Absolute Power, Part 2

Notice:  This story has been rated "NC17" for adult language, nudity, strong
sexual content, violence, and explicit smoking.  If you find any of this
objectionable, proceed at your own risk.

Copyright 1998 by G. M. Sullivan.  All rights reserved.  This story may be
copied and distributed for the uncompensated amusement of others only.

Author's note:  This story takes place following the action of "Hybrid Vigor"
and "Eschaton Boulevard" and leads into the events described in "Dying for a
Cigarette" and "Phoenix Ascending."  Yes, it will all come together someday.

Dedication:  For Matt Landry, Tireless, Selfless, and Dedicated to the Cause


"Absolute Power," Part Two of Four


7.  MedEmerg Clinic, Willingboro, New Jersey, August 8, 12:07 AM EDT

Adam had been in there forever, Shelly thought.  Why am I waiting here?  She
adjusted Jimmy Jr.'s bedclothes as he lay sleeping in the infant carrier she
had placed on the red vinyl seat next to hers.

The dank and airless waiting room would have been miserably uncomfortable to
Shelly at one time.  Now the only inconvenience was her inability to smoke,
which she alleviated with numerous trips outside.

Earlier, he had asked, "what's next?"  Her answer had been, "get you to a
hospital or clinic and have you patched up.  Then we go our separate ways."

He had not argued, only looked disappointed.  What the hell had he expected?
Weren't they enemies?

He didn't act like an enemy, though.  No pleas to give herself up.  No
attempts to contact his teammates, wherever and whoever they were.  No "funny
business" at all, as they say in the cop shows.  Just talk, talk, and more
talk.  It felt good to talk.  She had missed that.  He was not the worst
companion she had ever spent time with, not by a long shot.  Which, she
supposed, was exactly how he wanted her to feel.  Would things ever be simple
again?

Now here she was, feeling responsible for him.  She would suffer guilt if she
left before knowing he had been cared for properly.  If it was a trap, it was
one perfectly designed to catch someone like her.

She had picked up some valuable information.  She had heard quite a few
stories about Mary Lou, and the search team after her.  BETA, she was
called.  Shelly was ALPHA.  It seemed so impersonal and threatening.

Something was wrong with Mary Lou.  She had gone a little nuts, at least,
after fleeing from the hospital in Henderson.  She had "regressed" herself to
age 14, and had stirred up trouble in several cities during a wild flight
west.  Adam said it was not all her fault, though.  The Beta team was headed
by a special agent named Callaghan who Adam called a "trigger-happy
asshole."  The FBI didn't trust this man enough to know all the facts, as
Adam clearly did...or so he said.

There was no Search Team Gamma looking for Dr. Ryan, because (Adam claimed)
only he knew that James might still be alive.  He had be the one to receive
the forensic lab report in Washington and promptly buried it.  Why?  He had
evaded that question.

She thought back to some of their exchanges in the car, a pleasant, smoky
trip.

"So, uh, Shelly, can you do everything Mary Lou can?" he had asked.

"Why don't you really try to arrest me and find out?"  She said through a
cloud of smoke.

"Right now I couldn't arrest your son if he decided to resist."

Which was truer than he knew, but it evaded the real issue neatly.  No, she
had been over this a thousand times at her best speed, and there was nothing
else there.  She was being irrational, playing into the schemes of a
mere...Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

Stop that.  She needed a smoke.  She swept up the infant seat and walked
outside.

The air was warm and humid, but she hardly noticed.  She lit one of her
ordinary Premium 100s.  She had two unopened packs of the RCJ blend left, and
planned to save them for special occasions.  From what she had learned of the
tobacco production cycle, it would be early next year before any of the true
hybrid (Nicotiana Coelensis Ryanii) reached the stores.  A long time yet, the
way things were going...

Shelly breathed in smoke, held it, and loosed it into the humid air.  As
usual, it took several breaths to expel all the smoke from her lungs.  She
didn't really have to do it but she had grown to love smoking.  It was a
connection she treasured with Mary Lou...and James.

She responded to an unspoken signal.  "You hungry, honey?" she asked
rhetorically.  She lifted Jimmy from the carrier and undid two blouse
buttons, exposing her right breast.  Jimmy found it quickly and sucked
greedily.  The high-energy milk would keep him satisfied for a day at his low
activity level.

While Jimmy suckled at her breast, she sucked on the burning white cylinder.
Second-hand smoke couldn't hurt Jimmy...she wondered if anything could.  She
supposed she looked like a poster girl for the anti-smoking forces as she
breast-fed her son (first the right, then the left) while blowing great
volumes of smoke into the night air.

She was buttoning-up as a nearby door opened and Adam emerged, hobbling on
two crutches.

"You waited." He seemed surprised.

"I wasn't going to leave before making sure you were okay.  Now it's time we
parted company."  This came out sounding harsher than she intended.

He looked crestfallen.  "Shelly," he said, "let's talk this over.  I am not a
threat to you.  I have concealed information from my superiors and sent the
rest of my team home.  If any of this ever comes out, the best that will
happen is I will be taken off the case.  The worse is that I'll be arrested
myself.

"If you leave me here I'll be forced to call the Bureau for help and the jig
will be up.  There will be a new Agent in Charge for Alpha, one you won't
know, and probably one who will want to shove a half-ton of gelignite up your
ass...and your son's, too.

"Tell you what...I'll spring for two rooms in a motel, courtesy of Uncle Sam,
and we'll talk about it more tomorrow.  No strings.  What do you say?"

It was a tempting offer.  She had cashed out every account she had in North
Carolina, and what had once seemed a princely sum was now down to almost
nothing.  Two vehicle switches had done most of the damage.  She had planned
to sleep in the car from here on.  There was just one thing...

"OK, but we stay in one room.  Otherwise, you might call for back-up."

"Close enough for government work.  Let's go, Scully."

That got half a giggle.


8.  Radisson Hotel, Somerset, New Jersey, August 8, 10:34 AM EDT

Shelly lay alone in the king-size bed, wide awake but keeping still to avoid
disturbing her exhausted roommate.  He needed to sleep.  When she slept two
hours out of 24 she was having a lazy day.  Jimmy Jr. slept about half the
day, but then he was only a month old.  He was so still and quite most times
it was easy to forget how relatively little he actually slept.

After an embarrassing late-night stop to buy a nightgown, Adam had insisted
on an upscale lodging, and it was a good thing.  The large room was needed to
accommodate the cot and porta-crib.  She had offered the bed to Adam, but he
insisted on playing the gallant.  She had to admit she was enjoying the
relative luxury of soft sheets and a padded mattress.

Adam was stirring now, still asleep but writhing uncomfortably.  He had been
given some narcotic pills at the clinic, but they must have long since worn
off.  Well, she had a more potent cure but was not about to dispense it to
the FBI.

Despite his drugged slumber, she had really expected him to try something
during the night; nothing sexual, but something more along the lines of a
phone call or secret signals at the window.  There had been nothing.  Did it
mean anything?

She sat up and reached to the night-stand for her cigarettes.  As she lit
one, a tiny voice spoke from the corner.

"Mommy sleep late?"

"Yes honey.  This looks like a rest day."  She exhaled as she spoke.  Yes, a
rest day would be nice.

"Tee Vee?"

"Not now, dear.  The nice man is sleeping."

"Nice man?"

"I hope so."

There was a more purposeful stirring from the cot and Adam sat up.  An
undershirt and boxers ensured his modesty.  "He talks?  Jesus!"

Shelly chuckled, drawing on her cigarette.  "You may not be far wrong.  He
never cries and yes, he talks."

Adam reached for his crutches and hobbled to the bathroom.  She heard the
shower run briefly, and the clattering of a pill bottle.  He emerged looking
somewhat more human.

Swinging over to the bed, he sat on its edge a respectful distance from
Shelly.  "How about we order in some breakfast?" he asked.

"Fine, if it's on the FBI."  She glanced at the inflatable cast that encased
his ankle.  Not a fracture, she judged, but a severe sprain.  It was swollen
to twice-normal size and darkly bruised.  Getting that hiking boot off must
have been a nightmare.

While Adam was on the phone to room service, he asked her what she wanted.
When she told him, he winced.  "How can you eat like that and keep such a
fabulous figure?"

"I'm just padding your expense account."  She could hear both sides of the
phone conversation quite well, so she was not concerned about a ruse.

After the meal they sat together at the small, round table and shared
Shelly's cigarettes.  Jimmy, still in the crib, was occupied with a rerun of
"Meet the Press."  Shelly accepted a light, leaned back, and exhaled a
sparking cloud into the sunlight streaming through the gauze curtains.

Adam dove right in.  "I think we should continue traveling together."

"Oh?" she said, and blew a series of smoke rings.

"I'm going to let my mask slip a bit more.  I'm already at your mercy, and
after this you'll have my life in those lovely hands."

Shelly raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I know you weren't born the way you are, and neither was Mary Lou.  Ergo, I
assume this is all the result of some experiment of Ryan's."  He waited for
some confirmation, but received none.  "The government wants to round up all
the data, all the subjects, and drop a 16-ton lid on the whole thing.  Know
what that means for you?"

"Do go on."

"After you're prodded, poked, and tested in every possible way, you'll spend
the rest of your life in a cell with bank-vault walls.  You'll be well-cared
for, but you will never see or speak to another human being for as long as
you live.

"For Jimmy, it will be even worse.  He'll be RAISED in a cell, with no mommy
and no daddy, no TV, no nothing.  If he grows up sane, it will be a miracle."

"And you're the one who's supposed to introduce us to this wonderful federal
sinecure."  Shelly reached for another cigarette.

"That's right."  Adam paused.  "There will be no more like you, ever, unless
it suits us feds.  The whole matter will be classified 'eyes only' and buried
where the sun never shines."

"And you disagree?"  Shelly was watching him intently through the smoke
cloud.  She had grown expert in distinguishing between truth and lies, and so
far it all looked like truth.

"You bet your ass I do.  Or rather, I bet mine.  This is too big to let fall
into a government black hole.  From what I've read of Mary Lou, and what I've
seen from you and Jimmy, there are...blessings here that should be shared,
and shared widely."

A half-truth here, Shelly thought, in that word "widely."  She doubted Adam
would like the news of the coming general outbreak of Homo Sapiens
Coelensis.  Well, she had second-guessed the wisdom of that many times
herself.  If she hadn't released the viruses immediately, she might never
have worked up the resolve later.  Was enhanced intelligence and strength a
real cure for general assholism?  James thought so, but...

Shelly smiled, rising smoke clinging to her warm skin.  "Where do you think
we should go?"

"Why go anywhere?  The person you're running from is right under your nose.
Aren't we comfortable here?"

A good point, Shelly thought, but the Radisson hardly seemed like a permanent
solution.  "I was thinking of New York.  It's large, anonymous, easy to get
lost in..."

"I like New York," he said.  "Great night life."  He paused to light
cigarettes for them both.  "it must have been very lonely living on the road
all these months."

"I've had Jimmy."

Adam winced.  Damn!  "Yes, but..."  He let it drop.  Rule one, idiot, never
forget the kid.  This was going take all the concentration he had and then
some.  The awkward moment was providently interrupted by the arrival of room
service to pick up the breakfast dishes.

It was going to be a challenging day.


9.  Radisson Hotel, Somerset, New Jersey, August 8, 11:02 PM EDT

The remainder of their "rest day" was spent watching TV with Jimmy Jr. (he
liked everything), smoking, and most of all, talk.  Sensitive issues were
avoided at first, and at times Adam felt it was like chipping at a glacier
with a dull spoon to get her to open up even slightly.  He remained
persistent but respectful, open and undemanding, defusing any perceived
threat with a quick retreat to safer subjects.  But in the end, Adam's
interviewing skill was rewarded.  He was able to get Shelly to speak at
length of her life "before," her time at UNC, her teenage years in New
Bedford.  In slow increments the atmosphere became more relaxed, laughter
coming easily.

Late that evening they sat side-by-side on the small couch.  Shelly laid her
head on his shoulder as they talked, and Adam knew his goal was in sight.

The last barrier was the "ghost" of Dr. James M. Ryan, and a damned tough one
to exorcise with his son right there in the room.  But as often happens, when
the time came she did the work herself.

"I never had much time for boyfriends at school," she said, her words
accompanied by smoke.  "I really wanted to succeed, and I was willing to
delay all that until I did.  Then things got so strange.  I met James..."

Adam said nothing, but laid an arm around her shoulder.  She didn't remove
it.

"When he...died, left me, whatever, I felt cheated.  Betrayed.  He gave me
happiness, then he took it away, all willy-nilly.  He never knew about
Jimmy."  She seemed to be trying to cry but could not manage the tears.
"Would it have made a difference if he did?  Probably not."  A note of
bitterness crept in.  "He had his mission, his cause.  I think he would have
sacrificed anything for it.  He did sacrifice me...and his son."

Although there was no tear there to brush away, Adam gently stroked her cheek
with his knuckles, lifting a stray strand of honey-colored hair from her
face.  She quickly turned to face him at the gesture, and he bent his face to
hers for a small kiss.

She pulled away.  "No, Adam, please."

"Shelly..." he began.

"You are a sweet man, and I'm beginning to think you really mean us no harm.
But we can't go there."

"Because you'd twist me into a pretzel?"

"That's right.  James-" she bit the name off as if it stung her. "It can't be
done.  We're different species, really.  Not compatible that way."

"Shelly, could you share this gift with me?  I would be able to help you so
much more, to...show you how I feel about you both."

"Adam, you don't know what you're asking!  You're the FBI!  If all this has
just been to maneuver me-"

Time for the win-all, lose-all gamble.  His face twisted in genuine pain.
"If that's what you think, I'd better leave."   He stood up.

"Leave?" she said blankly, her face whitening.  That he might leave of his
own accord had not occurred to her, and the pain of it was unexpected and
frightening.

"Don't think I'll betray you.  I never could, now.  I've gone rogue and put
myself in your hands.  But I can't stay in the face of such suspicion."

Shelly managed a tear at last.  In a very short time she had come to...yes,
to rely on this man.  There was a strength in him, a caring, that could not
be wholly false.  She knew her reliance would grow, had already begun to
grow, into something much more.

Did she trust him?  Perhaps she was no longer capable of that.  If so, she
was an object worthy of pity.  No, there could never be complete trust.  But
she knew that, sure as the tides, she was about to progress from merely
taking chances to reckless abandonment.

"Adam," she said.  "You'll need to smoke one of these."

He had won all.


10.  Interstate 80 Westbound, Near Slippery Butte, Nevada, August 9, 4:47 AM
PDT

Bronsen Callaghan, special agent in charge of Search Team Beta, cruised the
blacktop 237 miles southwest of Baxter, Wyoming, the last known location of
target BETA.

Agent Jackson, one of the six specially-trained men assisting Callaghan and
currently driving the team van, said, "she couldn't have come this far in
three days on foot, not with that head wound, Bronsen."

"Sure she could.  Dammit, haven't you been paying attention?"  Callaghan
snorted in disgust.  At the next city, he would request replacements for his
insubordinate team.  These half-assed commandos had sabotaged him at every
turn, and made no secret now of their contempt for his authority.  They all
but openly sympathized with BETA.  He wished for a few of his old Marine
buddies, who knew how to take orders and do what needed to be done.

"Well anyway," said Jackson, "she doesn't need to stick to the road.  We
should stop again and look for tracks out on the prairie, or whatever the
hell they call this wasteland."

"No.  When we hit US 93, head south toward Vegas, " Callaghan said.  "She's
shown an attraction for bright lights before."

End of Part Two

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