Paradigms Lost - eARC

by Ryk E. Spoor

  “Hi, Syl. Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Watch out for the books on the floor; I’m rearranging the library.”

  I stepped in. I noticed again the odd, warm smell of her house; the dusty, comfortable scent of old books blended with a faint tinge of kitchen spices and old-fashioned perfume, a smell that didn’t fit someone as young and gorgeous as Syl—except that, somehow, it did fit, because it was Sylvie’s house. Sylvie stepped ahead of me and carefully lifted a stack of books off a large chair.

  “I suppose I should apologize, Jason. I was pretty hard on you.”

  “No, Syl, you were right.” I sat down; she took the arm of the couch right next to me. “I’ve been trying to have it both ways and it doesn’t work. I can’t flirt with you half the time and then expect you to act like just a friend the other half. You can’t switch your behavior to match whatever my mood is, and even if you could, it’s wrong for me to expect you to.”

  “I know, Jason,” she said gently. She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m the person you’ve told practically your life story to, remember? I’m only a little surprised that you’ve understood yourself so quickly.”

  “It wasn’t me, really. Someone who has better perception than I do held a mirror to my face.”

  “Now who would…” she trailed off, staring at me. “My God, Jason. Not…him?”

  I had kept my interactions with Verne quiet, so I wasn’t too surprised by her surprise, but…“Verne Domingo, yes.”

  She shuddered slightly, then studied me intensely; I almost expected her to start doing some kind of crystal ritual or something. “Are you…all right?”

  “What? Of course I’m all right. What’s the matter?”

  She stared at me, wide-eyed. “What’s the matter? He’s a vampire! The question should be why you have anything to do with him! I know you worked together with him but…you’ve gone from turning up your nose at the drug-runner to, it seems, being his best buddy! For that matter,” she frowned, “why does he have anything to do with you? I still don’t understand why he allowed us to remember. It sure would have been simpler for him to make all of us forget.”

  “He let us remember because, well, he needs me to remember if I’m going to be of any use, and he knows that part of the price of my cooperation is that he keeps his hands off you. Not that I’m worried about that so much, now. I’ve gotten to know him since. He’s lonely, Syl! Just think about it for a minute. Here you are, immortal, for most purposes invulnerable, with all these superhuman powers, and at the same time you don’t dare mention it to anyone! I think he got to the point that, when he realized I wasn’t all that scared of him, he just couldn’t make himself wipe my memory away and shut me out of his life. He needs someone he can talk to, someone who knows what he is and still will treat him like a person.

  “Also, he smuggled drugs, not smuggles. Those stories aren’t just for show—he really has become an art and artifact expert.” I hadn’t gone over the entire story before with Syl, and didn’t want to muddy the waters right now.

  Syl’s face was serious now. She’s very empathic; I could see that she understood. “So why did he wipe Renee’s memory?”

  “Because Renee told him to do it. She said that she would be better off not knowing, and it would help her carry conviction in the story we cooked up.”

  “I see.” She looked thoughtful now.

  “I also think he hopes you will visit him. He speaks very highly of you.”

  She looked surprised at that, but then her gaze sharpened. “Jason, why were you there yesterday evening? I know it wasn’t just to talk about your love life.”

  “You’re right.” I gave her the whole story along with everything Verne had said. Just as I finished, the phone rang. It was Lieutenant Reisman. She’d guessed where I had to be tonight. She was calling from a pay phone, so I took the number and called her back. “What’s up, Renee?”

  “Remember our federal friend? Well, his business associates showed up. We’ve been told to butt out; national security and all that.”

  “Well, we could have predicted that. SOP.”

  Renee snorted. “Bullcrap, Wood. Usually the feds cooperate with the locals; they don’t want to piss us off. When they go into a total stonewall like this, they’re not kidding around, and there’s something big involved.”

  “So why call me?”

  “Because I know you, Wood. You dropped into the middle of it and you never give up on anything. I haven’t told them you’re in the picture. No one else on the site really saw you except the ME, and he’s so close-mouthed he wouldn’t say if he saw his own mother at her funeral unless he was under oath. I’m just warning you about what kind of trouble you could be in if you keep poking into this.”

  “What about you?”

  There was a pause, then an explosive, short laugh. “Yeah, you know me, too.”

  “Can you get me the ME’s report?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’ll have to figure out some way to weasel it out of him without alerting the feds, but yeah, I think I can. So what are you going to do for me?”

  “My job. Get you information.” I smiled slowly. “Don’t you think it might help if we can find out why they’re so worried?”

  She hesitated. “It sure would. But I don’t want to know how you get it.”

  “Right. Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow, if you’re not too busy? I should have something by then, and hopefully they won’t try to listen in. We can set up some way to talk safely then.”

  “Okay. And, Jason,” her tone shifted, “be careful. This is dangerous stuff we’re playing with.”

  “I know. Bye.”

  I looked up at Syl. One glance froze me. She had that deep-eyed, deadly serious look again. Her “feeling” look. After the last few times, I’d learned to trust those feelings with my life. “What is it, Syl?”

  “It’s bad, Jason. Very bad.” She shivered. “More people are going to die before this is over.”

  Chapter 22: Three Conversations, One Problem

  I got back to my house, opened the door, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, sandwich and soda next to me, I booted up my terminal program. I needed to contact Manuel Garcia O’Kelly Davis. Manuel was actually a fairly high-placed military intelligence analyst. I thought he was Air Force, but there was no way to be sure. I sent him a secured e-mail, asking for a conference. He promptly agreed, and we set up the doubly secured relay, with me supplying a few bells and whistles that would make anyone trying to trace us end up chasing their own tails through the telecommunications network. As per our long-established habits, neither of us used the other’s real name; to him, I was “Mentor of Arisia,” and he remained “Manuel.”

  >>Hello, Mentor. You ready for the apocalypse? Less than six months to go!<<

  I snorted. We often joked around about the “Y2K” problem, but it hadn’t been a joke for a lot of people I knew. It was a costly problem that people had put off for years; as a result, in the last few months, people were scrambling to put the last patches in. Not that the disasters predicted were likely to happen, but it was a major pain in the butt. I typed back:

  >>*MY* computer software is up to date. It’s you guys in the government that have to worry about your antiquated systems with two-digit date fields.<<

  >>True dat. What’s up?<<

  >>Got a problem. You have time?<<

  >>Two hours enough?<<

  >>Should be.<<

  I filled him in on the situation, leaving out the gory details and concentrating on the NSA factors.

  >>Can you find out what their angle is?<<

  >>Christ. You don’t ask for much, do you. Look, I can check into it, but you’d do better to just drop out, you know?<<

  >>I can’t. It’d nag at me forever.<<

  >>I know the feeling. :) Just remember, anything I tell you, I didn’t tell you. Right?<<

  >>Right.<<

  I signed off, then finally got on to o
ne of the underground boards; one run by a pirate and hacker that I knew pretty well.

  >>Hello, Demon? You there?<<

  >>Readin’ you loud and clear, Mentor old buddy. You slumming?<<

  >>Looking for info, as usual. You still keep up on the doings of the rich and infamous?<<

  >>Best I can, you can bet on it.<<

  The Demon was a damn good hacker—almost on a par with the legendary Jammer—and very well informed. He kept an eye on criminal doings not merely on the Net, but throughout the world. He viewed his piracy as a matter of free information distribution; since I make my living by distributing information and getting paid for that service, I found myself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing with him. Nonetheless, we got along pretty well since the Demon absolutely hated the real Darksiders—people who destroyed other’s work. To his mind, copying information was one thing. Destroying or corrupting it was another thing entirely.

  >>Demon, what’s going on now that might be bothering the feds?<<

  >>You talking big or little?<<

  >>Big, but not like countries going to war; NSA stuff.<<

  >>Hold on. Lemme think.<<

  I waited.

  >>Okay, there are about three things I can think of; but lemme ask, did something happen in your area?<<

  >>Yes, that’s how I got interested.<<

  >>Got you. That only leaves one. NSA and the other agencies have been checking your general area trying to locate a real nasty Darksider who calls himself Gorthaur. He’s a total sleaze. None of the respectable hackers or crackers will deal with him, but no one’s really got the guts to tell him to kiss off. There are a lot of ugly rumors about him. Or her, no one’s really sure either way. Gorthaur’s been heavy into espionage and industrial spying and sabotage. A real prize.<<

  >>He ever sign on your board?<<

  >>He did until I found out who he was. Far as I know, I’m the only one to tell him what I thought of him. I told him that he’d better not log back on ’cuz if I ever got anything on him I’d turn him over to the cops so fast it’d make his chips spin.<<

  >>Bet he didn’t like that.<<

  >>He told me that it wasn’t healthy to get in his way. I told him to save the threats for the kiddies.<<

  I frowned at that.

  >>Look, Demon, if it turns out that this Gorthaur is part of what I’m involved in, you’d better take his warning seriously. There’s already one corpse and the place is crawling with NSA.<<

  >>I’ll be careful then.<<

  I logged off, shut the system down, and sat back. Then I got up. I turned around. A tall, angular, dark figure loomed over me, scarcely a foot away.

  “Holy CRAP!” I jumped back, tripped over the chair, dropped my glass, fell. My head smacked into the edge of the table and I flopped to the floor and just lay there as the red mist cleared.

  “My apologies, Jason. Let me help you up.” Verne Domingo pulled me to my feet as though I were a doll.

  I pushed him away; he let go. “Christ! What in hell did you think you were doing? You scared me into next week!” I rubbed the already growing lump on my skull.

  “I have said I was sorry. I did not wish to call you via phone; the government has ears, after all. And coming in person would call just as much attention. I had only just materialized when you turned, and I had no chance to warn you.”

  “Okay, Okay. Sorry I yelled.” I started for the kitchen, towards the freezer.

  “Sit, Jason. I will take care of that.” He took the hand towel from the countertop, rinsed it, dumped several ice cubes into it. Then he folded the towel into a bundle and squeezed. I heard splintering noises as the ice was crushed. “There. Put that on the swelling.”

  I did. The cold helped, even when it started to ache. “What’d you have to see me for?”

  “To explain, my friend.” He stood with his back to the refrigerator, stiff and somehow sad. “The story you told me last night…it had very disturbing elements in it, very disturbing indeed. I had to check them before I could believe what my heart knew was the truth. Now I must tell you what is happening here, and for you to understand, you must hear a little history.

  “Vampires are among the most powerful of what you would call the supernatural races, but—as I am sure you have guessed—we are not the only such. Most have…” he hesitated, then went on, “…either long since died out or else found some way to leave this world that is no longer congenial to them, but a few, either through preference or necessity, still live on. My people are, on the whole, cautious not to arouse the awareness of you mortals, and this suits us. Bound as we are to the world in which we are born, we cannot leave, and so we live as best we can without doing that which could rouse you who now rule it to pursue us.

  “There was another race of beings, however, which was not so circumspect. They did not reproduce as we do—by converting mortals; they reproduced themselves as do most races, and this is perhaps why they had less sympathy for your people. But more likely, they lacked sympathy because it was not in their nature; for they preyed on us as well.” He looked at me steadily. “Your people call them werewolves.”

  I blinked. “Oh, no. Not again.”

  “I am afraid so. You have stumbled into the realm of the paranormal once more.”

  Vaguely, I had the feeling that there was something missing—something Verne was not telling me. But it wasn’t central; the main points, I was sure, were the real thing. But something else wasn’t quite…right. Well, maybe he’d clear that up later. I grimaced. “What was that line from Die Hard 2? ‘How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?’ Look, how could werewolves prey on you? I mean, you guys are awfully hard to kill and once you die, well, you go to dust, at least the older ones. Klein took several days. Not much to eat there. Besides, couldn’t you just turn around and eat them?”

  “We are not as invulnerable as you think.” He hesitated. “The truth is that it is not merely wood which can harm us. Wood harms us because it was once living. Any object composed of living or formerly living matter can harm us. Thus, werewolves could kill us with their formidable natural weaponry. As for the feeding…your writers have often glimpsed the truth. They did indeed consume flesh; but more, they fed on raw emotions. Fear and despair, terror and rage, these things strengthened them; and when their victims finally died, they fed, directly, on the life force, the soul if you will, as it passed from the body. Nor could we return the favor. Their blood-scent was enticing, true; but any attempt to drain them only succeeded in slaying both parties. We immortals were a rare delicacy to them. We hid ourselves well, but they eventually found ways to locate us. We fought them off on occasion, but they became ever more devious and effective over the centuries, leaving us alone for long enough that we began to feel safe, then returning to feast upon those who did not know their peril and were unready to defend themselves against the monsters.

  “That threat accomplished what none of our talking had managed before; all the different…groups of vampires united against the lycanthropes, and waged a long and bitter war. In the end we destroyed them. I myself confronted the last, and greatest, of the breed, and I slew him with great pleasure. He had been terrorizing the city of London while using a name which he knew would taunt me.”

  “Vlad Dracul.”

  He nodded.

  “And now you wonder if you really killed him at all.”

  “No.” He sat slowly. “I do not wonder at all. I know now that I did not kill him; that somehow he survived what I had believed were mortal wounds.”

  “You’d better tell me everything about these things. Especially how to kill them.”

  “Silver is the only way—at least the only way that you could make use of. I do not know in what manner, but the metal somehow disrupts their internal balance. Both teeth and claws, in their lupine form, are a crystalline substance of great toughness. Their strength is immense, their cunning formidable, and their ability to shift shape, though confined to a vaguely wolflike monstr
ous form on the one hand, is unlimited in the human range; they can be anyone at all. They do not fear night or day, nor does the phase of the moon have any effect upon them. They also have a talent similar to my own to charm and cloud other minds. They do not have my people’s ability to dematerialize, but they can prevent us from using it if they get a hold on us.”

  “Ugh. Tell me, do they become stronger with age like you vampires?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “And this one was the biggest, oldest, baddest of the werewolves when you fought him?”

  “Quite. I was not alone, however.”

  “Not alone? You mean you couldn’t handle him by yourself?” The thought was terrifying. I knew how strong Klein had been, how hard he was to kill, and since then I’d seen what Verne was capable of; trying to imagine something powerful enough to beat a vampire as ancient as Verne…

  He showed his fangs in a humorless grin. “I will admit that we never found out. I had two companions…” he hesitated again before continuing, “…both of them…leaders of their own clans or families of vampires. Though normally enemies, we realized that these creatures were more of a threat to us all. We ambushed him, all striking at once with silver knives I had prepared, and threw his body in the Thames, the knives embedded in the corpse so that his people would not find him in time to have any chance to save him. So swift were we that he never had a chance to strike back.”

  “Marvelous.” I shook my head. “Well, at least you’ve eased my mind on one thing.”

  “That being…?”

  “I hate coincidences. I don’t believe in them. Now I know why he’s ended up here.” I looked across the table. “He’s been tracking you. And he’s going to kill you if he can.”

  Verne Domingo nodded slowly.

  Chapter 23: Remembering Old Times

  “Okay, Jason, what’ve you got?”

  That was Renee, straight to the point. “A whole lot. But first, come here; there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  She followed me to the living room. Verne rose from the red chair, bowed as I introduced them. “Renee Reisman, Verne Domingo.”