl learns to smile with her throat." "Take it easy," said Bledsoe, calmly. "No reason for anyone else to get hurt. It's not like there was still a death penalty." "You think I'm going to let them play with my mind, like they did my brother?" the man yelled. "When they were through with him, he couldn't even squash a bug! Now get that chopper here!" Bledsoe stalled by asking the man whether he wanted a helicopter or a tiltrotor, then by asking for other details of his demands. While the caveman's eyes were on the detective, two of the police officers tried to sneak towards him. Unfortunately, the man saw them. He lifted Marla's thin form off the ground, both to use as a shield and to give him a better angle with the blade. "You think I won't do it?" he screamed. "I've already killed one freak tonight; she'll be next if you don't stay away." Marla grabbed his right arm with both of hers, then pushed hard while kicking backwards with her feet. She was much stronger than she looked; startled, and stunned a bit by the unexpected blow, the caveman dropped her. Marla jumped up and ran, towards the fire escape, the caveman chasing her. He was much faster; despite her head start, Marla would not make it to the slide before he caught her. John, seeing this, grabbed a folding chair and lobbed it at the man. He missed, but the chair came close enough to make his target dodge and stumble. Marla reached the safety gate and yanked it open, setting off an alarm. John thought that Marla would jump down the tube, and wondered if her wings would get tangled. Instead, she pushed the slide assembly aside and dropped into open space. There was a collective gasp from the crowd; then they heard a muffled sound, like a sail catching a breeze, or a parachute opening. Marla came soaring back into sight, wings spread, lifted by the breeze blowing up the side of the building. John tore his eyes away from the glorious vision of unassisted human flight, to see the caveman knock down the only police officer between himself and the chute. Several other people, not all of them police, also saw this, and most of them made a run for the criminal. John was the fastest by far. It didn't take much courage. After all, the man's only weapon was a knife, and John massed over eight hundred kilos. His motivation wasn't heroism, or even anger. It was outrage, pure and simple. This savage had killed a friend, and had threatened to kill another. John charged. The caveman was almost at the slide as John approached. Any sane person would have dodged, or tried to surrender. The murderer whirled, knife ready. John grabbed for him and missed. The caveman slashed at John's abdomen, but also missed. John reared, trying to crash down on the man with his forelegs. He missed again, and felt a flash of agonizing cold as the blade, more by accident than design, plunged deep into his side, under the torso ribs. The pain overwhelmed John for a moment; then the neural limiters he had designed into his form tripped, and all he felt was the alien sensation of something cold and hard sticking into his body. Fighting a wave of nausea, John slapped the man's hand away, leaving the knife for later. He grabbed the murderer by the neck, and lifted him to eye level. "Surprise. All my vital organs are in the horse part." By the time the police got there the man was turning blue, and John showed no sign of letting go. "Florinson!" Bledsoe yelled. "John! You're killing him!" The Detective's words penetrated more deeply than the knife had. John dropped the man, then backed numbly away. * * * "Our caveman's name is Keith Barren," said Bledsoe, as he and John shared coffee beside the pool. The sun was just coming over the horizon, and both men looked wasted. "He's a known petty criminal. The alias he gave during questioning was good enough to pass a casual check, but we were able to ID him from his retina prints, once he was under arrest." "So we were right. He wasn't a Shifter," said John, tiredly. "Just an ugly man in makeup and a costume." Detective Bledsoe nodded. The police doctor on the scene had treated John's wound, with direction from John and words of advice from a number of kibitzers, and had given him a pain killer. It was early in the morning, and most of the guests had left. The awards ceremony had been canceled; the list of winners would be mailed out later, along with the prize certificates. As it turned out, John and Marla had been declared co-winners for the Technical prize; the first tie in the history of the Ball. John had stayed to see the end of the situation, and because the police needed his statement. "He saw an article on the ball in the news, and decided that this would be an easy job," the Detective explained. "Mr. Darlin surprised him, and was killed to eliminate a witness." John shuddered. He could understand his own act of violence, committed in the heat of the moment, but how anyone could deliberately kill someone else just because it was convenient was beyond him. "We found the stuff he stole," Bledsoe continued. "He dumped it down the laundry chute. Did the same with his club, later." "Then why didn't he slide down after it and escape?" asked John. "He probably didn't think of it," Bledsoe remarked, with a sour expression. "He comes from a family that has routinely refused counseling and genetic correction. So far, there hasn't been enough cause to get a court order forcing them to submit. I think that will change after this." John had often questioned the need to so violate someone's rights, but now he wasn't certain it was wrong, at least in cases like this. "How long, I wonder, until we have flushed all of these people from our society?" "If we're lucky, never," was Bledsoe's surprising answer. "Properly channeled, that sort of aggression can be of great benefit." He grinned tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "Besides, I'd be out of a job!" End Centaur Society in the Future of the Gifted Earth by Rodford Edmiston Calling themselves the Plains Folk, these centaurs are all descended from Marian Holst, who is their matriarch. With few exceptions these people are free spirits. They are civilized and very learned, but feel little need for the arbitrary bounds of society, or more than the most basic technological artifacts or trappings of civilization. This has earned them a reputation for wildness, but in truth they are decent folk who are very forbearing with others. Adults stand an average of nearly three meters tall, with a variation of about half a meter either way, and mass between 350 and 600 kg. All centaurs are Gifted, with the appropriate benefits. The centaurs vary in color from light palomino to deep black, with the head hair being the same color as that on the body except for some Appaloosas. Solid colors are more common than patterns, and darker colors more common than light. Skin colors range from medium brown to very dark brown. Centaurs are garrulous and like company. Anyone reasonably polite will be welcome to stay in the Plains for as long as they want. They are philosophers by nature, and enjoy a good discussion, as well as craving information on a vide variety of subjects. They generally clothe only the human portion of their bodies, and during warm weather may leave that bare. This, unfortunately, adds to their reputation among other sentients as being licentious. The truth is that being large animals they retain heat better than something human sized. The society of the centaurs has evolved rather than being deliberately designed. This is not to say that many of the features of their culture were not purposefully chosen, but rather that Marian Holst and her family and friends were content to see how things developed on their own, without constraint, only altering the pattern of development when that seemed necessary. Fortunately, not only was Marian an intelligent and well educated woman, but she also wasn't afraid to consult experts when she encountered a problem. The initial population of centaurs after the Gifting was quite small, consisting solely of Marian. Within twenty years it had tripled, as one of her sons chose to become a centaur, and a woman who fell in love with him also elected to transform herself. By the time of the Great Fall, roughly three hundred years after the Gifting, this population had increased to nearly fifty. However, most of these were genetically altered humans, and were not compatible with Marian and her son and daughter-in-law. By this time, Marian had borne two more offspring, one of whom (a daughter) elected to become a centaur. Additionally, Marian was now a grandmother five times over, with three children from her centaur son and two from her centaur daughter. Most of these grandchildren were either born as centaurs or elected to change later. After the Fall, Marian and her descendants decided to alter their genes to breed true, so that it was no longer necessary for their offspring to physically alter themselves through manipulation of their Gift. Now they would be born as centaurs. This was done only after much research and consultation, and with the aid of both Gifted and non-Gifted experts in magic and genetic engineering. While there was less work involved in this effort than would later occur with the Bluegrass and Mountain Elves, it was still a major project. Most centaurs say that the results justify the trouble. Even without the benefits of their Gifts, the Plains Folk are strong, robust creatures, far more resilient than normal humans. Marian and her descendants, as well as a few others who joined from outside her family, decided to settle in the western portion of Kentucky. There they began the work of creating their world's first non-human culture. The area was chosen because of it's flat terrain, a mixture of open plains and forests, which was deemed ideal for centaurs. They decided to call themselves the Plains Folk. At the time of the story "Empire's Fall" their population stands at 312. Given the initial small population, incest was inevitable during the early days. Since there are no dangerous recessive genes among the centaurs, there were no biological reasons for banning incest. Understanding this, and that pregnancy is voluntary, it can be seen why incest - though frowned upon - is not forbidden. However, it should be noted that centaurs define the term "incest" somewhat differently than most humans do, and do not consider sex between cousins to be included. Relations between anyone more closely related than this are most definitely not tolerated. In this sense, there is no incest among the Plains Folk, though outsiders may not see things this way. Children are instructed in sex from the time they first express interest, which includes demonstrations. While they are taught that sex is a natural and pleasurable activity, they are also taught that a preoccupation with pleasure is wrong. The result is a population whose members enjoy sex from what many humans think is a scandalously early age, but are not obsessed with it. Many actually become voluntarily celibate for one reason or another. It should be noted that few centaurs show any sexual interest in members of other species, especially anything as small and fragile as a human. In spite of this, they have a reputation of seducing and raping human females among humans who do not know them. Centaur society is founded upon the concept of total equality for all sentients. They respect life, and the values and opinions of others. The most common reason for travel outside the Plains is curiosity about other ways of life. There is a great deal of personal independence, with few marriages or other long-term relationships. Since females only bear young if they want to, it is assumed that any mother literally asked for her child, and should not complain unduly about having to tend it. Gestation lasts 10 months, and single births are by far the rule. . Though the Plains Folk do not use much technology, they are far from ignorant about it's use. They are a race of scholars, dedicated to learning both for the simple pleasure of doing so and for the practical benefits it brings. Recently, the centaur Burrtail - after much research and exploration - uncovered a valuable treasure of ancient technology. This was a nanofactory, a semi-trailer-sized device used to manufacture a specific type of powered armor and its attachments. This he turned over to the Illuminati Committee, a group dedicated to restoring a technological society to Earth. As a reward, the factory was used to create for him a much-modified version of this powered armor.