10-01-2016, 08:28 PM
Nicholas had just finished pouring and taken his first sip when a familiar voice came unheeded from behind. "I hope you don't mind I'm early,"
Jon Little Bird said, "I see you already started without me."
Nicholas turned his head to look; Jon had certainly grown up in the style department since last they'd met. He looked more like a politician than a small private practice lawyer.
Crap,
Nicholas thought, Not like this.
His hand was shaking a little when he placed the glass down on the tray. He quickly looked himself over; a little disheveled but not at all ridiculous. Turning around, he spoke as he crossed the room. <strong>"Jon, it's been a while."</strong>
He reached Jon and extended a hand. "What've you been up to? Well, other than the school and the murder investigation."
He didn't know how convincing his attempt at normalcy was.
Jon took Nicholas's hand. "I've seen the inside of far too many aircraft lately."
Nicholas saw Jon's eyes trail over to the glass tumbler lying on the floor. "I heard something and came in. I hope I wasn't intruding."
Putting it lightly there,
Nicholas thought. No, Jon had just come damn close to walking in on Nicholas in full freak out mode. Not that Nicholas was afraid of Jon telling anyone, but the thought of showing that kind of weakness... he wasn't ready for that. He'd never be ready.
Nicholas released the handshake and waved Jon to follow him out of the room. The tremor was mostly gone. "It's fine, Jon. I just stubbed my toe and dropped a glass. Nobody's tried to kill me yet."
Jon followed him to the sitting room, and they sat down.
Jon placed his hands in his lap and looked around. "This is a nice place you have here. You've come up in the world."
Nicholas chuckled, only a little bit hollow, and started filling their glasses from the decanter on the table. "You should see my place in Aberdeen if you think this is something, Jon."
His face took on a more serious look. "But you know what the government's picked me up to do. As much as it's good to catch up, this isn't only a social visit."
He offered Jon the glass.
Jon leaned forward and took the glass. He took a sip and sat back. "You always had good taste for whiskey."
He stared at Nicolas in silence for a moment. "I trust that you know what I'm doing with the natives in South Dakota by now,"
he said.
Nicholas leaned forwards, putting his elbows on his knees."Definitely wasn't difficult to find out,"
he said. "I might not run the news anymore, but I still get tips before they go to the public. And besides, you're in my back yard.
"
Jon nodded. "How many of us do you think there are? In the country, I mean."
The statistics weren't hard to come by. "From the medical records my department's been able to access,"
Nicholas said, "About one in every hundred thousand people get the Sickness - give or take a few tenths of a person. Looking at it that way, it's funny that people act like the Sickness is some kind of pandemic. Probably have a greater chance of dying from lightning strikes."
Jon nodded. "I suppose it isn't significant till you're the one struck by lightning,"
he replied. He downed the rest of the glass and exhaled. "You would think more of us would be visible, though. Where are they hiding, do you think? "
"Hell, I don't think they are, Jon."
Nicholas sat a little straighter. "In my journey through the Custody I ran into you, an Englishman named Dane Gregory, and I had to kill,"
Nicholas stumbled a little over the word, "one of Al-Hasan's channelers in Mecca. Then that general of Brandon's, Michael Vellas, showed up while I was being carted onto a plane."
Nicholas fell silent for a long moment, lost in thought. He hated thinking about Jeddah. He took another sip from the glass.
"Perhaps."
Jon poured himself another two fingers of whisky. "Just by the ones you've run into you'd think there would be just by chance a high school gym teacher or garage mechanic showing up in this town or that, able to channel. By your telling, it's like we're being drawn together into some grand whirlpool."
"Well, if we are, whoever's running it doesn't want to make things too fun. The numbers don't lie."
Nicholas finished the glass and started refilling it. "Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing for us, but the Custody's got ten times more people to draw from."
Jon cradled his glass in his palm. " They're far ahead of us. And you know as well as I that we're no match for his strength. I've seen that arch of his. I don't think I could do something like that. "
Jon was right, Brandon was freakishly strong. Nicholas took another sip and felt the burn slide down his throat.
"He's had sixty years to learn how to use this, and that isn't a luxury we know we'll have."
Nicholas calmed himself with the help of the liquor, forcing out the darkest of his thoughts, and seized the power. "But we're getting stronger. Tell me you can't feel the difference. With your help, you and I could train all the channelers we can find."
Or even find an American channeler who knew even more than they did.
Jon Little Bird said, "I see you already started without me."
Nicholas turned his head to look; Jon had certainly grown up in the style department since last they'd met. He looked more like a politician than a small private practice lawyer.
Crap,
Nicholas thought, Not like this.
His hand was shaking a little when he placed the glass down on the tray. He quickly looked himself over; a little disheveled but not at all ridiculous. Turning around, he spoke as he crossed the room. <strong>"Jon, it's been a while."</strong>
He reached Jon and extended a hand. "What've you been up to? Well, other than the school and the murder investigation."
He didn't know how convincing his attempt at normalcy was.
Jon took Nicholas's hand. "I've seen the inside of far too many aircraft lately."
Nicholas saw Jon's eyes trail over to the glass tumbler lying on the floor. "I heard something and came in. I hope I wasn't intruding."
Putting it lightly there,
Nicholas thought. No, Jon had just come damn close to walking in on Nicholas in full freak out mode. Not that Nicholas was afraid of Jon telling anyone, but the thought of showing that kind of weakness... he wasn't ready for that. He'd never be ready.
Nicholas released the handshake and waved Jon to follow him out of the room. The tremor was mostly gone. "It's fine, Jon. I just stubbed my toe and dropped a glass. Nobody's tried to kill me yet."
Jon followed him to the sitting room, and they sat down.
Jon placed his hands in his lap and looked around. "This is a nice place you have here. You've come up in the world."
Nicholas chuckled, only a little bit hollow, and started filling their glasses from the decanter on the table. "You should see my place in Aberdeen if you think this is something, Jon."
His face took on a more serious look. "But you know what the government's picked me up to do. As much as it's good to catch up, this isn't only a social visit."
He offered Jon the glass.
Jon leaned forward and took the glass. He took a sip and sat back. "You always had good taste for whiskey."
He stared at Nicolas in silence for a moment. "I trust that you know what I'm doing with the natives in South Dakota by now,"
he said.
Nicholas leaned forwards, putting his elbows on his knees."Definitely wasn't difficult to find out,"
he said. "I might not run the news anymore, but I still get tips before they go to the public. And besides, you're in my back yard.
"
Jon nodded. "How many of us do you think there are? In the country, I mean."
The statistics weren't hard to come by. "From the medical records my department's been able to access,"
Nicholas said, "About one in every hundred thousand people get the Sickness - give or take a few tenths of a person. Looking at it that way, it's funny that people act like the Sickness is some kind of pandemic. Probably have a greater chance of dying from lightning strikes."
Jon nodded. "I suppose it isn't significant till you're the one struck by lightning,"
he replied. He downed the rest of the glass and exhaled. "You would think more of us would be visible, though. Where are they hiding, do you think? "
"Hell, I don't think they are, Jon."
Nicholas sat a little straighter. "In my journey through the Custody I ran into you, an Englishman named Dane Gregory, and I had to kill,"
Nicholas stumbled a little over the word, "one of Al-Hasan's channelers in Mecca. Then that general of Brandon's, Michael Vellas, showed up while I was being carted onto a plane."
Nicholas fell silent for a long moment, lost in thought. He hated thinking about Jeddah. He took another sip from the glass.
"Perhaps."
Jon poured himself another two fingers of whisky. "Just by the ones you've run into you'd think there would be just by chance a high school gym teacher or garage mechanic showing up in this town or that, able to channel. By your telling, it's like we're being drawn together into some grand whirlpool."
"Well, if we are, whoever's running it doesn't want to make things too fun. The numbers don't lie."
Nicholas finished the glass and started refilling it. "Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing for us, but the Custody's got ten times more people to draw from."
Jon cradled his glass in his palm. " They're far ahead of us. And you know as well as I that we're no match for his strength. I've seen that arch of his. I don't think I could do something like that. "
Jon was right, Brandon was freakishly strong. Nicholas took another sip and felt the burn slide down his throat.
"He's had sixty years to learn how to use this, and that isn't a luxury we know we'll have."
Nicholas calmed himself with the help of the liquor, forcing out the darkest of his thoughts, and seized the power. "But we're getting stronger. Tell me you can't feel the difference. With your help, you and I could train all the channelers we can find."
Or even find an American channeler who knew even more than they did.