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Archive-name: Book17.txt
Archive-author: Blackie
Archive-title: "By the Book"
Part 17 of 20
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Copyright (c) 1993, Oogle Bird Enterprises.
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Bambi was in the midst of playful activities. She vaguely knew in the
back of her mind Bob modified the women to entertain each other in
his absence. She couldn't change the controls he'd placed. It seemed
right somehow to perform the duties he'd laid out for them.

The sense of belonging grew, each day the fellowship she had with the 
other women was stronger. She was reflecting on this sense, and the 
sense of being at home. A good inner feeling of security. They were a 
family now.

Abruptly her eyes opened, {I'm here} she projected.

{Have fun, see you later, don't hurt them!}

{Hurt them!? They're going to hurt me! Bob?} but he was gone again.

Bob left a message, somewhere beneath her thoughts, she knew. She
calmed herself, if he wanted her to know now, she'd know now. The
message could wait.

Just as the controls were keeping the women together for Bob, the
controls would bring the message to the surface when it was time. She
wouldn't find it if she tried.

Bob's instructions found her later.

====

Bob came out of the bathroom, both exhausted and refreshed. At least
the stink was gone, down the drain with the water.

Miki had a grey cat on her lap and was stroking the fur to the sound 
of deep throated purring. He wondered only briefly where the feline 
critter had come from.

"Get that thing out of here," he said. 

"Aw it's just a little kitty."

"The damn things give me the creeps. Stupid animals anyway. How'd it 
get in here anyway?"

The cat scooted away on it's own as he approached anyway. No telling 
where it went, much less where it came from.

"You might want a shower."

"I can try, how long do you think we're safe here?"

"I'll worry about that, you've decided to let me, remember?"

"Okay, back in a few." 

And she bounced off to the shower. A moment later a shriek came back. 
The water probably hadn't warmed up yet. He grinned. She should've 
tested the temperature before getting in, he thought.

Gathering himself in, he began to seek out the guards, the lab people,
anyone with a mind shield on. Soon, he'd find someone to suit his
purposes.

====

Peters was walking down the hall. 

It had been another satisfying morning, observing a spark beat the 
pleasure out of one of his coven. Peters knew if he could find a 
method for anyone to do the same, he'd be given any woman he wanted. 
He'd be able to do the beating himself. He wouldn't have to just sit 
and watch.

Somewhere in this place was a clue to how to tap the energy these 
sparks used. Somehow he would find it. Soon. Soon he would be in 
control of the women he wanted, and they would be happy to serve him.

He was walking towards Heather's room, the path an accident, but the 
clue he sought wouldn't be there either...

====

Jorge felt the needle stab his arm. The point was hollow, he knew.

Oddly enough, he knew these men were bored. He was another spark to 
examine and question. 

"It's okay, ouble. They tipped him off to
the monitoring center. The monitoring center took him a short time
since they were relying on the wall shields to protect them.

They'd made the same mistake there as with the exterior walls. Any
bank officer could tell them what they'd forgotten. The number of
bank robberies from tunneling under the walls led to well reinforced
foundations. After all, the defense was only as strong as its weakest
link.

He was fascinated for a few minutes by the number of inmates they
monitored. Most of them weren't 'sparks' though. Most inmates kept
being referred to as coven members. He wondered about that.

He began snatching up every guard he could find. Just in case his take
over was interrupted he had them take off their mind shields, remove
the battery, replace the little devices behind the ear and forget
them.

Then he found a most interesting development. There was a man in the 
interrogation room. He began to take over the techs, but the 
discussion was most fascinating. He had to meet this man. The idea 
there might be help available appealed to him. 

He continued to concentrate on taking over the entire Institute.

====

Men on duty as guards come in many varieties. The Institute had
ensured loyalty by some reprogramming. A mild brainwashing technique
since completely replaced by the use of an examination in the
interesting room Bob visited early on.

It had a certain effect on the initiative of the subjects however.

====

Jenkins had been walking the halls much of the morning when he stepped
into the Mens room. He somehow failed to notice the device that 
dropped from behind his ear.

He had been programmed to forget about it after all. 

====

Dobson had been drinking his coffee when his keys fell to the floor. 
When he rose, the itch behind his ear was gone. It felt much better 
not to worry about whatever had been bothering his ear.

====

Post turned suddenly when he heard a sound on the grounds. It was
another guard, but a crow would later collect a new shiny thing for
its nest. The errant mind shield wasn't even noticed by Post at all.

====

The only reason the other guards didn't notice; they were all
slipping under the control of the escaped spark.

Bob was pleased at the speed with which the Institute was falling.

=====
                        _Out of Print_

Something odd was happening. Jorge noticed the noises in the room had
stopped.

He wondered if thiopental deadened normal senses. They said the
effect was different on everyone. The white cloaked man asked him to
count backwards, so he had laughed. Laughing failed to stop the drug
from working however.

Some questions he ignored at first. But then he started telling them
about the caves in Denmark and then Edda. They seemed very interested
in anything about the symbols. They never heard of them before. And
when he mentioned the Cabal, they looked very startled.

One of the men started mumbling something about subjects lying while
under the drug before. They were very excited though.

It seemed hours passed before his head began to clear a little and he
started getting very drowsy.

Then quiet settled over the room.

A strap over his forehead came undone. He tried to crane his neck,
but some kind of cap was being removed from his hair. It pulled at
him, making it feel as though the roots were being yanked out.
Looking from side to side, he was able to make out one man burning a
bunch of tapes in a trash can.

His arms came free. The straps holding his legs and ankles went next.

One man was politely offering him a hand to get up. His head spun a
bit as he sat. The room, a sterile space, was littered with various
bits of equipment normally found in a doctor's office. A pair of
oxygen tanks stood nearby, a desk, a set of chairs, and various
assorted paraphenalia.

The room contained only three men besides himself. They were all
busy, making themselves ingratiating. The one burning the tapes was
smiling and nodding at him. One offered tylenol for the headache he
must now have. The third watched at the door, keeping an eye out
for someone.

Their sudden change in behavior seemed very odd. They even still had
floor contained his clothing and belongings. He poked through it,
looking for a most important article, his watch.  Finding it, he
turned it over. The medallion was still attached. The foolish
interrogators never checked. 

He put in on, and doing so, felt vastly refreshed.

Then he spotted a phone on the desk. He managed, with some help from
a former captor, to stumble over to it. Lifting the handset, he tried 
dialing only to get a horrible tone for the effort.

The man beside him picked up the phone, held down the switch hook for 
a few moments, then dialed '9'. He handed the phone back with the 
steady hum Jorge was accustom to. Jorge dialed again.

"You've reached the offices of Schmitz, Martin, and Lear. May I help 
you?" came a feminine voice.

Jorge smiled for the first time since the gas put him in dreamland. He
recalled how nicely the owner of that voice screamed in the sack.

"I'd like to speak with Mr. Lear, Cindy."

====

Leisure activity at an end, Jones stepped into the hall. The very
first man he saw was a guard.

Jones learned his craft years before. Every stitch out of place
triggered some small part of his paranoid senses. Something was
wrong. He knew it but couldn't find the cause.

Reaching into his pocket, he removed a second mind shield. One he'd
taken from the lab techs who could have handled Bob on the gurney. He
examined the hearing aid like device in his palm and looked down the
hall at the receding backside of the guard.

The man's ears were both visible.

There was no mind shield. He suppressed his panic, and stepped back
into the room with Diane. Grabbing her, he led her into Heather's
room. He picked up one of the local censure shields, a skull cap like
device to place over a telepath's head, intended to suppress the
talent.

Seeing one man with his mind shield still in place, Jones stopped him
along the way. He brought the man along. If he could get anyone out
who was capable of helping the Institute rebuild elsewhere, it would
prove useful.

Peters didn't know what was going on. But Jones was the number two man
at the Institute. Peters wasn't going to lose his status by following
the man's orders. He quickly complied with the directions he was
given.

He led the little troop towards the river side exit. There were
speedboats there. The loose spark couldn't control everyone. If only
there was time enough left...

====

Sunlight filled the room. Like a glass full of sparkling clear water,
the sun washed to every corner, flooded the long wooden shelves,
illuminating the oak desk.

Bob stood at the window. He tried to imagine mowing the yard before
him. The number of tight corners, hedges, trees and other obstacles
must make the gardeners crazy, he decided. A numbing escape into
physical labor only goes so far before it becomes annoying.

Birds seemed to like the greenery. He tried to touch one of the 
flight borne creatures with a mind probe, but had forgotten the shield
at the outer walls of the building. Some other time perhaps.

Jorge was led in by two of the men who interrogated him. He was back
in his own things. It was much more comfortable than a blue hospital
gown. The mess here would be settled soon. The Cabal was on the way.

Bob didn't turn as he spoke.

"The records of your interrogation have been destroyed, and the goons
can't remember a thing," he said, watching a cardinal soar on bright
red wings.

"Who are you?"

"Me? I'm Bob. You are Jorge."

"Oho! You must be the escaped Robert Lawrence that man was; wait a 
minute!" Jorge walked over to look out the window too. The clouds were
puffing along, accenting a beautiful blue sky.

"Hmm," Bob faced towards the freed telepath. "what?"

"Where's the guy who questioned me about you? He was in charge of
this place."

"What did he look like?'

"Perfect suit, black hair, manicured, muscular, short nose. About 42,
give or take a few years. The kind you see as the heavy CIA type in
flicks."

"That should be Jones. Dirk Jones is how he introduced himself to me."

"Yeah, if you say so. But he was in charge, what'd you do with him?"

"No, he wasn't. Some guy named Thadeous was. Neither of them are still
here. Sorry, I haven't found yld be if she actually aired
this story?"

"She's not going to tell anyone. You know that."

"And I expect your gang of thugs at any minute."

"Huh?"

"This Cabal, or whatever."

"You got that? Say, how did you get past those mind shields?"

"They're shaped funny, like donuts. I didn't know until they tried to
experiment on me with some kind of control machine. Your people will
probably find it soon enough. Like donuts, there's this hole in the
middle. If I had to guess, they probably transmit some kind of energy
through an antennae. Most antennas have some dead spots. You just
need to know where."

"Really? Now I know, so lots of others will know too. You want, the
Cabal would welcome you as a member."

"No thanks. Until Thadeous and Jones are caught though, I'd like to
stay in touch with your people."

"I'll see what I can arrange. The Cabal won't have any trouble with 
that."

"Tell me a little about them. Who the hell is the Cabal?"

"What's to tell? It's an international organization, mostly based in
the States because of the effort the Cabal put in moving here to
escape persecution in Europe. The name is new by a few centuries. It
was borrowed from a group in England under one of the kings named
Charles. I don't know enough history to know what it was called
before that.

"Let's see, the Cabal has been under siege a few times before. None
with secretly organized opposition though. This Institute scares the
leadership a whole hell of a lot."

"I can imagine..."

"No you can't, it's never happened like this before. The Cabal has
suffered from a few outside threats, but no one immune to the Voice.
Internally, we have occasional problems, but those we can handle."

"How about those internal problems. Why would anyone be stupid 
enough to cause trouble when a whole bunch of telepaths would be all 
over them in a hurry?"

"No one in their right mind would. But anyone with the Voice has a 
substantially higher risk of insanity. If you've even a tenuous grip 
on reality, follow the 'rules', no one in the Cabal gives a fuck.

"In essence, if you call attention to anyone with Voice, mostly
yourself, we try to convince you to ease back. We don't want any
witch hunts.

"The Cabal doesn't much care what someone does with the Voice.
Mostly. Stay away from power politics, it's too easy to spot the
personality changes the highly visible mutes go through your voice
influences them.

"There are also strict rules against violence, murdering mutes even
by proxy, or even just maiming them. Its another thing that attracts
too much attention. If you get enough mutes involved, they may figure
out what happened, and then... you can guess.

"This mess here for instance. Exactly the sort of thing the Institute
was doing. I was out here looking for them. I've only been hanging
out in the area a year, but everyone I work with think I've been here
for five. The planted familiarity sometimes can get additional leads.
The Institute's influence hit about two to three years ago, but we've
been unable to track them down."

"Yeah," said Bob, "I can see why a group like the Cabal would form.
But I don't like the idea of making too close an association."

"Embarrassed about your own set of playmates? The Cabal really
doesn't care about that. They're too worried about Voices that act
genuinely loco. Hell, they're much worse than you, I'm sure."

"That reminds me. They should be here any minute now. So what 
will you do with all the looney people the Institute has locked up 
here?"

"I'm not sure. It's against the rules to control other members and
people with the Voice. We save it for special situations requiring
censure. Some of these people have the Voice. They may simply need a
little adjustment to return to more normal lives."

"Normal? You've got to be kidding."

"If we have to, we can make them mute again. They'll have a chance
again, as soon as a little adjustment is made. A team will come in,
remove the 'God' syndrome and fix the worst. I doubt we'll need to
do much worse. As long as they're no longer a danger to the rest of
us."

"I hope so," said Bob

"Just the way I feel."

Bob closed his eyes, sensing an additional presence. He didn't need to
root around tout to be found.

"Can I see your watch?" 

"Huh? What for?"

"I just want to see the source of the symbols I keep..., they're at
your wrist."

"You see the symbols?!"

"I read a book. You read a cave wall. I think you and I may be unique.
Most of the 'sparks' here are freaks of nature, finding their talent
by one freak accident or another. You and I seem to have woken it by
seeing the symbols."

Reluctantly, Jorge removed the watch. He pulled the concealed
medallion from it's hiding place. Bob turned it in his hands, basking
in a glow of definitions, descriptions and experiences from the red
coin like object. He handed it back after a moment.

"Very interesting, where'd you find that?"

"In a locket from the cave. I learned about the symbols through it,
more so than the scrawls in the cave."

"An unusual keepsake. Are there more?"

"I've never seen another one, you?"

"Oh no," Bob lied, "I'd know if one of those had passed under my eyes."

They both peered out the window to the brightly light lawn. Silence 
fell over them, a quiet born of the strange situation. Trouble shooter
rescued by amateur, waiting for the rest of the cavalry.

Jorge tried to think of ways to reach out to the younger man. He
wanted to know more about the book, yet somehow knew the subject had
been closed. Hands in his pockets, he looked at the tall man, 
wondering what to say. 

"What will you do once we take over this mess?"

"I'm going to hide for a while, some place with lots of people."

Jorge grinned, "and probably lots of attractive women too."

"Yeah," Bob grinned back, "as many as I can find. I've got this habit,
see..."

====

As Fran drove them away he looked back at the Institute. 

Miki was acting snippish, jealous of Fran and the deep kiss from Bob
when he greeted her. Bob deliberately made Miki watch as he gave Fran
a violent orgasm in the car. Miki's embarrassment was turning into a
deep humiliation, and he could sense deep down she liked the
treatment.

He watched the manicured lawn and the frightening building vanished 
from sight. As they passed through the gates, his imprisonment passed 
away into a memory.

Too bad he couldn't make the Institute's organization vanish as easily.

====

From the balcony, it seemed the view went forever. She could make out
Denver in the distance. It was hazy, slightly marring the rest of the
countryside.

Diane was confused. Heather was very important to her, but why were
they here? She wanted to go home, if only to get a change of clothes.
The people they traveled with were in such a rush. Hurry to the
plane, hurry to the car, hurry in the house. It was very unnerving.

Every now and then, the man who confused her by claiming to be Bob
insisted she service his peculiar needs. He still insisted on being
called Master. And Heather insisted she had to cooperate. He always
left a foul taste in her mouth, in much more than the physical sense.
He made her feel dirty.

He never touched Heather though. That was a small consolation.

She could hear his voice. He was talking to someone in the study 
above. They probably didn't know the window was open.

"I tell you we can still do it!"

"The Senator will be difficult to control. I'm not certain we can
continue operations until we've re-established ourselves here."

"As long as we have at least one of the sparks, we can still sell the 
process!" 

"No," a strange male baritone replied. "I won't chance it until we've 
gotten a few more under our thumbs. I do thank you for bringing 
Heather. But we've got to get these two sparks. I have the folder on 
Robert Lawrence, and our field agents are gathering the necessary 
information on Jorge Dansen as well. Too bad the debriefing material 
for him was lost."

"I only just got out of there with the spark. The reporter was with me
at the time. I couldn't have gotten the tapes if I'd tried. You know
if I had, they'd be picking my brains too. Not just the lab techs we
left behind. And they don't need drugs to learn everything someone 
knows."

"I know, I know. But I don't think Jezabel will understand."

A shiver went through Diane, hearing the tone in the stranger's voice. 

Out of her sight, Jones shuddered at the name as well.

====

The trip was uneventful. The probe at the gate was gone. Whether
removed by the Institute or driven away by the Cabal, Bob had no idea.

They settled into the hotel suite very nicely, the women spreading out
all over. They had a nice view of Central Park looking north from the 
balcony. 

A man named Charles came by to visit. Jorge sent him. The man looked
a little like an academic, dressed as though he should pass for a
professor. The wire frame glasses kept sliding down his nose.

Bob knew the Charles was in charge of Cabal security or something
like it. They chatted a while. Bob didn't tell Charles anything he
hadn't told Jorge. Still, the man was grateful to Bob for helping. He
insisted on a substantial reward from the Cabal.

The Cabal demonstrated their gratitude to Bob in a monetary way. When
Charles learned how carefully he'd been accumulating his income, he
arranged a sizable retainer fee. Bob was now a semi-official
consultant of the Schmitz, Martin and Lear law firm.

They also promised to provide an accountant if he wanted. He'd
declined. If someone else was going to watch his money, it would be 
someone he controlled.

It was uncomfortable having older siblings watching his every move. 
Even if they were being protective.

====

His traveling harem had gone shopping.

Betty was excited about visiting Saks. Bob was more interested in a
town-house for the 'family'. First though, he had to get more
familiar with the City. He decided to explore a little on his own.

Manhattan is huge.

Bob was boggled at the shear size of it, the density of the
buildings, the number of people. For a seventeen to eighteen mile
long, five mile wide island, it was overwhelming him.

He went downtown to Chinatown. From there he walked north through the
village, Greenwich Village. Past the New York University buildings
and through Washington Square Park. He stopped for an early lunch
near a used book store he'd found around 12th street.

He continued on. The crowds were amazing, rushing from place to
place, hurrying to get where they were going so they could rush some
where else. He was unaccustomed to the waves of people.

At 33th street, an interesting game store had attracted his
attention. Too bad he really couldn't play competitively any more.
His discipline would have to improve significantly to keep from
reading an opponent's mind.

He wandered around, sampling food f between the avenues.

After wandering about in a camera/electronics store for a while, he 
decided to visit some of the Museums. The shopping crowd was beginning
to oppress him. Too many rushing people.

He climbed into a taxi in front of Madison Square Garden, across from 
the Post Office.

====

Courtney was walking alone through the Gem exhibit. 

The day was very peaceful. She'd taken off work to avoid the heat in 
her office. Sometime, her boss promised, they'd get air conditioning 
put in. In the meanwhile everyone had to live with it.

Today she'd escaped. The tiger's eye was her favorite gemstone. There 
were a bunch of them here in the Museum of Natural History. The more 
popular stones attracted the tourists, but the tiger's eye were the 
loveliest stones here. She also liked the opals, but she knew the 
colors came from the moisture in opal, not the stone itself. Tiger's 
eye was its own natural wonder.

She wandered out past the moon rock, encased in Plexiglas of some 
sort. There the school aged kids were gathered with their mothers. The
distant origins of the stone chunk attracted as much attention as 
the rare gems of Earth.

A tall man looked on, over the children. He seemed as fascinated as 
the kids. Was it her imagination, or was he watching her too? She was 
used to men looking at her though, they found her attractive.

She stepped out into the hall. She started towards the exhibit of
American Indian artifacts. Brushing her red paisley dress smooth, she
failed to notice how it accented her figure. The low heeled, white 
shoes she wore set off the laced socks she'd worn well.

She passed a museum guard, whose head followed the swish of her 
dress' hem with momentary interest. He admired the section of 
exposed leg, a calf turned with gentle and elegant curves.

The old drums and pictures of tepees adorning the walls didn't 
attract her attention as much as the dugout canoe. She wondered how 
long it took to hollow out, the birch bark canoe had to be easier to 
make.

She clasped her hands behind her back, stepping from exhibit to 
exhibit. These weren't as interesting as the tiger's eye, but it 
remained a relaxing escape.

Behind her, a teenage boy admired the round shape of her bottom and 
the drop of her dark pony tail as his parents called him away. She 
never noticed.

She did catch a glimpse of the tall dirty blond fellow again,
examining the same dugout she'd looked at a while ago. He was
handsome enough, maybe she could introduce herself. He wandered off
before she made up her mind. Sigh, so it goes, she thought.

In the hall with the insect models she shuddered. She slipped past 
them to see the whale. Hanging from the ceiling, it was impressive.
She liked the elegance of its long sleek features.

She walked down the stairs, drawing attention from the male half of a 
couple going up. The guy's girlfriend punched him, whispered voices 
conveying disapproval of his behavior. She smiled to herself.

Before the case showing the stuffed Seals she spied the tall guy
she'd seen elsewhere in the museum. This time she was going to get
close. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed. He wore a stylish pair
of trousers, a light cotton shirt, and dark running shoes. She
thought about introducing herself.

This whole thing was very unlike her. She almost never walked up to a 
stranger to introduce herself. She stepped over to stand beside him 
anyway, uncertain where her courage was coming from.

He turned, flashing her a sweet disarming smile. Her insides melted a 
bit. Nerves took over. She froze up, barely managing to smile back. 

"Hello." 

"Hi," she squeaked. A short pause occurred.

"My name is Bob. I'm only visiting New York for the second time."

"I'm Courtney," she bobbed up on her tip toes, guessing him to be 
about six foot four. Her five and an half foot height forced her to 
tilt her head back to look at his face. She could see his eyes linger 
on the rise of her bust, thrust forward by tilting her head.

"What would you say to accompanying me through some more of the 
museum?"

"Sounds promising."

They walked for some time. She lost track of where they'd been.
By the time they walked through the exhibit of dinosaur bones, and 
passed the large sea turtle, she had her arm intertwined with his. Her
head seemed almost magnetically drawn against his shoulder.

"How about we go outside, get a drink some place," he suggested.

"I'd like that."

As they emerged into the late afternoon sun, he allowed her to nuzzle 
against him as though they were long time lovers. His warmth wasn't 
the attraction, but attracted she was, clinging as she'd never done 
with anyone before.

"They blow up the balloons for the Thanksgiving Day parade on this 
street," she told him. He chuckled.

"I presume you mean they inflate them, not explode them."

She turned red for a moment, embarrassed, although she knew he was 
pulling her leg. 

"It's great to come the night before the parade. Everyone comes. It's 
a huge party up and down the block. I've seen Woody Allen out here to 
see the event."

"Nice. Could be a lot of fun."

They walked away from Central Park, then south. He was particularly 
fascinated with a store featuring wind up toys. The name was "The Last
Wound Up" and they had to go in. He bought her a set of walking teeth.
She laughed as they clattered across the countertop.

They stopped at a cafe, pulling up a table by the window. She had
Cappuccino, he had Expresso. She'd never seen anyone put cream and
sugar into Expresso. He called it Turkish style. He was remarkably
quiet now, letting her run her mouth about her life.

She told him how she'd come to New York to work as an actress. She
talked about the problems with apartments, the job market, her
favorite recent movie.

When he excused himself to use the men's room she admonished herself. 
She was practically flinging herself at him. She'd only just met him, 
and here she was telling him her life story. It was very out of 
character for her, the aloof woman she'd become, but she wanted to 
spend the rest of the evening with him.

Hopefully, she would have many evenings with him.

continued in part 18