The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Six by Randall Farmer

horizons as well.  After I slept with her, she even started to listen to me about my Arm-tinged viewpoint of a woman’s place in the world: on top.
    When I came on board, they all assumed I would be junior-most, deferring to the more senior members of the group. Within days, all but Red deferred to me without thinking. I never challenged Red’s authority, but then, I didn’t plan to stay long.
    As soon as I picked up the ir lingo, I couldn’t resist and gave a speech. I spoke in front of about a hundred college students, shouting about the evils of war and the promise of student revolts, such as the student revolts going on in Paris as I spoke. My speech got the students cheering and riled up, earning me far more attention than they gave any of the other speakers. After that bad omen, I decided things had gone far enough. Public speaking was a little too out there for the California Spree Killer.
    That night, we stay ed with friends of Red’s in a local co-op. The members of the co-op gathered round us to talk to us and plan and rant about the war, giving me compliments on the speech and telling me “Right on!” There was food and pot and company.
    Eventually, everyone went to bed except Red and me. The lights had dimmed in the common room and the place had turned quiet. Red offered me a joint. I took a toke. I didn’t get anything out of the weed, alas, although smoking pot did make a good excuse for getting the munchies.  Yes, I still ate more than a normal, but only about half of what I had eaten in my previous life as an Arm.
    “Good speech,” he told me, leaning back in his chair. “You have a real talent for that.”
    I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
    Red’s voice was lazy. “You remind me of someone. I’ve been trying to think of it ever since you joined us, and it finally came to me.”
    “Hmm?”
    “You remind me of a guy back when I was in the ‘Nam. Some guy just passing through, but he was with the Green Berets, one of those guys they sent in when they wanted dirty deeds done in the dark. He had this big old knife he used, and he’d go off with his buddies, and some Viet Cong types just wouldn’t wake up in the morning.
    “Now why would a nineteen-year-old girl remind me of somebody like that?” He shrugged and took another toke himself.
    “You have the same stare he did ,” he said. “You look right through a person as if he was a piece of meat. As if you could as easily kill him as talk to him.”  He paused.  “The stare is damned disconcerting coming from a girl.”
    He was silent for a while, just enjoying his joint. I just watched him. The pot was dulling his reactions, and making it hard for me to read him.
    “I wonder about you, sometimes,” he said , after a while. “Your stare, and the horrible nightmares you have, and the way you tense up around cops. You’ve got some pretty nasty demons back there.”
    I smiled a bit. “You don’t want to know about my demons.” Damn. I hadn’t thought I was being so obvious about the cops.
    “There’s other things, too. Those muscles you have, the way you disappear at night, and the incredible amount of food you can eat without worrying about your figure.” He thought about it for a while, and then he shrugged.
    “That was a hell of speech you gave, you know that? You could be a pretty major figure in this business, if you wanted. You’ve got the organizational skills, and you’ve got a damned good feel for people, in a sort of dark way. You’re realistic enough not to get caught up in the bullshit, and you give a damned good speech. I think people would follow you if you tried to lead.
    “The only thing is, I don’t think you believe in this stuff. You come along and you’re good, but you don’t belong. I’ve got some friends, though.  They’ve been looking for someone like you, with your skills and attitude, for a long time.  Any interest in talking to them?”  He suspected.  This was more than an omen, this