Absolute Power, Part 3

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 Three of Four


11.  Radisson Hotel, Somerset, New Jersey, August 9, 8:19 AM EDT

It was a process Shelly remembered well.  Adam had smoked a single RCJ
Premium, delighting in the sensations provided by the powerfully psychotropic
smoke. He would not be needing his Percocet again, ever.

Not long after, he had fallen into a deep sleep.  Occasionally he tossed and
turned in the cot, and from his movements she figured his ankle was
uncomfortable, probably itching.  She had lifted the sheets an hour ago to
check the injury.  The inflatable cast was flaccid, now enclosing a
normal-sized, unmarked ankle that she was sure was stronger than ever.  She
had removed and discarded the cast.  His skin was taking on the translucent,
reflective sheen she had needed to disguise in herself to look normal
to...normals.

Oddly, Jimmy Jr., had never displayed that distinctive skin tone.  Perhaps he
had imitated her...?

Several times during the night, watching him sleep, she had been seized with
fear.  What the fuck had she done?  She had taken a helpless but amiable
enemy and given him the power to hurt her and Jimmy.  It had even crossed her
mind to strangle him where he lay while she still could, but the thought made
her recoil in horror.  She was not a violent person; she hated the thought of
hurting more than being hurt.  In recent times she had embarrassed herself
even thinking about her new capacity for violence, and wished she could
relinquish her strength, keeping only the expanded intellect.  The thought of
ever...striking out against another person was abhorrent.

She rationalized that, with her earlier actions in North Carolina, she had
guaranteed the there would soon be thousands, millions of people who could
threaten her.  But that was different.  She wasn't sharing a hotel room with
any of them.  None of those strangers knew her name or had been charged with
her capture.  For a super-genius, she could be a prize idiot at times.
Anyway, nothing that she had done could be undone.

She lit a cigarette and took a deep puff.  It had all started with smoking, a
habit she once associated with poor health and bad grooming, and ended
with...what?  She exhaled a cloud into the morning sunlight.  Screw it.
Whatever else might happen, at least the smoking had been good.

Adam sat suddenly bolt upright on the cot, the sheets scattering like
suddenly liberated birds.  "I can't see!  I'm blind!"

Shelly rushed to his side.  His pupils were shrunken to near-invisible dots.
"Make it lighter.  You can.  It's like using...a new limb that wasn't there
before."

She saw his tiny pupils become huge, and his hands flashed to cover his
eyes.  "Too bright, now..." he wailed.

"Make it darker, then.  You'll get the knack"  She had done little to prepare
him for what he would face this morning.  Perhaps she had wanted to see the
cool, confident Mr. Dhalgren at a disadvantage for a change, to see if the
unexpected caused him to reveal anything hidden before.  When he lowered his
hands, his pupils were normal-sized.  He still gazed at her face in evident
distress.  His bowels were grinding audibly.

"The bathroom, now," she said.  "But slowly!"  As he stood he had kicked
apart one of the cot's legs.

Guiding him to the tiled room, she smiled to see he hadn't yet noticed that
he was walking on two good legs.  They managed to enter without expanding the
doorway and he plopped on the toilet for a long session.  His new body needed
far less moisture than the old, and some other...internals would be disposed
of as well.  This was not the fun part.

As she stood close by, she realized she was nude.  With Adam already
unconscious, she had neglected to put on the nightgown when she took her
nightly nap.  She thought of fetching it, then demurred.  He was nude also
now, the shreds of his underclothes scattered around the bathroom.  When a
man had to go...

She thought about warning him of the nausea, but decided that would be an
immediate self-fulfilling prophecy.  Best let that come in its own time.
When he had stabilized somewhat, she left the bathroom to check on Jimmy.  He
should be getting hungry about now...


12.  Interstate 75 Southbound, approaching Atlanta, Georgia, August 9, 10:15
AM EDT

It was her time of the month, and she wasn't used to it.

Rebecca cursed as she noticed the blood stain between her legs on the car
seat.  Caught again!  This was certainly a massive inconvenience.  No wonder
they called it a "curse."  It would be necessary to exit the freeway and take
care of this before the interview.

She could have suppressed the flow, but would not.  This identity was bought,
paid for, and carefully maintained.  No flaw, however slight, would be
permitted to subvert it.  Dr. Rebecca Engleman was a fertile woman, and
sometimes she bled.  So be it.  She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and
thought back.

After his untimely "death," a much altered Dr. Ryan had made his way to
Chapel Hill to visit an old colleague and lover.  His appearance at her door
late one February evening was not entirely welcome.  She had been crying,
something he had never seen her do during their abortive relationship.

They had both been driven professionals, obsessed with work.  The attraction
had blazed briefly, burned for a short time, but inevitably their love had
died of neglect.  Or so he had thought. Apparently, she had lingering
feelings and the news of his death had affected her deeply.  Now alive and
back in her life (his old appearance temporarily restored), a storm of
emotions erupted.  How could he have left her so suddenly?  Why hadn't he
written or called even one time? How could he have let her mourn him
falsely?

Dr. Ryan had never been good in dealing with such scenes or emotions.  He had
believed the breakup to be entirely mutual.  He had his career in
microbiology, she had hers in infectious disease epidemiology.  There was no
way they could have stayed together.  No way.

Dr. Rebecca Engleman sat on her couch weeping while Dr. Ryan sat close by,
awkwardly, his arm hesitantly inching toward her shoulder, not sure how to
comfort what, even now, he didn't understand.

It had taken a very long time before he could make his proposal.  The chance
came when, in the mysterious way of women, she had stopped weeping and tried
to talk him into bed.  She prefaced her proposition by lighting a cigarette,
leaning back languorously on the couch, and exhaling a sweet cloud in his
face, reminding him poignantly of what had attracted him to her in the first
place.

"I'd love to more than anything," he answered in perfect truth.  "But I'd
probably kill you."

Dr. Ryan was not a man given to exaggeration, and that had opened the door of
her curiosity.  The whole story came out; The extraterrestrial bacillus, the
mysterious plant Rara Coelensis Jacksonii, the tobacco hybrid, its mutagenic
effect on humans when smoked.  An intelligent woman who knew when to trust
her source, Rebecca had been at first interested, then exited.  When he
suggested she more-or-less permanently relinquish her identity to him in
"exchange" for the enhancement, she had not hesitated long.

He helped her through the wrenching changes of the conversion.  Then they had
made love for a solid week.  Classes were canceled, schedules disrupted, but
nothing stopped the now more than human orgy.  As always, she smoked for him
and he for her as they made love, but in the Homo Sapiens Coelensis mode it
was an experience that transcended the most lurid fantasy.

They had made love one last time as man and woman.  Then had come the
mergence, slow, careful, and thorough.  For a time, there were two Rebecca
Englemans living in the small apartment.  There was some same-sex naughtiness
during this period of adjustment.  Then there was only one.  The new "Dr.
Engleman" unexpectedly resigned her tenured position at UNC, much to the
chagrin of the university administration, leaving no forwarding address.
Just another case of faculty burnout, it was wrongly assumed.

The previous Dr. Engleman had remained a woman, though 17 years younger and
even cuter than before.  She also remained a confirmed smoker, naturally.
She told the new Dr. Engleman she intended to use her enhanced "tools" to
begin again as an undergraduate, exploring some new fields...and perhaps some
other new things as well.  Rebecca wished her luck, promised to return as the
opportunity arose, and departed on her own errands.  She left the newly
christened "Melissa" several packs of RCJ Premiums, to be used with
discretion.

Rebecca ended her reminiscence with a torrent of smoke released into the
windshield.  Her thoughts, keyed now to past lovers, turned to Shelly
Aronsen.  That relationship had died before fairly starting, but they had
been the first to share the new world, the Adam and Eve of a new subspecies.
She had said nothing of Shelly to Peters, believing that woman was far more
able to protect herself than Mary Lou.  It was still a concern,
though...surely she was also being pursued.

I hope I haven't underestimated Shelly's problems, she thought.


13.  Radisson Hotel, Somerset, New Jersey, August 9, 10:46 AM EDT

There had been numerous flushings, interspersed with sounds of flatulence and
retching from the bathroom.  It made a less than salutary backdrop to her
breast-feeding and sensual smoking (why did those two things seem to go
together so well?), so she turned on CNN for company.

Aside from the "death" of Dr. Ryan and the non-starting murder trial of
Stuart Brickman (he had been judged incompetent to stand trial), Shelly had
never seen anything on the news about her or other "mutant" activities.
Nothing of Mary Lou's exploits had appeared (though hadn't there been some
strange reports from New Orleans?  Adam said she'd been seen there).  Shelly
was well pleased with the silence, though she supposed she could make quite a
splash, and some money, with a phone call or two.

Perhaps she'd have done better interning at the White House rather than the
Hilltop "Journal."

A small crash came from the bathroom.  "Ow!"  Time for some more
acclimation.

When she entered Adam was rubbing his head and examining the plaster dust
drifting down from the ceiling.  This time he noticed her nudity with a
grin.

"I feel great!' he exclaimed.  "I was just sicker than I've ever been in my
life, but now I feel like...Godzilla!"

"Well, Godzilla, if you don't want to end up paying for this room for real,
you'll need to slow down.  You don't know your own strength yet.  You need to
walk with baby steps, and treat everything as though it was made of wet
toilet paper."

"Walk?"  He paused in amazement.  "My ankle!  Look at it!"

"I've seen it.  Who do you think removed your cast?"

"But this is incredible...marvelous..."

"Save the superlatives.  The best is yet to come."


14.  US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Atlanta, Georgia, August
9, 11:00 AM EDT

Rebecca sat in the office of Dr. Marcia Bieloski, Director of the
Epidemiologic Investigation Service at CDC.  She noted the omnipresent "no
smoking" signs and the "Thank You for Not Smoking" wood block on the desk
with annoyance.  That would change, she thought, and soon.

Dr. Bieloski spoke.  "It's highly unusual for tenured faculty to apply for a
position as an EIS officer, even at a senior level.  May I ask why, Dr.
Engleman?"  The director was being over-polite, clearly not wanting to
discourage this eminent applicant in any way.

"I believe that since the EIS is always first on the scene at a new outbreak,
I can contribute some small expertise in those time-critical situations.  It
also allows me to be the 'first on the block,' so to speak, to learn what's
new in infectious diseases."

"That's certainly true," said Dr. Bieloski, satisfied with the answer but
clearly still puzzled with this applicant.

"I also understand that you have here the best facilities in the country for
treating victims of unknown or difficult ailments."

"That's true also.  Did you, uh, have someone in mind who might need that
kind of care?"

"Let's just say that I would not be surprised to see a puzzling case arrive
soon," said Rebecca.  "I have no more specific information, however."

"I see.  If you ever do get such information, Dr. Engleman, I would
appreciate your sharing it with our staff physicians.  If there's nothing
more..."  There wasn't.  "I want to introduce you to Drs. Stein, Youngerman,
and Levine, with whom you'll be working closely.  We would like to have you
on staff immediately."

Rebecca leaned back in satisfaction.  When the storm broke, it would be
useful to have someone on the inside.


15.  Radisson Hotel, Somerset, New Jersey, August 9, 11:28 AM EDT

Her hands clasped on his arm, Shelly walked Adam around the room, teaching
him not to take bounding strides, to pick up delicate items without breaking
them, and generally get used to his new strength.  As she expected, his
natural (trained?) grace soon reasserted itself and he was able to maneuver
normally...beautifully, in fact.

I wish I was a ballet dancer, Shelly thought.  The two of us could take
Lincoln Center by storm.

In the advanced class, she taught him to alter his skin pigmentation.

"You can't go around looking like a porcelain doll," she said.  "People
notice."

Adam caught on quick.  She held his hand while he scowled in concentration.
Gradually the hand darkened to a more normal Caucasian hue, followed soon by
the rest of him.

One part of the rest of him seemed to have grown considerably in the
transition.  The close proximity of all this bare skin was having its
inevitable effect, and Shelly was hardly immune.  A wet spot was developing
where she sat on the edge of the spacious bed.

Her steel-blue eyes locked with his gray-green in sudden understanding and
communion.  There was no fencing, no banter this time.  An urgency had
developed.  This was why I did it, Shelly thought.  For this and for no other
reason.  This was what I had missed, what I really needed.  Sex.
Companionship.  Love.  In that precise order.

They came together hungrily in the center of the huge bed.  "Slowly," she
said, unnecessarily.  "Our kind is hard on furniture..."

"Yea, Mommy," a small voice squeaked from the porta-crib.

When two Homo Sapiens Coelensis make love, they ultimately define their
difference from the more prevalent human species.  Through galvanic skin
response, their superconductive nervous systems engender a positive feedback
loop, enabling a shared sexual response impossible to the lower level of
humanity.  Every wish is matched by complementary action, every motion is
geared to achieve the maximum possible response in the partner, each orgasm
is a mutual experience.  The male reflectory period shrinks to the vanishing
point, and sustained penetrations and ejaculations can occur for hours or
days.

In others words, they fuck great.

At the height of their initial bout, Shelly reached toward the night-stand
and her pack of Premium 100s.

"You smoke...during sex?" Adam gasped.

"I'd like to," she replied.  "Does it bother you?"

"Hell no," he said. "Light one for me too..."

She did, and introduced him to a new delight.  Climbing atop him, she drew
heavily on the cigarette while placing another lit cylinder between lips.
Riding high, his erect member plunged into her deepest recesses, she bent low
to meet his face.  His lungs also filled with smoke, they exhaled together,
the sweet vapor pouring out, englobing their heads in fog and mystery.  That
triggered the first series of orgasms.  Shelly snapped upright, her body
shuddering softly, sweet spasms rocking her to the core as she expelled more
smoke in huge volumes from mouth and nostrils.  Her response carried him
along as he ejaculated with a rocket force that would have propelled her to
the ceiling had she not matched his preternatural strength.

"Goody for Mommy," intoned the small and unnoticed voice from the porta-crib
kibitzer.

"I think you may have something here," said Adam.

There was more, much more, inhumanly more.  It was a time for legends.


16.  Las Vegas, Nevada, August 10, 10:11 PM PDT

It was after ten PM, but the neon and incandescent lights of the strip
rendered the street bright as day.  Mary Lou wandered down the crowded
sidewalk, listening to the ambient music, lost in wonder.  She was so
entranced she could almost forget the distress signals coming from her
apparently 14-year-old body.

She was hungry...starving, in fact.  Running the hundreds of miles from
southwest Wyoming had taken a lot of energy.  She had drunk the last can of
"Power ++" a full day ago and needed more calories.  She also needed a
smoke.  Both her money, never plentiful, and "normal" cigarettes had been
exhausted back in Baxter.

Scantily clad, sequined women cavorted in front of the casinos, offering $25
in free chips to any who would enter.  Mary Lou knew nothing about gambling
(her father would never have approved), but she was desperate and she was a
bright girl.  It couldn't hurt to try, at least.

She approached one of the women and held out her hand.  "Sorry, honey," the
woman said.  "You're too young.  If you want to try the slots, ask your momma
for a token."

"How old do I have to be?"

"Well, if you look at least 16 I can do something."

"Thanks.  Do you have a cigarette?"

The casino woman looked at the pitiful waif.  "Oh...here, kid.  Live it up."
She handed Mary Lou a B&H 100.  "Just don't say where you got it.  Need a
light?"

"No...but thanks."  Mary Lou wandered off on a long search for a dark alley.

When she found one, she retreated to the deepest shadows and lit the
cigarette with one of her dwindling supply of kitchen matches.  She inhaled
hungrily, overwhelming the paper filter and consuming the entire smoke in a
triple pump.  She exhaled voluminous clouds with each breath while she
concentrated hard.

Her height increased three inches, to five foot six.  Baby fat melted from
her cheeks.  Her breasts and hips filled out slightly, and she felt the hair
in hidden places grow thicker.  She shortened her carrot-top to
shoulder-length, then layered, textured, and arranged it in a more mature
style.  Unfortunately, she could do nothing about her tattered blue
sweatsuit, which was now too small.

Her hunger went from an annoying itch to a raging need.  She had attempted to
add mass, and needed energy to restore the balance.  She felt her ribs
pressing against skin.  A quick search of her lightened pack revealed some
crumbs, but it was hardly enough.  She needed food, and soon.

Leaving the alley, she approached a different casino with same $25 offer.
The woman outside glanced disparagingly at her stained and torn attire, but
forked over the chips without a word.

In the casino, the dream-dust sparkle of lights and wonder redoubled.
Endless rows of video slot machines beckoned in glorious variety,
felt-covered tables of various sorts were crowded with gamblers, and the
possibilities seemed endless.  Her enhanced hearing brought the sound of
briskly shuffled cards, the electronic beeps and whoops of the arcade-like
slots, the hard click of rolling dice.  All the sights and sounds contributed
to a fantasyland atmosphere, suggestive of limitless wealth free for the
taking.

She examined a slot machine closely, and her mind told her that she was no
better off here than any...human gambler.  They were purely random devices,
even the ones that purported to use "decks" of cards.

She approached a blackjack table and observed the action for a time.  The
electric "shoe" which dispensed the cards held six full decks, making it
difficult to keep track of which cards had already been dealt.  Difficult for
most people, that is...

She tried to enter the game, but found that a $50 minimum stake was required,
double what she had.  Other "live" games that were not purely random had the
same or even higher stakes.  She was frozen out.  At least she was able to
bum a couple of cigarettes from the players.  In Las Vegas, they had yet to
discover smoking restrictions.

Smoking a begged Pall Mall 100, she returned to the slot machines.  She found
a row of the older electromechanical types and approached a vacant machine
(the newer video devices were much more popular).  She bathed the machine in
exhaled smoke as she experimented.

The changes in her body had made her central nervous system an
electrochemical superconductor.  She found she could, with concentration,
generate a considerable electromagnetic field around her body.  She could
also accelerate her senses until the rapidly spinning wheels of the one-armed
bandit seemed to be moving in slow motion.  With a little experimentation and
fifteen losing tokens, she discovered how to control when the slot's spinning
wheels locked into place. Clasping her magnetic hands to the sides of the
machine while the wheels spun, she quickly became a consistent winner.

Even playing conservatively, she netted $600 from her last ten chips.  She
returned to the blackjack tables, choosing one with smallest minimum stake
and most poorly-dressed players.  She had to wait almost an hour for a spot,
but eventually she got into the game.

End of Part Three

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