B E N E D I C T ' S 9
a creative
collaboration

P A R T . S I X .

I don't have to put up with this kind of abuse.

As the small jet reached cruising altitude, Howard Mosby sat down opposite the two men.
. . . . . "So how's your nee-noo-nee-noo coming along, guys?"
. . . . . Jordan Epson smiled in response, but Kethan Mortice held his blank countenance.
. . . . . "So-so, I guess," Epson said, looking down at first and then directly into Mo's eyes. "I think I'm getting a handle on it though. You know... turning it on and off, so to speak... Maybe I should have stayed on the island. I sure have ruined a lot of things I've touched."
. . . . . "No big deal, Jordy. The professor has a pretty deep well." He smirked at his own wit and went on, adopting a different tone. "Sorry I had to take you out the back. Thought the lobby might still be a bit dicey for you after what happened up in the suite. Too bad you missed Robin's performance."
. . . . . "Yeah, that furniture will never be the same... But I don't think you need to worry about me any more. Watch this." He picked up one of the leather coasters and held it in front of the detective.
. . . . . "Say 'when.'"
. . . . . Mosby leaned forward and studied the object for a few seconds and then said, "When."
. . . . . A coarse growth of bovine hair pushed its way out of the burnished surface.
. . . . . "Wow."
. . . . . Kethan Mortice closed his eyes, concentrated, and listened to the fascinating rhythm of rapid cell division. Thank God he was also beginning to master his own bizarre attributes. He still needed to practice, however, on how to disengage his ultra perception. Especially now that he was noticing some minor resonance in his sense of taste and smell. Very carefully, with conscious effort, he directed his ear to Freeman Benedict, who was chatting quietly with Robin Gallagher at the front of the passenger cabin. Once or twice he unintentionally intruded on the pilot's interchange with an air traffic controller, but managed to zero in on the voice of the scientist.
. . . . . "...and so they felt strongly that Gwen should stay with them for a few days, and I could not object, obviously."
. . . . . "I see... but, Freeman, she's having such wicked descents into the dormant state..."
. . . . . "I know, I know... Miss Bering thinks it might be connected with her age and hormonal situation... makes sense... wanted to run some tests, but..."
. . . . . "Exactly."
. . . . . "What?"
. . . . . "Oh, sorry. I got your thought about keeping a level of cooperation with her folks."
. . . . . "Such a joy to converse with you, my dear... a sublime economy of resources."
. . . . . She took pleasure in his smile and nodded.
. . . . . "I beg your pardon, but I must tell you that I feel a flashback coming on. I'm going to put my seat back and meditate for a spell."
. . . . . Suddenly Kethan had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping, which, of course, he was. But, for cryin' out loud, what else was this cursed mutation?
. . . . . He was a super-dooper eavesdropper!
. . . . . Mosby had moved across the cabin and whispered something in Robin's ear. Kethan missed it, but heard her subdued, but firm, reply.
. . . . . "Howard, stop it. I know what you meant."
. . . . . "Hey, Robbie, I just offered to buy you a couple o' belts. The Doc has some top shelf in the back."
. . . . . "Don't you understand? I know what you want."
. . . . . When the red-haired man opened his eyes to watch Mo tramp by, he noticed the distinct blush. Snickering to himself, he felt the onset of his PDS. "Time to conk," was his last thought before oblivion.
. . . . . Robin had turned her attention to Benedict. Something odd was happening. She was picking up thoughts directly from his flashback... a new phenomenon that scared her for a second. She wanted to pull her mind away, but it was the mental image of herself that deterred her. There was no continuity to the experience, but she was sure that Benedict was reliving the episode in the lobby. She was able to grasp his surprise and admiration at her feat, but then something startling happened that took her breath away. She had the explicit conviction that Benedict had detached himself mentally from the flashback and was dynamically moving through the projection in an independent manner. She heard him gasp, and noticed beads of sweat at his receding hairline. Only moments from panic, she removed a tissue from her purse and daubed his brow. When his eyes opened she worked up the courage to probe again.
. . . . . I can penetrate. Holy Mother... I have the power to remotely interact!

* * * * * * * * *

"Get up there, mister," Yates barked as he shoved Henshaw past him on the wood planking. "He's holding them off by himself!" The crack-crack of semiautomatic fire continued up at the cabin.
. . . . . "Who's holding off whom?"
. . . . . "My Man! By himself! He's outside by the rocks. Enemy pinned inside." The Texan shoved his finger viciously toward the the sound of combat and then back into the face of Mosby's assistant. "There's no time to explain! Now do your job! Move!"
. . . . . His voice drove all hesitancy out of the muscular man. Henshaw pulled a modified 12-gauge out of the cockpit and sprinted down the dock.
. . . . . "Some mercenary," Stromberg spat.
. . . . . Yates tried with all his might to assess the dire predicament. They were gathered on the end of the pier near the seaplane. Raker was buying time for an escape. It would be dark soon... if they lived that long. "Is this aircraft flight-worthy?" he demanded, mentally cursing himself for not monitoring the status of the seaplane. He turned quickly to the black man. Somehow he knew Henri would know.
. . . . . "Hell, no! Look at that strut. Just at the water line. Never been welded!"
. . . . . "That's it!" Devon interrupted. "Milton said the welders were here. Then all hell broke loose!"
. . . . . "We're all here, right?" Yates tried to keep his voice steady, authoritative.
. . . . . "Yes," Aurelia answered. "And I've got Maria's bleeding stopped."
. . . . . "Except for Dr. Milton, you mean,² Creighton added.
. . . . . "Look, he's gone," Stromberg yelled, flinching when he heard more gunshots. "Didn't know what hit him!" He turned to Yates. "I don't know how your guy got us out of there, but if we don't get off this island we'll all be dead or worse!"
. . . . . "What about the boats?" Henri gestured toward the log boathouse.
. . . . . "Guess we have to,²" Yates replied. But they must have boats, too, he thought, and his premise sent a horrendous chill through his torso. Maria met his gaze as if she understood his torment. He pulled his eyes away.
. . . . . Focus, you fool. The Problem! Focus on the problem. Nothing else matters!
. . . . . He commanded himself to rely on years of setting aside all distracting feelings and sensations..
. . . . . The plane. You've got to get them into the air. Use the boats as a back-up. Do it!.
. . . . . Maria grabbed Aurelia's arm at the blast of a shotgun and the sound of shattered glass. Yates knew he had to hold the group together or all was lost.
. . . . . "Lafayette! Can you and Stromberg ready the boats?"
. . . . . "Those antiques?!" Devon Wise sneered.
. . . . . "Cool it!" Henri implored. "Listen to the man!"
. . . . . "Yeah, right! You're the one who let Mosby lock my gun in the safe!"
. . . . . "Shut up!" Stromberg stabbed a finger at Wise and then leapt like a jack rabbit down the dock.
. . . . . Henri turned to follow and hissed over his shoulder, "Devon, don't lose it... use it!"
. . . . . Wise looked down at his hand and immediately tore off the rubber glove. Yates thought for a second that everything was going to pieces, but then Devon looked at him with a calm expression.
. . . . . "I've got an idea. I can fix this plane. I can fix it with my current!"
. . . . . "You might electrocute yourself if you touch the water," Yates warned.
. . . . . "I've got to try."
. . . . . "Wait. Creighton, can you lift it out?"
. . . . . "What? The plane?!"
. . . . . "Yes! Out of the water! Right now!"
. . . . . Mann blew out his cheeks and grabbed the wing from underneath. With a mighty grunt the seaplane came up out of the water. Devon paused only a moment before he thrust out his hand, but then withdrew it, shouting "Oh, Christ, now he's at risk!"
. . . . . "Damn," Yates swore.
. . . . . "Just go ahead and do it," Mann growled. "I can't keep this up."
. . . . . "No!" Aurelia cried. "I can do this! I can't lift it, but I can hold it. I know!" She stepped forward and held both her hands to the sides of her head and began to hum. Mann stepped back, dumbfounded, and the plane hung in the air. The humming rose in pitch to a ringing sound, not unlike a tuning fork.
. . . . . Devon lost no time in grabbing the broken strut.
. . . . . "Look away!" Yates ordered. The intense blue-white arc would have blinded them.
. . . . . As soon as he let go, Mann gripped the wing again. "Got it!" he bellowed, but all he could do was awkwardly manage to get the craft back in the water without it crashing into the dock..
. . . . . More gunfire.
. . . . . Aurelia Bering collapsed into Yates' arms. "Get in, Maria. I'll lift her in."
. . . . . Creighton Mann was down on his knees, coughing horribly and holding his left shoulder. With the women inside, Yates clambered into the cockpit, his hands instantly moving over controls. They heard another volley of shots, a scream, and the shotgun explode again in rapid succession.
. . . . . "Don't conk, big fella," Devon beseeched. He tried to drag the heavy man toward the plane.
. . . . . "Can't do it, son... You'll never lift me in. Go on."
. . . . . One engine had caught now.
. . . . . "I said, go on!"
. . . . . The second engine ignited. The big runabout rumbled out of the shelter and parallel to the dock. One of the seaplane windows burst and everyone knew why. Devon scrambled into the aircraft and slammed the door. Mann crawled another foot or two, so he could untie the remaining rope; and the plane was free. Yates looked down at the raw courage and hoped desperately that Henri could deal with him. If not... He had to let the thought slip away as he eased the throttle back. Devon heard a thunk and jerked away from a fresh bullet hole in the fuselage.
. . . . . Henri saw Maria point at him out the broken window and a jumble of emotions surged into him, as if she had pushed them into his throat, chest, and belly... Dread, confusion, fear, and guilt... It was a rush he thought he could handle, but the guilt threw him. He was about to put the hammer down, now that the seaplane was underway, but Maria's guilt caused him to hesitate. Guilt... for a man... for a brave, selfless man... Mann... MANN!.
. . . . . Then he saw him, sprawled at the end of the dock.
. . . . . "They're shooting at us!" Stromberg screamed from the rear cockpit.
. . . . . "Look! We've got to get to Mann first!"
. . . . . Now his companion saw him, too, and, although the boat was a good ten yards from the dock, Stromberg was over on the planking in one move... like a cricket.
. . . . . The sun was quite low now and Henri thanked the Good Lord that the blazing circle was right in the eyes of the men moving down toward the water, as if in slow motion, dropping clips and reloading as they tripped over the slippery rocks. "Too tight! Too tight!" his mind shrieked. He glanced back at the boathouse and then cursed himself for having done it. He saw the seaplane lift off in his peripheral vision as Stromberg shook his head and waved his arm violently toward the open lake.
. . . . . Jesus, I can't leave you, too...
. . . . . The mustachioed face was twisted with anger, and the arm kept jabbing toward the sun.
. . . . . Henri looked down and saw blood on the seat.
. . . . . And then the explosion. Flaming wood shot out in every direction. He saw the men tumble to the earth. His cohort was in the water now. Henri couldn't tell if Stromberg was stunned. Then the more powerful second explosion. A chunk of debris glanced off the side of his head, but he kept his wits.
. . . . . Move, Strom, move... please don't conk on me, baby!
. . . . . Then he saw it. The slick. Glowing with flame. Attacking the boat as if it had a life of its own. His hand moved without a thought behind it, shoving the throttle forward much too fast. The fire shot by him on the port side..
. . . . . Show me what you've got, honey!
. . . . . The v-8 provided every horse it had. When Henri cleared the danger at last, he realized he was weeping uncontrollably, the setting sun piercing into his eye sockets. But something made him turn around... turn his head just in time to see it. And what a sight it was!
. . . . . Just like that afternoon at the dunes with Angelica... so long ago... A little too much sun. A little too much wine. With a gasp, she pointed at the lake bird running over the surface to pick up speed for a takeoff, and it was so hilarious he couldn't stay on his feet.
. . . . . And there he was. Danton Stromberg skipping over the water at full speed, overtaking the speedboat. Henri was laughing so hard he hadn't even thought to slow down.

* * * * * * * * *

Mo didn't like it one bit. Benedict had no right to dress him down in front of the others... in front of Robin. He'd been doing his best.
. . . . . For pete's sake, he'd handled himself damn well, given these preposterous circumstances.
. . . . . Even when the client had thrown him the curve about not boarding the seaplane in Sault Ste-Marie, he'd safely gotten the group on the road in a rental van, confirmed that they hadn't been followed, and found the secluded resort in the Les Cheneaux Islands. He'd been up all night with a gun in his hand, then arranged for breakfast, and then... the lecture... right in front of the others. Dammit, he wasn't getting paid that well. He didn't have to put up with this crap. The man could have pulled him aside. Yeah, he could have done it in private. But, to criticize his work and question his judgment...
. . . . . in front of the others? At breakfast? When I'd been up all night? All on the basis of something he'd learned in a bloody daydream? Hell, they didn't need to sleep. I don't have to put up with this kind of abuse.
. . . . . He felt a touch on his arm and jerked away..
. . . . . "I'm sorry." It was Benedict's voice.
. . . . . "You know what, sir? I'm a little miffed at you!"
. . . . . "Robin says you're upset. I... I guess you have a right to be."
. . . . . "I'd say so. Why don't you just fire me?"
. . . . . "Because I don't want to, Howard. I... I need your help."
. . . . . "You have a great way of saying so!"
. . . . . "I said I was sorry, and I am. I'll make it up to you. It was tactless... wrong... I was worried. I was so worried about the others... about everyone."
. . . . . "You pay me to worry, right? There's nobody on my case but you! You don't need to have those kinds of concerns. I don't care what you saw in that flashback. There's nobody on my tail! I may not be the best, but I can stay on top of this, and if you have a problem, you tell me—man to man."
. . . . . "I can accept that."
. . . . . "That's all I'm gonna say about it, okay?"
. . . . . "Enough said."
. . . . . "You don't have to rattle my cage. I don't like to talk to my clients this way."
. . . . . "I'm sure you don't. I apologize."
. . . . . "Okay..."
. . . . . "But I do have concerns, you know."
. . . . . "Fine. We can talk about those, Doc."
. . . . . "That's right. Man to man."
. . . . . "Yeah."
. . . . . "About the plan, Mo."
. . . . . "Yeah... about the plan... my plan."
. . . . . "Your plan. I understand."
. . . . . "Okay. Let's sit down. But I want to talk to Kethan first. He can stand guard with those ears of his. And I need some more coffee."
. . . . . "Good. Coffee. Here comes Mr. Epson with a cup."
. . . . . "Hey, you didn't turn that into crude oil or somethin' like that, did you?"
. . . . . "Primordial ooze," Jordan replied flatly.
. . . . . "Yum."
. . . . . Freeman Benedict was glad that Mosby's sense of humor was back. The last thing he needed was to lose the only one of them that wasn't caught in the grip of the unknown. The knowledge that his mutation was still moving into uncharted territory had deeply shaken him. What did this mean for the others? And who was the mysterious man with the hypodermic? But, most of all... no more emotional blunders! Get a grip on yourself, man! You're responsible!
. . . . . Remember that... you're responsible!

Part Seven

T O P