|
922. alistairConnor - 1/31/2009 12:00:43 AM After the phone call to Dumitra, they couldn't leave Sorin on his own. Some old bottles were cleared out from the back of the drinks cabinet, and significant bonding occurred.
Alistair was of the opinion that he should go and get her -- drag her by the hair, if necessary; kicking and screaming, preferably; back to France. On the basis that she, at least, didn't believe in vampires, and was therefore the only sane person they had been in touch with all day.
Halima was more pragmatic. "Crystal meth is a bitch. Not impossible to break away from, but really really hard. Requires lots of motivation, and preferably a clean break from the old environment. We can look after her while she dries out, if she wants to. But can she get a job here, Sorin?"
"The French hospital system is very hard to break into, for foreign doctors. It might take us a long time to get her a job. I'm not sure she would be motivated enough to wait."
"What about the vampire-hunting business?" said Alistair, serving another round. "Is there any money in that?" 923. Jenerator - 1/31/2009 4:18:06 PM (I have some serious catching up to do!) 924. Jenerator - 1/31/2009 4:43:19 PM Kronen was exhausted from his incredibly long journey. First the incident at the Hong Kong airport, and then the confrontation with the flight attendant on route to London - all of it seemed like a distant dream.
He had presented his theories with such vigor and enthusiasm that he knew that he needed to get rest soon, or the effects of the antiserum would weaken. He hoped that Ms. Davidson would offer refuge in her flat, but he knew that that would be too forward, and she was not the type to sex up a stranger - though that was what he secretly wanted.
She was tall and slender. Her stylish black glasses accentuated her prominent cheekbones and crystal blue eyes. Talking about Holographic Technology had never been so exciting to him before. Davidson's youth, beauty and naivete added a new dimension to his quest. Perhaps she would fall in love with him?
He was getting slightly delirious, and it must have shown because Davidson ran back to the doctor and asked him if he was alright.
"Do you have a place to stay tonight, Dr. Kronen?" she asked.
"My agent forgot to book a room and I don't know my way around London. Perhaps you could recommend a place," he said.
"Well, I live in the country, about an hour's trainride from here. Come with me; there is a tiny bed and breakfast in my village," she smiled at him.
"Alright, but please, call me Gustav," he said.
925. alistairConnor - 2/1/2009 4:20:42 PM [Just a note about the timing, before we go off the rails, which is easy to do in a collaborative effort. For me, everything described so far has happened in less than a week, mid-January. i.e. Kronen was on his way to his London conference when he crossed paths with Alistair in Frankfurt.
One little error already: Courtney must have spent at least 48hrs in Lyon, not 24 hrs.] 926. alistairConnor - 2/1/2009 5:13:33 PM At breakfast the following day, Alistair, still completely sceptical about the vampire affair, challenged Halima :
"Well, what about your fabulous international address book? Surely, among all the high-placed officials you know, you can find a friend or acquaintance who knows something about vampires?"
She took the bait, and spent most of the day busy with her Blackberry. The results were somewhat disappointing. Gunter, a friend in the Austrian police, had a story about immigrant-sniffer dogs who found six occupied coffins in a refrigerated truck from Rumania. By the time they were transported to the nearest morgue, the coffins were empty. "Inconclusive", ruled Alistair.
A friend in the FBI seemed to know something, and offered to find out more, but when he called back it was clear that he couldn't say anything for security reasons. Intriguing and frustrating, but "still inconclusive".
Then, in the late afternoon, Halima said : "I might as well try Svetlana, she's highly placed at the World Health Organisation. Who knows, perhaps they have a relevant program ?" "Probably an affirmative action program for vampires", Alistair suggested.
She called Svetlana, and they spent five minutes shrieking and cackling about a night, or several nights, on the vodka in 2006. Alistair had come to expect and accept this kind of introductory ritual, when Halima called old friends. It was that sort of address book.
Svetlana snorted and giggled about the vampire thing, and said that it was not unlikely they had something, she would call back after checking with a friend who managed a whole branch of the organisation which ran dozens of outlandish and unlikely programs, from African bush doctoring to Native American spirit healing, and a highly-politicised European Wiccan program.
She called back with the news that there was indeed an allocated budget and offices in Geneva, but that no credible takers had responded to the published expression-of-interest process. There had been a Serbian group, but some of them had documented links to organised crime, and another was a wanted war criminal. Despite insistent invitations, the governments of Rumania and Hungary had declined to participate or to sponsor any national organisations or individuals.
"So, ther's a budget of several million dollars there for the taking, if Sorin can put together a solid business case!" said Halima.
"And perhaps a job for Dumitra, if she can get over her prejudice against vampires." suggested Alistair. 927. alistairconnor - 2/3/2009 2:17:43 PM That evening, as they were preparing dinner, Alistair suddenly became restless. He paced up and down, sat down and stood up abruptly, held his head in his hands.
"What's wrong?" asked Halima.
"I need to... I need to... "
"Vomit? Have a pee? ..."
"I must...."
He bolted for the front door and went out, bumping into a girl who was standing forlornly in the courtyard.
"Courtney! What the heck are you doing here? Come in, you look exhausted!"
He took her inside and introduced her to Halima, who had seen her in photos from Alistair's recent holiday.
Courtney told some barely-coherent story about hooking up with some boys from New Zealand who had been snowboarding in Austria, but there had been a mix-up in the dates. She did indeed look exhausted, perhaps ill. They told her that a doctor would be dropping in soon, which seemed to alarm her.
Alistair was looking very contented, but soon became agitated again. Cascu arrived -- he was invited for dinner. He immediately took Alistair aside, they went to the living room : "Are you aware that this girl is a vampire?"
"WHAT? Oh stop it. This is Courtney! She's practically family. And she needs ... I have to get her ... some wood. Something... a box. A wooden box?"
Cascu almost giggled. "Yes, she visibly needs a coffin, very badly. Let's go and get one, your van will do the job. I'll make a couple of phone calls on the way."
They came back to the kitchen to find Courtney sobbing in Halima's arms. "She claims she's a vampire, and that she followed you here from New Zealand."
"We'll talk about that later!" said Alistair urgently. "We're going to get a, a coffin!"
They were back in little more than an hour. In that time, Cascu explained about the Imperative effect, which was visibly working very strongly on Alistair. "She didn't even need to express her wishes. That would seem to indicate that her natural vampire powers are very strong."
"Then she could make Halima do anything? She's infected too remember! Is it safe to leave them together?"
"No, infection is not enough. The vampire also has to prepare and ingest a serum, using organic material from the infected person... The girl is visibly in no state to do that."
When they got back with the coffin, Courtney was trembling, and barely able to walk. They installed it in one of the girls' rooms, and Courtney eagerly laid down in it and ... went out like a light.
"I didn't have time to ask her about her cycle : depending on individuals, vampires of her type can stay awake for anything from a day or two to a week, and their coffin time is proportional. Considering what she's been through in the past week, I would expect her to stay in that state for at least 48 hours."
"That state... " Halima touched her face. "She's cold, doctor! Can you check her pulse?"
Reluctantly, Cascu replied : "I don't expect I'll be able to find one. Don't be alarmed, it's part of her natural cycle." 928. alistairconnor - 2/3/2009 2:27:08 PM The phone rang. "It may be her mother, I left a message on her cell phone." said Halima. Alistair answered, almost screaming : "Courtney is dead!"
Lara answered calmly : "You mean she's lying in a coffin?"
"Yes! and she's..."
"And her skin is cold, no pulse, doesn't appear to be breathing? That's OK, Alistair. I understand your distress, but please believe me : Courtney has done that, two or three times a week, since puberty. She generally wakes after ten or twelve hours, but in the circumstances, it could be a couple of days. Listen, I'm a friend of Ruth's, you can ask her about me."
"Does she know about the vampire stuff?"
"Well... Not really. She knows there's something unusual about Courtney and me, she's covered for me before, and she keeps an eye on Courtney, but she knows I'm reluctant to talk about it and she has never asked for details... Ruth is good like that. A good friend. And Courtney is a good girl, you have nothing to fear from her... directly. But what she has done is very stupid, and may have dangerous consequences."
Alistair felt seriously out of his depth. He explained that Dr Cascu was on the case, and handed her over to him. His head spinning, he asked Halima to hold him tight... "I think I need to vomit. Or maybe I just need to pee." 929. webfeet - 2/3/2009 6:45:25 PM Dawn broke over Manhattan as the dark sedan glided up the empty avenue. It was a ghost city, the half-dead walking among the living at this hour; the early risers and dog walkers out for jogs in between the derelicts and madmen who haunted the city while it slept. A silent, invisible workforce moved among them like shadows, vanishing into the air, like the gray steam rising from the potholes. A belching, blackened underground terrain beneath them, the land of the dead, stirred quietly as the city came to life and the black sedan continued its silent course crossing the potter’s field, that was now midtown.
Her papers and files spread next to her in the backseat, Susan continued to work. The jolting pace of the morning already put her in a foul temper. Rising at four am to feed Maximus, she’d felt the pinch of her nipples, as the tiny baby sucked, reminding her of the painful early days of breastfeeding when it wasn’t milk that she produced but colustrum. And she wanted to scream. She’d wanted to pluck him from her teat and and put him back in his crib while she climbed back into bed and block the sound of his shrieks with the ear plugs she’d been given on the flight home from Japan. But she hadn’t. After being fed, she burped him, and sat, restlessly checking her messages on her blackberry while Jonas stood in his robe, sleepily making her coffee. Then, showered and dressed, a half hour later, she’d slipped out into the dark morning into the waiting sedan and left. And now, the familiar, faint sour odor of breast milk rose from the lace nursing bra under her jacket, nearly overpowering her usual scent, “Poison” by Dior. It seemed she could never escape.
The sedan came to a halt at the stoplight, and she glanced at the driver. She could only see the thick stub of his neck, reminding her of a Chechnyan torturer, like the one whose face she’d seen in the paper Sunday morning his eyes locked with the cameras. Two sockets staring back. Now the driver met her gaze through the rear view mirror and Susan looked away, annoyed, sending him a glance of subtle disgust. A moment later, the light changed, the car lurched forward and Susan felt the familiar jump to life as the sedan turned onto west sixty-sixth street.
The driver pulled up to the curb in front of the studio. She gathered her papers, tucked her files into her Vuitton attaché, then wrapped the trenchcoat around her, as the driver opened the door from the sidewalk. But the belt of the trench had come loose, as she’d stepped out, and the driver caught a luxurious glimpse of her silky legs which appeared barelegged in her flesh-colored hose, and imagined them twisted around his neck, while he took her on the dark red carpeted floor of the car.
930. webfeet - 2/3/2009 6:48:56 PM Wrapping the trench tightly around her, Susan walked purposefully past him as if he were a lamppost, and felt the exhilarating rush as she swung through the doors of the studios, as she’d done for the last fifteen years. The guards greeted her as she entered, beaming “Good morning” as she breezed past them toward the elevator doors, which opened, as if waiting for her. As cozy as a club, one in which she was an exclusive member, having worked her way up after college as an intern, she smiled to herself at the comfortable thought of her desk, her notes, and the thrill that lay ahead of lining up another show. This was it. This was what made it worth it. It was the one true place she could call home.
“What’s the line up?” she asked, stifling a yawn as she sat at her desk, facing Robin, her production assistant. “Fatties, sex addicts or that fat little chef, the one who looks like a muppet.“
“Vampires.” Robin said, pressing the edges of a folder that sat on her lap.
Vampires? Weren't we all vampires? Hadn't she been the one to wake before the crack of dawn and want to disappear into the silken folds of a coffin that morning?
“Give me that folder,” she sneered. Lowering her eyes, Robin handed it to her boss, who, after snatching it from her hands, roved the memo impatiently.
“Who is this quack? Dr. Kronen? Great. Another panel of weirdos..”
Her phone lit up. It was Ken, her secretary, on the line. “Sue, you’ve got a call.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s your nanny.”
She paused, weighing for a second whether or not to pick up. "Tell her I'll call her back," she said, hanging up. Then, she turned to Robin. "Now talk to me about vampires."
931. alistairconnor - 2/3/2009 7:17:35 PM [Ahaaaa! Working title : Revenge of the vampire-haters!] 932. webfeet - 2/3/2009 9:43:25 PM [yes, I decided to come out of my coffin...crrreeeaaaak. followed by flapping sounds. It's like being in Ricky's Halloween shop,just hold on a sec while I put on green make-up and stick on my black press-on nails.]
933. alistairConnor - 2/4/2009 11:34:08 PM [I now realize I have egomaniacally centred most of the action on my place. I will send them all away soon, and you other authors can have some fun with the characters. I will just launch one more thread, wrap up the business at my place, then wait for you people to create some openings...] 934. alistairConnor - 2/5/2009 12:48:53 AM Master Petru tried to relax. The flight was going to be long.
It had all come together so quickly, over the last few days. The Board had decided that the opportunity was too good to miss : the Master Plan was to be executed, years sooner than anyone had anticipated. The risks were great; the rewards greater. And so much depended on him : Peter Brown, Chief Technology Officer of the Organisation.
The Organisation had been aiming for an invitation to the Davos summit for a couple of years now. An honorable ambition, to be sure : the outside world saw a fast-moving tech start-up, doing cutting-edge research, partnered with some industry heavyweights; but too small to have a place at the top table, in normal circumstances. A number of things had come together over the past year, to make the invitation possible : those research partnerships with several Fortune 500 companies; some well-publicised technological breakthroughs that frankly nobody understood the science of; Brown's carefully-nurtured friendship with one of the West Coast's best-known business figures. But in the final analysis, it was the financial crisis that made the difference : a certain number of Davos invitees had been either too broke, or too embarrassed, to turn up, and some wild-card invitations had been given out at the last moment.
So here he was, hitching a ride in his friend's corporate jet (this well-known friend shall remain nameless, because he is an innocent tool and victim, in no way implicated in the events that followed). He was not admitted to the inner staterooms; he was with the second circle, with the staffers, and the journalists who, like him, had been invited to tag along.
Two of the three journalists were generalists, who would be writing papers on geopolitics and global economics. The third, to Brown's irritation, was a technological writer who was very curious about the Organisation's activities. He tried to shut him down without offending him, but found himself having to say more than he wanted : unusually, the journalist was no idiot.
There was plenty of legitimate stuff going on in the Organisation that he could have talked about, but Brown's principal problem was that he, personally, was involved almost exclusively with the occult side of its work. In fact, the Organisation was a great deal bigger than it appeared (to its partners, to the municipal authorities, to the tax department, among others). More than two thirds of its employees were Coffers, vampires who never saw the light of day, and whose legal status was roughly equivalent to that of undocumented Mexican workers. Likewise, three quarters of the research and development was not only secret, but downright clandestine. 935. alistairConnor - 2/5/2009 12:49:19 AM Brown managed to break off the discussion by claiming he needed to sleep. Nothing could be further from the truth : as a Perp, he not only had no need, but was indeed unable to sleep, and had not done so for nearly thirty years. But he knew that he would have to go through the motions, to avoid raising suspicion. He wished he had paid more attention to the self-mastery lessons of that pompous twit, Mirca. If he were able to put himself into a trance state, that would be good enough to fool these people. But he was annoyed at the waste of time, when there was so much to prepare.
Although he had no staffers with him, he had two operatives infiltrated into the Davos organisation : one a humble kitchen hand, another a room-service waiter. They were already well aware of the work to be done, but would need a detailed briefing when he arrived. 936. alistairConnor - 2/7/2009 1:52:56 AM What with the commotion of Courtney's arrival, they had completely forgotten the World Health Organization's proposition. The following day, Halima briefed Cascu, who immediately began making phone calls.
The people at the WHO were very keen, and encouraged him to move quickly : if the budget was not allocated by the end of the fiscal year, it would be lost forever. They promised to expedite the paperwork, and assured him that it would be possible to pay salaries for half a dozen staff in February.
Professor Albu was the obvious person to head the project, and he was enthusiastic. "I know exactly which minister and which bureaucrats will have blocked the dossier, so that I never got wind of it. But I'll have the last laugh now. I have to retire from the university this year anyway. My wife died two years ago; my children are adults. There is nothing they can do to me now... Sorry to be so melodramatic, Sorin... I realise it's not like the old days. We won't be risking our lives."
"Well... not by defying the Rumanian government." said Cascu. "But there are other risks..."
He outlined Lara's warnings, of a militant Californian vampire organisation linked to business interests. "Does Kronen know of this outfit?" queried Albu. "He's starting to get some publicity, I'm sure they won't like that. We must warn him. And also try to enlist him for the WHO project."
Sorin broached the difficult subject of Dumitra, omitting nothing. "I'd be pleased to work with her, Sorin. She has an excellent mind. But she will have to deal with her toxicological problem first, you understand."
Sorin knew now he had a mission. He arranged for a locum to replace him in his medical practice, and began making travel arrangements. 937. alistairConnor - 2/7/2009 2:23:51 AM A couple of days later, Hank was operational in Lyon.
The Organisation's worldwide vampire-monitoring instrumentation was still approximative and patchy, and of low resolution. The last fix he had, from the day he left California, indicated a vampire to the southwest of Lyon, with margin of error of fifteen miles. (Vampires were few and far between in France; perhaps because of the prevalence of garlic?) He had a hire car; the idea was to criss-cross the zone until he got a directional reading from his portable detector.
He tried hard not to think about the consequences of his actions, of his future. He was serving the Cause. He was prepared to die for it. He expected to die on this mission; that didn't bother him, in itself. What ate him up, what he tried not to think about, was that he would most likely die at the hands of his own people.
By not thinking about these things, he tried to keep himself on the straight and narrow course of his mission. He would accomplish his mission. All of it. And then, logically, die at the hands of Mirca, who would not leave his sister unavenged.
The other options, which he was trying, and spectacularly failing, not to think about, were less honourable, and had no more favourable outcomes. Kill the girl, but not Davidson? Mirca would leave him alone, but presumably the Organisation would send someone else to eliminate him for his failure. And not execute the mission at all? Refuse to kill, and accept death? Unthinkable. Yet he couldn't get it out of his mind.
After several hours of driving, he finally got a reading in mid afternoon. The device gave a directional signal, but no indication of distance. In concrete terms, it overlaid a vector on the Google Maps display (though he kept losing his mobile internet connection in the hilly terrain).
He could see no town or village in the vector's path. Is she wandering about, or hiding in a forest? Then, another reading from a few miles further : the two vectors crossed, right on top of an isolated house.
He drove past it slowly. Centuries old, he guessed; picturesque, rather dilapidated. A couple of smoking chimneys. After careful consideration, and detailed examination of maps, he drove several more miles, around the other end of the valley, and parked the car inconspicuously, near where the tiny country road deteriorated into a stony farm track. He was about a mile from the house. He would approach it on foot, through the woods.
But first, he needed to go Coffed. He was at the end of his tether physically, in no condition for a mission that required skill, precision, force and speed. He took the backpack, and set off down the track into the forest. Finding a suitable site on a thick carpet of fallen leaves, out of site of any passing tractors, he snapped the portable coffin into shape, settled into it, and pulled the weatherproof nylon cover down onto its Velcro fasteners. 938. alistairConnor - 2/10/2009 2:41:28 AM [I'm not sure what's going to happen in Davos,in detail.
The plot is obvious : Brown is carrying a couple of transfusion bags full of the blood of the Board members; he wants the world leaders in Davos to ingest it, and to gather organic matter from their hotel rooms... then, after brewing potions, the vampires can teleport at dawn to their victims, and take control of ... the world.
If anyone feels inspired... Good kitchen potential there, Nu!] 939. alistairConnor - 2/16/2009 12:15:36 AM The Board's ordinary business was expedited in a perfunctory manner. Everyone was restless; they were all on standby, awaiting the results of the Davos mission.
If the mission was successful, it would be probably a week before Mirka could get back with labelled bags of organic material; another couple of days to brew the serum; and then they could finally go into action. There was no way to know how many samples would be recovered, or which world leaders would fall thus into their power. There was, indeed, no formally defined process to assign Directors to victims; but all assumed that the well-defined informal pecking order would prevail, with their Chairman, Master Valeriu, having first pick.
Valeriu sensed the restless mood and decided to take the bull by the horns. He made a game of it. They brainstormed a list of names, in three columns : Political leaders; business magnates; top journalists. He stopped the count at forty prime victims. Then he took an anonymous poll : who would be your first choice?
After the count, there was a rare moment of levity when it turned out that, of twenty-three directors present, seventeen wanted Putin. 940. alistairConnor - 2/20/2009 12:22:44 AM Hank came awake slowly. Pushing the nylon cover off the coffin, he got a face full of snow. There was a good three inches of fresh powder.
Damn. That would make his tracks very easy to follow. Quite likely, his car would be stuck as well. Too bad. There was nothing to be done about that; he had a job to do, and had no particular plans for later. Twenty-two years old, an engineering degree he would never finish. Too bad.
His timing was good: it was about 3 am. The crescent moon on the snow gave plenty of light. He packed up, and walked down the track until he was in sight of the house.
The laptop confirmed that there was still a vampire there. Now that he had a line of sight bearing, the detector gave him much more information. He was able to localise the presence in the leftmost upstairs bedroom, of a vampire of great power, who was currently, to his relief, in a Coffed state.
It is hard enough to kill a Coffed vampire. As for a Lit one... don't even think about it. Not unless you're a specialist like Hank... and even then, you'd be better off waiting till they go Coffed.
In all cases, as Hank knew, there would be blood. An unnatural amount of blood, at startling pressure. Also, horrible screaming, and a fierce struggle. The key to success is to strike the mortal blow while the victim is still fully cold, before they start to wake from the Coffed state; in which case, the screaming and struggling may be restricted to only a couple of minutes, and the aggressor has a reasonable chance of escaping the severe injuries or death which are the common lot of those who attack vampires.
He selected a polished cherry-wood stake, about eighteen inches long, with a sharp silver tip. He chose a rock from the ground, the heaviest one he could comfortably swing with one hand, as a hammer. He laid his pack down discreetly just off the track, and sat on it for a couple of minutes to compose himself.
Mirca had drilled him in how to prepare himself mentally in the moments immediately before a mission. To forestall any scruples or weakness, he filled his mind with thoughts of his mother, and of the better world to come, when she would be free at last. And his mission was to hasten that day...
But unsummoned came the thought : what would his mother think of this mission? The killing of this seventeen year old girl? And though he tried to blank it out, he found himself clutching his knees and sobbing silently for several minutes. But he let it pass, and, emptying his mind, entered the first-level trance that eliminated all fear and remorse, all love, all pain, but left his mental and physical faculties intact. 941. alistairConnor - 2/20/2009 12:41:08 AM It was important to enter the house discreetly. Not for fear of waking the vampire, but other people in the house could be a nuisance. There was a dog in the courtyard; he was prepared to kill it silently, but it didn't even bark, it wagged its tail and made a fuss of him, so he didn't bother. After scouting around, he decided he might as well try the front door. It was unlocked.
In the dark of the hallway, he avoided the pitfalls of various noisy obstacles, and found the staircase. Two doors upstairs; he knew it must be the one on the right. The door opened without a creak, and there was the coffin. Swift execution was the imperative : he threw open the cloak of the sleeping figure, and pulled up her pyjama top.
With his right hand, he held the silver tip of the stake against the cold skin of the vampire's naked chest, right over the heart. His left hand raised the hammerstone high.
The moon emerged from behind a cloud, illuminating the face of the victim; and in that instant, Hank hesitated. She was supposed to be blonde! Don't be a fool, he told himself : seventeen year old chicks dye their hair all the time. But this raven-haired beauty was no seventeen year old, he realised. And her skin was starting to warm... Her nipples hardened. She was hot.
Dumitra opened her eyes : "Where did you come from, vampire boy? ... And where have you been all my life?"
Hank never fully understood what happened next. He suspected at the time that he was subjected to a branch of vampire lore that his teachers had concealed from him. Or maybe the intensity of pheromones released by a rapidly warming vampire is impossible to resist. As she threw him onto the bed, she said "Oh... I have to tell you. I'm HIV positive."
"S'okay", said Hank. "I've got some condoms." What the hell was he doing with condoms on this mission, he wondered? The boy scout thing, he supposed. Cover all the possibilities.
|
 |
Go To Mote #
|
|
