Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA

by Simon R. Green

  “They can’t get through,” said Melmoth.

  He sounded like he was saying it more to reassure himself than us. One hybrid closed his hand into a bony fist and punched the other side of the viewscreen. Immediately, all the others joined in, hammering with all their strength. They made no sound at all. Molly glared at Melmoth.

  “Shouldn’t you be sounding an alarm?”

  “It’s a silent alarm,” Melmoth said numbly. “So as not to upset the patients. It sounded the moment their behaviour changed. Help is on its way.”

  The door behind us slammed open, and a single woman came hurrying in. Not a guard, and not obviously a doctor; just a short and stocky middle-aged woman in ethnic Gypsy wear, complete with any number of bangles and necklaces. Dark curly hair, lots of makeup, and the swagger of someone who knows for a fact that they’re always going to be the most important person in any room. She smiled at me, letting me know she knew I was attracted to her. I was pretty damned certain I wasn’t. She nodded familiarly to Molly, and scowled at Melmoth.

  “All right, what have you done to get them this stirred up?”

  “Nothing!” said Melmoth. “I’ve never seen them like this . . . Oh, Eddie, Molly, allow me to introduce my colleague, the Soul Witch. Head of the Magical Division, with full responsibility for situations like this. Whatever this is. The most powerful witch in the world.”

  Molly bridled immediately. “Oh yes? Then why have I never heard of her?”

  “Because unlike some of us,” said the Soul Witch, “I don’t feel the need to advertise.” She moved in close to the viewscreen, ignoring the rest of us to look closely at the elven hybrids as they hammered silently and determinedly on the other side. “I did tell you this might happen, Melmoth. We don’t understand enough about what the genetic grafts do to these people to be able to predict their behaviour. They’re magical creatures, with more than human senses.”

  “But why can they see us now, when they couldn’t before?” said Melmoth.

  “They’ve always been able to see us,” said the Soul Witch. “They just didn’t care before. Something must have changed, to set them off . . .” She turned suddenly to look at me. “Of course, it’s the Drood! They can sense his torc, its power, and they want it. Get him out of here, and they should settle down again.”

  The viewscreen didn’t break or shatter; it just suddenly wasn’t there any longer. Instead, a great gap appeared in the wall, opening onto the dark and shadowy moor. A cold wind came blasting in, bringing with it the scent of muck and mud, rot and decay. The elven hybrids launched themselves through the opening, fighting one another in their eagerness to get to me. I armoured up and they swarmed all over me, clawing at my armour and snapping at my face mask to try to get through, to get at me. I grabbed hold of them and threw them away, but they just came straight back again. More and more of the hybrids hurled themselves at me, trying to drag me down through sheer weight of numbers. I stood my ground and clubbed them off me, one at a time.

  I had to hit them hard to make them let go. Bones broke and skulls shattered under the impact of my golden fists, but it was the only way. Nothing I did slowed their attack. Their blood-red eyes were full of a terrible hatred, and their heavy teeth snapped and ground together viciously. I kept clubbing them off me. Bodies littered the floor and did not rise again. I tried to tell myself, They’re not people any more. It didn’t help.

  Molly circled around me, blasting individual hybrids with quick bursts of magic. Some withered, some caught fire, and some blew apart like sacks of blood. Most just fell away dead. Because of their strong magical nature, Molly could only take them out one at a time, and there were always more, scrambling through the opening from the moor.

  “Stop killing them!” yelled Melmoth, dancing agitatedly around in the background. “Please stop killing them! They’re patients! Valuable research subjects!”

  And then he broke off as one of the hybrids turned abruptly to look at him. Melmoth froze where he was. The hybrid took a step forward, grinning nastily. Melmoth produced a piece of high tech from his pocket and pointed it at the hybrid.

  “Please stand back. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  The hybrid laughed silently, and took another step.

  “Reject,” Melmoth said sadly.

  He did something with the tech in his hand, and the hybrid dropped dead to the floor.

  More and more came streaming through the opening where the viewscreen used to be, throwing themselves at me in a blind fury. They didn’t seem to care how many had already died at my hands. I was almost buried under a great clawing blanket of the things, reduced to striking out blindly with my golden fists. And then the Soul Witch said a single Word, and they all dropped off me in a moment. They cried out silently, pressing their hands to their elongated heads, and then turned as one and fled back through the opening. Back onto the moor, and the world that had been made for them. I shook the last few off me, and they fell lifelessly to the floor. The Soul Witch gestured briefly, and the one-way viewscreen returned. On the other side, the elven hybrids were scattering across the misty moor, disappearing into the shadows and going to ground. I armoured down and nodded my thanks to Molly. She looked even more tired than I felt, but she still found the energy to glare at the Soul Witch.

  “What took you so long?”

  “It’s all in the timing,” said the Soul Witch.

  Melmoth looked at the dead bodies littering the floor and shook his head. “Such a waste . . .”

  “What did you do to them?” I said to the Soul Witch.

  “I accentuated the elven material in their bodies,” she said calmly. “So they couldn’t bear to be in a human place.” She smiled at Molly. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of it.”

  “I was busy!” snapped Molly.

  I looked thoughtfully at Melmoth, who’d only just realised he still had the piece of tech in his hand and was putting it away.

  “What did you do?” I said.

  “What I can make, I can unmake,” said Melmoth. “Such a waste of good material . . .”

  “Never mind,” said the Soul Witch. “We’re bound to learn something useful from the autopsy. You know you always enjoy that.”

  “Yes,” said Melmoth, cheering up. “There is always that to look forward to.”

  The Soul Witch gave me a hard look. “This was all your fault, Drood. Disturbing our patients with your presence. This isn’t a zoo.”

  “The Drood wanted to see what we’d achieved,” Melmoth said quickly, “before he would agree to become a patient. And you know how much . . .”

  “Yes, yes, I know. This fascination of yours with Droods will be your undoing.” The Soul Witch took one last look at the moor, now entirely quiet and empty, and turned away. “From now on, I suggest you view our test subjects only from a safe distance. For their safety as well as yours.”

  I took the opportunity to study the Soul Witch with my Sight. Ever since she’d arrived, I’d had the feeling there was more to her than met the naked eye. And sure enough, through the Sight, I could tell she didn’t just have a soul . . . She had several. Stacked inside one another, like Russian nesting dolls. The Soul Witch . . . Was she an eater of souls, a container of ghosts, or a preserver of personalities? I quietly drew Molly’s attention to the Soul Witch, and Molly nodded quickly to confirm she’d Seen it too. And then shrugged, to indicate she didn’t understand it either. While I had the Sight, I took a quick look at Dr Melmoth, who turned out to be just as interesting. The man was positively stuffed full of life energies. Far more than one man should ever have. No wonder he was so up all the time.

  I really don’t like it when people keep secrets from me. It’s supposed to be the other way round.

  The Soul Witch turned her back on the moor, and left the room without another word. Melmoth looked expressionlessly after her. I allowed my Sight t
o drop. I didn’t think he’d be able to tell what I’d Seen, but there was no point in taking chances. A secret known is an ace up your sleeve.

  “Marvellous woman, the Soul Witch,” Melmoth said finally. “Full of character! And a complete pain in the arse to work with.” He smiled apologetically at me. “I’m afraid you’re not seeing us at our best. Perhaps we should call off the tour.”

  “I’ve seen nothing yet to convince me you have anything to offer that I’d want done to me,” I said grimly.

  “Then on we go,” said Melmoth. “You’re really a very hard man to please, Eddie.”

  * * *

  There was the group mind that remembered being human, but wasn’t any longer, and the single mind downloaded from clone to clone as the same disease kept killing its body. The tenth generation had so little personality left, they might just as well have lobotomized it. Various attempts to transplant useful vampire and ghoul traits, all of which resulted in people who would have been better off all the way dead. Combinations of living and nonliving materials, man and machine forced together in unhealthy proximity, and all kinds of extreme cutting-edge scientific and magical measures. All of these people were alive when they should have been dead, but none of them looked particularly happy about it.

  We moved on, through more of the featureless steel corridors. I hadn’t seen a single thing I approved of so far, and certainly nothing I was prepared to let them try out on me.

  “None of the subjects you’ve seen will live forever,” said Melmoth, “but they’re all promising starts.”

  “I was expecting to see some Frankenstein-style patchwork efforts,” said Molly.

  “I’m told there were several such attempts, back in the early days,” said Melmoth. “But the practice was soon dropped. Too many problems with tissue rejection. How the Baron overcame that remains a mystery. We have reached out to many of his surviving creations, through the Spawn of Frankenstein network, but they refuse to talk to us. Or allow us access to any of their medical records. They’re being very selfish, holding back such important information. I can only assume they have issues with medical science.”

  “I wonder why,” I said.

  “Precisely!” said Melmoth.

  “What about the genetic material you extracted from the Immortal, Django Westphalion?” I said. “Any progress with that?”

  “So far, it’s proved utterly incompatible with the human genome,” said Melmoth. “In fact, it’s killed everyone we’ve tried it on. In appallingly unpleasant ways. We think it’s something to do with not being able to control the shape-dancing ability. Whatever originally changed the Immortals from their baseline humanity altered them to such an extent that strictly speaking, they shouldn’t be considered human any longer. And so far, Django has proved most secretive, not to mention intransigent, when it comes to discussing his family background.”

  I thought about that as we walked down the steel corridor. Given that the Immortals were originally created by the other-dimensional fugitive known as the Heart, who also adapted my family’s DNA so we could bond with our torcs . . . I had to wonder about the state of my own humanity.

  Melmoth might not have noticed how disappointed I was, but Molly had. She put her arm through mine and squeezed it reassuringly.

  “We’re bound to find something, Eddie. We haven’t seen everything yet.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” I said. “Is it just me, or have all these cures for death been just a bit weird?”

  “I’m assuming that’s because they’ve tried all the usual things, and none of them worked,” said Molly.

  “Or maybe they’ve spent too long living Under the Mountain,” I said. “And the isolation has driven them all batshit mental.”

  Melmoth must have caught some of that, because he stopped and considered me thoughtfully.

  “I’ll admit we have no cure for death itself, just yet. So for now we have to be content with little victories.”

  “I haven’t seen anything I’d consider even a little victory,” I said. “Don’t you have anything that would just . . . give me back the years I was going to have?”

  “Please,” said Melmoth. “Come with me to our main medical facilities. Our very best people are waiting to give you a thorough examination and discover exactly what’s happening in your body right now. There are all kinds of less-dramatic procedures we could try, once we have a better understanding of your current condition.”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” I said.

  “We’ve come all this way, Eddie,” said Molly. “We have to let them try. Please, Eddie . . .”

  I sighed, and allowed myself to be persuaded.

  * * *

  The main facilities turned out to be a huge open laboratory, containing the kind of medical equipment I’d previously seen only in my worst nightmares. Alien computers and futuristic tech, prods and probes, scalpels and saws, and a whole bunch of intricate steel instruments just casually lying around on trays. Most of which looked horribly invasive.

  The doctors and nurses were all very busy removing the other patients so they could give me their full attention. Some of the departing patients were protesting furiously, arguing that they’d paid good money . . . until it was explained to them that I was a Drood, at which point they decided to leave quietly. Some actually got up off their beds and walked. All but one, a large and portly gentleman who tried hard to appear dignified while holding his hospital gown together at the back.

  “I am not going! I will not be pushed to the back of the queue! Don’t you know who I am?”

  “Do you know who that is?” said Melmoth. “That is Molly Metcalf.”

  The large gentleman left, very quietly and very quickly.

  I smiled at Molly. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “That’s what a reputation is for,” said Molly.

  Once all the patients were gone, the doctors and nurses gathered together to look me over. I could see awe and excitement in their faces, and something that might have been a kind of hunger. They’ve waited a long time to get their hands on a Drood . . . I felt like an antelope that had wandered into the lions’ feeding ground. I stared them all down, as coldly as I could. Dr Melmoth quickly came forward, smoothing the way with soothing words, and everyone relaxed a little. Except me. One of the doctors wheeled a tall standing screen forward, and they all took it in turns to study me through it.

  “It’s so they can see your torc,” Melmoth explained. “Most have never seen one before.”

  “I should hope not,” I growled. “I’m still not sure about this. I’ve already told you; my family’s secrets are not on the table.”

  “You can’t put unreasonable obstacles in our way and still expect us to work miracles,” said Melmoth. “Who knows what piece of hidden information might turn out to be just what we need to save your life?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m sorry, but no. And if you keep pushing it, I am leaving . . .”

  “That’s enough!” said Molly. Her face was flushed with something more than anger. She glared at me, and her voice was harsh. “Stop making problems, Eddie, and let them do their job! I didn’t come all this way just to watch you turn your back on the only people who might be able to save you!”

  “You’ve seen what they do here,” I said carefully. “Think what they might do, with access to Drood secrets.”

  “I don’t care about your damned family! I only care about you. Now let them do what they need to, so . . .”

  “All right,” I said. “For you, Molly.” I turned to Melmoth, keeping my face and voice stern. “Nothing invasive. And no wandering off the beaten path. You stick to identifying the poison in me, and what can be done about it. Nothing else. I will defend my family’s secrets, even at the cost of my own life. Or yours.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Melmoth. He shot a hard look at the oth
er doctors. “I’m sure we’re all comfortable with those very reasonable restrictions.”

  The doctors didn’t look like they were, but they all managed some kind of nod.

  “Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to strip naked?”

  “Not unless you feel you really want to,” said Melmoth. “We have first-rate scanners here.”

  I was persuaded to lie down on a quite extraordinarily uncomfortable bed while the medical staff took it in turns to wheel various pieces of unfamiliar equipment into place around me. And then point them at me. The machines made all kinds of interesting noises, as though determined to establish their importance, but whatever they were doing, I couldn’t feel it. My torc didn’t even tingle. The staff members scanned me thoroughly from head to toe, looked inside me from a whole bunch of different angles, and then displayed what they’d found on oversized monitor screens. I didn’t understand half of what I was looking at, but the doctors seemed very impressed. There was a lot of pointing, followed by heated discussions that started out as whispers but quickly escalated to loud disagreements and shoving matches. Melmoth had to intervene several times to keep people from coming to blows. I might have been wrong, but the watching nurses seemed to find this all very entertaining.

  The doctors then took a large number of blood samples from various places, with really long needles. I didn’t enjoy that at all. One of the younger doctors got a bit testy with me over that. He put on an officious face and a condescending voice.

  “Oh come on!” he said. “It’s just a few needles . . . Who would have thought a big bad Drood would turn out to be such a crybaby?”

  Molly grabbed his shoulder, spun him round, and punched him out. He hit the floor hard and had to be dragged away. Everyone was a lot more polite after that. A lot of the nurses grinned at Molly, in a way that said, I’ve always wanted to do that.