No Chains Shall Bind Me (The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Seven) by Randall Farmer

without having to watch her every word hawklike.  Abby, three and a half years younger than Van, looked almost like his twin, save for being six inches shorter and not needing to shave.  They probably took the same bra size, too.  Characteristically, Abby read, a thick paperback science fiction novel with a transparent-taped over library code on the base of the book’s spine.  Uncharacteristically, Abby ignored Gail as if she wasn’t present or hadn’t spoken.  A mere flicker of Abby’s eyes toward Gail told the story – Abby had the anti-Transform prejudices bad.  Gail hadn’t known, but, then again, why would the subject ever come up?  Transforms were rare.  More terrorists, zombies, reformed child molesters and professional female ninja assassins likely roamed the country than Transforms.
    Daisy walked toward the back of the pickup, darkly eyeing the stream of household members exiting the Ebener house to greet Van’s family.  She lit up a cigarette and turned away, after giving Gail the usual hard eye, and, unexpectedly, a kind smile.
    Gail had never gotten along with the incongruous Daisy and her attendant freak show.  Daisy stood five eleven, as tall as her father, but she possessed her mother ’s ample motherly figure.  She cocked her hip against the pickup and inhaled quickly what looked like an overdue smoke.  Today, she wore stained blue jeans and what had to be one of Lucille’s cast-off blouses, nowhere near long enough to cover what needed to be covered.
    “Hey, Gail, over here,” Sylvie said, a hog-holler bellow.  Gail thought calming distancing thoughts to steady the juice and pushed her way through the throng around Van’s parents.  The juice quivered in all the Transforms nearby, threatening to leap out of them and into the damned juice buffer.  Gail concentrated on keeping calm and keeping the juice where the juice was supposed to be.
    “…oh, and we have lots and lots more where that came from,” Lucille said, happily prattling away in her airy style.  “Why, the Grubers left enough behind in the barn to stock nearly ten households when they moved to Florida.  Canning equipment, washboards, picnic supplies, unmatched plates and glasses, you name it.  Everything necessary to set up a proper house.”
    From the two phone calls Gail hadn’t been able to escape, talking to Lucille, she knew Van’s mother didn’t have the remotest understanding of their situation.  They had, what, fifteen former adult households now stuck into one?  They had more standard household gear than they could possibly use in the next several lifetimes.  Gail had told Van’s mother, gently, a half dozen times, not to bring this stuff.  However, there was no telling Lucille anything, at least with anything this side of a two by four.  When she made up her mind on something, well, that was that, and facts be damned.
    Lucille always meant well.  Even if someone got angry and tossed the old Schuber junk in the trash in front of her, Lucille wouldn’t get mad.  She would just go silent, emotionally crushed, and refuse to speak for eons on end.  Van had a slight tinge of this tiny fault as well, but Lucille could sulk for just days.
    Perhaps they could hold a yard sale after the Schubers left…
    The Perfesser ambled over to Gail.  “So, my dear Focus, how are you doing?” he said.  At least he noticed her.
    “I ’m okay,” she said, lying.
    “Don ’t mind us,” he said.  He rubbed his arthritic hands, especially his ever-enlarging knobby knuckles, victims of too many hours at the easel and perhaps too much exposure to the lead common to paint.  “We’ll try not to create too many disasters.”  He laughed his wheezy short laugh.  “We’re good at disasters, you know.”  He glanced around the Ebener farm and shook his head.  “Look at all those tents!  You’ve turned this place into a real YMCA campground.  With all the space they’re taking up, you could be raising a lot