Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(29)
I left out the fact that Gallagher was the primary source of that information, because I didn’t want Vandekamp torturing him for more details about me.
“Legend?” Vandekamp scowled. “I’m asking you for scientific facts, not bedtime stories, and if you can’t provide them—”
“No one can. But if you listen, you might learn something, Dr. Vandekamp.” I held my breath, expecting him to point his remote and make my existence dissolve into excruciating pain. “Please.”
“You have one minute.”
“Okay. The way it was explained to me is this. Sometimes, when mankind gets too big for its collective britches, the world—the pooled power of all existence—literally gives life to certain inalienable abstract truths, to remind us that mankind is not its own final authority. Powerful, uncompromisable concepts, like honesty and love and loss and pain and joy. Ideas that transcend human laws and authority, and that apply to every living creature.”
“You’re saying the universe brings these concepts to life?” He still sounded skeptical, but fascinated.
“Not the cosmos. But yes, the universe, in the sense of the collective of everything. Existence itself comes together to provide what the world is missing. It endows a select few people—regardless of species—with the essence of one of those truths. Some of them have names and have attained the status of legend over the millennia. Some of them do not and have not.
“I have been endowed with the essence of justice. Specifically, I’m supposed to right wrongs where society’s laws and norms have failed. I am a furiae.”
“A furiae?” Comprehension raised Vandekamp’s eyebrows. “Like from Greek mythology?”
“Yes. Though the concept actually predates Greek culture. As my test results indicate, biologically, I’m human. Becoming a furiae hasn’t changed that. But I am driven by a force I can’t always control to right injustice wherever I see it.”
“So, when you feel that someone has been...wronged, you what? Sprout claws and punish people?”
I could practically hear the gears grinding in Vandekamp’s head as his frustration gave way to consideration. He’d achieved financial and technological success—however barbaric—not by whining about conditions that didn’t suit him, but by twisting those conditions until they did suit him. And I could tell from the bright new gleam in his pale blue eyes that he was already trying to figure out how to twist the honorable nature of my gift to benefit his abominable business model.
“Sort of. But I can’t control what form that punishment takes.” At least not that I knew of. “And even if you could figure out how to electrocute me every time the furiae tries to show herself, I’m not sure that would prevent anything. Hurting me won’t necessarily hurt her. Or stop her.”
The furiae wouldn’t care how much pain I was in, as long as she met her goal.
Vandekamp’s brows rose. “You’re saying there’s no way I can stop this furiae from acting on any injustice she sees?”
“That’s my theory, yes.” Although cuffing my hands behind my back was a good start. Not that I would tell him that. Or the fact that I couldn’t avenge myself.
“So, if I were to send you to Gallagher, you’d be compelled to avenge what was done to him?”
“If you were to send me to Gallagher?” Anger flared in my chest. “That was the deal.”
“We came to no deal.” Vandekamp stood, and I had to look up at him. “We each stated a desire, and you obliged mine, but I made no promise to return the favor.”
“You better hope you don’t need anything from me in the future.” I spoke through gritted teeth.
“Whatever I want from you, I will take.” His declaration carried no emotion; it was a simple statement of fact. “I own you.”
“But I’m human.” No sentient being ought to be property, but because of my species, I truly wasn’t, legally.
“Several hundred people have seen you become a monster. No one’s going to believe a blood test over their own eyes. I’m not entirely sure I do.” Before I could object, he pressed a button on his telephone dock.
“Yes, Mr. Vandekamp?” the secretary in the outer office replied.
“Send the handlers back in.”
“You will regret this,” I said as the door opened, but my voice held none of the furiae’s rich depth.
“I assure you I won’t.” Vandekamp looked past me to Bowman and the other handler, whose presence I could feel behind me. “Take her back.”
One of them grabbed my arm.
“Wait!”
Bowman pulled me out of the room, and when I refused to walk, he and the other handler each lifted me by one arm and hauled me out of the main building, then through the topiary and the iron gate. In the housing building, they removed my cuffs, then threw me into my dormitory, where I landed with a bruising thud on one hip.
Bowman adjusted the settings on my collar to keep me in the room, then he slammed the door.
“What happened?” Mirela demanded as soon as they were gone. “Did you see Gallagher?”
“No. Vandekamp can’t be trusted, no matter what he promises.” I glanced around at the crowd of former Metzger’s captives and the long-term residents alike, most of whom seemed to think I was stating the obvious. “Don’t make any deals with him.”