Chapter 6

Inet clutched the covers to her chest, panting and sweating in the aftermath of her vision. Her aide, Zaid, entered the room just then, having been awakened by her cries.

"My Lady, are you well?" he asked.

"It ... it is time." she said. "We must go. Now."

"I have prepared your satchel as you requested." he told her.

"Good." she said. He turned away respectfully so she could dress. She chose a simple, white muslin dress, stepped into her sandals, and put on her mother's Bastet medallion. "Let us go."

"It's a dangerous time to be crossing borders, My Lady, especially into America." Zaid said.

"It has been dangerous for years, Zaid, and I don't see it changing in time to help us." Inet responded. "Destiny calls, my friend, and the cost of ignoring it is far higher than the cost of obedience." He nodded, and drove her to the airport, where her private jet awaited. Zaid took the controls, and began to taxi. Their permission to depart was abruptly withdrawn, and armed men began to swarm the runway.

"Hold on, My Lady." Zaid said, pushing the throttle forward as the men opened fire. They took off in a screaming blaze of glory. "We cut that escape rather fine." he said as the jet roared across the desert.

"We haven't escaped yet." Inet responded. Her eyes grew vague as another vision stole across her senses. "Those who hunt the gifted are desperate to keep us from reaching our destination."

"You have but to tell me the way to go, My Lady." Zaid said.

"It won't be easy," she said, as the images in her mind showed her what they were in for, "but it will be worth it." She could see him now, the man she'd waited for, saved herself for, since receiving her Sight. Victor, she thought with longing. Her body came awake in anticipation, nipples stiffening, vagina lubricating, heart rate accellerating, face flushing. Soon, she thought, very soon.

Victor watched his target sparring in the ring, while wishing he hadn't had so much iced tea. Arnold Turner was the model the young Malcolm X would have used if he wanted to prove the superiority of the black man. Even while pushing fifty, Turner was an imposing figure, as tall as a basketball player, with muscles optimized for power and speed. He was a former member of the Secret Service, having resigned in protest shortly after Administration officials started calling the Constitution and Geneva Convention "quaint" and "outdated" without being fired, arrested, or executed.

Vic took a quick pit-stop, and returned to his seat to continue watching his mark knock down his opponent time and time again. Eventually, Arnold decided to hit the showers. Victor plucked the location of the man's vehicle out of his mind and went outside to wait.

"You have two seconds to be off my car." Turner said when he emerged from the front door.

"It seemed like the logical place to wait until you were finished." Victor replied. "Someone should inform the manager that he's running a health club, not a cryogenics lab."

"I won't work for the government again." he said.

"Point in your favor as far as I'm concerned." Victor said. He was about to continue when he noticed a hole in his perceptions. "One second." he said, turning his head in the hole's direction. He caused a maintenence ladder to knock his observer off the roof of the nearby health-food store and into the dumpster below. The dumpster rolled into plain view under his direction. Weilding a sniper rifle, the man jumped out of the dumpster and opened fire. Victor stopped the bullet with his mind, turned it around and sent it into the unarmored shoulder of his assailant. A parked car opened its door, stopping the sniper's departure prematurely.

"You lead an interesting life, my friend." Arnold said as Victor approached his would-be assassin. Dead. The man had bitten a cyanide cap in one of his molars.

"Would you like to know the reason?" Victor asked.

"You have my undivided attention."

Arnold sat on the dock, enjoying a momentary silence. The first thing Victor had taught him was how to block things out so he wouldn't go crazy hearing every stray thought in everybody's head. That was a blessing, with the sheer number of people in the house at any given time--Victor's many mates, and also potential employees for Victor's television-station employers. The meditation training he'd received in the military helped, too.

A gunshot startled him out of his calm. Instinctively, his mind reached out, looking for hostile thoughts, while his body reflexively spun itself upright into a defensive posture. All he found was Penelope and Victor at practice.

A little warning would have been nice. he thought.

Sorry, Arn, I wasn't actively looking for you, so you sort of blended into the background. Victor responded.

In other words, you didn't see me there. Arnold thought back. What are you doing?

Bullet-stopping. Penelope answered. A spent round floated in front of her eyes, spinning slowly with whatever residual momentum it still had.

Sounds like a useful trick. Arnold thought, plucking the bullet out of the air.

Sorry, you have to start with remedial telekinesis first. Penelope taunted. Arnold focused on her feet, and slid them out from under her. She stopped herself halfway to the ground and floated five feet into the air. Oh, you wanna play, huh? The next thing Arnold knew, he was flying through the air, headed for the center of Lake Mexia. Penelope was waiting when he paddled tiredly back to shore. "Victor says dry off and get some rest. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Did you have to throw me so far out?" Arnold asked.

"Too many submerged tree stumps in the shallows." she responded. "Don't wanna toothpick ya. Besides, it'd be a real bitch if Victor had to go looking for another disillusioned ex-Secret Service agent."

"A lady shouldn't use such foul language." Arnold responded.

"When I see one, I'll be sure to tell her." Penelope shot back. Arnold shook his head and shuffled off toward the house. "Hey, he said dry off first!" Penelope shouted.

"Bite me, Penny." A telekinetic assault from Penelope sent him sprawling face-down in the dirt. He was still spitting out sand while he telepathically demanded what that was about.

Don't EVER call me Penny. she responded angrily. Her mind-voice carried the force and resonance as if he were talking to Unicron's daughter (if he'd had one), or at least an opera diva in full voice and amplified by all the speakers and amps of a heavy metal band. She stalked off in a huff. His perception of her cut off as she crossed into the shielded area within the house.

"Touchy." he muttered.

Detective Kagawa pushed open the door to the medical examiner's office, allowing her new running shoes to squeak once on the floor to alert him to her presence. The current occupant of the examining table was an African-American from an alleged hate-killing. The alleged killer was believed to be active in the Klan. For sure, he had a long history of altercations with non-whites. COD looked to be a simple gunshot to the head--execution style. Hardly something that required her to come all the way down here.

"Ah, Detective, thanks for coming." the elderly gentleman said.

"Got a name for our DB?" she asked.

"Sure do." the man said, turning his flat-screen monitor around to show her the screen.

"Edwin Forrest?" the detective asked. "You're joking, right?" The picture beside the name--a dossier from the sex-offender registry--was of a white man with shaven head, twelve documented tattoos from his prison career, and a rap sheet mostly composed of violence against non-whites and sexual assault of non-white women. He was also the son of the alleged gunman in this case. The man on the table could no more be mistaken for Edwin Forrest than the Detective could be mistaken for Mary Poppins.

"Positive." the man said. "I ran his DNA through the registry. I tried from a bunch of different places, but it keeps coming back Edwin Forrest. I ran his dentals. Forrest again. I X-rayed his skull. The negroid features are 100% fake. There's cartilage giving his face that shape, not bone. Weird thing is, the cartilage matches his DNA too."

"So, somebody somehow implanted his own cartilage in his face without leaving surgical scars, then dyed his skin?"

"No, somehow his skin was stimulated to produce tons of melanin, which made his skin that color." the ME stated. "They also shrunk his penis."

"Why go through all that trouble?" the detective asked.

"Can you think of a better punishment for a bigot? Becoming what you hate the most?"

"How do you suppose it was done?" she asked.

"Magic." the doctor responded.

"You're supposed to be a doctor, a scientist." Detective Kagawa said, her almond-shaped eyes boring into his rounder ones.

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." the ME said. "All I can tell you is that the cartilage wasn't implanted by any method I know of, and he sure wouldn't have sat still for it. I have absolutely no explanation for the melanin. I can't even tell you how his penis was altered. All his tattoos are there, even the two dragons pointing to his crotch. If you can find out where this was done and how, I'd appreciate you letting me know, because I'm stumped."

"So what do I tell Anderson Forrest? That he killed his own son because somebody altered him to look like a minority?"

"Tell him whatever you like, Rei." the ME said. "He won't believe it." Rei frowned to cover up an expression of ironic amusement. Part of her hoped that whoever had altered Forrest would share his secret with the world. It would make a wonderful punishment for hate crimes. Still, a man was dead, and it was her job to discover all the principal players in his demise.

"I should probably find out when he was last seen alive ... and white." she said.

"You do that." he said. "Just be careful, Rei. Cowards run in packs, you know."

"I know." she said. She disappeared while the doctor was doing something on the computer. It always messed with people when she did that. Her natural, catlike grace allowed her to move silently when she wanted to, even in squeaky sneakers.

Her partner was watching for her as she ascended. There would be no stealth in plain sight, but she didn't make any extra effort to be noisy.

"You just ninja-vanished on him, didn't ya?" he asked. "You know, it drives people crazy when you do that."

"I always thought it was expected." Rei replied.

"You know, Rei, not everybody thinks of ninja when they think of Japanese people."

"No, they also think of samurai, Godzilla, anime, and corporate raiders." Rei responded.

"So, who's our vic?"

"Edwin Forrest. Pretty fly for a white guy."

"I thought this one was black."

"Yeah, so did his father, that's why he shot him."

"Uh, you lost me."

"I'll explain on the way. I need you to talk to some of his friends for me."

"Why me?"

"Because these guys will be more likely to cooperate with a white male aged thirty to forty-five in plainclothes." she responded.

"I'm twenty-nine."

"Think old-people thoughts." Rei replied, elbowing him jokingly in the ribs.

Shanice was showing Kim the proper way to make mashed potatoes while Victor fried up some fish. Mr. Andersen had baited the trotline the day before, and today they'd hauled in a good catch. It would have been easier--and good practice--to have the empowered members of this growing family merely seek out and bring in large fish with their powers, but Mr. Andersen was a sportsman at heart, and the trotline was pushing his limits as it was.

"I downloaded all your assignments for the day." Penelope said, appearing next to him.

"How'd you get my password?" Vic asked.

"I decrypted the keycheck datafile on your laptop." she replied with a smug smile. "It wasn't that difficult, really. I could have done it in my sleep."

"For somebody so concerned with people's security, you sure get nosy sometimes." Victor said.

"Sometimes the only way to make people tighten their security is to show them the holes." Penelope replied.

"I think that's a discussion you need to have with Mr. Andersen." Vic said.

"Later." Penelope said. "I ... have a weird feeling like ... someone's coming." Victor turned to face her. Her eyes stared straight through him, as though he were a telescope to someplace far away.

"Who?" he asked.

"Someone..." Penelope said, her eyes glazing as though she were in a trance. "She's afraid. I ... hear her calling out for you. I see missiles..."

"Shit! Where?"

"The little airport near Teague." Penelope said. Her eyes cleared. "You need to hurry!" Vic gave her a kiss on the forehead and told Kim to handle the fish. Penelope wiped the kiss off her face while Vic and Arnold headed out the door and took off in a crew-cab pickup Arnold had brought over. It was modified for off-road police duty. A friend of his had let him keep the enforcer engine, and it now came in handy as the pair hurried through Mexia and sped toward Freestone County.

Outside of the shield, Victor had a better view of the outside world with his extra senses. With Arnold driving, Victor extended his perceptions out as far as they would go. A small, private jet with two people in it--a male and female, both terrified--was doing its best to make it to Teague's small airport. Two Air Force jets were putting as many heat-seeking missiles as they could between the jet and its destination. Victor reached out, bending the fin of one of the missiles to send it crashing into its brother, creating a fireball into which four others plunged, increasing the heat. Sadly, no more missiles took the bait. He severed the fuel line of another, sending it plunging into a field of cattle. The pilots of the Air Force jets were about to launch more missiles. Victor created a horrifying apparition in their minds, which frightened them into losing control. One crashed into a construction site, another a stand of trees. Turning his attention back to the missiles, he forced them together as he'd done the first pair. Too close, the missiles exploded, sending shrapnel into the rear of the jet, not penetrating the passenger compartment, but robbing it of all power and most of its control. As the pickup pulled into the airstrip, Victor's attention was focused on keeping the nose up and slowing the plane down. It skidded on the tarmac, sending flames up in a rooster-tail. Arnold parked the truck next to the wreck, and Victor emerged, ripping the plane's door off its hinges with a thought.

Shots were fired from the trees nearby, and returned by Arnold. His enhanced senses allowed him to be much more accurate than the enemy. Victor made his way into the smoke-filled cabin. The woman was unconscious. Victor picked her up and helped the male out of his seat. They got to the truck and Arnold left rubber on the pavement in their hasty departure.

"Thank you." said the man in the back seat. Victor noticed that he was clutching a satchel of some kind, but what few thoughts he could pluck out of the emotional mess that was his mindstate at the moment indicated it belonged to the woman.

Sort things out later. he scolded himself, casting his thoughts about to search for hostile parties.

Inet opened her eyes in a room she had never been in before, but had seen thousands of times in her dreams. She felt a little lost, because usually her visions began with Victor walking into the room. For now, however, she was alone with young Penelope Simms.

She'd had visions of Penelope before. In some of them she was driven mad by her growing powers of clairvoyance. In others, she grew up to be as gifted as Inet--more, if you factor in the additional gifts granted by her evolution at the hands of Victor. Possibilities; so many possibilities. She took off the oxygen mask.

"Don't do that." Penelope said, getting up and putting it back on. "We think Vic managed to get you past the worst of the smoke inhalation, but ... keep the mask on, just to be safe, ok?" She felt the girl's touch in her mind, and was unable to resist the compulsion to sleep.

Her next awakening was to a decidedly more familiar scene. The door opened, as Victor walked in to check on her. It closed behind him, and he seated himself on the bed. He was as handsome in person as he had been in her dreams. She felt him remove her mask. "How are you feeling?" he asked. She took his hand, moving it to the side of her face so she could snuggle affectionately into it. Then, she opened her mind to show him.

Memories tickled across her consciousness as he accepted her invitation. She laid bare her hopes, her dreams, her fears, her hardships and achievements, her triumphs and failures, everything about herself offered freely in a transcendental, uninhibited, total self-sharing possible only with a telepath she loved and trusted more than anything.

She became aware of the the present, the here and now, once again, held gently in Victor's arms. The scent of him filled her nostrils. The scent of her own arousal was like a delicate perfume in the background, present but not detracting from her experience of him, the sense of belonging, rightness and realization of purpose that was almost as good as the thought of making love to him. She tried to stave off the fear, in the back of her mind, that he might reject her. It was a terrifying possibility, one more horrifying than death, creeping like tentacles of ice into the safe mental haven she thought she'd found.

She saw herself in a bare room that she somehow knew was her mind, weighted with chains. Victor floated above her. She desperately wanted to join him. He smiled and sent her a key. She grasped it with a swell of gratitude, and applied it to her chains. As the first fell away, it took with it her fear. Knowledge that she had been accepted crept into its place, warming her, bouying her spirit. The next chain to fall away under the key was jealousy. Nearly free, the final ball and chain almost came up with her increase in bouyancy, but weighed her down at the last minute. Just one more thing to let go of. she thought, reaching down with the key. Inhibitions fell away, opening her to experience any kind of pleasure he could think of to bring her. She felt unbridled joy at the sense of freedom as she floated up into Victor's arms.

She was on the bed again, moaning with pleasure as Victor's hand stimulated her vaginal walls. She knew what he was doing, stretching her to prepare her for the consummation of her destiny. Where their clothes had gone, she had no awareness, but it didn't matter. Soon, he was positioning himself at her entrance. She shivered with anticipation. Gently, his mind linked with hers, blocking the pain as he claimed her at last. Only pleasure was left behind, and she welcomed it with open arms (and legs). He allowed her to see through his eyes as her virgin blood leaked onto the mattress, then she was back to herself, nothing distracting her from the pure pleasure he gave her as he moved inside her, against her, with her. He guided and controlled her where appropriate, letting his hands and mouth help him to enhance her enjoyment. There were no words, no coherent thoughts, only gasps of delight and whimpers of need. He held her close as they neared the end, culminating in an explosion of white-hot ecstasy that robbed her of consciousness.

She heard him calling for her and tried to heed him. It took so much effort, she wasn't sure she could, but she fought her way back to wakefulness, and he resumed his delightful ministrations. Now her legs were up over his shoulders, giving him greater access, deeper penetration. She had a small orgasm every time he struck her cervix. Too much, it was too much, she was sure she'd go mad. He erupted inside her, splashing her insides with his seed. She responded in kind; though she hadn't thought it possible, this new orgasm was even stronger than the first. She surrendered to sleep once more, and he let her lie.

When she awoke again, it was to a gnawing hunger that demanded to be fed despite the weakness of her exhausted body. Food was provided, and it proved delicious beyond her imaginings--though she supposed the fact that Victor was the one providing it had proven somewhat of an enhancer for her pleasure. Sated for now, she allowed herself to drift back to sleep.

Victor was still there when she awoke again. How much time had passed, she had no inkling. "Zaid is waiting." he whispered. "I should clean you up and make you presentable." She mumbled sleepily. He levitated her from the bed and into the shower. He held her up until she was awake enough to stand on her own, and soaped her body well. She liked the flowery scent of the shampoo. Her hair and skin looked radiant by the time he was done. They toweled off and he rifled through the drawers until he found an extra-large T-shirt, which she put on. Victor had put on his own shirt and pants, and was looking for something for Inet to wear under the shirt when Zaid knocked at the door.

"Forgive me, My Lady, but..."

"Yes, I know." Inet said. "The notary-public is here." Zaid nodded.

"He had this with him." he said, handing her a box. She nodded and he bowed out.

"What's that?" Victor asked.

"Something I gave to an American notary-public a few years ago to hold on to." she said. Without faltering for a millisecond, she opened the nightstand's drawer and pulled out Mr. Andersen's pocket knife, which she used to cut off the tape. She pulled out a cream-colored dress that left her shoulders bare and hinted at cleavage. It had long sleeves and went almost to the floor, while also showing off an enticing curve here and there. The neckline was decorated with a repeating square border. Next, she pulled out sandals for her feet, wrapped two tendrils of hair (one behind each ear and coming to rest just above her bustline) in gold-colored ribbons. She then added a headpiece that was mostly support for the emerald that, when she wore it, was positioned in the middle of her forehead. The effect was very like what Victor imagined an ancient Egyptian priestess would wear.

Victor knew, of course, thanks to her generous psychic sharing, that Inet's family had continued to follow the old ways, at great risk to themselves many times in history. They were persecuted by the Muslims today just as they once had been driven out by Akhenaten, only to be welcomed back by Tutankhamun later. The Bastet medallion she was even now putting on was testament to that history. She smiled as she led Victor out of the room.

A slim, balding man was waiting for them in the dining room, sandwiched between Arnold and Zaid. Since the man was obviously eager to leave, Vic decided to forego the lengthy introductions until he was gone. Zaid handed the satchel to Inet, who opened it, depositing a pile of papers on the kitchen table.

Victor read quickly--part of his gift from Zak--and saw that most of it was transfers of assets; namely, the transfer of Inet's assets into Victor's name. He could see the sparkle in her eyes as she signed the power-of-attourney forms. There were also other forms for herself and Zaid, including applications for religious refugee status as non-Muslim Egyptians. The balding man notarized the forms, took the carbon copies and was on his way as quickly as possible.

"What did you guys do to get him so jittery?" Victor asked.

"Nothing much, just the dour, imposing bodyguard routine." Arnold replied with a smirk. "His idea. I'll say this for him, he's got a sense of humor almost as sharp as his sense of duty."

"Speaking of imposing, this house is very small for the number of people it would be required to hold before too long." Inet said, fishing out a couple of deeds from their copy of the paper stack. "Here. I own two hotels, one in Waco, and one here in Mexia. I've reserved the top floor of the one here for our use for the duration of Victor's assignment."

"Is there a pool?" Penelope asked.

"Is there ever not?" Inet responded. "Hotels without pools don't remain in business long in America, or such is my understanding."

"How is it you can afford..." Shanice asked, gesturing to the property and assets whose deeds of ownership occupied the table.

"She predicts the future." Penelope answered for her. "Imagine how useful that would be, just in Las Vegas."

"I don't predict the future." Inet said. "I can see the path ahead. I can't memorize the entire maze, it would drive me insane if I tried. Instead, I had to learn how to ask for the information I needed to keep me on the path to the cheese--and keep myself away from the cats."

Victor didn't much like the rat analogy, but it seemed to fit. Penelope was going to have to learn what Inet had learned, to prevent being overwhelmed as her growing gifts showed her more of the maze than she could handle at once--and he had a feeling knowing exactly where the cats were was going to come in handier with every passing day.

Seven Devil Seven sat in a lounge chair across from the Mexia post office. It wasn't really a name, but it was the closest he had--a self-chosen nickname derived from his agent number, 76667. Coincidentally, or perhaps by fate, the ZIP code of the city in which he now relaxed was exactly the same. He'd come here without orders--without permission, to be perfectly honest--in anticipation of the moment when The General would wise up and stop repeating the tired routine of using the crappiest weapons first and gradually working up to the most powerful. Seven Devil Seven was just that, the most powerful weapon the Agency had. On the psi-scale from 1 to 20, with 1 being completely mindblind and 20 being a creature of pure psi-energy, he was a P19. The product of early experiments with alien genetic technology, he had evolved quickly. Only their paranoia--in the form of nanites in his brain cells--held back his evolution up the final rung.

Power was not without its price. When his powers had reached the P17 level, his brain had become cramped. In order to relieve pressure, the Agency was forced to resort to the ancient craft of traphanation, taking out pieces of skull to make room for the expanding gray matter. In the end, he'd ended up with a complete artificial brainpan made out of an alloy reverse-engineered from the outer hull of a faster-than-light spacecraft. It was immune to the impact of any projectile made on Earth, but it made him look like he'd gotten his head stuck in a cauldron. At the moment, he was playing the nutter, wearing a turban bigger than anything Johnny Carson ever considered, and clothes that he imagined would make blind golfers run away screaming. The eye-gouging riot of color made people want to look away, and not examine his turban too closely.

Seven Devil Seven waited with the patience of an ambush predator.

"I wish I was there with you, Master." Kim said in Chinese. He didn't need his powers to know the desire she felt was not to see the hotel, which certainly wasn't the Ritz, but it was nice. Reflexively, he checked the time, just as he always did when using his cell phone. Eighteen minutes and counting. He didn't really need to; after all, he'd just had a drastic change in financial status. H&R Block was going to shit kittens when tax time rolled around.

"I know, baby, but you do have your regular job to do, and my special assignment for you still stands." Victor said. He heard her soft moan over the connection. "I'll be there to command you in person again by week's end. Check on my place for me occasionally, and make sure Mrs. Cruz is feeding Scooby Two properly."

"Yes, Master!" she moaned, then gasped as she had a climax. She'd gone into the bathroom for her talk with Victor, knowing where her desires would lead. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm almost out of minutes."

"That's okay, babe. You and Desiree keep each other company until I return." he said. "Take care." He hung up with a pang of regret. He didn't like having any of his women so far away, where he couldn't protect them. It was nice to be able to give others some privacy. Penelope and Inet shared a suite, where Inet tried to impart the lessons of twelve years' experience. Mr. Andersen and his family were having a pretty good time in their own suite. His daughter, Liz, had turned twenty-one recently, granting her access to the mini-bar, but thankfully the Andersens hadn't thrown a "forbidden fruit" mystique over alcohol, sharing moderate amounts with her on special occasions. Thus, the object of Liz's drinking was not to get drunk and pass out perhaps to wake up in a strange bed the next morning feeling like someone had carved the night before out of her brain with a rusty knife, but to have a good time with family and friends. It was a healthier attitude, in Victor's opinion, thankfully passed down from her mother, whose family was Italian.