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

into a party.  Even the normals caught the mood, smiling uncontrollably.  One Transform man shouted for joy, and Gail spotted the witch bitch Grimm laughing and crying at the same time, huddled over by her husband’s pickup.  They all started to dance, caught up in Gail’s mood, and Gail danced with them, and even the normals joined in.  She didn’t need her eyes.  They were all there in her head and she echoed their every emotion.  Melanie, still distraught because her boyfriend left her because she transformed.  Sylvie, curiosity outweighing all other emotions.  Grimm, resigned and hurting.  Ed Zarzemski, an older man with a weathered face and salt-and-pepper hair.  Anita Bartusch, a woman in her thirties, whose hair was the most astonishing shade of red.  John Guynes, the Transform who had shouted for joy, a young man with dark brown hair and a twinkle in his eyes, as if he laughed inwardly at the whole world.  Betha Ebener, who like Helen Grimm looked too old to have gotten Transform Sickness, grandmotherly, with black hair salted by grey.  Tricia Bluen, Gail’s age, wearing a short skirt and waving her peroxide blonde hair in the breeze as she walked up to Gail to give her a hug.  Vera Bracken, a woman in her forties, dressed in a conservative dress and understated makeup, a severe hairdo and a generous smile.  Husbands and wives.  Children.  A baby who couldn’t be more than a few weeks old.  Gail couldn’t believe it.  She had children.  These were her people, her responsibility, always in her head, always anchored by her metasense.
    They didn ’t hate her.
    “It was the building,” she said, looking around at the eager faces, all watching her.  Except her father, who sat in the car, steaming.  Gail felt awkward to be the center of all this attention.  “Something was wrong with the building.  I don’t know what.  But something in the building kept me from moving the juice out of the household juice buffer.  That’s why we were all so miserable.  All we have to do is stay away from the building.”
    They looked at her, and looked at each other.
    “So what happens now?” Ed said.
    “Now?  Now, I guess we move.  I ’ll keep the juice moving.  We figure out how to all live together.”  Gail laughed, still giddy with relief about the end of her terrible headache.  Memories returned, of tests, term papers and student life, and even the cruel Focus, with her lectures about punishment and fear and control.  She would never take that path.  Never.  She didn’t need to.  They would be a family, a commune, together, and everything would all work out naturally.  She wouldn’t need to be their slave – and they wouldn’t need to be hers.
    “There ’s more,” she said.  “Once we get to…” she waved her hands around vaguely “to wherever it is we’re going, we’ll have to figure out how to live as a household.  I’m not going to try to impose my will on all of you.  We’ll figure it out together.  Everybody here gets a vote, and we’ll work things out based on what’s best for everyone.”
    Everyone was still smiling, this time with a different kind of relief.  Gail looked at those faces, and knew she made the right decision.  Her way, treating people with respect, rather than heavy-handed authoritarianism, would be better.
    Every few minutes she caught herself accidentally moving juice, always from her Transforms and back to her.  Then she would fix it, but as soon as she relaxed, the juice started moving on its own again.  Over and over again this happened.  Soon moving the juice became work.
    So much for the party and the Transform utopia.  “Hey!” she said, waving her arms around towards the waiting cars.  “We ’ve got a home to go to.  I’m handling the juice.  Let’s go!”  Her parents remained in their car, glowering and tight lipped.  She rapped on the car window next to her mother.  “I’m riding with Van!  See you at this