The Wyrms of &alon

“Well, don’t just sit there,” Heggy said, with a nod. “Go on, Genneth. Say what you have to say.”

“I’m infected,” I said.

Heggy nodded darkly. “I have no doubt we all are,” she said.

But I shook my head. “No, Heggy.” I sighed. “I’m a transformee. I’m a Type Two case.”

The silence that followed those words was almost as bad as the one Pel and the kids had given me when I’d told them.

Angel, even thinking about that still hurt like heck.

Finally, Heggy coughed, breaking the silence. “How long have you known?” she asked.

I swallowed hard. “Almost a week.” My words were meek.

In response, Heggy looked as if she’d just aged a decade and a half. Her features sagged. Disappointment quivered in her olivine eyes.

She said something—I saw her lips move—but the sound was drowned out by indignant uproar from the other doctors.

A third of them called me a monster, another third called me a murderer. The rest thought this was some kind of sick joke.

I wished it was.

“Quiet!” Heggy yelled. The word was like a thunderclap.

All the heads in all the boxes on my console screen flinched in unison, as did their copies in my mind.

“He’s not lying,” she said, softly. “I’ve…”

I swear, I could hear her lips smack.

“I’ve known Dr. Howle for a long time,” she said. “I know what it’s like when he lies. Normally, he’s terrible at it, but…” She shook her head. “I guess this once, he managed to outwit me. Also,” she grimaced, “he’s not the kind of guy who’d make a joke like this.”

Her eyes bore into mine. She stared straight through to my soul—assuming I still had one.

In the restroom stall, I looked up at Andalon. She was staring down at me, with her back facing the ceiling. The expression on her face was… profound. It was a face many masks, all of which were true.

Pride.

Respect.

Heartache.

Empathy.

“Why are you sharing this… revelation with us, Dr. Howle?” Vernon asked, with icy calm.

And here it comes… I thought.

I breathed in deep, the air hissing through my teeth.

“Because…” I said, “I’m the reason WeElMed is zombie-free, just like I’m the one who stopped the zombies out in Garden Court. And in the lobby.”

“Genneth,” Heggy said, turning less leaden, “what were you doin’ out in Garden Court, really?”

I smiled at her, trying not to cry. “Exactly what I told you we’d do. I helped them break into General Labs and free Vernon’s test subjects. Though, for the record, I also used my powers to convince our time-traveling friends from the Third Crusade that I was a sorcerer—and one of the Angel’s Blessèd, no less. I kinda needed to do that to get them to trust me.”

Dr. B’zool stood up from her seat. “Dr. Marteneiss, this is absurd! Do you really expect—”

I slowed time to a crawl, freezing everything around me—but just for a moment.

I guess I’m going to have to do it the hard way, I thought.

I’d like to say Dr. B’zool volunteered for the honor, but… she was the most infected of the conference attendees currently close enough to be within range of my necromantic influence.

Even though the console’s camera wasn’t able to capture what I could see with my wyrmsight picked up on—the images on the screen looked the same whether or not I was using wyrmsight—by using my wyrmsight on my surroundings, I could tell that Dr. B’zool was in the ladies’ restroom opposite the men’s restroom I currently happened to be in. I could see the aura of her infection through the restroom’s walls, and I knew it was her, because it moved in sync with her movements on the screen and in my imaginary conference room.

Also, she was broadcasting from a toilet stall.

“Andalon?” I muttered.

She floated down to me as I reached out with my hand. Nodding, she closed her eyes, and together, we channeled &alon’s power.

The effect was instantaneous: Dr. B’zool froze in place.

Multiple doctors called her name, but she did not respond in the slightest. You’d have thought she was a wax figurine.

For the first time in my life, Heggy looked at me with fear in her eyes. “Genneth?”

I stood up.

Dr. B’zool’s Type One infection was far enough along that I could make her my puppet. She moved at my command, and for added visual impact, I moved my body in the same way I was moving hers.

We raised our left arms. We tilted our heads left and right. We bowed.

Closing my eyes to focus, I even made her speak.

I kept my lips sealed as she spoke.

“This is Dr. Genneth Howle speaking,” she said, “broadcasting live from the body of Sandra B’zool.”

I had to exaggerate the movements of her mouth and lips in order to get the sounds to come out right, but, even then, her voice came out eerie and unnatural.

Sighing, I released my control. I’d violated B’zool’s bodily integrity for about thirty seconds.

The good doctor’s eyes bugged out of her skull the instant she regained control. Trembling in terror, she staggered back, stumbling on the toilet behind her, toppling backward. Fortunately, I managed to intervene quickly enough, taking control of her body long enough to make her reach out and grab the handle on the stall’s wall.

“Sandra,” I said, “on the count of three, I’m going to give control of your body back to you,” I said.

I probably should have done this the first time.

“When I do,” I added, “make sure you’re squeezing your hand around the handle. I don’t want you to fall, okay?” I paused. “One, two, three.”

Then I released her.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her grip hold.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she never spoke to me again.

“Sorry about that.” I bowed apologetically before sitting back down. “You just happened to be the easiest target to manipulate—and I don’t mean that in a condescending way.”

“I think I’m just going to go home now,” one of the doctors said, quietly. “I… I can’t take this anymore.”

To his credit, the guy’s box went dark as he left the teleconference.

His copy in my mind walked off, disappearing as he phased through a wall.

“Fucking hell, Genneth…” Heggy muttered.

“Well, Dr. Howle,” Vernon said, his eyes brightly lit by his hazmat suit’s inner lights, “you now have my undivided attention.”

— — —

My mouth was a desert by the time I was done talking. My tongue was crusted over with little flakes of tangy-sweet spore-laced spit. I cringed as I swallowed them.

Disgustingly enough, they actually didn’t taste half-bad.

All it took to make our conference live up to its definition was for me to turn it into a letter.

Who’d have thunk it?

I told them everything. I even told them about having Andalon help me remodel my body as I struggled to figure out what the right look for the pangol would be. Like pretty much everything else that had happened, it was a surreal experience. I felt like a marble rolling off a glacier, to the tune of the waves of Bond-signs rippling across my imaginary conference room.

“Any questions?” I asked.

“Dr. Howle,” General Marteneiss said, “if I hadn’t just seen you make a marionette out of Dr. B’zool’s body, I’d say you were stark ravin’ mad.”

“That wasn’t a question,” I said.

Endearingly enough, Andalon said the exact same thing at the exact same time, pointing at Vernon accusatively in both of my two theaters of awareness.

The General glared at me.

“Alright,” I said,” why don’t I ask a question? Do you believe me? Do any of you?”

Vernon tilted his head. “Do I believe that you can control the zombies?” He nodded. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Do I believe that you believe what you told us is true? Ditto. Now, as to whether I believe it’s the truth… I’d say that doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

Heggy closed her eyes and shook her head. “Vern,” she said, “what’re you gettin’ on about?”

“We don’t have the luxury to care about truth,” he replied. “Truth is for people who have time to stop and smell the roses. We don’t have either of those.”

This was true. The roses out in the garden were about as dead as dead, burned, crushed, corroded, fungus-infected flowers could be.

“No siree,” he continued. “I care about results.” He looked around. “Would anyone object if I keep going?” he asked.

“We’re not going to let you experiment on innocent people, General,” I said.

I was hoping a show of solidarity with my former species would put me in their good graces.

“If you’d told me about your abilities earlier, Dr. Howle,” he said. “I wouldn’t have needed to.”

Ow.

That… that stung.

“I didn’t know!” I hissed. “I only found out when the knights ap—”

“—You don’t need to tell us again,” a Dr. Born said.

Vernon coughed and cleared his throat. “Genneth, your country needs you.” In both worlds, he put both his hands down on the table. “Can you keep using your abilities to keep the zombies under control? And can other transformees acquire this ability, or is it just you? If it turns out you can teach ‘em how to do it, that’d be a damn good reason to keep you transformees around.”

“As I said,” I answered, “the reason I can control the infected is because Ampersandalon can. Andalon just taps into her greater self’s powers.”

“Why is there an ampersand?” someone groaned. “I don’t understand!”

“Just roll with it,” I said.

I had to say, for once, it was nice to not have to be the one who was behind on everything, for once.

In my mind-world, I looked General Marteneiss in the eyes. “I’ve asked Andalon, and she doesn’t know whether or not the other transformees could acquire the necromantic powers I seem to have.”

“—Necromantic?” Dr. B’zool asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Controlling the infected and the zombies,” I explained.

I sighed. “As I was saying, though Andalon’s amnesia doesn’t preclude the possibility of necromancy being a standard-issue wyrm power, I have a gut feeling that it isn’t that cut and dry. This has something to do with my special connection to Andalon,” I said, “I’m sure of it.”

“You’re really that convinced that you’re the beasteaten chosen one?” someone asked.

“It’s not a matter of being convinced,” I replied. “I’ve looked and looked and looked, but… no matter who I ask, I haven’t found any wyrms who can interact with Andalon the way I can. The most anyone else seems to get are faint glimpses of her, as if she was a ghost among ghosts. No one else has demonstrated necromantic abilities like mine. Andalon tells me that controlling zombies requires having a strong connection to Ampersandalon, and that connection gets stronger the more a transformee changes.”

“But that makes no sense!” Dr. Born snapped. “You’re barely changed at all!”

“The suit hides more than you’d think it would,” I said, “but…” I shook my head, “you’re not wrong. I wish I could give you an explanation, but,” I glanced at Andalon, “unfortunately, I can’t, not without taking the plunge and fast forwarding my transformation with a boatload of infected flesh. I was hesitant to do that before, because I wanted to believe I could hold on to my humanity, but now, I’m worried that speeding along the changes will put me at risk of getting possessed by a Norm.”

Vernon let out a long, long groan. “Fine, so there’s only one of you,” he said, with a huff. “That’s better than none. How far can you extend your control?”

“At the moment,” I said, “I’d say the stunt I pulled in Garden Court is at the upper limit of what I can currently do. But, I don’t know how much my powers will increase as I continue my transformation.”

“I’m going to call this good news,” the General replied.

“But—but,” I interjected, “it’s not just my necromantic abilities. As I said, I’ve been teaching other transformees how to properly care for the souls of the dead. This deters the infected from getting possessed and going zombie. And that’s something every transformee can do. The more who do it, the fewer zombies there will be. Granted, without necromancy, the others won’t save anyone who’s already turned, but this will keep them from turning in the first place.”

“That’s…” Lowering his head, Vernon let out a ragged sigh. “Ugh… that’s not really what I was hopin’ to hear.”

“It’s better than nothing,” someone said.

“Will it be enough to keep us from getting nuked?” asked another.

“I have no fucking clue,” the General replied.

Heggy slapped her gloved hands on her thighs. “If we keep on goin’ like this, we’ll keep talkin’ ‘till the cows come home. To that end, I’ve got some propositions for y’all.”

“Go ahead, Dr. Marteneiss,” Dr. B’zool said.

“First: the transformees involved in the fight get sequestered in the garage, like Vern suggested. Second: Dr. Howle helps get as many transformees as possible doing the Keeper of Paradise shit. Third: we’re going to have to crack down on the closeted Type Two cases among WeElMed staff. If Genneth could figure out how to fake a negative test result, anyone can.”

I groaned quietly at that.

“And, finally…” Heggy turned toward me. “Genneth, you said you’re hidin’ a tail in that hazmat suit of yours?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, keep it in there. You’ve been keepin’ it under wraps so far; keep keepin’ it under wraps.”

I sat there, on the toilet—and in the conference room—for a couple seconds, blinking in confusion.

“…w-what?” I stammered.

If the plot got any thicker, I think I’d lose my mind.

“Genneth,” Heggy said, “as much as I hate saying this… you’re going to need to keep your… condition in the closet for the time being.”

I wasn’t the only one shocked by Heggy’s reply.

“Why?”

“This…” Dr. Marteneiss shook her head. “The folks out there? They’re not gonna be able to handle your story. Hell, I can barely handle it.” Her eyes rolled over to the side of the screen. “Vern?”

“Same,” he said, nodding morosely. “You can tell the members of your CMT, and other transformees—we’ll leave that to your discretion—but, you need to keep your changes under wraps, if only for a little while.”

“Why?”

“Use your brain, Howle. Right now, your continued existence is of the utmost import to the future of the human race. Meanwhile, if they knew, three quarters of the remaining Trenton public would think you’re turning into an archdemon. Those two viewpoints are like oil and water. They don’t mix” The General sighed. “I need to figure out a way to convince my men to not kill you and the rest of the transformees.” He shook his head. “You doctors aren’t the only folks who are pissed off at me right now.”

“What happens if any of us turn silver-eyed?”

The General chuckled. “Well, then we’re fucked no matter what we do.”

Fudge.