The Man Who Stole the Weather

The fomor recoiled at that a little. "Just... sounds like a real name. People who have real names usually have two, don't they? First and last."

"They do," Dawson confirmed. "My first name is Impulse."

The troll chuckled briefly. "I like that. That's a sexy name."

"Another entry on the list of reasons for you to fuck me again," Dawson observed. "It's getting pretty long now, isn't it."

"You're not like other stars," Avalanche said. "How come you're not mean?"

"I got all my meanness out when I was younger," Dawson informed her. "Now I'm all essence and, I learned recently, fomor babies."

Avalanche laughed so suddenly that she snorted. "You're fun," she said affectionately. "I hope you let me fuck you some more. Your holes are so tight."

"That's quite flattering, thank you. Though somehow I doubt they'll stay that way for long with you involved."

From the air all of the buildings would look about the same, but judging by the way she sniffed the air Avalanche knew which one was the correct one to go to based on a scent trail that Dawson couldn't pick up beneath the salt wind off the bay or the stench of the fomor's earlier affections. The structure they stopped at featured an overgrown sign indicating it was one a hydroponics storage facility for a probably defunct company called Big Green Thumb. The two approached a personnel door on the west side and without ceremony Avalanche pounded on it with one fist.

A few seconds later a slot in the front opened up and a voice came from inside. Dawson recognized it immediately as belonging to one of the amazons that had abducted her the previous year, the two least polite enforcers to claim affiliation with Mother Earth... and that was saying something.

"What do you want, Avalanche? You already got your nectar this week." Before the troll could speak, there was a sound of the person inside sniffing the air.

"Wait, is someone with you? Who's there?" A pause. "Why do they smell like you?"

"Uhh..." the troll mumbled, rubbing her neck. "She wants to meet with someone."

"Who's she?"

"Um, her name is Dawson. She's a star."

"Dawson?!" squawked the amazon. "You... What?! Why is... Don't move, either of you!"

The slot closed and Avalanche turned around, shrugging. "Guess that's a good sign," she said, pulling on one of her braids nervously.

"Normally if people aren't delighted to see me, they start shooting right away."

"Who would want to shoot you?" Avalanche wondered out loud. "I'd much rather stab you."

Dawson smiled in response. "Thinking about it even now, aren't you?"

"Probably never gonna stop. Best pussy of my whole life."

"That would mean a little more if you had a sample size bigger than one."

Avalanche shifted her weight from one leg to the other restlessly. "Does that mean you want to do it some more? We might have a lil' time..."

"Maybe later. I think I'm about to become a lot more popular with the locals."

Scratching her chin, Avalanche asked "What makes you say that?"

A mere second after the troll spoke, the bay door several feet to the left of the personnel door rapidly lifted up as someone inside pulled its chain. Half a dozen statuesque women in rough-spun and hand-stitched clothing piled out of it, two of them holding long spears fashioned out of rebar and the other four holding compound bows. All of them were pointed at Dawson.

"Just a feeling," the detective said.

The one who had spoken through the door, a woman of Aztlan descent with skin like sun-dried leather and shoulder-length red hair beginning to turn grey at the roots, regarded Dawson with a snarl.

"Got a lot of nerve showing your face here, detective."

"It's the only face I've got, or at least the only one I can afford. Do you really need to point all those at me?"

"Shut up!" the woman shouted. "That cannon you keep on your hip... hand it over!"

Dawson used one hand to slowly push back her coat, revealing the Ares Accelerator. The moment it came in to view her would-be captors became visibly more tense. One of them swallowed hard against a lump in her throat.

Avalanche was still standing next to her and had only just caught on to what was happening. "Hey, why are you pointing all that towards her?

The aging red-head gestured frantically with her spear. "Get away from her, Avalanche! Don't you know who that is?"

"She's my friend! She let me knock her up!"

Silence followed. Dawson let out a slow sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. After a solid ten seconds of the amazons exchanging baffled glances, one of them started to laugh. The others began to do the same.

"You... what?" Red-hair said, chuckling. The point of her spear dropped towards the ground. "Wow... Just wow! That's... that's rich! I'm surprised you can still walk! Enjoy it while you can, you're gonna need to be carried everywhere in a few months!"

More laughter at Dawson's expense followed and she chose that moment to pull the Accelerator out of its holster. The humor evaporated instantly and six panicked faces looked to the weapon in her hand pointed towards the ground.

"Still want it?" Dawson asked.

Red-hair gestured with her spear. "Put it on the ground! Slowly!"

Dawson did so and took a step back from it. Avalanche looked at it curiously, probably never having seen a weapon quite like it before. There would undoubtedly be questions later.

Looking up from the gun, Red-hair regarded her again. "Why are you here, Dawson? If you thought being a mother would be enough to get you into Mother Earth you're sorely mistaken on top of just sore. You had your chance!"

"You lured me here under false pretenses and then tried to feed me another woman's breast milk and magic mushroom juice while I was tied to a tree. It felt more like being conscripted."

"So you were a special case," Red-hair said dismissively. "Either way you had your chance. Now either state your business or slink on back to the rich side of the bay with your, heh, consolation prize. Or more likely prizes."

It was only at this latest joke that Avalanche finally seemed to understand what exactly they were making fun of Dawson for. The troll moved next to her and put one arm around Dawson's shoulder, smushing her face-first into the fomor's chest. The brim of Dawson's hat folded down in front of her eyes, momentarily blinding her.

"Hey, don't be mean to her! We're gonna be great parents! Right?" Another round of laughter followed that.

Forcing her hat back up with one hand, Dawson spoke as Avalanche's arm slipped down her back and she started to absently grope at the seat of the human's pants.

"I need to see Tranquility. A week ago someone used stolen biotech equipment to capture a mana storm off the coast and despite your cell's sterling record of entirely lawful activity, you are the closest thing I have right now to suspects."

Red-hair and her compatriots looked at each other nervously. Too quickly the woman spoke. "We don't know a thing about that and you'd be wise not to pursue the matter, 'specially not with us."

"I think given our history," Dawson said calmly, "Tranquility could humor me with a few minutes of her time."

Red-hair didn't like what Dawson was insinuating and she responded to her even tone by becoming aggressive. "We don't owe you a thing!"

"Did it puzzle you, when nothing happened after I got away? I'll bet you moved your whole base of operations just hours after you all woke up to find me gone. But there was no crackdown, was there? There was no retribution for abducting a licensed law enforcement agent. For trying to brainwash her. Maybe you've been looking over your collective shoulders since it happened, wondering when the consequences of your fuck-up would finally arrive."

"I can forgive anyone for what they do to me personally. If you'd tried it when I was a little younger I'd probably be holding one of those bows right now myself. I don't approve of all your methods but knowing everything you know about me, do you really think I don't agree with your goals? Do you think I'm not sympathetic to your cause?"

"Let me see Tranquility and we're even. Best case scenario I stop a plot to drown the coast and worst case you can all breathe a sigh of relief and stop worrying about the detective you tried to drug into lesbian eco-terrorism."

The Mother Earth operatives looked at each other nervously and Red-hair chewed on her lip, contemplating Dawson's words.

"Drek... Fine. Fine! But as soon as she says the word, you're gone."

Dawson bent down at the knees to open up the breach of the Accelerator and remove the cylinder holding the rods, then stood up as one of the amazons came close and took the two parts carefully.

Pointing with her spear, Red-hair muttered inside and Dawson strode through the lifted bay door. The facility's loading dock had the expected appearance of a derelict building, old debris and garbage piled up in the corners and boards over the windows. But the doorway leading further in was suspiciously vibrant, wrapped in ironvine and reinforced with heavy struts that would resist forced intrusion even better than the brick wall it was set into.

With Avalanche right behind her Dawson made her way towards that door, stopping to let Red-hair knock on it three times. A moment later it opened up inward and admitted the detective and her escort.

Once this must have been a nautical distribution center for the products Big Green Thumb vendored but now it had been turned into a home for the Mother Earth commune. They had taken down every wall which could be removed without compromising the structural integrity, for Mother Earth did not believe in privacy. The roof had been torn out in every area possible and replaced with bolted-on skylights, for sunlight and moonlight alike were essential to nature's balance.

Metahuman women of all varieties and ages were at work here, cooking, fletching, mixing poultices and fashioning clothing (though many of them appeared to be nudists). A few of what Dawson assumed were the clearer-headed ones were working at a still, crafting one part of the 'love nectar' they so liked to feed to each other to ensure they would be totally dedicated to the commune and zealously jaundiced towards anyone not part of it.

"Changed my mind," Red-hair said as they neared one of the few hallways in the compound. "Ladies, treat Avalanche to another drink. I think she's earned it."

The fomor beamed, licking her lips in anticipation. From what Dawson could remember, it carried quite a kick.

Red-hair and one of her compatriots continued to escort Dawson further inside. Somewhere nearby someone was playing a harp, filling the vast warm space with a resonant calm that, to Dawson, seemed totally at odds with what Mother Earth was known for. But then, all most people saw were the bombings, all they heard about were the bribes or the blackmail. They never saw the ceremonies performed under the full moon, never heard uttered the promises to tear down the corrupt edifices of the sixth world. Some Mother Earth chapters were pacifists who invited men to be a part of them and worked through legitimate channels to achieve equality and harmony.

This wasn't one of them.

What was likely once a bank of cubicles had been leveled and turned into a sanctum for Tranquility, the witch who led the cell. Anyone in or around San Francisco who had been inducted into Mother Earth answered to her, although from the singular meeting with the woman Dawson had endured she suspected that each one of those adherents were led to believe everything Tranquility said had really been their own idea all along. She was a natural manipulator, equipped by nature with an arresting gaze, a soothing voice and a body that could stop traffic faster than any police checkpoint. Someone had once said to Dawson that she had a striking sort of beauty. If forced to summarize Tranquility with one word, Dawson's choice would have been captivating.

A circular altar of solid stone was the witch's primary work space. Resting on it were a few bowls, an ancient paper map of San Francisco and several new-looking commpads, burners she almost certainly used to lure people to Berkeley. She'd target the unfortunate, the desperate, the disillusioned and the idealistic alike. Occasionally she aimed higher, for those that would be 'useful' to the cause. To join, you only had to drink. Drink, and then listen to Tranquility tell you what the world could be like if only everyone shared their beliefs.

The woman herself was kneeling in a bed of wildflowers, totally naked save for the tied-together dandelions around her head. Curly blonde locks cascaded down her head and halfway down her back, her full figure dominated by the unconcealed breasts she sported, dripping small rivulets of milk from the pancake sized areola. Light skin dusted with freckles on the cheeks, shoulders, thighs and arms was so soft and healthy it appeared to almost be glowing. There were no scars anywhere on her, no calluses or blemishes. Her followers would go to great lengths to spare her pain or labor of any kind. Many of them would even die for her, though she would never ask for it... Or so she insisted.

Tranquility's eyes opened, a deep and mystifying blue that had drawn in many a reluctant recruit. She saw Dawson standing at the entrance to her sanctum, hands in her coat pockets, and her smile reached all the way to her eyes.

"Detective," she said in a comely voice, "It brings me untold joy to see you among us again."

She stood up as Dawson walked across the space between them, clasping her hands in front of her belly and leaving uncovered the dense mass of blonde hair between her legs, no doubt purposefully. Dawson made an effort to maintain eye contact even as the witch made an effort to fidget her fingers so the movement would draw Dawson's eye and thus bring her womanhood back into view.

"Wish I could say the feeling is mutual," Dawson replied evenly. "Never really cared for peach flavors. More of a coconut fan."

"If that is your only condition," Tranquility said, still smiling, "I believe we can make arrangements."

"Not my only condition," Dawson said, looking away pointedly. Tranquility regarded her curiously for a moment and then resumed smiling.

"Congratulations."

Dawson looked back at her sharply. "For?"

"If you don't know already," Tranquility said playfully, "I'm certain you will before long."

"Maybe it's better if I don't. But I didn't come here for a neo-pagan ultrasound."

"Our commune is at your disposal, detective," Tranquility said invitingly. "Given how poorly our first interaction went, I would be thrilled if we could begin again on better terms."

"Somehow I get the impression your terms don't ever really change," Dawson guessed. "I'm not really the get-naked-and-dance-under-the-moon type anymore. Got all of that out of my system when I was in my 20s, between bouts of mowing down imperial marines with a minigun."

At the mention of violence, Tranquility's expression changed briefly to a frown. "We would never ask you to harm another living creature," she said, with such resoluteness that Dawson almost believed it. Almost.

"Just to satisfy my curiosity," she said, "What would you ask me to do? Falsify evidence? Misdirect investigations? Hold people by the throat and pour something in their mouth?"

"Mother Earth understands the structure of civilization," the witch began, "And that it is maintained by a mere handful of individuals that have against all odds, against all incentives held onto their essence. You know our cause is just and right, or you would not be this way. You belong here, with us."

"Is that why I was born on the other end of the continent?" Dawson wondered aloud. Tranquility ignored her logical objection and continued to appeal to her emotions.

"When those people--people like yourself--are shown that there is another way, civilization will crumble and all of metahumanity will be free to live in peace and harmony."

"Does that include the men?"

Tranquility pursed her lips briefly, particularly annoyed at this particular objection. She probably heard it a lot.

"Yes, of course," she said.

"So why aren't any of them in here?"

"Because," Tranquility continued, straining to maintain her harmonious tone, "If they were in here with us, all of us would look like me and none of us would look like you. Or at least, you today and not what you may look like in around ten months. That is to say, like me but taller."

"This sales pitch isn't working on me."

"All I had expected of you," Tranquility said, cutting to the chase, "Was that you would keep the rest of us informed about what the authorities were doing. And... deflect their attention, when required."

Dawson fixed her with a level stare. "You could have asked."

For the first time, Tranquility's expression was one of surprise. "Could I have?"

"You could have," Dawson insisted. "I don't hear the voice of Mother in the wind or see the future in the stars but I understand right and wrong. I've been doing this for years and you would not be the first questionably lawful policlub I've colluded with. So I'll lay out my terms right now: You hurt megacorps, fine. Fight the good fight the best way you know how. Maybe your way works, maybe mine doesn't. You start hurting people and we have a problem. Me and my predominantly male friends at Lone Star will move your commune to the Central California Women's Facility in Madera and I can assure that they'll make everyone wear clothes, regardless of how good you look without them."

Despite the overt threat, Tranquility smiled again. People like her didn't plan for worst-case-scenarios, confident that the inherent rightness of their cause would see them through to success.

"It is a great relief to know we have a friend in a strategic position," the witch said. "And how can we help our friend this evening? You did not come just to bury the arrow."

"Mana Storm Vorsyth," Dawson said. Tranquility's smile immediately fell away.

"What about it?" she responded quietly.

"Do you know where it is?"

The witch turned away and walked slowly to her table, shapely lower half shifting in an alluring fashion. "It is a storm," she said carefully. "Storms have their own hearts and dreams."

"This one does," Dawson confirmed, "And I have it on good authority that someone is keeping it in a bottle, almost assuredly against its will. Do you know anything about that?"

Tranquility looked away and said nothing for a long moment. Eventually her eyes slid back to Dawson and she asked, "Are we true friends, Detective?"

"Until you betray my trust and keep me from protecting people," Dawson said back.

That answer seemed to satisfy the witch, and so she sat on a small padded stool that was a half-size too small for her plush ass and began to speak.

"A few days before Vorsyth disappeared, a man came to the commune."

"That must have gone over well."

"We had a dozen bows pointed at him within a minute of his coming close to the door, but he expressed no fear or apprehension. He must have been a man of at least seventy, but he walked with the surety and confidence of a lifelong warrior."

One of Dawson's better social skills was knowing when to be quiet and let people speak uninterrupted of things that were troubling them. She did so now as Tranquility continued.

"His eyes didn't wander as he walked among us, and from the moment he was brought inside I felt a magnitude of suffering radiating from him that I have never felt from anyone else. I am not as naive or whimsical as I sometimes let others believe, detective. I know that one would have to possess a pitiable life, or an enviable memory, to know nothing of regret. Believe me when I say that this man was nothing but regret."