No Chains Shall Bind Me (The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Seven) by Randall Farmer
Authors: Randall Farmer
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rest of you Focuses do things, but I’m sure as hell not going to enslave people . I hope there’s a better way of being a Focus, because I’m not taking yours. I don’t know what else you came here to say, but if it’s as worthless as what you’ve told me so far, I don’t want to hear any of it.”
Adkins cold eyes bored holes through Gail. “You ’re a fool.” The Focus stood and let exasperation show on her face. Gail realized with a start that until then Adkins had kept her face blank. How had she read Focus Adkins’ mood earlier? Gail focused her attention on Adkins and realized that the other Focus’s voice hadn’t risen in anger or shown any emotion at all save what she wanted to show to Gail. Adkins hands stayed at her side, her body calm. Gail had expected Adkins to put her left hand on her hip and wag an index finger at her, the way her father would have done. She didn’t. She didn’t have to, to get her point across. “You’re too young and stupid to be a Focus.” To Gail, Adkins’ calm words felt like a shout. “You’ll find out what soft-headed leniency does for you. When you’ve screwed up your household so badly that you’re their slave, come talk to me again. If they’ll let you out of your closet. Maybe then you’ll be ready to listen to reason. Then perhaps you can learn something.” Adkins turned and walked out of the room, gathering her guards behind her.
She had no parting comments for Gail, no expression on her face at all – but her entire demeanor showed a cold disapproval. She had been there less than fifteen minutes and was gone again, leaving Gail with a worse headache than ever and the sinking realization she had been thrown into far deeper water than she ever imagined.
“ Shit ,” Gail said, slamming the chair against the table. She did the same to a second chair. The chair slamming didn’t do anything for either her headache or her temper.
Her metasense, in Adkins ’ terminology, still sensed the Transform with the misfortune of having Adkins for a Focus. If Gail concentrated, she could metasense Adkins herself, now that she knew what to look for. However, when she looked for Adkins, everything blurred out, as if Gail was getting lost inside her own normally invisible glow.
She was so angry at the tyrannical, fascist, enslaving, supercilious bitch that she shook. She couldn’t do a damned thing about Adkins, but Gail vowed to herself that whatever happened, whatever problems she had with the people she supported, she would never, ever, use her Focus tricks to enslave them.
And, if Adkins had a problem with her decision, she could stick it up her tight little ass so far she choked on it.
Spoiled Milk
(7)
11:00 in the evening, and Gail cr ied, not a new thing. She had been crying a lot over the last several days. Two weeks had passed since she awoke from her transformation. She had long spent her initial reserve of juice. The six people now in her household weren’t even close to enough to keep her in sufficient juice.
Gail had learned to move juice. Juice flowed between her people, through her, but she had never thought moving juice would turn out to be so hard. Her never-ending headache throbbed whenever she tried to move the juice, and the flow slowed to nothing when she didn’t concentrate. Worse, when she didn’t pay attention, the juice flowed backwards into the damned juice buffer! Gail wasn’t doing it right. She knew she wasn’t doing it right, and she hurt people when she screwed up, but she didn’t have any idea how to move the juice any better. Her head hurt as if she held a hot poker every time she tried to move the juice. She often couldn’t summon up the energy to even try.
Being a Focus was hell. No end to the job, no relief ever. Nothing but the same enduring hell, minutes throbbing into hours throbbing into days.
She sobbed, curled in a tight ball in
Adkins cold eyes bored holes through Gail. “You ’re a fool.” The Focus stood and let exasperation show on her face. Gail realized with a start that until then Adkins had kept her face blank. How had she read Focus Adkins’ mood earlier? Gail focused her attention on Adkins and realized that the other Focus’s voice hadn’t risen in anger or shown any emotion at all save what she wanted to show to Gail. Adkins hands stayed at her side, her body calm. Gail had expected Adkins to put her left hand on her hip and wag an index finger at her, the way her father would have done. She didn’t. She didn’t have to, to get her point across. “You’re too young and stupid to be a Focus.” To Gail, Adkins’ calm words felt like a shout. “You’ll find out what soft-headed leniency does for you. When you’ve screwed up your household so badly that you’re their slave, come talk to me again. If they’ll let you out of your closet. Maybe then you’ll be ready to listen to reason. Then perhaps you can learn something.” Adkins turned and walked out of the room, gathering her guards behind her.
She had no parting comments for Gail, no expression on her face at all – but her entire demeanor showed a cold disapproval. She had been there less than fifteen minutes and was gone again, leaving Gail with a worse headache than ever and the sinking realization she had been thrown into far deeper water than she ever imagined.
“ Shit ,” Gail said, slamming the chair against the table. She did the same to a second chair. The chair slamming didn’t do anything for either her headache or her temper.
Her metasense, in Adkins ’ terminology, still sensed the Transform with the misfortune of having Adkins for a Focus. If Gail concentrated, she could metasense Adkins herself, now that she knew what to look for. However, when she looked for Adkins, everything blurred out, as if Gail was getting lost inside her own normally invisible glow.
She was so angry at the tyrannical, fascist, enslaving, supercilious bitch that she shook. She couldn’t do a damned thing about Adkins, but Gail vowed to herself that whatever happened, whatever problems she had with the people she supported, she would never, ever, use her Focus tricks to enslave them.
And, if Adkins had a problem with her decision, she could stick it up her tight little ass so far she choked on it.
Spoiled Milk
(7)
11:00 in the evening, and Gail cr ied, not a new thing. She had been crying a lot over the last several days. Two weeks had passed since she awoke from her transformation. She had long spent her initial reserve of juice. The six people now in her household weren’t even close to enough to keep her in sufficient juice.
Gail had learned to move juice. Juice flowed between her people, through her, but she had never thought moving juice would turn out to be so hard. Her never-ending headache throbbed whenever she tried to move the juice, and the flow slowed to nothing when she didn’t concentrate. Worse, when she didn’t pay attention, the juice flowed backwards into the damned juice buffer! Gail wasn’t doing it right. She knew she wasn’t doing it right, and she hurt people when she screwed up, but she didn’t have any idea how to move the juice any better. Her head hurt as if she held a hot poker every time she tried to move the juice. She often couldn’t summon up the energy to even try.
Being a Focus was hell. No end to the job, no relief ever. Nothing but the same enduring hell, minutes throbbing into hours throbbing into days.
She sobbed, curled in a tight ball in
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