The Wyrms of &alon

Conference. Noun. Meaning? A “formal meeting or discussion”, from the root word “confer”, meaning “to bring together”. Bring people together. That’s what conferences were supposed to do. That’s why Heggy had called us to join one.

Let the record show that the conference I was now in failed to satisfy its own definition.

Yes, there were a lot of feelings in the air, but “togetherness” wasn’t one of them. Instead, it felt like we were drifting further apart.

To be fair, it was hard to lend feelings of solidarity to a teleconference, especially one as disparate as this.

Vernon was there, as were Heggy, Dr. Horosha, ALICE, and leaders from the Crisis Management Teams of WeElMed’s major Wards. Well, actually… not quite. They were “there” in the sense that they were part of the grid of little boxes on my PortaCon's screen as I sat on a toilet in the restroom that I’d been randomly assigned for safety purposes.

Believe it or not, social distancing was still very much a thing. Heggy insisted on it with a passion that broke my heart to witness.

All of us were separated from each other. Those who had offices were broadcasting from them. Others, like myself, had to make do with restrooms, supply closets, and other cloistered corners.

It goes without saying that my meeting with Nina hadn’t gone as planned. I’d hoped to come away with a better understanding of her (and possibly Suisei’s) role in all this, and perhaps some guidance as to what to do next. If she was one of the Blessèd, why had she fallen victim to the fungus and its demons?

Knowing there were multiple Angels had thrown me for a whirl. I was still trying to cling to the notion that Lassedicy and its legends had something useful to tell me about what was happening to my world.

Because, if they didn’t, what was I going to do? What could I do, other than just to continue as I had been, all while the world slowly burned.

I was scared. I felt lost—aimless. And Andalon wasn’t being much help. She was floating up in front of me. She lay flat, with her nightgowned belly facing the floor as she stared down at my console’s screen.

We were holding the meeting to figure out what to do about, well… everything. Our agenda included (but were not limited to) fortifying against future zombie attacks, deciding whether or not Vernon should (or even could) be stripped of his command and/or rank as punishment for the dangerous experiments he’d overseen. And, of course, there was the biggest doozy of them all: what would we do with the transformees?

Heggy was devastated. Dried tears matted her face; the crows-feet at the edges of her eyes were lost in puffy skin and agitation. Worst of all, she was doing nothing to hide it. Her usual affable stoicism was nowhere to be found. Instead, she just stared straight ahead with a gaze that put the laser rifles’ crosshairs to shame.

I wondered if she was glaring at her brother, or contemplating the sight of the Garden Court, spattered in death and devastation.

Because everything was cramped and miserable, though I kept tabs on my body, I recentered my consciousness to a mental conference room I’d whipped up for the occasion. While my butt (well… tail) might have been parked on the open toilet seat, within my mind, I sat at a table facing simulacra of the conference attendees. I was taking the feed coming in from my eyeballs and using it to create the copies seated all around me.

I guess you could call it motion-capture technology, after a fashion. I did my best to average out each conference-goers’ surroundings , which had the result of making the table look pretty trippy. Its shape was irregular, like a great big puzzle piece, extending outward in front of anyone who was sitting in front of a table in real life, but scooping away when it neared anyone who wasn’t actually at a table. Pastel paintings hanging on the walls around us, copied from the genuine articles out in the Thick World.

On my console, a person’s “box” grew bigger when they spoke.

By the looks of things, General Marteneiss was about to speak.

In both worlds, he smacked his hand down onto the desk in front of him.

“You call yourselves men of science?!” he yelled.

Yeah, the conference was not going well, to put it mildly.

“Listen to yourselves!” he barked. “You sound like witch-hunters!”

Maybe there had been some wisdom in holding it remotely, after all…

Dr. B’zool leaned back, pyramiding her fingers. “I’m sorry if it’s discomfiting, General, but—”

—She let out a horrid cough.

“Being rational means acknowledging new evidence when it presents itself.”

Though Dr. B’zool’s PPE was doing a good job of covering up the full extent of the infiltration, even we could tell the fungus’ dark lightning was already creeping up her neck.

She continued: “Lassedite Verune has returned. Zombies roam the streets. For crying out loud, our own patients are turning into archdemons!” She huffed and wheezed. “Faced with this evidence, atheism is no longer tenable. Scripture had it right all along. I don’t like it either, but the logical conclusion is the logical conclusion, regardless of whether you like it.”

Many of the doctors in attendance murmured in consent, though almost as many were up in arms, standing up, waving their hands, or shouting back.

“What do you want us to do, Dr. B’zool,” one proposed, tartly, “slaughter them all? Exterminate these… transformees?”

Heggy leaned forward toward her console, her lips tightly pursed. “I, for one, don’t give a hoot if they’re Norms or not.” She pointed her finger downward. “Three of them—three WeElMed employees, I remind you—just put their lives at risk to subdue those rampagin’ transformees. Last Days or not, the golden rule of war still applies: don’t betray your allies. Loyal transformees who protected civilians in the chaos can oughta be able to help with what comes next. The transformees’ psychokinetic powers will be damn useful,” she said. “Even if you don’t trust them to fight alongside you, y’all should at least let them help with the fuckin’ clean-up.” She pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “There’s a shitload of debris we need to clear out of the courtyard. Psychokinesis could make that a cinch.”

“Dr. Marteneiss isn’t wrong,” I said.

Honestly, it amazed me that Heggy had managed to come up with basically the same idea that Jonan had proposed to me earlier. She really must have been seeing things in a new light.

The General nodded. “My sister’s right. After, uh…” Vernon lost his words. “Dr. Howle, what was his name again?”

“Karl,” I answered.

Vernon nodded again. “After what Karl and your transformee colleagues did, it’s worth giving them a shot. We’d be fools to waste this resource.”

“Can’t you just shoot missiles at them until they die?” someone asked.

Vernon shook his head. “Even if that worked, we don’t have enough missiles, and it’s not like new ones are being made.” He briefly closed his eyes. “Once everything is cleaned up and secured, we need to take measures to get the loyal transformees on our side. We can have them sequester themselves in the garage with the rest of the transformees that have come out of the woodwork. The loyal ones can prove their trustworthiness by keeping the others under control.” He nodded again.

“You can’t seriously expect that to work,” Dr. B’zool said.

“As Karl showed us, the best weapon against a Norm is another Norm,” Vernon replied. “That’s logic, too, Dr. B’zool.”

Andalon floated to my side as I began to speak. My tone was angry and plain.

“As much as I dislike agreeing with someone who sanctioned illegal experiments on non-consenting test subjects,” I said, with a sigh, “the Marteneiss have a point. If we could, I’d rather have us work with the transformees, rather than against them, especially those who are or were WeElMed employees in good standing.”

In the conference room inside my head, I locked eyes with Heggy.

“There’s no questioning their loyalty,” I continued, “not after the bravery they’ve shown in combat. Karl, Larry, Yuth, Ibrahim. Besides, I’ve worked extensively with transformees. Their powers really are miraculous. They’d be an incredible asset to have.”

“And this is your honest opinion, Dr. Howle?” Dr. B’zool asked.

I nodded.

“If you feel their powers are so useful, why only suggest it now?”

Darn. That was a good question.

I clenched my claws.

“It’s not like I could go over and ask them if they’d be willing to help fend off zombies. If you haven’t noticed, things are a little crazy around here. And it’s not like their powers are combat-ready from the moment they start changing.” I pursed my lips. “I guess you could say we’ve reached the critical point,” I added. “And, now that transformees like Dr. Rathpalla have come forward and taken charge, we’d be fools to reject their aid.”

One of the CMT leaders coughed horridly as he stood up in the toilet stall from which he was broadcasting. “This is madness!” he said. He stomped his feet on the restroom’s tiled floor.

In my conference room, the painting behind him depicted said stall, toilet and all.

“You all saw what happened!” he continued. “The Norm that attacked us had silver eyes, and the so-called ‘loyal’ transformee who fought it stopped fighting it when his eyes turned silver! It’s just like with the zombies. The demons are using the plague to transform our bodies into vessels for them to occupy.” He coughed and groaned. “So what if they’re loyal now. It doesn’t matter, just like it doesn’t matter that I’m not a zombie right now.” He shuddered. “Sword stab me, who’s to say I won’t go feral right this second? It doesn’t matter. I’m a potential threat, just like the Norms are, but I’m not the one with the fucking magic powers!”

“All the more reason why it would be foolish of you to try to strip me of power,” Vernon said. “I’m not a madman. I’m not a megalomaniac, either. I’m not going to order my soldiers to shoot people who are doing the right thing. I have one day left to tell what’s left of High Command that I’ve figured out how to stop the zombies, or they’re going to nuke Elpeck, and every other city in the country. Bombs are already falling on Polovia and Odensk. We’re only a couple of days away from the whole fucking world turning into glass!”

“Forgive me for being impertinent, General Marteneiss,” Dr. B’zool said, “but, the way I see it, it’s you who needs us, not the other way around.”

Heggy narrowed her eyes. “That’s outta line, Sandra.”

Dr. B’zool clapped her hands in anger. “There are no lines anymore Heggy! The world has ended, and it took all the lines down with it.” She coughed. “Whatever stopped the zombies from attacking back there,” she pointed, “it’s here, and we’re going to figure out what it is, because our future as a species depends on it. I’m not gonna let you doom us all by housing demons in our midst!”

At that moment, I suddenly became aware of the impossible irony of my situation. In the chaos of the raid and the ensuing battle, I’d been too panicked to realize it, but now, in the calm after the storm, the conclusion stuck out like a sore thumb.

When I’d joined Geoffrey and the others in the raid, I’d assumed I’d out myself as a transformee. Instead, somehow, I’d survived it all with my secret intact.

It was an honest-to-goodness miracle. Yet, of all the miracles I could have prayed for, it would have been the last one I’d ever want.

End the plague. Save the world. Conquer death. Make things go back to the way they were before.

Those were the miracles I wanted.

I laughed bitterly, garnering stares from everyone around me.

“Why are you laughing, Dr. Howle?” Dr. B’zool asked.

“Would you prefer I cry, instead?” I replied.

No one had proffered a comeback, not even Dr. Marteneiss.

I looked up at Andalon.

“Mr. Genneth?”

With irony came clarity. The way things stood, I figured there was maybe a fifty-fifty chance this conference would end with a declaration to kill all wyrms. And with the threat of nuclear annihilation hanging over our heads…

I sighed and shook my head.

Most of me wasn’t ready to admit defeat. I couldn’t give up now. Not yet. I wanted to keep fighting, and I knew my colleagues did, too. Why else were we here, still desperately clinging to life? It was why we were doctors! Worked to save people, even if they couldn’t be saved.

Especially when they couldn’t be saved. We had to hold out hope, otherwise… what would our patients have left to turn to? We’d be leaving them out in the dark, to perish in the dark, alone and afraid.

It goes without saying that up until now, I’d refrained from bringing up the fact that I was a transformee, too. Maybe it was because of all the horrors I’d just been through, maybe it was because my thoughts were so frayed that I couldn’t so much as conjure up Yuta’s ghost to give me a good, stern talking-to, or—

—Who was I kidding? I knew why.

I was terrified.

My reluctance to spill the beans about myself was a form of denial, pure and simple. I didn’t want to leave my identity behind. Even so, I’d been making progress. Slowly but surely, I was getting myself to come around to the fact that I was going to be a wyrm.

And then the fungus had thrown me a frisbee I couldn’t catch.

Silver eyes.

I’d thought I was safe, that it was only others who were at risk.

The Type Ones.

The ghosts.

But I was wrong. I really was a potential threat. All the transformees were.

Karl had nearly lost himself to the fungus during the battle.

Who’s to say I wouldn’t be next?

I mean, other than &alon herself, I was probably the biggest thorn in the fungus’ side.

How much longer would it be before the fungus tried to overtake me?

Worry blossomed on Andalon’s face.

“Mr. Genneth, what are you—”

—I looked up at her.

“Do you think that the other transformees could learn to control the zombies the way I can?” I asked, speaking to her in my imaginary conference room.

Pursing her lips in thought, Andalon nodded. “Maybe,” she said. “But…” She looked me in the eyes. “They’d hafta make a connexshun to Amplersandalon, first. And they’re not changed enough yet.”

“But then how am I able to do it, when I’ve been stalling my transformation all this time?”

“I dunno,” she said.

“Can you do help them to connect to &alon” I asked.

She stared at me, and then, lowering her head in defeat, muttered, “I dunno…” once more.

If the battle in Garden Court had accomplished anything, it had shown me the extent of my still-developing abilities.

Dr. Rathpalla and the others had been right.

We had the mycophage.

Had I reached the point where I was no longer useful as a doctor?

It was strange, I’d come so far from the neuropsychiatrist I’d once been.

I was a Keeper of Paradise.

I was giving therapy to the dead.

I was a sorcerer—of the necromantic wyrm variety.

Oh fudge.

I’d completely forgotten about Lantor.

The incursion!

I imagined it was probably pretty ripe by now. I could certainly use Greg’s help in probing its mysteries.

I sighed.

“Mr. Genneth…?” My worries had Andalon looking aghast.

I shook my head. “I want to help, Andalon,” I said. “And sometimes… wanting to help means having to accept that the kind of help you wanted to give wasn’t the right kind of help after all.”

Inside my conference room, I let out a long sigh. Yes, in committing myself to the raid, I’d come to terms with outing myself as a transformee. I’d said as much in the message I’d sent to Dr. Horosha.

Still… that didn’t make what I was about to do any easier for me.

But it had to be done.

“—We need to make up our minds, people,” someone said. “The military has the weapons. We can slice the Norms to pieces with laser beams, if we wanted.”

“We tried that,” Vernon said. “It didn’t work.”

“Well, then use bigger lasers!” someone added.

“Whatever we do,” the other continued, “we need to do it. We have to make a decision. The clock is ticking.”

I muttered under my breath: “Here goes nothing.”

I recentered my consciousness in my body. I was still in the conference room, only… less so than before.

I spent a moment taking stock of my changes so far.

My lengthened form, forcing me to stoop as I walked, hidden in a hazmat suit. My hands, three fingered and clawed, with tongue depressors to accentuate the missing fingers in my gloves. My tail, wound up in the back of my suit. It felt like I was sitting in an armchair, only the armchair was part of me.

Fudge.

Then, clearing my throat, I spoke.

“I have something to say.”