A "Winds of Change" Story

By Bryan Derksen

The policeman had sighed and tossed down his pen, shaking his head wearily. "You really want to make this difficult, don’t you?" He had asked.

I sighed too. "No. But I told you, there’s some information I’m just not at liberty to give. It’s a matter of patient confidentiality."

"But you haven’t given me any information!" He exclaimed, his feathered crest fluttering in agitation. "You know this guy’s name. You know where he comes from. You say you know why he took a shot at you. I know you say you don’t want to press any charges yourself, but there are other people involved too! He was firing that gun in a crowded stadium, he could have hit plenty of bystanders. He did hit two of your friends!"

I said nothing. We had gone over this several times at least already, and I was starting to get a severe headache. If he would only let me talk with Mort alone for a few minutes, perhaps I could tell him more than I already had. But he wouldn’t even let me call Dr. Samuel yet. I was beginning to worry about keeping my power under control, if I had to put up with this interrogation for much longer I might crack and suggest that he lay off. Perhaps if I told him to just accept what I told him as all he’s going to get for now... it was the truth, after all, so far as I was able to reveal.

Mort had been one of over a thousand sheepmorphs that Reimer had drawn to Morrisville and mentally brutalized. He had been among the worst affected; by the time Reimer had been defeated Mort had almost completely withdrawn behind sheep instincts under the battering. I remembered spending a lot of time working on coaxing him back out of his shell. He had improved significantly by the time I had left, he was able to live an almost human life again though he still had major troubles...

"Okay, then. Just one thing," the policeman declared after the pause had stretched uncomfortably long. "Grant us just one more clue, and you can finally go rejoin the rest of your friends and I can get some lunch. What was the motive? Why did he track you down, specifically?"

 

The security guards pulled the brown bighorn to his feet, and my glare turned into an expression of astonishment as I recognized him. "Oh my God. Mort? Mort Wakefield?" Mort locked eyes with me.

Upstart challenger! SMASH HIM BACK! SHOW HIM WHO’S BOSS!

My breath caught in my throat for an instant as the voice flamed in the back of my mind, and I clamped down hard to keep any trace of it from showing. But I was sure Mort could see the raging drive for dominance in my eyes. After all, I could see it plainly in his. We held each other’s gaze for an interminable moment. That was why he had tracked me down. Tried to shoot me...

"You know him?" Eric asked, vaguely penetrating the red haze in my brain.

He is subordinate male! Underling! Weak UPSTART! The voice in my mind raged, virtually having a fit. Desperate to get it back under control, I focused some anger of my own inward. I just barely got through to it.

SHUT UP!

The voice broke off, seeming confused an perhaps even somehow hurt by my rebuke. I nodded absently. "Yeah. I do. He was one of the people I was helping in Morrisville."

 

"A dependant," I told my inner voice acidly. "Not a rival or subordinate. When will you get it straight that I’m not a deer?"

"But you didn’t think like a deer," the interrogator told me, "you were thinking like a sheep." I looked up. She was now a female rodentmorph named Harriet, not the avian policeman who had questioned me in real life. This was no longer my true memory, more like a shared dream now. "I wish you didn’t imagine me in the role of ‘interrogator’ like this," she sighed. "It’s adversarial. Hostile. I’m only trying to help."

"I know. But that’s what Fox wants you to become for him, isn’t it?" I countered. "An ideal interrogator, able to get inside a person’s mind like you are right now and rummage around through their experiences. Just as he wants me to become a perfect brainwasher."

She shook her head. "You really don’t trust Fox, do you?"

"I don’t trust anyone with unregulated power, and he has it in spades. Just look at the way he got the police to lay off, without even pulling any strings. He just vouched for me and they fell all over themselves to get out of our way. I couldn’t have done it more easily myself, with my Power."

"And of course, you distrust yourself for the exact same reason," she said. "And me too, no doubt. Our powers make all three of us dangerous. But you still finally agreed to let me try helping you, a rather risky venture from your perspective. What changed your mind?"

 

"I’m sorry about the mess today turned into," I told Jon first thing upon arriving back at the hotel. The others weren’t around, they had left Jon behind to wait for me.

He grinned. "No problem. I’m just glad I was there to block the hunter’s bullet for you."

"Heh. Mind if I sit down? I’ve had a bit of a rough time..." I sank into one of the chairs in the lobby, and Jon sat down next to me. I discovered that I was shaking slightly. "Sorry. It’s just sinking in, that’s all. This was the first time anyone’s ever actually tried to kill me..."

Jon nodded. "I had a similar reaction after the riot on Changeday. But it’s better to fear for your life than lose it, right?"

I grinned weakly. "I guess. I’d rather not fear at all, frankly."

Jon shook his head. "No, better to be afraid. Not being afraid will only lead you to take suicidal risks."

"I didn’t have to fear once, though," I sighed. "Before the Change I never worried about someone trying to kill me. Even after arriving at Morrisville I felt safe, I was... in control, there. Things were calm. It’s just these past couple weeks, with Mort and cultists and earthquakes and India..."

"What’s wrong with India?"

I snorted. "Nothing that should have been my concern. But someone has gone and appealed to my sense of responsibility, dumping half a billion people’s problems on my shoulders. I can’t really go into detail..."

"Oh. Like the people of Morrisville, huh?"

"Yeah." I frowned. In a way, that was true. Fox had told me virtually the same thing, that the maniac that had apparently taken over had done so using technological mind control techniques just as Reimer had used his Power to take charge of Morrisville. But it was different, Morrisville was my responsibility...

"Why is that?" I was surprised to see Harriet sitting in the armchair on my other side.

"Why is what?"

"Why is Morrisville your responsibility, in particular? You weren’t responsible for what Reimer did to them. You weren’t even responsible for saving them, he drew you there against your will and it was an ewe named Linda who really shot him."

"Wasn’t this particular flashback supposed to be about why I decided to accept Fox’s offer of your psychiatric services?" I asked peevishly.

"I talked him into it," Jon supplied helpfully. "I suggested that it might be a good opportunity to meet another person with a mental Power that works for Fox, and see what she thinks about him. Perhaps find a kindred spirit with your same concerns."

"Quiet, you!" I snapped. "You’re just a memory right now. And you’re being inconsistent, I never even told you Fox’s name."

"It doesn’t matter, this is all in your mind after all," Harriet reminded me. "It could be that you thought that reason up yourself and just didn’t want to say it in front of me."

I blushed under my wool in embarrassment. "Jon’s come to represent my subconscious a lot recently," I said ruefully.

Harriet nodded. "I see. Because of your recent mix-up with him?"

"Yeah. He left bits behind, like that deer’s voice of instinct you heard after Mort attacked me."

Upstart shrivel-horned challenger... the voice of instinct grumbled, rousing itself at the mention of Mort.

I shushed the mental voice and Jon cocked his head, his ears swivelling as if he had actually heard the voice in my mind. Perhaps he had, since this ‘Jon’ was also just a memory inside my mind right now... "You sure that’s me?" He asked. "It doesn’t sound like something I’d say."

"Look, can we get back to Fox again?" I asked, annoyed.

Harriet smiled and chuckled quietly. "I think your mind is wandering with a purpose, Bryan. But we’ll get back to this later if you want to talk about Fox first. Jon had a good idea..."

Harriet licked her incisors and stroked her whiskers nervously as she followed the foxmorph down the quiet hospital corridor. She had tried reading the memories of a few of these cases before, but had always recoiled from the whirling madness that lay just under the surfaces of their minds. Today she was determined to penetrate it.

"You sure you’re feeling up to this?" Fox asked.

Harriet nodded. "Yeah. I can only practice so far on willing volunteers, it’s got to be done..."

Fox led Harriet to the door of a small private room and unlocked it. There was a pitiful weasel-like creature lying on the bed inside, its fur still patchy from the many surgeries that had been performed on it and its eyes open but empty. There was also a mulemorph sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed watching it. "This is Mr. DeMule," Fox introduced her. "He’s a telepath. Jack, this is Harriet. She’s a memory-prober."

Jack grinned and nodded greeting. "Uh... any luck getting through to him?" Harriet asked. Jack’s face fell slightly and he shook his head.

"He’s completely comatose. Hope you don’t need a conscious subject to work, I can’t read anything meaningful off of him."

Harriet sighed. Okay, I’ll see what I can do, she ‘pathed to

Jack as she sat down next to him. Can you lead me in as far as you’ve got so far yourself? I’ve tried getting into him before, but I need to go deeper this time.

"I’ll let you two get started, then," Fox told them, noting their silent communication. "I’ll, uh... be just outside if you need me." He backed out of the room and lightly shut the door.

"You’re going to interrogate the guy?" I asked Harriet.

She glanced away from Jack to look at me as I stood by the end of the bed. "I did ‘interrogate’ him. This is a flashback, remember. One of my own this time. But there’s interrogation, and then there’s interrogation. Come with us and see what I discovered that Fox is fighting against."

Jack stood up. "You can use my chair." I glanced at him, but there was no recognition in his face; Harriet obviously didn’t know that we knew each other. Or perhaps this was a flashback from before I’d first met Jack face-to-face in California. Whatever, it was all metaphors right now anyway. I sat down in his chair. Then Harriet focused on the comatose weasel in the bed...

 

...he was in a scientific chamber of horrors, strapped to a table, surrounded by the smells of chemistry pounding on his sensitive nose. He tried to scream for help, or even just moan, but his body wouldn’t respond; he’d been drugged, or beaten, or both. Or worse. He remembered scalpels and surgeons and pain...

"There were a few implants left in him when he arrived," Harriet quietly informed me. "And scars where implants and tissue samples must have been removed before we got him." I shuddered.

...the weasel blinked, trying to straighten out his blurred vision. He didn’t bother struggling any more; he felt too weak, both physically and emotionally. He couldn’t think straight enough even to form a deathwish any more.

Movement. Someone approached. Someone in a white coat, like all his tormentors. With an orange head... his vision focused briefly and froze on the face. A Tiger. "Chan-dra..." he whispered hoarsely, with hope at last. Chandra would help him. The radio had said he could.

The tigermorph grinned widely, exposing his fangs. And raised a syringe...

 

Fox and I walked down the hall of the police station in grim silence. He seemed reluctant to say ‘I told you so’, probably because he knew he was on very shaky ground with me. I could sense that he actually did fear me, in some small way; he knew from experience how easily I could smash through his mental defences if I lost my temper. Which made his gall even more incredible.

Finally, outside the police station, I stopped and turned to confront him. "Did you arrange this?" I demanded.

"If you mean arranging Wakefield’s attempt on your life, then no." Fox replied cautiously.

I snorted. "You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you so easily. Your warning last night about my problems would eventually catch up with me seems a bit too conveniently timed now."

"I agree. But the fact remains that I didn’t arrange this. It wasn’t what I was talking about in any case. I was talking about India."

"India isn’t my problem!" I snapped. "And I’m not running away from it, either!"

Fox was silent for a moment, and we resumed walking. Whether Fox had been talking about India or not, the warning had been eerily applicable to my problem with Mort and Morrisville...

"What would I have to do to get you to trust me, Bryan?" Fox asked at last.

"You could go away and never cross my path again," I suggested. Mostly serious, in fact.

Fox sighed. "If only life were that simple. As it is, I’m faced a problem that won’t go away, a problem much like yours. India is in the grips of a mind-controlling megalomaniac, and even if he’s defeated there will be others out there that try the same thing now. I need you to help me fight the other Reimers out there."

I sighed too, and broke with my memory’s script. "Damn it, Fox, did you know Harriet would show me the memory of that ferret morph when you offered her help?"

"He didn’t, if that helps," Harriet told me. Fox just shrugged, since he was only a memory after all.

"Well, he’s right, damn it. Chandra’s just as bad as Reimer was, if not worse. But..." I sighed in helpless frustration. Don’t want to challenge Tigerman, the voice of Jon’s instincts said. Want to stay home. I shrugged. "You heard the buck," I told Harriet.

"It’s not a buck’s voice," Harriet told me. "It’s a ram’s."

I froze for a moment, as did the universe around us. "I got it from Jon," I corrected. "I never heard it before we merged. It’s not my voice."

"I suspect you just didn’t hear it before," Harriet sighed. "Jon’s mindset catalyzed a change in your own. But I suspect it was always there, whispering in your ear..."

 

Reimer and I circled each other slowly, surrounded by the supercharged emotions of the herd of sheep surrounding us, sparring silently with our eyes. After a long, agonizing moment, an intangible cue passed between us. I can’t really describe what went through my mind, or how I knew what to do; I just set my teeth and did it. We walked toward each other with increasing speed, breaking into a short run, and then launched ourselves into each other head-first.

BANG!

I stumbled from the blow, nearly falling down. I had no idea how long the fight had lasted; I had long ago lost track of the number of times we’d butted heads, let alone the time it had taken to do so. It could have been hours. There was a huge crowd by now, the entire town must have turned out to watch. They were all still silent, still watching the fight intensely. They seemed to know it was almost over, though. They were getting restless.

I didn’t pay attention to them, I had my own problems. My legs were on fire, muscles burning with fatigue; I was wearing out. My mental defences seemed to be crumbling too, and I was becoming increasingly disoriented from the mental blows my opponent delivered each time our horns slammed into each other. His own endurance still seemed strong.

I knew with an increasing dread certainty that I couldn’t win. I was simply too weak, my loss was lmost inevitable. Submit! My instincts seemed to scream; Submit, or you’ll get yourself killed! I thought of what had happened to the townspeople, becoming mentally dominated slaves in this twisted lunatic’s ‘herd’. The same would happen to me if I lost. I can’t! I screamed back silently. I refuse!

Then fight!! Even the imaginary voice of my instincts sounded desperate, but despite that it was not despairing; despair was useless as far as my instincts were concerned. I tried to take that thought to heart, and scraped the bottom of my reserves for the strength to deliver one more blow.

BANG!

The thunderous gunshot echoed in my ears for what seemed like minutes, far louder and more powerful in my memory than it had been in real life. Reimer lay dying on the ground before me. The animal inside me exulted in the victory, kicking the defeated male to assert my dominance for the whole herd to see. Standing proud despite the fatigue and pain, knowing I had won...

"My god..." I whispered. "What have I done? Why did I do it?"

"There’s nothing inherently evil about instincts, you know," Harriet assured me. I looked away from the dying ram, turning to face her instead.

"But look at what they made me do!" I retorted. "I killed a man! And even worse, I took his place as dominant male over these people. I didn’t intend to, but..." I shook my head disbelievingly, not wanting to believe. "No wonder Mort tried to kill me. I was no different."

"There was no different in Mort’s mind, perhaps," Harriet mused. "But you did try to help these people. You used your power over them for their benefit, as any good leader can only hope to do."

I turned back to Reimer as he lay there coughing blood, staring in fascinated horror as he approached death again. Just as I had always remembered it. "I want out of this memory," I told Harriet. "Let me out. I need to think."

Harriet nodded.

 

Jon picked me up in front of the hospital, his car easily recognizable from the antlers poking out the sunroof. He waved to catch my attention as he pulled into the passenger pickup zone, and I grinned weakly as I walked over to get in. I sat in the seat next to him.

"So, how did it go?" He asked, somewhat cautiously.

Not challenging, my instincts whispered. Herdmate worried?

Shut up. I’m not talking to you right now. I didn’t know how well real sheep could understand the concept of friendship, despite their social nature...

"It was... enlightening. But I’d rather not discuss it yet. Perhaps later, once I’ve got my head together a bit better..."

Jon nodded and pulled out of the temporary parking space, turning most of his attention back to the road. "I understand. Just remember, you can always talk with me about anything you want. I’m available, and I want to help."

I smiled. I knew Jon better than anyone, now. I trusted him totally. But I didn’t trust myself any more... about anything, really. "Jon, you met that foxmorph I was talking with earlier, didn’t you?"

Jon nodded again, always an impressive sight with that rack of his. "Yeah, briefly."

"Would you trust him?"

Jon snorted. "With my money, no. But he seemed like an okay sort if you don’t get in his way."

I sighed. I had a lot of thinking to do...

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