Powwow

[Beto]

Beto nodded minimally at his request. "Without prejudice. That is fine."
It did not bother him to close the door on the possibility charging her later. If he was right- and he knew he was- he would not regret it. And if he was wrong...well, it would happen again, he was sure. And then no god on earth would stop him. Not her or the man in front of him. He was not without his own abilities, not to mention resources and allies.

That reminded him of Brandon's speech. Atharim. They bore thinking about. What they did was illegal, of course. And now they were on his radar.

Two new things to focus on. A frisson of excitement shot through him, gone in a moment, leaving him with a sense of purpose. New things to focus on.

And one of them was extending an olive branch of sorts. Exactly what he had been hoping for. Beto smiled kindly and stood up. "I would like that very much, as I am sure Ms. Makawee would. The laws that govern this nation are going to have to be modified. To protect these enhanced people."
He did not add 'protect from them'. That was strongly implied. Enhanced people were still people.

And he had seen the seemingly infinite variety of chaos and cruelty humans could inflict on one another. Emotional attachments led to all kinds of reactions- rage, jealousy, fear, sorrow. He was glad that he held no such attachments. Those emotions, while possible- well some of them were anyway- were muted. He'd long ago come to believe that it was attachments that brought out the worst in people. But they also brought out the best in others. You could not have the one without the other.

Well, you could, he amended to himself. But it takes work. Commitment.

In any case, he wanted to understand what they did. What the extent of their abilities were. And most of all, where did it come from?

"I am not from here, so you will have to lead the way."


[[feel free to mod to the coffee shop or whatever. I'm in chat later this eve if you need quick answers or whatever.]]


Edited by Beto, Aug 24 2016, 03:13 PM.

[Katchina Makawee]

Katchina hadn't been sitting long before she heard footsteps approaching again. She stood as the door opened, admitting a guard. "Ma'am, you are being released. Please follow me."

She nodded and released the power as she followed him. The almost-vibrant prison surroundings went quickly dim, but she didn't really want to have the sharpest of senses while going through the cell block again. The guard took her through the sally ports and obtained her personal effects, which weren't much -- small purse and her heels, mostly. Most important thing was the ring her father had given her when she was thirteen. She gratefully surrendered the flipflops she'd been given in exchange. Then she slipped the ring back over her pinky finger. She'd been meaning to get it resized.

The guards released her to a visiting room area, where she saw Jon Little Bird again with another man in a suit that the didn't recognize. Jon held up a hand to the man and pulled Katch aside to speak with her privately.

"The federal prosecutor here Mr. Trujillo has agreed to sign a release order not to prosecute you with prejudice. This means that the Justice Department will ask for a federal court to rule that you are innocent of all wrongdoing as if we'd gone through a jury trial so that you cannot be charged at a later date. He'd like us to talk about what happened if that's agreeable to you."


Katch nodded. "That's fine. Thank you."
Jon escorted her over to Mr. Trujillo, and he made introductions. Katch politely put out a hand and the prosecutor took it. His hand was warm, likely because she'd been sitting in a cold room however. "There is a place right around the corner called Zendo's, perhaps a two-minute walk."

The warm air outside was a relief, even with hints of dust and mugginess from a light rain that had just passed. Jon took the three of them to an industrial looking space at the ground floor of an office building, complete with concrete floor and painted steel girders in the ceiling. The sign outside had a modern motif, and the furniture inside made use of lead piping and heavy plywood. It reminded her of some of the Frank Lloyd Wright architecture that was most common in Michigan.

The barrista made quick work of taking their orders. Katch decided she'd try a local flavoring and ordered a green chile mocha cappuccino. Jon took them to a table in the corner. He appeared to squint into the distance for a moment. "Rest assured we are in private and among friends here,"
he said. "Ms. Makawee, unless I specifically say not to answer something you may feel free to answer anything, there won't be any legal repercussions."


Katch nodded. Her coffee looked too hot to try. "Call me Katch,"
she replied, speaking to the both of them. "Mr. Trujillo, I am pleased to meet you. I'll answer all your questions. Why did you become a federal prosecutor?"

[Beto]

It wasn't long before they were out of the nice air conditioned office and back out into the dry air. Beto put his sunglasses on against the glare and they walked the short distance to the office building with a coffee shop in its bottom floor. It seemed it was always in coffee shops or bars, where the real gears of government turned. He wondered if that had always been the case.

In any event, it was a silent walk, though he gave Ms. Makawee and Mr. Little Bird some space in case they wanted to confer. And to watch them curiously, to see how they interacted. Did they know of each other before hand? What was the limit of their ability? Was there a telepathic link? At this point anything was possible and he wasn't gonna discount something because it was outlandish. This was a new world and he was an explorer.

In this case, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There didn't seem to be any indication that there was any communication going on. He would probe though.

Once inside he ordered a simple black coffee. It amused him how there seemed to be a never ending attempt to make coffee special. Green Chile coffee. Peppermint. Honey vanilla. It was a stimulant, a mild one, and did its job. For him it was more of something he did to pass under the radar. Coffee had no effect on him. He could drink a cup before bed and sleep just fine. And the mornings did not require a cup to start the day. But the ability to sit and converse with people over their ritual cup, the worship at the teat of the ancient Starbucks goddess, was a valuable tool. And for a few moments, he could almost feel....connected. Guards dropped.

Once the rites were attended to, flavorings added, seats selected- a private corner table- the tension from back at the holding facility seemed to melt away. To his surprise, Ms. Makawee initiated the conversation. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Little Bird with a slight smile. "An interesting question. Not one I'm normally asked. Usually public defenders try to go into private practice. They still get to defend the client, but find an easier go of making a living at it. So it is a different career path."


He took a sip, weighing his words carefully for a moment. "The social contract between the individual and the government is the foundation of all modern society. There a spoken and unspoken rules. The citizen must abide by the laws that the collective have deemed necessary enough to codify. And the collective must be careful not to demand of the individual that which they do not have a right. As a public defender, I was on the one side. Now I am on the other. But on this side, I am able to influence the extent to which a prosecutor will go. I decided what cases rise the level of a crime worthy of prosecution. And I decide when the state is overreaching. Some consider that trying to reform the system from within- and perhaps it is. I am on the side of the law. And that means both sides are accountable. We need people on both sides holding the accounting."


He was looking at her, but his words were for Little Bird. They were a small peek into where he was coming from. And a reciprocation of the olive branch this meeting represented.

He took another sip. "I am willing to elucidate. If you are satisfied, I have some questions for you."
This time he included Little Bear in his look. "Tell me about this power you use."
It was a beginning.


Edited by Beto, Aug 29 2016, 07:08 PM.

[Jon Little Bird]

Mr. Trujillo's response came off to Jon's ear as a bit fluffy, like something pulled out of an airy doctoral thesis. A bit of an idealist, perhaps. Not that there was necessarily anything wrong with fluff in its own space. Of course, ask any prosecutor and he would always give some variation of the tried-and-true "Prosecutor is expected to restrain the power of the State, his primary goal is not to win."

But then the man asked about the Power. and looked at Jon. Well, fair enough. One could hardly explain who the Atharim were without discussing the Power. And besides, he was curious about what Katchina could tell him. Jon hadn't met very many women who could use the Power, and certainly hadn't had much of an opportunity to study their use. It would probably help the man do his job better as prosecutions of power wielders became more likely.

"I'll try to be brief, but this is not a thing that is easily explainable,"
he said. "There are stories among our people, and to be truthful legends in other cultures as well. We speak of something called the Great Spirit. It is always present and flows through all things."
He paused. He didn't really understand the science behind it, but of course there hadn't been much research done that had been published. But perhaps he could get somewhere with it. "It's like a force, like gravity. People like Katch and I...we don't know why we developed this ability, but after surviving the Sickness, we can tap into it and draw the power into us, and use it to manipulate the environment."


He reached out and seized the power. It flowed into him in a rush, burning within the marrow of his bones and churning his stomach. Outwardly he gave no indication of the violent battle going on within him. "I wasn't holding it before. Now I am. And I'm going to use it to lift this cup."
He sent out a flow of Air and cradled his coffee. Black, like Mr. Trujillo's. It smelled wonderful. The man had good taste. The mug lifted in the air by itself about six inches off the table.

"There are five base flows that make up the power. Air, water, fire, earth, and what I call spirit. The Greeks called it Aether. Here I am using a flow of air solidified to pick up the mug. You can't see it but I can actually see it wrapping the cup like a rope.
He created a tube of air and pulled the coffee into it, and it began to make a loop through the air about a foot high and back into the cup, like a small fountain. Fire would have been easier for Jon, but he didn't want to have any safety issues. This was easy enough and took a very little amount of power. "Another man who has the ability could see it, too. Men and women are different, though, in ways I don't quite understand. I cannot see what a woman is doing any differently than you could, and she cannot see what I'm doing."
He paused to see whether she indicated that to be false. Jon was pretty sure Katchina couldn't see the flows. But his skin prickled. She was touching the Power, too.

[Beto]

Beto's eyes widened as he watched Little Bird lift the mug. He froze his expression to show nothing further. Inside though, his mind churned. He'd seen the videos- the destruction at Jeddah; Brandon's creation of the arch and statue; the terrorist attack in the square in Moscow- he'd seen them with his own eyes on a video screen. He knew them for truth, that they were real. And yet...everyone had seen special effects in videos all their lives. There was a disconnect in the visceral reality of the whole thing, what was on a monitor and what was before you. It was real in a whole new sense of the word.

Here and now, in this coffeeshop in New Mexico, he saw something unnatural being done. Simple, to be sure. Nothing earth shattering. And yet, all the same, he felt something stir in him. Not for this man, Little Bird. Or for the girl. No. It was if an enemy, an adversary, an equal had finally deigned to manifest himself at long last. God was out there somewhere. Not 'gods', not these men and women granted this power. But the one behind it all.

It was not often Beto examined this aspect of himself. He knew what solipsism was. He knew how it was regarded. But he also knew that he was not normal and never had been. He had his persona and wore it and did it well. But the secret was, he never quite believed others existed- at least not as he did. They weren't real in the same way he was. But he always wondered if there was another out there like him. Real like him. Not the God of the Church. He was too small and pathetic. No. But absent any other name, God would suffice.

And now he had revealed himself, in this simple coffee shop and Beto felt a stirring of recognition. Because finally he might get answers.

All thought of the law or parameters took second place. They would still be pursued. He was who he was and was able to focus with unnatural concentration. The image of the spout of coffee filled his eyes.

He lifted his gaze, his face impenetrable, to regard Little Bird. The man was a conduit of sorts to that source of power. He turned to Ms. Makawee, seeing the same thing. He let a small smile play on his face. "Very impressive,"
he said quietly. He took a sip of coffee. After a moment. "You understand that I have so many questions I do not know where to begin. My own curiosity, of course."


The question he had was the one that struck to the core. "Where does it come from, this power? Is it new? Or has it always existed?"
If it had always been around, why were people only hearing about it now? What had changed? Or had it just been hidden?

Had God been hiding from him?

[Katchina Makawee]

Katchina's heart skipped as she watched the mug rise. Jon had spoken accurately. She felt nothing, just as she'd never felt anything when Jerome was using the power. Yet unlike Jerome, Jon was under control. Jerome had been full of fear and angry all the time. She opened herself up to the Power and it flowed in. She sent out a weave of Spirit and Air, just to probe, to see if she could feel Jon's flows. Yes, there was something there, but at the same time nothing. It was like an invisible band. She couldn't see it but knew it had to be there.

Katch turned back to Mr. Trujillo. "You have a right to your curiosity, and I hope to satisfy it,"
she replied with a small smile. "I believe it has always existed, or at least for a very long time. Our stories of this being a greater power than all the lesser gods speak clearly of this. What It exists everywhere in..."


She frowned. "I'm not a physicist so I'm not sure I could explain where the source is that I draw it from. It's like it exists in the space between particles. I could hardly imagine being able to use it up any more than I could think of space being used up. It doesn't speak or anything. But it almost has a personality. Like a calm, serene lake. I have to surrender to it and let it fill me, and I become a conduit."


Jon blinked. Evidently something that Katch had said had caught him by surprise. "That is hardly the way I'd describe the sensation of channeling. If I didn't grab it and fight it, and wrestle it for control every second, it would pull me under. It's like walking the edge of a knife. I had to learn how to blank all emotions from my mind before I could struggle to keep control. But while I'm holding on it's like I can do anything."
His voice sounded blank and distant, without inflection.

So that confirmed her suspicions. That was why she failed to help Jerome, men and women were using different powers that were at the same time not different. Like two sides of the same coin. She would have had more success teaching him how to fly than to teach him control over the power of the Great Spirit. I wonder if we can work the flows together somehow.


She continued. "The ability to use it again seems new, though. Or old come new again. And there were those who fought them. Not all of the gods were kind, some of them were quite cruel. Like the sun who burned everyone he saw to death until Coyote slew him. I think that what happened was they hunted down all of the people who could use this power."
She looked at Jon. "Like the man who tried to kill you?"

[Jon Little Bird]

Deep within the void of his own mind, Jon noticed the question from Katchina with indifference. She knew about the Atharim. How did she know about them? Or was she merely guessing?

"Yes, like that man."
He brought the coffee back to him and took a sip. It had gone lukewarm during his little demonstration. "My would-be-assassin called me Appolyon. The destroyer. That's what they think of us, the people who call themselves the Atharim. It's why I never went to a hospital when I had the Sickness."
It was both due to care and luck that he'd stayed under their radar for so long. And yet as soon as he made himself public, one was there to try and murder him? Anger, deep buried anger, rippled across the void and threatened to break his concentration. Jon wasn't even sure where this anger came from. The assassination attempt didn't account for it. No, it seemed to run deep within his bones, and felt very, very old. Like an echo down the ages.

[Beto]

Beto watched in fascination. His eyes shifted between them as they explained their power- how it differed and how it was the same. Fascinating. Amazing. It was the only word. Quiet dispassionate...awe, at what fate had presented him.

He quirked a corner of his mouth in amusement at the way the universe had finally surprised him after years of the banal. The peek behind the curtain, a tantalizing view of something more than than shadows on the wall. The maker had revealed himself at last. And Beto was on the trail, now. He was a bloodhound and the scent had been given to him. Once focused, nothing would stop him from getting at the truth.

Something they said tugged at his attention. Atharim. Oh yes. "The Atharim. Brandon mentioned them. You have encountered them. Tell me about it, if you don't mind. An organization operating outside the law executing people without trial is not something the Justice deptartment can allow to exist."


He looked at the clock on the wall. There was still time. Now that Ms. Makawee wasn't a legal concern, she could be a resource. Little Bird probably wouldnt have much time to consult. But perhaps she could, attached to Justice, of course. That would be useful.

[Jon Little Bird]

Jon glanced at the clock on the wall. He really didn't have much time left. Indeed, he hadn't expected to stay in Albuquerque longer than the day. And it occurred to him that he had very little of substance to add about the Atharim beyond what Noah had told him. But he couldn't agree more with Mr. Trujillo's reaction to them, so perhaps he could point the prosecutor in the right direction. It was good to have the ear of someone in the Justice Department tuned to the right pitch.

"I know that they have infiltrated into governments, almost certainly here, but definitely in Moscow,"
he said. "I had a client who was the victim of an attack questioned by one of them who was posing as an investigator. Perhaps he really was. But his questions were hardly anything that could be common knowledge. I overheard him call us 'gods.' I don't know what would have happened had I not gotten the client out of there. But this man's so-called work on the case never surfaced. "


He channeled again, a faint blue ring of air, solidfying into the shape of a circle, a serpent biting its own tail, just as Noah had showed him. "The oroborus. This is their mark. It's how they identify themselves. I am willing to bet you will find this mark on my would-be assassin. They have been around a long time. At least hundreds of years, perhaps thousands. There was a man who helped me through the Sickness. He told me of this group. He said that they have been around for hundreds of years. And he told me of others who had gone to the hospital here in the United States and then met with accidents. Too many for it to be coincidence. I looked into some of it myself and it checks out."


Jon let the weave drop, and stood. He pressed a button on his Wallet, shooting his contact information into cyberspace toward Mr. Trujillo and Katchina. "And I fear I have run out of time. Katch? Do you need me to arrange transportation for you or anything else?"
She gave a quick shake of her head. "I fear I do need to catch a flight back East right away. I truly hope you have safe flights. Please contact me with any follow up questions."


He gave Katchina and Mr. Trujillo polite handshakes and made his leave, ringing an Uber back to the Casino where he'd pick up his belongings. He actually hadn't intended to leave that afternoon, but there was no way he'd be staying overnight after the attempt on his life. Besides, if his news feed was correct, he had more work to get done. Perhaps another powwow that would be less violent than this one. He'd lied, though. He wasn't going back east. At least, not first.

"One ticket to Aberdeen, South Dakota," he told his Wallet. "And find me a hotel in Eagle Butte. If there is one." Speaking of the old man, it was time to go pay him a visit, as much as he didn't want to, just to make sure things were moving.

[Katchina Makawee]

Katch frowned as Jon mentioned government infiltration. Although she hated to admit it, he was probably right. At least, Noah had said as much to her along the same lines. She sipped her coffee. Interesting flavor. Not her usual fare, but she could see the allure.

As Jon made his farewells, she turned to Mr. Trujillo. "I don't know anything about government infiltration,"
she told him. "I mean, I studied the Sickness for the Centers for Disease Control. Mostly samples and research and the like. I really don't know what ever became of the samples, though. We were required to take down information as a part of a registry for tracking the Sickness. And I honestly don't know what came of that information. I didn't operate inside the United States, myself."


Katch considered the question. Certainly even though she saw little evidence of wrongdoing on the surface at the CDC, could she discount it? "But the native tribes have been very, very cold toward letting the researchers in. My father -- he didn't trust the hospitals and he didn't trust the government, either. Instead he took me to a doctor on a reservation who kept me safe. He knew something about the truth of the Sickness years before anything else came out. And he told me about the Atharim, too. Said the first people he sent to the hospitals all had 'accidents.'"


Hm. Her last conversation in Atlanta had put a bad taste in her mouth that couldn't be washed away with a good coffee. Why had that major been so insistent on getting her here? Intel, he said. She leaned in toward Mr. Trujillo and and bit her lip. What she said next would probably cost her her job, but it was of no consequence. Katch already knew that she was done with Atlanta one way or another. "The truth is,"
she continued in a hushed voice, "I'm not here to represent my tribe. That's just a pretense to get me here under the Council's rules. The CDC under the new organization ordered me to come here and spy on the Council. I don't like it and I don't understand why they would do something like that. I figured I'd go along until I could figure a way out of it. But now I'm here."


Well, there it was. But Katch could see something in Mr. Trujillo's eyes. He could be trusted with that. And perhaps he could help her get out of that blasted pickle she was in. Indeed, he had the look of an ally. At least she hoped he was.