Chapter 68. The Second Familiar (Patreon)

The Mercedes eased to a stop outside the departures terminal at Dulles Airport.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, opening the door and letting the muggy Virginia air flood into the cabin.

"No problem, Tom." Megan spun the wheel lightly and gave a brief wave. "See you around."

The red taillights vanished into the dense stream of taxis within seconds. I lingered on the curb for another minute, staring at the empty stretch of road and shifting my duffel from one hand to the other. During the entire drive, I had failed to figure out the real reason behind her sudden friendliness. Twenty years of complete indifference, then out of nowhere, this kind of courtesy. Looking for some hidden agenda felt ridiculous. Objectively speaking, a Marine Corps colonel stood several flights higher on the social ladder than a second lieutenant and a former office clerk. Maybe it was simple professional etiquette, an attempt to smooth over old friction before we inevitably crossed paths on the job.

I mentally labeled the problem insufficient data and pushed it out of my mind.

Inside the terminal, the human hive buzzed nonstop. Electronic departure boards, rolling suitcase wheels, flight announcements. The first thing I did was check in and collect my boarding pass. Home to Los Angeles. There were still eight long hours until departure, my flight scheduled deep into the night. After checking the time, I found a row of pay phones tucked beside a newsstand in the corner. I dropped a handful of quarters into the slot and dialed home.

"Hey, Mom. I'm at Dulles," I said when she picked up. "I'll be back around lunchtime tomorrow. I'll tell you everything once I'm home."

The idea of paying for an airport hotel room just to get a few hours of sleep felt like a waste of money. Besides, my body operated by entirely different standards now. I found a relatively quiet corner at the far end of the waiting area, settled into a stiff chair, stretched out my legs, and let my chin fall against my chest. For an ordinary person, it would have guaranteed a sore neck and a miserable nap. I could not have cared less.

[Special command: deep sleep for exactly seven hours. Wake upon any direct interaction or signs of an abnormal situation.]

I had recently read about special operations veterans. The best of the best could fall asleep at the snap of a finger in the back of a rattling truck or knee-deep in a swamp. Spending thirty minutes tossing and turning while counting sheep during a halt in the jungle was a luxury that could get someone killed. Yet their brains kept scanning the environment, ready to return to full combat awareness at the faintest sound.

Consciousness returned instantly, without any grogginess, as though someone had flipped a switch to ON. A boy, maybe ten years old, stood beside me. He was moving quietly, slowly, carefully tugging at the zipper on my gym bag.

I opened my eyes and stared straight at him. "You completely lost your sense of self-preservation, kid?"

My voice came out dry and surprisingly calm, but it was enough for the little pickpocket. He jerked backward, stared at me wide-eyed, then bolted down the terminal corridor, weaving between seats and waking the occasional sleeping passenger.

I did not even move. My accelerated thought process produced a clear calculation in a fraction of a second: pursuit was irrational. He was a child. Even if I caught him, restrained him, handed him over to security, and forced them to pull surveillance footage, the outcome would be nothing. At best, I would get a vague apology from his guardians and lose hours filling out paperwork at a police station, guaranteeing that I missed my flight. The costs outweighed the potential benefits.

Still, a pleasant sense of satisfaction stirred inside me. The controlled light-sleep command had worked perfectly. Now I could sleep even inside an enemy stronghold.

When boarding finally began, I settled into my economy-class seat without incident. A few hours of engine noise later, the airliner's wheels touched down at Los Angeles International Airport. I felt completely rested, but my stomach was growling. I sat down on a bench near a bus stop, pulled a field ration from my bag, some camp-style hardtack crackers, and ate them at a leisurely pace while washing them down with bottled water. I got home on an ordinary city bus.

After checking my wallet, I noted that I still had about eighty dollars left from my travel allowance. Not much, admittedly, but I had not been rich long enough to stop appreciating small victories.

I turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door, and stepped across the threshold of home. "Mom, I'm back."

"Finally! A whole month without a word." Mom emerged from the hallway, wiping her hands on her kitchen apron. She looked tired, but her eyes shone with genuine happiness. "Come on, drop your bag and get into the kitchen. Everything's almost ready."

The smell of homemade food instantly filled my lungs. The Corps fed us well, high-calorie meals designed to keep people going, but no military chef on Earth could compete with Mom's apple pie and roasted meat.

While I worked through my portion, I had to tell her about life at the camp. Naturally, I could not reveal everything. The non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality forms they handed out at headquarters were legally binding documents. But looking at her, I found myself thinking: what the hell?

"Mom, the short version is that those portals aren't just anomalies. There's alien organic matter inside them. Real aliens."

She froze for a second with a ladle in her hand, eyes widening. "Seriously? Oh my God, Tom... What do they look like?"

I gave her a brief overview, deliberately leaving out the bloodier details, the creatures' more disturbing anatomical features, and the specifics of combat encounters. There was no reason to put her through that. Violating security protocol did not particularly concern me. People only got punished for loose lips when information leaked online or made its way into the press, and I trusted my own mother's discretion completely.

"Tom, what about the people there?" She sat across from me, resting her cheek against one hand. "Did you make any friends at that camp?"

For a moment, I wanted to copy Mary and roll my eyes. Apparently that question was hardwired into the operating system of every mother on Earth, whether her son was heading to a Boy Scout camp or a classified military facility. Unlike the withdrawn Rogers girl, though, I actually had an answer.

"Yeah, more or less. I made connections with a couple of specialists. We're about the same age, so we hit it off pretty quickly. It's more of a professional relationship with future potential, though." I took a sip of tea and steered the conversation back toward practical matters. "Did you do what I asked before I left?"

"A full medical workup? Yes, of course." Mom rose from her chair, disappeared into the living room, and returned a minute later carrying a bulky plastic folder stuffed with forms and printouts. With a sigh, she set it on the edge of the table. "I had to jump through a lot of hoops. Our basic insurance refused to cover many of the tests. Honestly, Tom, it cost us a small fortune."

"You do not cut corners on health," I said calmly, though there was steel behind my words. "Especially when the balance sheet works out perfectly. I got promoted to second lieutenant, Mom. From now on, fifty grand will be hitting my account every month. After taxes. So forget about medical bills."

"My God, Tom... Fifty grand?" She threw up her hands, and for a moment the gesture reminded me painfully of Megan's recent excitement. "That's... that's incredible! We have to celebrate something like this. We'll buy a turkey, and I'll make your favorite gravy..."

"The celebration can wait," I said gently but firmly before she could disappear into a frenzy of meal planning. "I've got anywhere from one to three weeks. It all depends on how quickly headquarters finds a portal that matches my profile and assembles a cleanup team. And I'm not planning to spend that time on myself."

"Well, that's just wonderful. More work for an old woman," she said with a dismissive wave, trying to turn it into a joke. "What are you going to do sitting around these four walls with me? Go see your friends. Get out and enjoy yourself after that camp."

"I'm suggesting something a little more serious than watching TV together." I lowered my hand, and a sphere of blue energy formed above my palm. "I want to make you my [Familiar]."

Mom shifted her gaze from the glowing orb to me. There was no fear in her eyes, only the mild confusion of someone confronting a new reality.

"You mentioned something like that before you left," she admitted, adjusting her apron. "But it slipped my mind. Remind me what that actually means."

"If we strip away the terminology, it means I'll gain complete mental and cellular control over your body. In plain English, I'll fix everything that's wrong with it. I'll give you back the health, strength, and physical condition you haven't had in the last twenty years."

"That sounds like a fairy tale." She studied me with a long, appraising look.

The results of my own transformation were impossible to miss. Six months ago, the mirror reflected a sleep-deprived office clerk worn down by life. Now a fit, broad-shouldered Corps officer sat across from her. The contrast was too obvious to ignore.

"But have you really thought this through, Tom?" Pure maternal concern crept into her voice. "I'm already an old woman. I've lived my life. How much time do I even have left? Why spend something this valuable on me? You should be growing stronger, building your career. I'm sure there are people in the Corps who'd be more useful to you. Or maybe you'll find someone your own age with their whole life ahead of them."

"Mom, you're the one with your whole life ahead of you," I cut in, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I can give you your youth back. Literally. And this isn't up for discussion."

She opened her mouth to object, then closed it again without saying a word. There simply was no counterargument to that kind of math.

In truth, from a purely rational standpoint, the decision had one major drawback. My system allowed a strictly limited number of slots, only one free slot for a [Familiar]. Filling it now meant losing the opportunity to bind someone with ready-made combat potential, some trained beast with superhuman abilities, for example. But practicality was only part of the equation, and I knew how to set priorities. I only had one mother. In my personal ranking system, her safety and health would always come before a hypothetical combat asset. Besides, judging by the logic behind the interface's progression, the limits would almost certainly expand as my [Trainer] level increased. It was only a matter of time and experience.

"I still don't really understand how any of this works," she said quietly after meeting my confident gaze. "But if you know what you're doing... I trust you."

"Then relax and don't be alarmed." I guided the sphere of energy toward her. "You'll feel a slight tingling sensation, like static electricity when you pull off a wool sweater. A system window will appear in front of your eyes. Don't touch anything. Just read everything out loud to me."

Mom nodded obediently. The blue sphere slipped into her chest and scattered into faint sparks along the outline of her body. She did not even flinch, but the focus of her eyes shifted immediately. Adjusting her glasses, she began reading something in the empty air before her.

"Okay... there's a warning here in red text," she said after a minute, carefully sounding out the words. "It says: Trainer Thomas Ross is initiating a bond and selecting you as a Familiar. Then there's a note underneath... If I agree, I am obligated to participate in combat operations on your side and obey any Special Commands without resistance."

I nodded grimly. The mechanics had not changed. A harsh, uncompromising contract. I had hoped the upgrade would reveal new information, but no such luck.

"Accept it. Choose [Yes]."

"Hold on." She went still again, studying the invisible text. "Done. Now another confirmation window popped up. It says the contract is permanent and cannot be dissolved in the future."

I nodded once more without speaking. If the system allowed rotation, I would have built an assembly line long ago and trained people one after another. But the rules of the game were fixed.

Mom made a brief gesture to confirm the second prompt, and at that exact moment a strange sensation tugged at the back of my mind, as though an invisible but unbreakable string had been stretched between our consciousnesses. The mental link settled into place. I no longer needed to spend internal energy to scan her status.

I opened her status panel:

Name: Maggie Ross

Level: 1

Age: 60

Profession: Cook (Retired)

S-Power: 0/0

Race: Human (Homo sapiens)

Attributes:

Strength: 3

Endurance: 3

Agility: 4

Current Effects: Hypertension, Age-Related Degenerative Joint Changes

"You know, absolutely nothing feels different," Mom observed with surprise after taking stock of her sensations. "What happens now? Are you going to make me lift barbells every morning like you do?"

"I absolutely will, but not today and not even this week." I pulled the thick plastic folder of medical results toward me and untied the strings. "You need to understand something, Mom. Right now, your body is like an old neglected house with a sinking foundation. There's no point building another floor or putting more weight on the walls until we clear out all the rotten junk and replace the worn-out supports."

I opened the first page of the medical report, scanning columns of numbers and Latin terminology.

"First, we're going to conduct a complete inspection. That's exactly what these documents are for. They'll show me where the repairs need to begin."