41. Backing onto a battlefield

The only way I can confirm this story is by asking Michel. Or Kima. George is manipulating my natural curiosity.

Aloud, he said, “I notice you’re not keen on promises, so I don’t know how to put this.”

“You’re going to have to put it some way, if it’s about Michel,” George said.

Jesse thought it should be pretty obvious, but said it aloud anyway. “I want some assurance you, your hair or Michel won’t wake up some day, decide I’m an asshole, and kill me.”

George resumed his human appearance. Jesse’s relief was thorough enough to make him sag.

“I know looking at me’s a strain,” George said.  “You handled it very well, as well as my hair mauling you, and there’s no reason for me not to look human, now you know the truth. No! I’m not changing the subject.” He had, in his set of expressions, a close-eyed smile with a wolfish glint. “Michel won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you. You’re the fifth human being I’ve ever talked my hair into accepting, and I didn’t have to try too hard. It even told me when it decided to like you.”

“I wish I knew whether you were even telling the truth,” Jesse said.

“You guessed I was saying something rude when I lit up. If you can read me that well, and you’re kindly disposed, how can you be anything but my friend? Why wouldn’t I speak the truth to a friend?”

Thanks, chuckles, but I really don’t think I can read you that well. My guesses are getting luckier.

George continued, “I’ll tell you when it happened. My hair started its one-sided interspecies bromance with you the night you closed the tailgate and started the truck, during the British Properties move. One of the hairs was keeping an eye on you while I was indoors.”

“On your orders?” And how long can those little suckers get?

“I was quite preoccupied at the time; it kinda snuck out while I wasn’t looking. Caregiving behaviour is not common among my species. I thought it was cute, and it worked out well for me,” George said.

“Oh my god,” Jesse said. “You just never can tell what your hair is thinking! I know I have the same problem.” He grabbed a chunk of hair, pulled it down over his nose, and blew it away.

Jesse was growing it out again, mostly because it pissed Raven off. The only other people whose opinions mattered were too discreet to comment on his appearance, except to make practical or complimentary remarks.

He also hated wigs, and wanted it long for a decent Scythian warrior ensemble, which Raven had promised a fabricator hookup for.

“To recap,” George said.

“Does this mean you’re leaving soon?” Jesse asked hopefully.

“Tired of me, are you?”

“Exhausted. I used to be a tube made out of pain, but now I’m just one of — how many people is it exactly? — who know about this.” He took a quick breath and said, “I don’t expect an answer. I’m also happy you quit lying to me about one thing, and sad because all of a sudden what seemed like the truth appears to branch into whole new kinds of lying.”

“Could you call it ‘prudently concealing the truth for strategic purposes’ and ‘prevaricating’ instead? I don’t have the energy to lie to you. It’s far, far easier not to. I have to lie, and I do lie, but if I have an option not to, I don’t.”

Jesse felt a memory percolate to the surface.

“You told the client you could smell blood.”

George sighed, and made what Jesse secretly called his ‘Kermit face’. “I did, didn’t I. Wish I could have stopped myself.  I can smell it a long way off, if I’m expecting it.”

He suddenly stopped looking perplexed and seemed angry. “Just so we’re clear, I’m only going to say this to you once, and I’m not going to talk about it again, and I don’t want you to talk about it.”

“What painful revelations await our poor misguided young hero?” Jesse said, in a creditable imitation of Sideshow Bob. He was still happy he wasn’t looking at George the monster any more.

“Shut up, shut up! This is awkward and unpleasant for me, so give it a fucking rest,” George had sworn twice in one day, a new record. Grimly, he said, “I love the smell of human blood.  Although I don’t need to eat, every month to six months I get a tremendous craving and I ingest some.”

“Oh, hell no,” Jesse said.

“I’m not going to ask you for a tablespoon of blood just because I feel like a snack,” George said, frowning.

“That’s no way to make me feel better. I know you could yoink a tubeful faster than I can move,” Jesse said.

“But I won’t.  It’s all perfectly safe, legal and consensual, and it’ll never be connected to you,” George said. “I know how you feel about not giving consent, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I am a lot earlier.”

“When’s the day.”

“Don’t ask.”

“When’s the day.”

“Not for years.”

“Seriously?” Jesse asked, disbelief overriding his good sense.

George lost it.

“As far as I can tell, your brain is functioning normally, and yet you say the most ill-advised, inutile things. I’m trying to bring a city to its knees, and then stand it up again, facing a different direction.  Nothing like this has ever been tried in human history, and I’m doing it on my own. You can mock me all you like, but my only meaningful goal in all this is that there be not a single casualty, not one, in the first seven days after the announcement.  If I can prevent a mass panic and evacuation event, keep major services including emergency and hospitals running, and not have Vancouver implode into a world-class dumpster fire of riotous hooliganism, then phase one of me coming out as an alien, including the rapid rollout of Michel and Kima, will be at an end.”

George stuck a finger, which Jesse knew was no finger, in his face.

“You have no idea the amount of coordination and planning will go into this. I could stroll down Granville tomorrow and announce my presence, but what would happen to the two police officers closest to me? Would they be killed in the crush? What would happen to the EMTs? How many people would be killed in accidents and road rage incidents as they flee town? What will happen at the airport, the train stations, the bus stations? What happens when the army’s called in and tanks roll up and down the Burrard Street bridge? What happens when the local phone system crashes and the internet slows down and the transportation authorities panic and cancel all the buses and shut down the Skytrain and you can’t get through to 911 to get your sister to the hospital and the entire city is gridlocked and the looting starts?”

Jesse shrugged. It all sounded a little over the top.

“Yeah, shrug all you want. The only way this works is if I keep the city safe; world leaders will see that I’m being responsible, and a city that’s already used to the world showing up and then leaving three weeks later will at least survive intact.”

“I don’t think it will be that bad.”

George was silent.

“It’s a good thing you’re not on the planning committee, then,” George said tightly. “I’ll leave you to your cup of tea. Call you in a couple of days,” he said, and left.

Jesse made himself herbal tea and went back to bed.