Wild Thing (22 page)

'You're saying that some man, seeing me in
these
clothes, would just decide to try to rip them off me?'

'Yes!  That is
exactly
what I mean,' he said, relieved at having at last gotten his message across.

'But no one would do
that
.  Why would he?'

'He wouldn't be able to
help
himself!'

'Well, in that case it sounds to
me
like he's the sort of person no one would even want to
talk
to.  Not if he goes round ripping people's clothes off them for no reason!'

'But many men are
like
that.  You don't know.'

'Well.  In that case I guess I don't
want
to know.  And anyway, I can look after
myself.
'

'Can you?'  he asked, clearly thinking she couldn't.  'And what of the men you would lead into temptation, dressed like some under-age street whore!'

She wasn't exactly sure what he meant, but she wasn't going to let
him
know that.  'I don't look under-age, I look good!  And I just think you're being mean.  Maybe it's
you
who wants to rip my new clothes off!'  And she strode away, so angry she almost forgot to wrap herself back in her stupid wet blanket and pick up her stupid stick, and Bork, and her red toolbox. 
She
liked her hunting outfit.  She'd go out into the forest and hunt something right now!

-

Even with the “summer solstice” approaching, it took several days before Sara's temper cooled enough to consider helping him again.  But she couldn't forget Godsson's lonely battles; so she began watching her uncle carefully, waiting for the right time to bring the subject up.

The two ate together in their usual corner in the cafeteria.  The handful of other members of the Institute sat at the scattered tables, eating and talking.  Perhaps a little nervously.

Tonight, Sara judged Harmon's mood as tired but satisfied.  Already, though, the young girl thought she could sense the beginning of the tension about the upcoming attack on Godsson.

'Keepie?'

'Mm, little one?'

Sara knew that was a good sign.  'You remember that year when I helped Godsson fight off the invisible monster?'

Suddenly, Harmon didn't look so relaxed.  'Indeed, I think the risk that any of us will ever forget that is quite minimal.'

Which meant, yes
.  'And you remember how I promised not to sneak in again?'

'Yes.  Very clearly.  Fortunately, I know that you understand how important it is to keep one's promises.'

But Sara had become quite a good actress, and merely shrugged.  'Yeah.  But you remember how I helped, right, and how Godsson was losing until I jumped down and attacked-'

'Sara-'

'Even if no one believes I saved the FBI man, Godsson
did
start winning his fight straight after-'

'Which can easily be explained by Godsson hearing you through the open intercom.  That simply served to reinforce his own dissociative episode whilst acting as justification for a rallying of his own efforts, providing a plausible rationale for the battle to turn in his favor.'

At her annoyed expression and opened mouth, he held up one hand.  'Let me continue.  An
alternative
interpretation, favored by a certain twelve-year-old girl I know…'

Sara pouted.  'Twelve and a
half
.'

Harmon ignored her.  '…is that Godsson was battling an invisible monster from some realm far below the Imaginal, a creature somehow magically connected to him at the moment of Melisande d'Artelle's death; that this incorporeal entity had somehow escaped the extraordinarily powerful magical Wards created by the Emperor of China himself – with some small assistance from me – and was now subverting people outside Godsson's cell.  Despite the fact that three powerful shamans, and myself, all watching very keenly on the Imaginal, failed to see or sense any trace of such a creature.  Yes?  Have I summarized the alternative theory accurately?'

Sara's tightly-pursed lips said she could not argue with that.

'Now, if the latter theory is correct – and I am not saying it's wrong – it means that everyone in the Institute is in grave danger.  Further, if it can escape the different Barriers built into every centimeter of the walls encircling the grounds, everyone in the
world
is in that same danger.'

'Yes!  That's my point!  So you should let me help in case it gets through again.  I already killed it once!'

'Sara, if your theory is correct, then don't you think there might be
even better
help we could find, than a certain twelve-year-old girl?  Even one who occasionally demonstrates some quite… impressive ingenuity?

'For example, if the entire world is in danger, perhaps the Dragon Lord of China might send some assistance; or if things were truly desperate, might even offer his own help?  Don't you think that the defense of the world would become quite a big “deal,” and would most certainly be taken out of our hands?'

Sara pouted.  'I could still help.  I did once.'

Harmon shut his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. 
W
hy was he trying to reason with her?  O
r protect her?

'And if no one else thinks it's a big deal an’ it's all just our imagination, then you should let me help since
Godsson
thought it helped, so I could help again.'

'No.  I refuse to put myself in the position of having to explain to Professor Sanders, let alone to the Director of the FBI and a coalition of three of the top shamanic Traditions on this continent, why we will need a twelve-year-old girl there to assist them.'

She thrust her chin forward.  'But I wouldn't be there to help
them
.  I'd be there to help
Godsson
.  With his “imagining”!'

Harmon blinked, amused by her use of the “bunny quotes” despite his irritation.  'No, Sara.  You will be on standby, as usual.  We are not discussing this any further.  Be grateful I have negotiated that
should
the on-site commander decide your assistance is required, the doors will be unlocked and you will be called in.'

Sara, of course, looked unconvinced.

Just as Harmon had feared, the pattern of the tri-annual increase in the intensity of Godsson's attacks had caused trouble that year.  Fortunately, being alert and forewarned, Shanahan had been able to grab her as she'd tried to run from his security office heading for his front door; although it had clearly distressed all three of them – Sara, Shanahan, and the cyborg dog.

Whatever Sara's other character flaws, lack of empathy was not one of them.

Given that her intervention three years earlier had seemed to help the fellow, though, and considering her growing distress, it occurred to Harmon that a legitimate approach to treatment would be to include Sara.  Especially given the continued insistence by so-called experts such as Roger Ahronian that so long as Godsson were contained, the episodes were harmless.

Having Sara there to provide emotional support
should
help.  It was also far preferable to having her attempt to physically fight her way in, all efforts at subtlety thrown aside.  Heaven knew what mad scheme she'd come up with, otherwise.

Which according to his understanding of her psyche was basically a given for the year ahead.

Chapter 22 

Now that she was practically thirteen, Sara had a busy schedule.  Morning started with breakfast, followed by her stretches and exercises in the gym.  After lunch Mr Shanahan would bring his netpad from his office and give her a swimming lesson, or maybe unlock some tools from the always-deserted “wood-working therapy room” to show her some stuff.

Mr Shanahan had become much friendlier.  She almost considered inviting him along on some of her patrols with Faith, but then decided it'd be better not to mess around with a perfect team.  Not that she was
HyperGirl
or anything, but still…

Before, Mr Shanahan rarely left his office: spending his days watching all his security monitors.  But in winter, the Institute had got six new Tik Tek gynoids and androids, and after training the dumpy-looking 'bot women and men, most of the staff had gone off to work in big hospitals and other places.  And for some reason, Mr Shanahan now went outside more often, not just to go into the main building for meals.  She thought maybe because he missed talking to people.  He'd started talking to Nerida and Dwayne heaps more since all the other orderlies had left.  Now, he joined either them, or her and Uncle, for most meals.

For herself, she'd hoped the new robot helpers would be fun to hunt, but they were actually a hundred times more boring than even the boring old white-uniformed people they'd replaced.  There was hardly anything interesting to hunt inside anymore.  Though strangely, more and more often she sensed
it
, lurking.  Looking.  It never came close though, anymore.  At least, not while she was inside.

She'd bumped into Mr Shanahan one day, with Faith trotting at his side, down by the lake.  She and Faith had shared a grin, pretending they weren't a closer team than Faith and Mr S.  The weird thing was, Mr Shanahan actually invited her back to his security office.  There in the front room of his house, with its rows of monitors and equipment and its thick windows that gave him views on three sides – including the rear of the Institute –  he'd seemed kind of sad, only looking up at his screens when one of the new 'droids trudged into view, then looking quickly away again.  Even Mr S thought they were boring, she guessed.  Most of them were used as nurses, but he had one that he had “configured” to do patrols in the grounds, like she and Faith did.  Only not as good, of course.

Most afternoons after that, when she went to get Faith for their patrols – which they'd do until she had to come in for her evening meal – she made a point of stopping by his sturdy little house like she'd used to.  Some nights they'd finish early – or Uncle would forget about dinner until late – and she and Faith could play catch-race, or Pounce, or chase.  She liked Pounce best, because usually it ended with her snuggling Faith, nose buried in the welcoming fur, appreciating the pungent doggy smell.  But always careful not to squeeze Faith's tender bits, where the machinery joined her flesh.

And always very careful to make it clear when they
were
about to play Pounce.

Sometimes, mostly in the afternoons, she'd work on the wooden Wing Chun sparring dummy she was building with Mr S's help.  When she told her uncle about it, at first he'd been pleased.  She'd explained how you used it, and even showed him some vids, explaining how Mr Shanahan said he'd show her a few things.  Uncle had frowned then, pointing out that the security guard had his own work to do, and hadn't she gotten him into enough trouble already?  And that it would be safer for some reason to have the dummy in the gym, as well as having a lot more room to use it than she'd have inside Mr Shanahan's place.

They'd actually argued about it.

'But Mr Shanahan used to be a marine!  He and Faith even fought in the Amazon Jungle together!  He could teach me all
sorts
of cool stuff, not just-'

'Enough, Sara!  Brian Shanahan does not work here at the Institute simply to be at your beck and call.  He has his own duties.  Or are you trying to undermine him, make him fail at his duties so that he loses his job?'

For a while she wondered if her uncle was jealous of Mr S.  Though by the time they'd talked about it a few times, after her weekly mental exercises, she did see it wouldn't be fair on Mr Shanahan, and how it would be better to study from trids so she could get a wide set of teachers showing how to do it, and not maybe pick up bad habits from a single instructor.

Mr Shanahan had seemed a bit sad, though, when she'd explained all that after they'd finished the sparring dummy.  For a while, she felt uncomfortable, like she'd done something bad.

She didn't visit Mr Shanahan quite so often, after that.

One day, Faith by her side, she knocked on his door.  She'd had a rather awful thought: what if, during the upgrades to the gym, they'd added a security “feed?”  Mr Shanahan had seemed a little surprised to see her, but let her in.

She casually checked out his security screen, looking especially to see if there were any new codes that might stand for the gym.  When she'd thought of the possibility, at first she'd felt pleased that people might be watching her when she was working out; then embarrassed to think of them laughing when she made mistakes or her ideas didn't work out.  Then she grew hot, at the idea of Mr Shanahan watching her practice on the Wing Chun dummy they'd made together; seeing her using training vids instead of him to instruct her like they'd talked about during the long hours they'd spent building it together.  That would've made it even worse.

It was a huge relief, then, to see that no new code had appeared in his list, like it did when they got a new inmate.  She'd turned back to Mr Shanahan, then, afraid she'd been too obvious, but he'd just seemed kind of sad, and looked away.

She hadn't quite known what to talk to him about after that, and the visit turned kind of embarrassing.  She hadn't stayed long.  Mr Shanahan didn't try to stop her leaving.

She found herself focusing more time and energy on her morning routine instead, to make up for it.  Straight after breakfast with Uncle she'd spend an hour or two in the gym “working out” – that was what the grups called it, she learned from her vids.  She had a private little dream centered around this morning ritual: if she could just do each of her routines perfectly, without the slightest stumble or ever being off-balance, something wonderful and magical would happen to her.

And if she could get outside without anyone seeing her, and
then
stalk something perfectly, leaving no trails… then, something even better would happen!  Something involving a woman with long black hair and deep, deep eyes….  And a fierce smile.