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Chapter 27
While most of the participants in the Dream Conference had gone back to their normal routine, Captain
MacDowell was busy helping Thunderbird catch up. While the old symbiote was intrigued by the idea that -everyone- could talk to anyone on the planet if they desired, he understood far too little of the theory to be helpful in adapting it to a magic-based system, and now that they were communicating better, he tended to distract Isaac with questions when tried to work on the problem. Stardancer had put him on a three month sabbatical. “Get him up to speed, and you'll have lots of time to work on the problem. For now, I'll put you down as 'conducting preliminary development of a vital asset for national and world security' with a classification tag that will default to 'mind your own business' if anyone pushes it. Show him around, teach him what we can do with machinery and what we'd like to reproduce with magic. Check in a couple times a week if you're in town, but if he wants to visit somewhere, feel free to disappear for a week or three. Even if you're out of cell range, you know how to contact me.”
At the moment, they were soaring on thermal air currents roughly two thousand meters above the Sacramento Valley. The day was clear, and at their altitude the air was crisp and chill, fifteen Fahrenheit degrees cooler than the ground. Eagle eyes could pick out details all the way out to the hundred mile horizon, from San Francisco on the coast to the mountains surrounding Lake Tahoe in the east, Yuba City in the north to Modesto in the south. At the moment, Thunderbird's attention was directed toward the twin airports of San Francisco and Oakland, fascinated by the choreography of the airliners lifting off from one or the other strip like clockwork and departing in all directions, while others arrived and circled before landing in the intervals between departures. <So many people. Each carries a hundred or more?>
<Some of them are smaller, and not all of them are full, but that's about the average for those with passengers. Some carry freight and mail instead.> MacDowell pointed out a 747 lifting from San Francisco. <That one can carry nearly four hundred all by itself.>
<Where are they all going?>
<All over the world. The big one there is probably going to Tokyo via Anchorage.>
<How can you tell?>
<Its colors. That's a JAL – Japanese Air Lines – aircraft. And it's heading north-northwest.> The weird sensation of Thunderbird rummaging around in his memories followed. It always seemed to be an exchange; as Thunderbird searched his knowledge of aircraft, airline liveries and routes, he got flashes in return of watching fall bird migrations over that same bay surrounded by forests instead of buildings, the best times to hunt to preserve food for the winter months, and how to interpret the light-shimmers that told of how the air moved. Polarized light, he realized, combining Thunderbird's experience with modern science.
The next question was almost plaintive. <-Why-?>
<All kinds of reasons. Some of them travel to conduct business – trade, investment, things like that, journalists who find out what happens around the world to report to the ones who stay at home, entertainers who have followings worldwide. Some are scholars. Some travel on the business of their governments. And some do it simply to experience the beauty of the world, to visit famous places and wonders themselves, rather than rely on the tales of other travelers.>
Thunderbird sounded skeptical. <They spend time and resources to go to other lands simply to -look- at things?>
MacDowell chuckled. <It does sound silly when you put it that way. But essentially, yes. Didn't you ever go on a pilgrimage yourself? Or at least have seen others do so?>
<Well, true. But not in such numbers, or for such distances, and I don't get the impression that these are particularly spiritual in nature.>
<Some of them are. Some, I will admit, are merely self-indulgent. One beach is very like another, in my opinion.>
<I am not sure whether I should be amazed at the powers you have harnessed, or appalled at how you use them.>
<No point in being narrow-minded. Why not both?>
Thunderbird surprised him with the first hint of laughter he'd heard from the ancient personality. <Why not, indeed? I see that Cerrunos was right. Things -have- gotten complicated since I last awoke.>
“...and that's her question, Ray. Can she apply for asylum separately from her mother, if she wants to?” The fennec tod, First Lieutenant of the United States Marine Corps and honorary Knight-Captain of the High Desert, regarded the American Charge-d'affaire and his Saharan counterpart with his ears swiveled forward.
The Embassy staffer thought about the problem. “She's old enough if she was unaccompanied. And she's of legal age in the Realm.” He glanced at his colleague from the High Desert for confirmation.
Sahi nodded. “We would have no objections, Sir Richard. It is entirely up to her, and to the laws of your own country.”
“So the question becomes, can we find the appropriate loophole in our rules.” Morrison frowned. “And it's the sort of question that makes lawyers happy. They could argue it back and forth until the kid's ready for social security. But...”
The fennec twitched his ears. “But?”
“But, it wouldn't be a problem if she had a sponsor in the US. And this is not a normal refugee case. We've got high-level interest in it. I have been given contact numbers for both the State Department and the National Security Administration, with orders to use them if any complications turn up. I think this counts.”
“And Captain Sterling was directly involved in getting them out. Which means...” Sir Richard grinned. “Use the NSA number. I think you'll be surprised how close to the top that gets you.”
Director Lowe was in a frustrated mood. The monthly meeting of the cabal had been singularly pointless from her perspective, consisting almost entirely of actual business. De Revol's report on his espionage of the longevity program had been mostly an attempt to rehash the previous month's progress while trying to make it sound like he was getting somewhere, and most annoying of all, Jian and Chen had conducted their private meeting -before- the full group, and she'd missed nearly all of it. “Morning, Elizabeth. What's in my in-basket so far?”
Yeoman Ross was quite experienced at reading her boss's moods after four years. When she omitted 'good' from her morning greeting, it was best to start with something simple to deal with. “Got a call from Morrison in Italy. According to the message, apparently there is a difference of opinion among the snakes. Yasmina wants our assurance that she can come to the US if her mother talks herself out of putting herself in the hands of the Great Satan.”
“Heh. 'This has been willed, where what is willed must be.'”
“Ma'am?”
“It's from Dante's Inferno. Meaning, in this case, I've foreseen it. Put a call through to him. I'll take it at my desk.”
“Aye-aye, ma'am.” She started dialing as the Director went to her desk and started booting up her computer.
Only Sir Richard got the joke as the secure phone's ringtone started. “Seriously? You had it programmed with the Mission Impossible theme?”
Morrison grinned. “Why not? This isn't really cloak-and-dagger stuff, after all. Why not indulge in a bit of fun?”
The fennec shook his head. “Just answer it.”
Morrison punched 'accept' and waited while the protocols warbled back and forth to establish the secure link. “Morrison here.”
“Please hold for the Director.” Apparently she wasn't too busy, for the wait was only fifteen seconds. “Mr. Morrison! Director Lowe here. What seems to be the snag?”
“Thank you for returning my call, Director. Sir Richard told me you'd taken a personal interest in the case, but I didn't really believe him until I called the contact number I'd been given... So, the problem. Farrah is getting cold feet about moving to America. Err, metaphorically speaking. She's been told all her life that we're practically the Devil, and she's not quite as willing to disregard that as she'd thought. I understand that we have no objection to her choosing the High Desert, but her oldest daughter wants to come to America regardless of what her mother eventually decides, and by Sahara's rules, she's old enough to make her own decision. But she -isn't- by our rules. She'd need a sponsor.”
“Fair enough. Consider it done, Mr. Morrison. I can guarantee that we will find her a sponsor if it becomes necessary. Is she the only one that has asked?”
“The twins don't seem to have an opinion one way or the other. The youngest is enamored of our machinery and insists on 'Merica' every time the subject comes up, but she isn't really asking to come with her sister at this point. Of course, she doesn't know it's an option, either. If it falls out that way – if Farrah does decide on Sahara and Yasmina announces that she won't go there – is Yasmina bringing the four-year-old with her an option?”
“Hang on a sec...” The pause went on for nearly two minutes. “All right, definitely a no on that. Yasmina can come, but the others stay with their mother. Farrah won't take it well if we allow that.”
“Thank you, Director. I'll let Yasmina know. She's asked us not to tell Farrah unless it becomes necessary. Should I call your office again if we do need a sponsor for her?”
“Might as well. I'll make sure my secretary has things lined up if they're needed. Say hi to the Fosters for me.”
“Err... yes, ma'am, I'll do that. Thank you!”
“No problem, Mr. Morrison. Goodbye for now.” The line went dead as she disconnected.
Morrison looked at the fennec. “She said...”
Sir Richard wiggled his ears. “I heard. She was watching live when I earned this little bit of shiny...” He tapped the Bronze Star on his chest. “And I met her later on. She's kinda spooky sometimes, with what she knows before it happens. But apparently she approves of my marriage to Rajiya. Something about forming blood ties between Sahara and America.”
“Never hurts to have friends in high places, Sir Richard. It sounds to me like she's taken an interest in you.”
“Not me, actually. I think she's taken an interest in my daughter.”
“Your -daughter-? I thought you only had a step-son?”
“So far. Like I said... she knows things before they happen. I try not to think about it too hard.”
Morrison's expression was halfway between confused and disturbed. “Yeah... I don't blame you...”
<Even in the limited lifetimes I still recall, I have seen any number of ways to choose a leader. Generally, it is an attempt to choose the best of the available candidates, or to make sure that a hereditary leader is trained properly for the position. But there is also usually a way to eliminate, or at least to work around, one who turns out to be foolish. So why is this person still in charge of your province?>
Isaac gave a mental sigh. <We -do- have ways to remove a leader, but we rarely use them. Since our system has limited terms of office, we generally feel that it is best to wait out an incompetent official rather than disrupt things by removing him prematurely. And when the electorate generally has a large number of people equally foolish who chose him in the first place, convincing enough people to remove a failed leader is tricky.>
Thunderbird still sounded exasperated. <But this... spending money and wasting training time on skills that will be useless in a few short years, rather than training the young ones in the skills that -will- be useful after the shift is complete... how can -anyone- believe this is a good idea? And refusing to develop a new source of water because it will take time? Your legends of magic all seem to believe that it could do major things instantly, but I would hope that people know better by now. And your methods are at least as time-consuming, so why would this even be an issue? You won't get something done by refusing to start.>
<Good question. That's why I suggested we actually attend his speech today, since I'm getting you acquainted with the modern...> He paused, and chuckled at Thunderbird's usual reaction to that word. <The -current- world, then. Politicians try to get themselves chosen by convincing voters they know what they're talking about, but stupid voters are easily convinced by nonsense. Let's watch some of them in action, and see if they have any good reasons for what seems stupid at first glance.>
The ancient personality sighed. <Oh, very well. The weather is no good for flying today anyway.>
The auditorium was filling fast, but Captain MacDowell had obtained a ticket for the event through the Labs – not normally something they would be involved in, but having an Immortal as the head of NSA and another as your boss opened all sorts of doors when they were interested in you. Thunderbird was bored by the time the second speaker was halfway finished. <Seriously? The first one did nothing but spout platitudes, and this one lies with a straight face.>
Isaac chuckled inside his head. <Actually, I think he really believes what he's saying. Not so much lies as not having a clue.>
<This is -not- an improvement.> Thunderbird sighed again. <And why does he not just introduce the next one himself? Introducing the person who is going to introduce the next speaker? Even Immortals do not waste time like that. Are you -sure- we should not be protecting the population from such as these?>
<The Eldest said it doesn't end well when we do things like that. It will all work itself out sooner or later.>
<Let us hope that stupidity is not a contagion. I....> Isaac suppressed a sudden urge by Thunderbird to leap to his feet. <Perhaps it -is- one. Who is this?>
Isaac checked the program. <Adrienne Constazis. One of the Governor's aides. What's wrong?>
<She is not human. She is a Siren. If -she- has been manipulating the Governor, it would explain much.>
<What?? How can you tell...?>
The memories flooded his consciousness, the signs that indicated her true nature and the characteristic overtones and pheromones that gave them the power to suppress the will and manipulate the thoughts of those around them. <Avian changelings are more resistant, as are females. But no one is completely immune to their influence. We must deal with this!>
<Not here, not now. We'd attract too much attention and the guard detail wouldn't believe us.>
<True. She would have influenced them long since. As soon as the speeches are over, though...>
<We contact Stardancer and the other Immortals. For now, we watch and learn all we can. What is she telling the Governor to do? She may be the one dictating his bad policies, or she may be trying to limit the damage he is doing.>
<I have never met a Siren who was not...> Isaac felt him rummaging through his memories for the proper term. <Not a sociopath. They care only for themselves, and the best you can hope for is that they realize that their own greed is best served by ruling wisely. But too often they are not wise enough to do so. And so they stay behind the scenes, making a puppet of the one who is thought to be the ruler, and all too often stay in power when their figurehead is deposed.>
<I'd say that that would explain a -lot-, but California's had this kind of problem since long before the Event.>
“Director? Stardancer is on the line, says it's urgent.”
Lowe sighed. “Of course it is. The only one who ever calls to invite me to a party is Thor. Everyone else calls because there's a crisis... Put her through, Elizabeth.” The background noises on the phone shifted as her secretary made the connection. “Diviner here. What's up, Stardancer? This isn't about Thunderbird, I hope?”
“Not in a bad way, no. They've been working together for the past couple of weeks, and seem to be finding common ground. Isaac suggested attending a press conference by the Governor to give him a feel for how our politics works, and they discovered a problem. They're here with me right now. I'm going to put this on speakerphone if you don't mind.”
“No problem.” She waited for the click. “Captain MacDowell, Thunderbird? What have you discovered?”
The eagle's voice was deeper than normal; apparently they had reached the point where they were willing to share control of the body, at least. “The governor's chief aide is a Siren.”
“And... are we talking about the same thing? Hideous creatures with beautiful singing voices who lure sailors into shipwrecks?”
This time the voice was subtly MacDowell's. “I suspect they were the basis for the legends, ma'am. She looks human, although Thunderbird pointed out a few tell-tales. But what they really do is subtle mind-control. Voice modulation and pheromones. The pheromones work best on mammalian males, which limits their ability to control women, or avian and reptilian Changelings.”
“But that still leaves probably ninety percent of even California's elected officials. So who are we talking about?”
Stardancer answered. “Adrienne Costanzis. Apparently she's the one pushing the Computers in Education boondoggle. I used a variation of the spell Forge ran up for us last year, and checked her online biography. Aside from her name, it's nearly a complete fabrication.”
“So you're telling me that we have a mind-controlling criminal effectively running the state of California?”
MacDowell replied. “And doing it badly. We need an investigation to figure out exactly what she's up to, and if she finds out there will be obstruction by the state. I'd be willing to bet that she's mixed up with the companies supplying computers for the state program – they're paying much higher prices than they're worth, nobody's upgrading any more for obvious reasons.”
“So you're thinking kickbacks. And she could probably subvert most investigators if she caught on, too. I'll talk to the FBI, see if they've got... you implied a female bird or reptile Changeling is least likely to be susceptible?”
The shared voice was Thunderbird again. “Correct, Diviner. Those strong in magic can block a Siren's influence if they suspect it, but they must always be on their guard.”
The wolf shook her head. “Damn. I'd have the perfect candidate if this had happened ten years from now... let's hope we can deal with this before she'd be ready.” She sighed. “All right, I'm glad you caught this, Thunderbird. We owe you one.”
“Nay, Diviner. This is my duty, and I could not have done it without your people. I 'owe you one', for sending Dreamweaver and the Stormchild to bring me to my senses.”
Lowe chuckled. “We'll call it even, then. I'll get the ball rolling at the FBI. Captain, Thunderbird – congratulations. You're learning to work together, I think.”
It was MacDowell who chuckled. “We're starting to, ma'am. Nowhere close to where the Stormchild is, but I think we can see it from here.”
“'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' And you will have the time to complete it. As I said, congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you. From both of us.”
While most of the participants in the Dream Conference had gone back to their normal routine, Captain
MacDowell was busy helping Thunderbird catch up. While the old symbiote was intrigued by the idea that -everyone- could talk to anyone on the planet if they desired, he understood far too little of the theory to be helpful in adapting it to a magic-based system, and now that they were communicating better, he tended to distract Isaac with questions when tried to work on the problem. Stardancer had put him on a three month sabbatical. “Get him up to speed, and you'll have lots of time to work on the problem. For now, I'll put you down as 'conducting preliminary development of a vital asset for national and world security' with a classification tag that will default to 'mind your own business' if anyone pushes it. Show him around, teach him what we can do with machinery and what we'd like to reproduce with magic. Check in a couple times a week if you're in town, but if he wants to visit somewhere, feel free to disappear for a week or three. Even if you're out of cell range, you know how to contact me.”
At the moment, they were soaring on thermal air currents roughly two thousand meters above the Sacramento Valley. The day was clear, and at their altitude the air was crisp and chill, fifteen Fahrenheit degrees cooler than the ground. Eagle eyes could pick out details all the way out to the hundred mile horizon, from San Francisco on the coast to the mountains surrounding Lake Tahoe in the east, Yuba City in the north to Modesto in the south. At the moment, Thunderbird's attention was directed toward the twin airports of San Francisco and Oakland, fascinated by the choreography of the airliners lifting off from one or the other strip like clockwork and departing in all directions, while others arrived and circled before landing in the intervals between departures. <So many people. Each carries a hundred or more?>
<Some of them are smaller, and not all of them are full, but that's about the average for those with passengers. Some carry freight and mail instead.> MacDowell pointed out a 747 lifting from San Francisco. <That one can carry nearly four hundred all by itself.>
<Where are they all going?>
<All over the world. The big one there is probably going to Tokyo via Anchorage.>
<How can you tell?>
<Its colors. That's a JAL – Japanese Air Lines – aircraft. And it's heading north-northwest.> The weird sensation of Thunderbird rummaging around in his memories followed. It always seemed to be an exchange; as Thunderbird searched his knowledge of aircraft, airline liveries and routes, he got flashes in return of watching fall bird migrations over that same bay surrounded by forests instead of buildings, the best times to hunt to preserve food for the winter months, and how to interpret the light-shimmers that told of how the air moved. Polarized light, he realized, combining Thunderbird's experience with modern science.
The next question was almost plaintive. <-Why-?>
<All kinds of reasons. Some of them travel to conduct business – trade, investment, things like that, journalists who find out what happens around the world to report to the ones who stay at home, entertainers who have followings worldwide. Some are scholars. Some travel on the business of their governments. And some do it simply to experience the beauty of the world, to visit famous places and wonders themselves, rather than rely on the tales of other travelers.>
Thunderbird sounded skeptical. <They spend time and resources to go to other lands simply to -look- at things?>
MacDowell chuckled. <It does sound silly when you put it that way. But essentially, yes. Didn't you ever go on a pilgrimage yourself? Or at least have seen others do so?>
<Well, true. But not in such numbers, or for such distances, and I don't get the impression that these are particularly spiritual in nature.>
<Some of them are. Some, I will admit, are merely self-indulgent. One beach is very like another, in my opinion.>
<I am not sure whether I should be amazed at the powers you have harnessed, or appalled at how you use them.>
<No point in being narrow-minded. Why not both?>
Thunderbird surprised him with the first hint of laughter he'd heard from the ancient personality. <Why not, indeed? I see that Cerrunos was right. Things -have- gotten complicated since I last awoke.>
“...and that's her question, Ray. Can she apply for asylum separately from her mother, if she wants to?” The fennec tod, First Lieutenant of the United States Marine Corps and honorary Knight-Captain of the High Desert, regarded the American Charge-d'affaire and his Saharan counterpart with his ears swiveled forward.
The Embassy staffer thought about the problem. “She's old enough if she was unaccompanied. And she's of legal age in the Realm.” He glanced at his colleague from the High Desert for confirmation.
Sahi nodded. “We would have no objections, Sir Richard. It is entirely up to her, and to the laws of your own country.”
“So the question becomes, can we find the appropriate loophole in our rules.” Morrison frowned. “And it's the sort of question that makes lawyers happy. They could argue it back and forth until the kid's ready for social security. But...”
The fennec twitched his ears. “But?”
“But, it wouldn't be a problem if she had a sponsor in the US. And this is not a normal refugee case. We've got high-level interest in it. I have been given contact numbers for both the State Department and the National Security Administration, with orders to use them if any complications turn up. I think this counts.”
“And Captain Sterling was directly involved in getting them out. Which means...” Sir Richard grinned. “Use the NSA number. I think you'll be surprised how close to the top that gets you.”
Director Lowe was in a frustrated mood. The monthly meeting of the cabal had been singularly pointless from her perspective, consisting almost entirely of actual business. De Revol's report on his espionage of the longevity program had been mostly an attempt to rehash the previous month's progress while trying to make it sound like he was getting somewhere, and most annoying of all, Jian and Chen had conducted their private meeting -before- the full group, and she'd missed nearly all of it. “Morning, Elizabeth. What's in my in-basket so far?”
Yeoman Ross was quite experienced at reading her boss's moods after four years. When she omitted 'good' from her morning greeting, it was best to start with something simple to deal with. “Got a call from Morrison in Italy. According to the message, apparently there is a difference of opinion among the snakes. Yasmina wants our assurance that she can come to the US if her mother talks herself out of putting herself in the hands of the Great Satan.”
“Heh. 'This has been willed, where what is willed must be.'”
“Ma'am?”
“It's from Dante's Inferno. Meaning, in this case, I've foreseen it. Put a call through to him. I'll take it at my desk.”
“Aye-aye, ma'am.” She started dialing as the Director went to her desk and started booting up her computer.
Only Sir Richard got the joke as the secure phone's ringtone started. “Seriously? You had it programmed with the Mission Impossible theme?”
Morrison grinned. “Why not? This isn't really cloak-and-dagger stuff, after all. Why not indulge in a bit of fun?”
The fennec shook his head. “Just answer it.”
Morrison punched 'accept' and waited while the protocols warbled back and forth to establish the secure link. “Morrison here.”
“Please hold for the Director.” Apparently she wasn't too busy, for the wait was only fifteen seconds. “Mr. Morrison! Director Lowe here. What seems to be the snag?”
“Thank you for returning my call, Director. Sir Richard told me you'd taken a personal interest in the case, but I didn't really believe him until I called the contact number I'd been given... So, the problem. Farrah is getting cold feet about moving to America. Err, metaphorically speaking. She's been told all her life that we're practically the Devil, and she's not quite as willing to disregard that as she'd thought. I understand that we have no objection to her choosing the High Desert, but her oldest daughter wants to come to America regardless of what her mother eventually decides, and by Sahara's rules, she's old enough to make her own decision. But she -isn't- by our rules. She'd need a sponsor.”
“Fair enough. Consider it done, Mr. Morrison. I can guarantee that we will find her a sponsor if it becomes necessary. Is she the only one that has asked?”
“The twins don't seem to have an opinion one way or the other. The youngest is enamored of our machinery and insists on 'Merica' every time the subject comes up, but she isn't really asking to come with her sister at this point. Of course, she doesn't know it's an option, either. If it falls out that way – if Farrah does decide on Sahara and Yasmina announces that she won't go there – is Yasmina bringing the four-year-old with her an option?”
“Hang on a sec...” The pause went on for nearly two minutes. “All right, definitely a no on that. Yasmina can come, but the others stay with their mother. Farrah won't take it well if we allow that.”
“Thank you, Director. I'll let Yasmina know. She's asked us not to tell Farrah unless it becomes necessary. Should I call your office again if we do need a sponsor for her?”
“Might as well. I'll make sure my secretary has things lined up if they're needed. Say hi to the Fosters for me.”
“Err... yes, ma'am, I'll do that. Thank you!”
“No problem, Mr. Morrison. Goodbye for now.” The line went dead as she disconnected.
Morrison looked at the fennec. “She said...”
Sir Richard wiggled his ears. “I heard. She was watching live when I earned this little bit of shiny...” He tapped the Bronze Star on his chest. “And I met her later on. She's kinda spooky sometimes, with what she knows before it happens. But apparently she approves of my marriage to Rajiya. Something about forming blood ties between Sahara and America.”
“Never hurts to have friends in high places, Sir Richard. It sounds to me like she's taken an interest in you.”
“Not me, actually. I think she's taken an interest in my daughter.”
“Your -daughter-? I thought you only had a step-son?”
“So far. Like I said... she knows things before they happen. I try not to think about it too hard.”
Morrison's expression was halfway between confused and disturbed. “Yeah... I don't blame you...”
<Even in the limited lifetimes I still recall, I have seen any number of ways to choose a leader. Generally, it is an attempt to choose the best of the available candidates, or to make sure that a hereditary leader is trained properly for the position. But there is also usually a way to eliminate, or at least to work around, one who turns out to be foolish. So why is this person still in charge of your province?>
Isaac gave a mental sigh. <We -do- have ways to remove a leader, but we rarely use them. Since our system has limited terms of office, we generally feel that it is best to wait out an incompetent official rather than disrupt things by removing him prematurely. And when the electorate generally has a large number of people equally foolish who chose him in the first place, convincing enough people to remove a failed leader is tricky.>
Thunderbird still sounded exasperated. <But this... spending money and wasting training time on skills that will be useless in a few short years, rather than training the young ones in the skills that -will- be useful after the shift is complete... how can -anyone- believe this is a good idea? And refusing to develop a new source of water because it will take time? Your legends of magic all seem to believe that it could do major things instantly, but I would hope that people know better by now. And your methods are at least as time-consuming, so why would this even be an issue? You won't get something done by refusing to start.>
<Good question. That's why I suggested we actually attend his speech today, since I'm getting you acquainted with the modern...> He paused, and chuckled at Thunderbird's usual reaction to that word. <The -current- world, then. Politicians try to get themselves chosen by convincing voters they know what they're talking about, but stupid voters are easily convinced by nonsense. Let's watch some of them in action, and see if they have any good reasons for what seems stupid at first glance.>
The ancient personality sighed. <Oh, very well. The weather is no good for flying today anyway.>
The auditorium was filling fast, but Captain MacDowell had obtained a ticket for the event through the Labs – not normally something they would be involved in, but having an Immortal as the head of NSA and another as your boss opened all sorts of doors when they were interested in you. Thunderbird was bored by the time the second speaker was halfway finished. <Seriously? The first one did nothing but spout platitudes, and this one lies with a straight face.>
Isaac chuckled inside his head. <Actually, I think he really believes what he's saying. Not so much lies as not having a clue.>
<This is -not- an improvement.> Thunderbird sighed again. <And why does he not just introduce the next one himself? Introducing the person who is going to introduce the next speaker? Even Immortals do not waste time like that. Are you -sure- we should not be protecting the population from such as these?>
<The Eldest said it doesn't end well when we do things like that. It will all work itself out sooner or later.>
<Let us hope that stupidity is not a contagion. I....> Isaac suppressed a sudden urge by Thunderbird to leap to his feet. <Perhaps it -is- one. Who is this?>
Isaac checked the program. <Adrienne Constazis. One of the Governor's aides. What's wrong?>
<She is not human. She is a Siren. If -she- has been manipulating the Governor, it would explain much.>
<What?? How can you tell...?>
The memories flooded his consciousness, the signs that indicated her true nature and the characteristic overtones and pheromones that gave them the power to suppress the will and manipulate the thoughts of those around them. <Avian changelings are more resistant, as are females. But no one is completely immune to their influence. We must deal with this!>
<Not here, not now. We'd attract too much attention and the guard detail wouldn't believe us.>
<True. She would have influenced them long since. As soon as the speeches are over, though...>
<We contact Stardancer and the other Immortals. For now, we watch and learn all we can. What is she telling the Governor to do? She may be the one dictating his bad policies, or she may be trying to limit the damage he is doing.>
<I have never met a Siren who was not...> Isaac felt him rummaging through his memories for the proper term. <Not a sociopath. They care only for themselves, and the best you can hope for is that they realize that their own greed is best served by ruling wisely. But too often they are not wise enough to do so. And so they stay behind the scenes, making a puppet of the one who is thought to be the ruler, and all too often stay in power when their figurehead is deposed.>
<I'd say that that would explain a -lot-, but California's had this kind of problem since long before the Event.>
“Director? Stardancer is on the line, says it's urgent.”
Lowe sighed. “Of course it is. The only one who ever calls to invite me to a party is Thor. Everyone else calls because there's a crisis... Put her through, Elizabeth.” The background noises on the phone shifted as her secretary made the connection. “Diviner here. What's up, Stardancer? This isn't about Thunderbird, I hope?”
“Not in a bad way, no. They've been working together for the past couple of weeks, and seem to be finding common ground. Isaac suggested attending a press conference by the Governor to give him a feel for how our politics works, and they discovered a problem. They're here with me right now. I'm going to put this on speakerphone if you don't mind.”
“No problem.” She waited for the click. “Captain MacDowell, Thunderbird? What have you discovered?”
The eagle's voice was deeper than normal; apparently they had reached the point where they were willing to share control of the body, at least. “The governor's chief aide is a Siren.”
“And... are we talking about the same thing? Hideous creatures with beautiful singing voices who lure sailors into shipwrecks?”
This time the voice was subtly MacDowell's. “I suspect they were the basis for the legends, ma'am. She looks human, although Thunderbird pointed out a few tell-tales. But what they really do is subtle mind-control. Voice modulation and pheromones. The pheromones work best on mammalian males, which limits their ability to control women, or avian and reptilian Changelings.”
“But that still leaves probably ninety percent of even California's elected officials. So who are we talking about?”
Stardancer answered. “Adrienne Costanzis. Apparently she's the one pushing the Computers in Education boondoggle. I used a variation of the spell Forge ran up for us last year, and checked her online biography. Aside from her name, it's nearly a complete fabrication.”
“So you're telling me that we have a mind-controlling criminal effectively running the state of California?”
MacDowell replied. “And doing it badly. We need an investigation to figure out exactly what she's up to, and if she finds out there will be obstruction by the state. I'd be willing to bet that she's mixed up with the companies supplying computers for the state program – they're paying much higher prices than they're worth, nobody's upgrading any more for obvious reasons.”
“So you're thinking kickbacks. And she could probably subvert most investigators if she caught on, too. I'll talk to the FBI, see if they've got... you implied a female bird or reptile Changeling is least likely to be susceptible?”
The shared voice was Thunderbird again. “Correct, Diviner. Those strong in magic can block a Siren's influence if they suspect it, but they must always be on their guard.”
The wolf shook her head. “Damn. I'd have the perfect candidate if this had happened ten years from now... let's hope we can deal with this before she'd be ready.” She sighed. “All right, I'm glad you caught this, Thunderbird. We owe you one.”
“Nay, Diviner. This is my duty, and I could not have done it without your people. I 'owe you one', for sending Dreamweaver and the Stormchild to bring me to my senses.”
Lowe chuckled. “We'll call it even, then. I'll get the ball rolling at the FBI. Captain, Thunderbird – congratulations. You're learning to work together, I think.”
It was MacDowell who chuckled. “We're starting to, ma'am. Nowhere close to where the Stormchild is, but I think we can see it from here.”
“'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' And you will have the time to complete it. As I said, congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you. From both of us.”
Category Story / All
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Well, the current governor had a water shortage problem during his -first- run as governor forty years ago, and wouldn't build desalination plants because they would 'take too long'. And now that he's back for his second round, the state -still- has a water shortage, and he won't build desal plants because it would take too long and besides, carbon.
If he'd built 'em the first time, they'd long since be online.
If he'd built 'em the first time, they'd long since be online.
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