05-31-2014, 07:38 PM
Continued from Dreams of Fire
Awareness came to Jon for perhaps all of five seconds on the floor of the train. Long enough for the cold, dirty metallic floor to register its corrugated grit against his face. Long enough to wonder if he'd managed to do any good at all.
Long enough to see the bleak outline of a body bag.
“Sleep for now.”
Something pinched him. He was being rolled over onto a stretcher by a man in a hazardous material suit. It registered to Jon that he was helpless. He found he couldn't focus well enough to even sense the Great Spirit, and that it was incomprehensible for him to actually imagine wrestling it to his will at the moment. If he even still could.
One thing was certain. The situation was no longer under his control. But there was one thing he could do. Consciousness faded, and he stepped out of his body.
* * *
Faceless, formless, Jon found himself in that place with millions of glittering lights, a place with infinite space and none at all, that lay between the Spirit World and the waking world. But even before Jon came to any other sense of awareness in this place, he saw his spirit guide. The spectral white coyote materialized before him, waiting patiently. Or at least that's the way he perceived it; nothing had any shape or form here.
Okay. Here he could actually do something. He sought out one of the twinkling lights. It appeared before him, and like looking down into a snow globe he was able to see what was going on. Yes. A huge white wolf facing down a moose that had gotten itself surrounded by the rest of the pack.
Jon projected his “voice” into the ball. BEAR. IT IS JON LITTLE BIRD. I AM UNCONSCIOUS AND HELPLESS ON A TRAIN IN MOSCOW. CONTACT CAROLINE. SHE WILL BE ABLE TO FIND ME IN THE WAKING WORLD.
The dream winked out of existence. Next was finding Caroline. Unfortunately Jon failed to find her dream. That was odd. He'd expected her to still be asleep. Unfortunately, she'd be in for a surprise when she got a call from someone who sat on the Council of Native Americans, who happened to know Jon was in trouble. But she'd believe it, and she'd be able to trace his Wallet, or make some calls. And maybe get a hold of someone. Hopefully. It would hardly be the strangest thing Jon had asked her to do.
Jon stepped across the gap and into the Spirit World. There, quick as thought, he had his body, clothed as an Apache scout. He grimaced at the .38 lever action rifle in his left hand, and it disappeared. Then he remembered the situation he'd just left behind on a conscious level and felt his heart jump, and reached for the Great Spirit. The power flooded into him. For some reason that reassured him, even though in the next moment he reminded himself that his abilities here was simply a reflection of his thought, and all that he really knew of his condition in the waking world was that he was still able to project himself here. If even that was true. What if he was dead and was really a spirit here, now? His heart skipped another beat.
The glowing coyote leaped, bringing Jon's attention back to it. “I know you aren't really there,”
he said to the thing. “Either I made you, or someone else did to bring me here.”
No answer. Well, wasn't that silly, talking to an animal projection? He glanced around, putting other thoughts out of his mind. Marble columns and white polished marble steps. This was Washington. More specifically, the White House. Why had he come here? He turned around and found himself alone.
Jon sighed and shook his head. It was pointless to go back to his body if he was still out cold, and Bear would share what he learned when he could. Until then he was stuck waiting. Might as well see what he could learn while around the place.
With a thought, he found himself in the Oval Office. Quiet, empty, the place radiated elegant simplicity. Although America was no longer an empire, it was still a force to be reckoned with. And the man who occupied this office, though he had great power and influence, was still at the end of the day just another person hired to do a job. The strength of America was not in its leaders, but in its principles. In fact the personalities of its leaders were oftentimes its weakness.
Pens and papers flickered in and out of existence on the desk. Jon rifled through papers, reports and other various things. He had to be quick; often, he'd pick up a piece of paper and start reading, only to have it change while in his hand. Anything moved much in the waking world cast a poor reflection here. Jon frowned as something marked “Eyes Only” that mentioned something called SUBGRU and a debriefing on some operation vanished before he could make out more.
There wasn't much of use that he could find. His eyes rose as he saw an analysis of HR 6213, which was the Native American Medical Privacy Protection Act, something the Council of Native Americans had been trying to push through Congress. NAMPPA was a largely low-key measure that protected the medical information and health decisions of tribal members. Passage was important to Jon because, although it wasn't explicitly spelled out in the bill, passage meant tribes couldn't be forced to turn over those afflicted with the Sickness or even report that information, where Great Spirit alone who knew could, or would, target them. It also meant non-natives could come and get treated without anyone finding out. And, according to this report, Frederick Dawson wanted to know what impact a positive or negative stance would take on his reelection bid. According to this none of his opponents were likely to make it into a big issue if he supported it, and a veto might give the talking heads some easy fodder. A good find, and one that bade well for his cause.
“Jon.”
Jon turned his head, and found Bear, in human form. The great hulking man grinned across the room.
“You look good behind that desk.”
Jon smirked. “I don't like offices.”
He set the papers down. “I hope you bring news that I'm still alive. Something is keeping me from waking up.”
Bear nodded. “Caroline located you. You're in a hospital outside Moscow. They are going to let you go once they find you don't have The Sickness.”
Jon laughed. What irony, ending up helpless until the doctors determined he didn't have the symptoms that indicated the trait that allowed him to wield the power that caused him to fall unconscious to begin with!
Then the laugh died in his mouth. Only he'd be able to find out if he hadn't harmed himself in other ways. He'd lost control, that was what happened. And to do that with the awesome force that was the Great Spirit was to invite destruction. He should have known better.
“Thank you, Bear,”
he said. What a shame he could not simply have Bear or someone else spirit his body into this place, away from untrustworthy eyes. It seemed that if one could go into the Spirit World with his mind, it would be possible to just...poke a hole through from one place to the other. How much simpler things would be if he could step across the world as easily in the waking world as here! “Can you see if Caroline can get someone close to me that isn't CCD? I don't know who she'd call, but there must be someone in Moscow trustworthy.”
Bear nodded. “Of course.”
He paused. “Jon, you need to come back. It's the Sickness. Noah --”
Jon stared at his friend. He'd heard the crazy old man had gotten himself a council seat. “What has he done?”
Bear put up his hands. “It isn't like that. In fact he's been most helpful in teaching effective treatments. And he's keeping the council happy. But he's told me we need you.”
He shook his head. “The survivors...I've seen them do things.”
Of course. The problem was obvious. While Jon was bumping up against others who had the ability to wield the Great Spirit, at home the secret was boiling over and about to break wide open. And there wasn't anyone to teach them anything, the way Jon had managed to teach himself. And Noah would know what it took to keep them alive. It stopped when you learned control. Or you died. He'd thought he would have had more time before he had to confront the problem.
He nodded. “If I don't get out of Moscow soon, we'll get me out.”
He regarded the phantom papers as they popped in and out of existence on the desk.
He should have known better. Those two at the club, Nick Trano, Dane and Nimeda and all of the other people and situations he'd been running after...
What a fool I've been
. Jon had been chasing phantoms in Moscow, and a hospital bed was where it had gotten him. It was time to go regain the scent of the real prize.
Awareness came to Jon for perhaps all of five seconds on the floor of the train. Long enough for the cold, dirty metallic floor to register its corrugated grit against his face. Long enough to wonder if he'd managed to do any good at all.
Long enough to see the bleak outline of a body bag.
“Sleep for now.”
Something pinched him. He was being rolled over onto a stretcher by a man in a hazardous material suit. It registered to Jon that he was helpless. He found he couldn't focus well enough to even sense the Great Spirit, and that it was incomprehensible for him to actually imagine wrestling it to his will at the moment. If he even still could.
One thing was certain. The situation was no longer under his control. But there was one thing he could do. Consciousness faded, and he stepped out of his body.
* * *
Faceless, formless, Jon found himself in that place with millions of glittering lights, a place with infinite space and none at all, that lay between the Spirit World and the waking world. But even before Jon came to any other sense of awareness in this place, he saw his spirit guide. The spectral white coyote materialized before him, waiting patiently. Or at least that's the way he perceived it; nothing had any shape or form here.
Okay. Here he could actually do something. He sought out one of the twinkling lights. It appeared before him, and like looking down into a snow globe he was able to see what was going on. Yes. A huge white wolf facing down a moose that had gotten itself surrounded by the rest of the pack.
Jon projected his “voice” into the ball. BEAR. IT IS JON LITTLE BIRD. I AM UNCONSCIOUS AND HELPLESS ON A TRAIN IN MOSCOW. CONTACT CAROLINE. SHE WILL BE ABLE TO FIND ME IN THE WAKING WORLD.
The dream winked out of existence. Next was finding Caroline. Unfortunately Jon failed to find her dream. That was odd. He'd expected her to still be asleep. Unfortunately, she'd be in for a surprise when she got a call from someone who sat on the Council of Native Americans, who happened to know Jon was in trouble. But she'd believe it, and she'd be able to trace his Wallet, or make some calls. And maybe get a hold of someone. Hopefully. It would hardly be the strangest thing Jon had asked her to do.
Jon stepped across the gap and into the Spirit World. There, quick as thought, he had his body, clothed as an Apache scout. He grimaced at the .38 lever action rifle in his left hand, and it disappeared. Then he remembered the situation he'd just left behind on a conscious level and felt his heart jump, and reached for the Great Spirit. The power flooded into him. For some reason that reassured him, even though in the next moment he reminded himself that his abilities here was simply a reflection of his thought, and all that he really knew of his condition in the waking world was that he was still able to project himself here. If even that was true. What if he was dead and was really a spirit here, now? His heart skipped another beat.
The glowing coyote leaped, bringing Jon's attention back to it. “I know you aren't really there,”
he said to the thing. “Either I made you, or someone else did to bring me here.”
No answer. Well, wasn't that silly, talking to an animal projection? He glanced around, putting other thoughts out of his mind. Marble columns and white polished marble steps. This was Washington. More specifically, the White House. Why had he come here? He turned around and found himself alone.
Jon sighed and shook his head. It was pointless to go back to his body if he was still out cold, and Bear would share what he learned when he could. Until then he was stuck waiting. Might as well see what he could learn while around the place.
With a thought, he found himself in the Oval Office. Quiet, empty, the place radiated elegant simplicity. Although America was no longer an empire, it was still a force to be reckoned with. And the man who occupied this office, though he had great power and influence, was still at the end of the day just another person hired to do a job. The strength of America was not in its leaders, but in its principles. In fact the personalities of its leaders were oftentimes its weakness.
Pens and papers flickered in and out of existence on the desk. Jon rifled through papers, reports and other various things. He had to be quick; often, he'd pick up a piece of paper and start reading, only to have it change while in his hand. Anything moved much in the waking world cast a poor reflection here. Jon frowned as something marked “Eyes Only” that mentioned something called SUBGRU and a debriefing on some operation vanished before he could make out more.
There wasn't much of use that he could find. His eyes rose as he saw an analysis of HR 6213, which was the Native American Medical Privacy Protection Act, something the Council of Native Americans had been trying to push through Congress. NAMPPA was a largely low-key measure that protected the medical information and health decisions of tribal members. Passage was important to Jon because, although it wasn't explicitly spelled out in the bill, passage meant tribes couldn't be forced to turn over those afflicted with the Sickness or even report that information, where Great Spirit alone who knew could, or would, target them. It also meant non-natives could come and get treated without anyone finding out. And, according to this report, Frederick Dawson wanted to know what impact a positive or negative stance would take on his reelection bid. According to this none of his opponents were likely to make it into a big issue if he supported it, and a veto might give the talking heads some easy fodder. A good find, and one that bade well for his cause.
“Jon.”
Jon turned his head, and found Bear, in human form. The great hulking man grinned across the room.
“You look good behind that desk.”
Jon smirked. “I don't like offices.”
He set the papers down. “I hope you bring news that I'm still alive. Something is keeping me from waking up.”
Bear nodded. “Caroline located you. You're in a hospital outside Moscow. They are going to let you go once they find you don't have The Sickness.”
Jon laughed. What irony, ending up helpless until the doctors determined he didn't have the symptoms that indicated the trait that allowed him to wield the power that caused him to fall unconscious to begin with!
Then the laugh died in his mouth. Only he'd be able to find out if he hadn't harmed himself in other ways. He'd lost control, that was what happened. And to do that with the awesome force that was the Great Spirit was to invite destruction. He should have known better.
“Thank you, Bear,”
he said. What a shame he could not simply have Bear or someone else spirit his body into this place, away from untrustworthy eyes. It seemed that if one could go into the Spirit World with his mind, it would be possible to just...poke a hole through from one place to the other. How much simpler things would be if he could step across the world as easily in the waking world as here! “Can you see if Caroline can get someone close to me that isn't CCD? I don't know who she'd call, but there must be someone in Moscow trustworthy.”
Bear nodded. “Of course.”
He paused. “Jon, you need to come back. It's the Sickness. Noah --”
Jon stared at his friend. He'd heard the crazy old man had gotten himself a council seat. “What has he done?”
Bear put up his hands. “It isn't like that. In fact he's been most helpful in teaching effective treatments. And he's keeping the council happy. But he's told me we need you.”
He shook his head. “The survivors...I've seen them do things.”
Of course. The problem was obvious. While Jon was bumping up against others who had the ability to wield the Great Spirit, at home the secret was boiling over and about to break wide open. And there wasn't anyone to teach them anything, the way Jon had managed to teach himself. And Noah would know what it took to keep them alive. It stopped when you learned control. Or you died. He'd thought he would have had more time before he had to confront the problem.
He nodded. “If I don't get out of Moscow soon, we'll get me out.”
He regarded the phantom papers as they popped in and out of existence on the desk.
He should have known better. Those two at the club, Nick Trano, Dane and Nimeda and all of the other people and situations he'd been running after...
What a fool I've been
. Jon had been chasing phantoms in Moscow, and a hospital bed was where it had gotten him. It was time to go regain the scent of the real prize.