Payment in Blood

Chapter Six: The Wheel Turns

"I am doing all I can to make the so-called Negroes see that the white race and their religion (Christianity) are their open enemies, and to prove to them that they will never be anything but the Devil's slaves and finally go to hell with them for believing and following them and their kind.”
--Elijah Muhammad

Bookshire Draftwood sighed as he signed off on the chart of the twelfth lynching victim to be brought into his hospital in two weeks. All over Mobius, the Mobians took out their anger over the Earth-Mobian war by persecuting humans. Blood called out for blood, and many Mobians seemed happy to answer the call, and so the waste and bloodshed continued.

The middle-aged raccoon chief of the Liberty Gorge Central Hospital pulled the shroud over the bloody, mangled face of the human, feeling defeated. He had worked for two hours to save Jonathan Gage after the police rescued him from a mob who was assaulting the human with baseball bats, but Gage had died anyway, as had the last victims of anti-human pogroms. By the time the victims were brought to the hospital, it was usually too late.

Bookshire turned to face his friend, the police officer Crenshaw McCarthy, as he entered the room. “Sorry, doc,” said Crenshaw. “You can't save 'em every time.”

“I know. I see it happening almost every day. Is this what out ancestors gave their lives for, Crenshaw? To repay the Earthers' oppression with our own. To take an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? When I was young and naive, I thought we could rise above petty motivations like revenge, hatred, and jealousy. What a fool I was.

“We were all young once,” said Crenshaw. “We both deal with plenty of them. I deal with them when they break the law, you deal with them when they break themselves. And our pal Rex has recently done both.”

“Hell.” Bookshire rolled his eyes. “He's always in trouble. What did he do this time?”

“He participated in an illegal street race and crashed his car into a telephone pole at 190 kilometers per hour. After we finish processing him, we'll turn him over to you. The station's medical examiner says he has six broken ribs, a broken arm, and some lacerations. He'll live. although he won't be up and about for a while. He's like a little brother to me, but God damn. I would think the military would have made him at least a little bit more responsible.”

“Riptos once told me that the military can always make a more responsible soldier, but they don't always make more responsible citizens. Riptos was fairly lucky in that he could fit back into civilian society during shore leave, at least until he became disabled, but I think Rex has a hard time adapting to it. The military life is all Rex really knows, and without it he's just as helpless as he was when he was a kid. Rex is a fine soldier and officer—he loves the Navy and the Navy loves him. But without the Navy, he has no direction. I think you need to start mentoring him again, Crenshaw. You thought Riptos could fill in for you when Rex joined the Navy, but Riptos was there to make him a good soldier, nothing else.”

“You have a point. And right now Riptos is so messed up he's in no position to teach Rex anything. I stopped by to visit him a few weeks ago. He's a pretty sad case.”

“The same thing that happens to Rex whenever he's on shore leave happened to Riptos, only worse. Riptos's life revolved around caring for his family and friends. He enjoyed being a provider, a father, and a leader. When he broke his back, other people had to care for him, and his whole world collapsed. He's months behind where he should be in rehabilitation, he hardly eats, and Elena says he doesn't even want to get out of bed in the morning. I don't ever want to see Rex end up like that.”

Crenshaw nodded. Riptos was an old, close friend to both of them, and his falling into complete despair after being crippled at the end of the war shocked both of them. It was like all the vitality in him had been snuffed out. The idea of the same thing happening to Rex chilled him “So Bookshire,” said Crenshaw. “When Rex gets here, do you think you or I should speak to him first?”

“You should do it first. And don't baby him. That's the last thing he needs.”

--

Rex groaned as he slowly woke up, the effects of the painkillers in his bloodstream clouding his vision. A horrific burning pain spread throughout his chest with every breath, and his arm was fully immobilized in a cast. I think I'm going to die, he thought.

He turned his head and saw Crenshaw standing over him, looking fairly displeased. “Rex, Rex, Rex, what am I going to do with you? You decided to race your car and broke six ribs, one leg, and several laws. I thought Riptos would have instilled more character into you.”

Never mind. I already died and went to hell.

“Why did you do it, Rex?”

“Do what?”

“Go street racing. You know that it's illegal, you know that it's dangerous, and you probably know that it's stupid. I know that you, on the other hand, are not stupid, although you sometimes seem to want to be. So why do you do this to yourself?”

“I don't know, because it's fun, I guess.”

“This isn't fun, is it?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so. Did it ever cross your mind that this would happen to you?”

“No.”

“That's the problem. You chase after an adrenaline rush without thinking of the consequences. You behave well in the Navy because you get to risk your neck and fly starfighters and you want to impress Riptos. But now we take away all the cool military toys and a commanding officer riding your ass and it seems that you haven't really learned anything since I stopped mentoring you when you joined the Navy, thinking that they'd whip you into shape. And they did—for them. But you're dependent on them providing the framework for your life and people above you watching your every move. Don't you want to be an independent person?”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do know, you just want me to go away. I can't let you run away, not now after you've royally fucked yourself over. I know you miss your friends in the Navy. I know you're upset at what happened to Riptos—he's a good friend to me, too. And I know you don't feel ready to have a family. But Rex, these things happen. And if you don't deal with them, they're going to come down on you like a ton of bricks. I think you should stay out from behind the wheel of a car for the time being. Maybe twelve months is a good time period?”

“They're going to suspend my license, aren't you?”

“Yes, and it's for your own good, too. You'll likely be on for the rest of your shore leave as well.”

“Will anything happen to me when I'm put back on active duty?”

“No, the Navy doesn't consider this their concern. But it is my concern. Rex, I can help you, but you have to be willing to accept it.”

“I don't think I have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice, but I don't think ignoring me is the right one.”

“All right, I'll take it. I guess it will be like old times, huh?”

“Yeah. It wasn't a good idea to leave you with Riptos.”

“I'm sorry about this,” said Rex, tears dripping from his eyes. “And I mean it.”

“I understand,” said Crenshaw as he rubbed between Rex's ears with his brawny fingers. He stopped as his radio alarm went off. He quickly pulled his scanner out of his pocket. “McCarthy here. What's up:?”

“We have the suspect in custody pending interrogation. They want you to question him since you were at the scene,” said the dispatcher.

“10-4. I'll be right there.” He turned o Rex and lightly touched the hedgehog's cheek. “I'll see you later. I've got a job to do.”

Rex nodded and watched Crenshaw leave, feeling pathetic and ashamed.

--

“So you're the one who did it, huh? Figures, judging by your record. You fucking lowlife.”

“Yeah, I did it, so what?” said Clarence Whitaker, a grizzled wolf in his mid-thirties. It only took a few minutes before the man had gleefully confessed. “It's no less than the humans deserve.”

Crenshaw snarled and grabbed Clarence by the collar. “How about I have you tell his family what he deserved, and give them machine guns. Does that sound like a good idea?” He threw Clarence against the wall.

Clarence pulled himself to his feet and spit on the floor. “Look around you, officer. These are the people who enslaved our ancestors, abused them, murdered them, raped them, treated them like fucking animals. They're the animals! By God, we might have animal genes, but they're the ones who made up some bullshit story to go to war with us and turn us into slaves again!”

Crenshaw backhanded Clarence in the face. “Don't give me that shit. Everyone knows about the terrorists who are responsible for the war. They were lawfully tried and punished for their crimes, unlike Mr. Gage. Did he have any due process, or lawyers, or jury? No, you pulled him out of his fucking home and clubbed him to death!”

Clarence spit again, this time sending a dislodged tooth and blood with it. “The law doesn't protect anyone, except for the elites and the parasites. The law didn't get us out of slavery, it was the gun and the bomb and the knife, the supreme law of violence! The humans will pay for their crimes in blood, blood spilled by their former slaves—a perfect symmetry!”

“You disgust me. Given half a chance, you'd be dragging them off to seedy brothels to be raped and into laboratories to be experimented on. You're a murderer and a sadist, Mr. Whitaker.”

“Whatever you say, officer. Do you know what you are? A traitor. A traitor to everyone who died so we could be free. How much did the Earthers spend when they bought our leaders, officer? Because now they're just like them.”

“No. We're better than they were during the dark times. But you're not. Take him back to his cell.” Crenshaw tried to control his anger as he watched the murderer being carried out.

“Don't you see? Don't you see?” shouted Clarence down the hallway. “He sold us all out! He and everyone like him! Burn in hell, all of you!

--

Adrian lay on a leather couch, Sammy sitting on a chair near the head of the couch. This was his third session with Sammy helping him to unlock his telepathic abilities, and now they were practicing connecting their minds. He had passed out twice from the overwhelming sensation of Sammy's perceptions merging with his own. It was a fascinating yet frightening experience.

Whenever their minds linked, Adrian would feel dizzy and light-headed, his heart rate and blood pressure would rise, and he would feel overexcited, on the verge of panic. Sammy had told him this was normal and would stop happening once he was used to it.

“Take slow, deep breaths,” said Sammy as he wiped the sweat off Adrian's muzzle, neck, and chest with a towel. “It becomes less scary each time you do it. Do you want to try it one more time?”

“Yes, just let me get myself together first.” Adrian closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from shaking. Being connected to another mind was one of the most bewildering, disorienting, and unnatural things he had ever experienced, although being connected with Sammy was nowhere near as harrowing as being mind-probed by the MGBA officials, which had left him begging and screaming for them to stop. “God, I'm sweating like crazy, even with my shirt off. How can you do it as if it's the easiest thing in the world to you?”

“You react that way because your brain doesn't know how to react, so it defaults to the fight-or-flight response. Once you've practiced it enough, it won't make you so agitated. When you're ready, we'll try once more, and then you can take a shower and go home.”

“OK, I think I'm ready now. I'll try not to faint again.”

Sammy nodded and laid a hand on the young hedgehog's head. Slowly Adrian felt Sammy entering his mind and drawing his perceptions out of his body. He began to sweat again, and his muscles stiffened. He willed himself to slow his breathing and stop shaking. His vision began to warp as the link scrambled his senses up. Their minds drew closer to connecting.

Closer. Some of Sammy's senses were now merging with his. He could smell the drying sweat on his body through Sammy's nose and he began seeing blurred images of himself on the couch. His heart pounded and his senses alternated rapidly between Sammy's view and his own. His thoughts ran out of control, filled with amazement and wonder and terror.

Closer. He felt like he was going out of his body. This was the point at which he would normally lose consciousness. He struggled to keep conscious at the incredible deluge of sensory information, barely clinging onto his own thoughts.

Suddenly, instantly, the chaos cleared. Contact had been made. He felt Sammy's presence calming his mind and slowing his pulse. He realized everything was quiet because his senses had fallen away, leaving only the feeing of his mind and Sammy's.

/How does it feel?/ said Sammy telepathically.

/Strange, but not so bad. Why can't I see?/

/I shut off your senses to prevent you from passing out. Soon you will be able to do this without such assistance. I'm going to bring them back now./

Adrian saw himself lying on the couch, eyes half-open. Effortlessly, he switched from Sammy's view to his own. He felt the fox's hand on his forehead. He then viewed one scene through his left eye and the other through his right. It was no longer so chaotic—Adrian could control what he saw and felt at will. He reached up and touched Sammy's face, and felt it as if he was being touched himself.

/Neat, isn't it?/

/Yeah./

/Then watch this.

Sammy further opened up the link, allowing Adrian to sense the fox's thoughts and emotions. Sammy seemed to be very pleased with him. He felt a calming warmth surrounding him, his own contentedness reflecting in Sammy, forming a cycle. They remained that way for several minutes, giving Adrian time to enjoy it.

/All right, I'm withdrawing now. This won't be as bad as the other way around./

Adrian felt Sammy pulling away, the mental link breaking. His own reality abruptly returned. He sat up and saw Sammy beaming at him. “How was that?” said Sammy.

“It was great!” said Adrian. “It was so scary going in, but it was very...I'm not sure how to describe it.”

“It's not easy to describe it. You did very well, Adrian, especially for a low-grade telepath. It takes some people weeks before they get to this point. That was a pretty one-sided link. I could reach you more effectively than you could reach me. It wouldn't be safe for you do do something like change my heart rate until you've had more practice. Get yourself cleaned up and dressed, and then you can go home.”

“I'll probably go straight to bed once I get there,” said Adrian. “I'm so tired I could fall asleep right now.”

“That's no surprise.” Sammy handed Adrian his spare change of clothes. “Now, I think you should shower off. You smell terrible after sweating so much.”

Adrian laughed and closed the bathroom door behind him. Removing his pants and underwear, he got into the shower and turned on the hot water, breathing out slowly as it ran down his chest and belly. He washed up quickly, put on some clean clothes, dried his spines off with a washcloth, and walked back out to the session room.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Adrian. We'll keep practicing this until it becomes easy for you.”

“All right, I'll be there. Bye.” Adrian waved as he opened the door to leave.

“Take care.”

Adrian walked down the hallway to the parking lot. Sammy used a hotel room to conduct the training session,as it was comfortable, quiet, and private. He felt an increasing admiration for Sammy and his seemingly limitless supply of patience and kindness. Why does he like me so much? he thought to himself. Does he have some kind of plan for me?

--

Rex tried to sit up as he saw Bookshire entering the room, but cried out in pain and fell back onto the bed. “Shit,” he muttered. “I guess I screwed up this time, Bookshire.”

“You certainly did,” said Bookshire. “Crenshaw is very disappointed in you.”

“I know. He told me.”

“If you follow your rehabilitation program exactly, you will probably be fit for service before your unit gets called back to active duty. I would not recommend trying to sit up again for a few days. You could hurt yourself.” The raccoon wrote something on Rex's chart

Rex was shocked at Bookshire's lack of his usual friendly demeanor. “You're mad at me, aren't you?”

“Angry? No. I'm just disappointed, just like Crenshaw. I'm also disappointed in Riptos, but I won't say that to him as he's already one step away from being on suicide watch. It will take a very intensive and difficult rehabilitation to get you back in shape in time. Before I commit to such an effort to get you back in fighting condition, I want to make sure you will put your effort into following it.”

“I'll do anything, Bookshire. I promise.”

“Then I want to promise me that you will not drive before your license is reinstated.”

Rex closed his eyes briefly. “I promise.”

“All right,” said Bookshire. His attitude seemed to soften now, and he gently stroked Rex's brow with his thumb. “You have a long and hard road ahead of you, so rest up. Remember that I will hold you to your promise.”

“I won't disappoint you again, Bookshire,” said Rex.

“Glad to hear it.”

--

Riptos waited behind the old church as he had been instructed, drumming his fingers against his wheelchair's armrest. He looked up as he heard footsteps approaching, and saw a rusty-colored hedgehog similar to the youth he had seen Rex socializing with durng the war, but at least twenty years older, taller, broader, and with a mouthful of hideously discolored teeth. The eyes were the same, though, a clear, bright blue with a keen intensity that made it look like the man was probing his soul with them.

“Sorry we're late,” said the man. “Mr. Cunningham will be with you shortly. We had some business to catch up to.”

“Are you like his secretary or something?” said Riptos.

“My relationship with his enterprise is not any of your concern, Mr. Calavera.”

Riptos felt uneasy about the strange man's tone. The hedgehog had an air of brutality around him, the kind of person who might break the neck of anyone who irritated him to much. People like him were extremely dangerous. Why would Nack Cunningham hire such a man?

Within moments, Nack Cuningham himself strode around the corner into view. He was a weasel, his fur dyed violet, clad in a gray trench coat. Nack was tall, much taller than Riptos would have been had he been able to stand up. “Ah, Mr. Calavera!” said Nack. “How good to see you!”

“My, uh, pleasure,” said Riptos as he shook Nack's hand. He found this Nack Cunningham almost as intimidating as his thuggish acolyte, but in a different way. The weasel's eyes didn't match his outward friendliness. There was something cold about them, something just not right.

It's all in your head, Riptos, he thought to himself. He tried to push down his suspicions. He needed what these two had to offer. He couldn't imagine going on with his paralysis. He had already contemplated suicide several times.

“There is no need to be intimidated by us, Mr. Calavera,” said Nack. “We are only here to help you.”

Riptos nodded. Something within him was warning him, telling him that these people did not have his best interests in mind. Perhaps it was his natural cynicism. He did his best to ignore the feeling.

“Now that we're all introduced to each other,” said Nack, “Let's discuss business.”