The Weapon - Exodus - part 5
By Diana the Valkyrie
The war on drugs


In the office, Felicity was even brighter and more cheerful than usual.
"Fliss," I said, "about last night ..." She blushed. "Yes," she said, nodding.
"Yes what?" "Yes, I did ... oh. What were you asking about?" "Ah, never mind.
I was about to tell you, don't worry, I got home OK last night, thanks for
asking." She blushed more redly. "Plus," I went on, "I also got laid."
Beetroot, pure beetroot. Still, I was pleased for her.

After work, I caught the bus home, showered, shaved, changed into something
less office-like, and phoned Duncan. "Er, Duncan, you know I don't have a car
right now, and getting to your place on the bus isn't exactly easy, I don't
suppose you could ask Wendy to ..." At that point, my doorbell rang. "Hang on,
there's someone at the door." He hung up. Oh. Oh well. You have to make
allowance for older people. I ran downstairs to see who it was, and, yes, you
guessed it. There she was. "But, but. How. Er." "Stop butting, George, I've
got a pot of rice on the gas and I can't leave it for long, come on."

The risotto was great, too. Savoury with the liver and salty with the bacon,
and followed a sour apple tart with sweet cream. I could really get to like
this.

"So here's my idea," I said. "I was reading in the newspaper about heroin
addiction, and they say that with Afghanistan out of the picture, 75% of the
world's supply is shut down. But production has increased in South East Asia,
specifically the Golden Triangle in Ramanmari, and the 3000 tons of opium per
year lost in Afghanistan is being made up for by increased plantings there."
Duncan nodded. "Supply and demand, son, there's nothing stronger than economic
forces." "But there is, Duncan! And right now, she's in your kitchen doing the
dishes." Duncan frowned. "What's your idea?" "You remember you told me that
she had to remove the salt from sea water before she could use it to put out
the fire, because otherwise the salt would make the land infertile?" "Yes,
and?" "So, we're talking about an area of land that's also about 400 square
miles, total. And if she dumps sea water on that, it fucks up the only supply
of opium left after Afghanistan dropped out of the picture. End of heroin
problem."

Wendy brought us coffee and biscuits, and sat down on the floor by Duncan's
feet. He stroked her hair while we continued to talk. "I think you've got the
beginning of an idea there," he said, "but you're only looking at the
immediate effects. Problem is, the knock-on effects can wind up so much more
than the immediate effects that you wind up having the exact opposite effect
of what you were hoping for. And you make a bad situation worse." "So you're
saying we should do nothing? Wendy, what do you think?" "I don't," she
explained, "that's what Duncan's for."

"No, I'm not saying we do nothing," said Duncan, "I'm saying that before we
sow their fields with salt, we should go and have a look at the situation
there. A reconnaissance. Talk to the Ramanmari government, talk to the
farmers, talk to the local politicians, and then when we have a better
understanding of how it all works, then ..." "Smash it to pieces," said Wendy,
looking angry. We both looked at her. She looked defensive. "I'm allowed an
opinion, aren't I? I've seen what these drugs do to people. Smash it to
pieces. This is a job for ... The Weapon!"

Duncan and I looked at each other. She's been reading comics again. "OK,
sounds like we have a plan," said Duncan. "Wendy scouts out the situation,
let's say a couple of weeks for that, then we meet back here to work out the
next step. Good luck, both of you." Both of us? "Both of us?" I asked. Duncan
frowned. "Wendy can't do this on her own, and I'm a bit too old to go
gallivanting around the world. So you'll go with her." "But," I said. That one
word was intended to include the difficulty of getting a couple of weeks off
my job, the fact that I hadn't a clue how to go about this, and my nervousness
about going into what had to be one of the most hazardous parts of the world.
"But," I repeated, trying to infuse the word with all the above, plus my
inability to speak the local language, plus my total ignorance of the politics
of the region. "You'd be her Wielder while you were there," Duncan added. I
carefully suppressed my 'but' and replaced it with a "Can do!" Wendy winked at
me.

. . .

Next day, I called in to the office. "Fliss, do me a favour, love. I suddenly
need to take two weeks off, tell me you can cover my job while I'm gone? And
fix it up with the boss? No, I can't say where, let's just say I'm saving the
world, hmmm? No, it isn't a wild two week orgy. Yes I probably will. Yes,
probably quite a lot. Yes, but that isn't the main purpose here, Fliss, stop
that, getting laid has obviously lowered your inhibitions a lot, now will you
please please pretty please? OK, thanks. I'll do the same for you sometime."

It was late afternoon before I'd finished cancelling the milk delivery and
newspapers, checking that the house was thoroughly locked up and the
neighbours notified that I'd be away for a couple of weeks, the gas stopcock
firmly off and the house straightened out into a reasonable state for my
return. Wendy turned up as it was getting dark, having said a long goodbye to
Duncan, lucky old sod.

So I packed a small kitbag with a clean pair of socks and other necessaries,
and grabbed my credit card and passport. Wendy tucked my kitbag away under her
cape behind her; it just sort of disappeared like a rabbit in a magicians hat.
Then she stood facing me, her arms outstretched, holding the ends of her cape
in each hand. She brought her hands around me, her cape over my head so that I
was completely wrapped up in it, her arms pulled me into her warm soft body,
and the next thing I knew was that I could feel a force of three G's pressing
me into her body, which is actually a very nice feeling.

After several minutes, the G-force slackened off, and we were in free fall.
"Please note smoking is not permitted in the aisles or toilets," she said,
"are you ready for the in-flight entertainment to begin?" "Yes please," I
said, enthusiastically.

My only complaint was that it didn't last long enough. Phileas Fogg only just
managed to go around the world in eighty days; Wendy could do a complete
near-earth-orbit in eighty minutes. Well, ninety actually, but let's not allow
pedantry to stand in the way of poetry.

Thirty minutes later, I felt the G-force return as she re-entered the
atmosphere, and again I was pressed into her body as we slowed to land. "It's
the only way to fly" I said, as she reached the ground. Daylight was gone now,
it was very dark, with just a quarter moon for visibility, and we'd landed a
long way from any signs of civilisation. "Uh, where are we, by the way?"
"Welcome to Chiang Rotse, please return all stewardesses to an upright
position." "Where's the hotel?" "Hotel? This is just a village, I doubt if
they have a hotel." "So why are we here?" "Duncan picked it out. It's plumb in
the middle of the Golden Triangle, and so it's a good place to scout around."
"So now what?" "I'll ask Duncan, hang on." "What?" "Duncan says, get into the
village and find someone who speaks English." "Hold on, Wendy, hold on. You
just spoke with Duncan?" She nodded. "How, telepathy?" "Don't be silly,
George, you can't use it at that range. I just phoned him."

My head was spinning, that's two things to follow up. "Phoned him how?"
"Satellite, it's just up there," she pointed. "It doesn't care how the radio
waves are generated, so I just make them like a sat phone would and focus them
to where the sat is. And I pick up the signals coming back, it's just like
talking to Duncan on a phone, no big deal." "And over what range can you do
telepathy, Wendy?" "Oh, George, come on, you don't seriously believe in
telepathy, do you? Go go go, lets see what's there." "One more thing, Wendy.
Can you speak their language, whatever it is." "No, sweetie, English is all I
do, maybe a bit of Latin too." Either that was another joke, or else it
wasn't, it didn't seem important. So we held hands as we walked towards the
village. I can recommend holding hands with Wendy.

When I say village, you probably have a mental picture of a bunch of thatched
brick-built cottages, a duck pond, a church and a village inn. Scrub all that,
think mud huts, and plenty of them. One of them had a soft yellow-red glow,
and we headed for that one, maybe there were people there. She pulled me back
before I could go in, whispering "Wait, George, ladies first." "But you're not
a ..." and the rest of the sentence was lost in the roar of gunfire.

I wasn't worried. I mean, not much. Well, maybe a little. She'd explained to
me about her various skins, and how they got more difficult to damage as you
went closer in, and I knew she'd just spent an hour meditating in the middle
of the sun, but you know, when you hear bullets flying and your best girl is
in harm's way, you still worry.

You can't blame them for being a bit quick on the trigger. When people are
expecting five foot nothing orientals, and a six foot woman walks in wearing a
white costume and a long cape, you can see how nervous people might get a bit
quick with the stutter-gun. The gunfire stopped, and I risked a quick peek
around her side. "Give me that," she said, holding out her hand. The guy with
the AK47 was fumbling with it, trying to get a new clip in place so he could
watch another thirty bullets bounce off her; he took no notice of her request.
So she took a few steps forward, and pinched the business end of the gun
between thumb and finger, flattening the muzzle. "Don't try to use it now,
sweetie, or something will break," she advised. Probably he didn't speak
English, possibly he didn't realise what she'd done, or maybe he was
terminally stupid, but he ignored her advice, and pulled the trigger. The
bullets travelled up the barrel, reached the flattened part, and stuck. All
that energy had to go somewhere, and the barrel burst. The guy holding the gun
got the worst of it; he wasn't going to be shooting anyone ever again. When I
heard the explosion, I peeked around her side again, saw the mess, and grabbed
her hand.

"Wendy." She wasn't listening, she was staring in horror at the gory mess in
front of her. I tugged on her hand. "Wendy, listen. That wasn't your fault, he
did it to himself, he killed himself, it wasn't your fault." She turned to
look me in the eyes. "Really?"

I looked into those big blue eyes, and I knew that I couldn't lie to her. And
so I thought for a second, he saw what she did, but he still fired the gun. If
you're that stupid then you can't blame anyone else for your stupidity, so I
looked her right back into her eyes and said "Really." Then I looked down at
her, and realised that she was far from undamaged. Her costume was ripped in
several places, and underneath I could see where her flesh was torn up. She
looked down to see what I was looking at. "Oh. Oh. Close your eyes, George."
So I didn't, and I was very glad I didn't.

First, her clothes vanished, and she was naked. Then her skin disappeared, and
I could see the smooth, light red surface that lay under it. Then her skin
came back, but without the damage, and finally her costume, intact. She looked
at me, and she knew I'd been watching her. "A gentleman would not have peeked
at a naked lady," she said. There's really only two answers to that, and I
cowardly chose the less offensive one. "I'm not a gentleman." She laughed and
reached for me, and we traded hugs.

As my eyes became accustomed to the smoky light which came from a fire in the
middle of the hut, I could see several other people in the hut, looking
terrified, some of them just children. There was silence, apart from a baby
screaming in a basket on the floor.

Everyone was looking at Wendy. "Okayyy ..." I said. Everyone looked at me.
"Wendy, shut that baby up." "Uh. How?" "Pick it up and cuddle it, of course."
Wendy held the baby in her arms, its face to her breast, and it did what
babies instinctively do. "Anyone here speak English?" I asked. One old man
stood up. "Sir, I speak a little," he said. "And you are ...?" "I am Lan Ho."
"and who is in charge here," I asked. He looked around him. "We are a family,"
he said. I am the great-grandfather, the oldest. Sir, may I offer you food and
drink?" He gestured to one of the old women, she dipped a bowl of rice from
the pot in the fire and offered it to me, together with a small bowl of green
tea. Wendy turned to me. "George!" "Yes?" "George, this baby is only six
pounds." "So?" "She should be more like twelve. She's starving." I turned to
Lan Ho. "What's wrong with the baby?" His head drooped, he looked at the
floor. "I am ashamed." "Why?" "We cannot feed our children." I looked at the
children, really looked, and I could see the thin faces, the ribs showing
through the skin. "How can any of us hold up our heads when we cannot protect
and feed our children?" said Lan Ho, sadly.

Wendy took off her tunic and started to breast-feed the baby. I ate a few
grains of rice, and returned the bowl, thanking Lan Ho for his hospitality,
and explaining that I had already eaten so fully that I could not manage more
than that. He nodded, and invited me to sit by the fire.

Wendy hovered, nursing the baby while I sat by the fire, listening to Lan Ho.
"We do not have enough food because we are forced to cultivate this evil weed,
the opium poppy. We have to do what they tell us, or they take our children
and sell them in the big cities. But they take many of our children anyway. We
cannot stop them. I am ashamed, we cannot stop them from taking our children,
we are helpless. The children cry because they are hungry, and we cannot feed
them; you cannot know the pain that you feel when you see your child crying
for food, it is beyond your imagination. You have never known hunger, not real
hunger, when the lack of food makes you slow and stupid, and your thoughts
only extend as far as the next meal. The adults are even more hungry, because
the parents give to their children the food that they need to eat to be able
to work." He put his hands over his face, and bowed as if a great weight was
on his back. "Can't you just refuse?" I suggested, "this opium is killing our
children, there's twenty thousand dying each year." "Sir, to me the choice is
difficult. Your children will die or our children will die. What would you
recommend? Which would you choose?" I nodded,seeing the impossible dilemma.
"And now," he said, "three hundred of us will die." "What? Why?" He pointed to
the dead gunman. "The penalty for what your Ghost Woman did is that one in ten
of us will die. I shall be one of them, I hope."