Terminus Experiment

by Jonathan E Bond

  De Vries stiffened at the sound of that voice, a voice he had studied and had begun to know so intimately. Then the van was gone, accelerating up the Street and taking the corner with precision.

  Alone now in the darkness, de Vries stepped from the shadows. A moment later he was joined by Short Eyes.

  “Your take on what just happened?” he said.

  Short Eyes shrugged. “Body snatch, natch. Chum Boy got an invite he couldn’t refuse.”

  De Vries nodded. “Sloppy work for someone as sharp as D’imato, unless he planned it that way.”

  The two crossed the street and walked up the stairs to the still open doorway of Warren’s doss. Moving silently, de Vries stepped inside.

  He let his vision shift into the astral, then gave a low whistle. When viewed in this manner, the entire room seemed to come alive. Small statues glowed with magical light, paintings seemed luminescent.

  “Our boy Warren is no ordinary mundane.”

  Short Eyes, just a step behind de Vries, giggled like a school girl. “Corner of the eye trick?”

  De Vries walked over to the table that dominated the center of the room, splinters of stone crunching beneath his boots.

  On the table, the crude form of a demon was taking shape in the marble block. De Vries looked straight at the form, and it seemed like nothing more than a statue, but as he shifted his eyes to the astral, the little demon seemed to move, straining to take flight.

  As he studied the rest of the carvings, he noticed they all did that. When looked at directly, they seemed like nothing more than exquisitely carved pieces of art, but when viewed from the astral, the pieces seemed to come alive.

  “They’re flip,” said Short Eyes, just a hint of wonder in her voice.

  “Yes,” said de Vries, knowing that Short Eyes was seeing only one aspect of the sculptures. “It would seem that our boy has a talent of major proportions. I wonder if his uncle knows about this? I wonder if the boy himself even realizes what he can do? Though someone must have noticed it by now.”

  Short Eyes started talking, but suddenly de Vries was no longer listening, no longer able to breathe. In the corner stood a sculpture unlike the others, slightly smaller, but formed with such care and attention to detail that he almost cried out.

  Barely aware of his own movement, he crossed the room and stood there in front of the small stone statue.

  It was a woman. reclining on a small divan, her arm was stretched out, in a beckoning manner, and the slight smile on her face was half playful, half seductive. She was beauty itself.

  “Josephine,” whispered de Vries. “It’s impossible.”

  Then Short Eyes was at his back, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

  Short Eyes had never known de Vries’ wife. The woman had been killed before Short Eyes was born, but she’d seen holopics.

  “What is…” But de Vries was already past her, moving through the doss, heading for the bedroom. Short Eyes followed.

  In the bedroom, de Vries found what he was looking for. A holopic of Warren and the woman who had obviously been the inspiration for the statue.

  By the time Short Eyes had caught up with him, he’d flipped the pic over, and was reading the inscription. “Me and Rachel at Lake Washington.” It was dated just a couple of months before.

  De Vries flipped it back over and looked at the image closely. In the background, Lake Washington gleamed like a blue-gray crystal. Rachel had her arm around Warren, staring straight into the camera as he kissed her neck.

  “She loves him,” whispered de Vries.

  Short Eyes sighed. “Changes are a comm’.”

  De Vries glanced up at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Changes? Yes, this changes things for me.”

  “Sensei, plans are laid, and they’re golden. Changes now could shuck us to the bone.”

  De Vries looked back at the pic, at the woman who could have been his dead wife’s twin, at the love that was displayed so freely in the image. “You let me worry about that. There’s no way I’m going to let Josephine down again.”

  Short Eyes reached out and touched the holopic with one elongated fingernail. “Not Josephine. Rachel. Not the same thing.”

  De Vries rubbed a thumb over that perfect face. “Tell that to my heart. We have to make sure that boy doesn’t die.”

  * * *

  In the dust bowl of Hell’s Kitchen, the stepvan plowed along, its headlights cutting through the swirl of volcanic ash that still plagued the area despite the many years since Mount Rainier had last erupted.

  The van pulled up to an armored gate, passing the small camp of denizens who were already forming up for the free meal that would be passed out just before dawn.

  Marco shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair and listened as Max and Sonny spoke in the front seat. Max chuckled and looked over at Sonny. “That was us, just a few weeks ago.”

  Sonny didn’t seem to find the memory so humorous. “Yeah. and by tomorrow, some of them will have disappeared. I wonder what happens to the ones who don’t turn out?”

  Max laughed. “Who gives a frag? The ones who can’t cut it get removed. That’s life. And death.” His own wit caused him to laugh so hard that he almost missed the stop.

  Marco was not amused. “Damn you.” he said, as the van skidded to a halt. “Pay attention to what you’re doing, or you’ll find out what happens to fools who think they are immortal.”

  Max keyed his window, letting a swirl of gray dust into the van. The speaker, mounted on a thin post, crackled. “Business?” came a thin, distorted voice.

  Max leaned out. “Marco, with a special delivery for Wake.”

  “See some ID.”

  Max slid the ID card into the reader below the speaker.

  The armored gate slid backward, and Max pulled the van inside. This was the first of two walled partitions that separated the compound from the outside world. Through the swirling dust, Marco could make out the subtle forms that roamed the fifty meters separating the two walls. Cyberdogs and their handlers. But no ordinary dogs. These were beasts, their thin, cadaverous bodies supporting cyber headgear that made them Look impossibly top-heavy.

  They passed the second checkpoint, where the van was sniffed by a small Doberman with a telescoping cybercamera cut into its head, just behind the dog’s ears. Cleared through, they entered the main compound proper. Max backed the van up to the loading bay, then stepped out and set up the ramp for Marco’s wheelchair.

  As Marco rolled out behind Max and Sonny, who were carrying Warren’s limp body from the van, someone Marco had met only once came out onto the loading bay. Dr. Raul Pakow was a short man, with a heavy shock of sable hair that continually threatened to fall into his eyes. He was forever pushing his hair back with an impatient gesture.

  “What’s going on?” asked Pakow, the low undercurrent of anger in his voice telling volumes about his frustration. “Dr. Wake didn’t authorize any new acquisitions.”

  Marco’s anger at the man’s tone blazed, and he stood, his twisted hips jutting forward as he maintained his balance with difficulty. “I authorized it. And if Dr. Wake wishes to remain in my good graces, he will do as I request.”

  Pakow showed neither surprise at Marco’s twisted appearance, nor did he back down. “That is something you will have to take up with Dr. Wake, Mr. D’imato.”

  Marco smiled, and for just a second, Pakow seemed to shrink back. “Oh, I intend to. Now get Wake down here. Time is short.”

  “I’m already here, Mr. D’imato.”

  The man had approached so silently that even the vampires were caught unaware. Marco twisted around painfully.

  Wake stood on the opposite side of the loading bay. He had risen to his full height, which allowed him to tower above all those present, but his skeletal frame made it seem like a strong wind would carry him upward like some crazy, human kite. His white hair jutted painfully from his head, crowning his look of complete exhaustion. “What is it that I can d
o for you?”

  Marco let his body go, and felt his very atoms begin to flow, until he was nothing but mist. He let his essence guide him until he was in front of Wake, then he willed his body to coalesce again.

  Wake continued to look at him casually.

  “You know of the troubles of the last few weeks?” Marco said.

  Wake nodded. “Of course. I’m very sorry for the loss of your son. Still, I’m confused by what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night.” He looked over Marco’s shoulder at the still form lying on the concrete. “Is this some form of retribution? Or do you have something even more… diabolical in mind.”

  Marco laughed, a short bark completely devoid of humor. “The only thing I have in mind is the continuation of my lineage. I’d have preferred to keep my options more open, but I’ll simply have to work with what I’ve got.”

  Wake nodded again. “And this young man has something to do with that? I’m sorry if I seem a bit slow, but I was given to understand that you had only one son.”

  Marco looked behind him, and a fierce grin spread across his face. “That is correct. This is my nephew. I want you to perform the process on him.”

  Wake looked at the body and his eyes took on the faraway look that told Marco he was peering into the astral. With that distant look still in his eyes, Wake said, “And it would seem that he isn’t undertaking the process with the same… gusto displayed by your son.”

  Marco laughed, a low angry sound. “He would have taken some convincing, but unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of the time it would take.”

  Wake snapped back to the physical world. “Are you also aware of his talent?”

  Marco paused for a moment, puzzled. “Are you talking about his sculpting? I’ve seen some of it. It’s not bad, if you like that sort of thing.”

  Wake smiled, a small thing that refused to reach his eyes. “No, I was speaking of his magical talent.”

  “He’s got no magic.”

  “In that you are mistaken, I’m afraid. In the astral, his ability is obvious.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Wake laughed. “You already are.”

  The two vampires at Marco’s back joined in the laughter until Marco’s glance silenced them.

  Marco turned back to Wake. “Your attempts at humor are on the verge of being offensive.”

  Wake looked into Marco’s eyes, as though measuring him somehow. “Is it still your wish that the process be performed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even though you know the the procedure affects magically active creatures in different ways?”

  Marco shook his head. “You don’t understand. This is my last chance to keep my legacy within the family.”

  Wake looked at the body of Warren, who was beginning to stir. He paused for a moment, as if making a decision. Then he nodded. “Dr. Pakow, ready room number three. Put this young man on a saline IV with Syndorphin infusion, and prepare the vat. We have quite a bit of work ahead of us.”

  Pakow nodded, and stepped up to a wall-mounted telecom next to the bay doors Team alpha, report to bay six, priority red.”

  Marco grinned at Wake. “Make sure he comes through this and I’ll triple the monies I’ve been funneling to you. If he dies, I’ll cut you off at the knees.”

  Wake simply smiled.

  A new voice sounded on the loading bay, one groggy and unsure of itself. “Uncle Marco, is that you?”

  Wake moved before anyone else. Pulling a patch from his coat, he knelt by the struggling form. “Rest now. You’ve had an accident, but we’re going to take good care of you.”

  Wake slipped the patch over Warren’s jugular, and Marco watched him drift immediately back into oblivion.

  6

  At its highest levels, Ordo Maximus is the tool of a secret cabal of at least half a dozen vampires-perhaps more-all skilled initiates who use the Ordo’s funds and political connections to conduct biomagical research well hidden from the public eye. Their goal is simple and terrifying; they seek to create variant strains of HMHVV, new viruses that will confer the strengths and weaknesses of vampirism at the Ordo’s sole discretion.

  –Martin de Vries, Shadows at Noon, posted to Shadowland BBS, 24 May 2057

  The following morning, seagulls swirled in an azure sky over Marco’s mansion in Magnolia Bluff, some four kilometers from the heart of downtown Seattle. The area was favored by the sprawl’s elite and wealthy, including those who earned their nuyen on both sides of the law. The mansion was surrounded by a three-meter stone fence topped with wrought iron spikes, track-mounted Ares security drones, and trid cameras. This served to deter all but the most well-equipped burglars from even thinking about attempting a break-in.

  The mansion grounds were spacious and well-landscaped in Italian-garden style, with roses and olive trees and fountains shaped into the forms of Roman deities. Today, the sun glimmered off the moving water, though Marco, groggy and just awakened from his daily slumber by an irate Julius, could not see it.

  The two men were in Marco’s inner office. High ceiling fans provided the only movement of air in the completely enclosed room. Even though Marco could now sustain the touch of sunlight, on days like today, with the light so blazing and clear, he would still be severely burned.

  Marco shook his head. He hadn’t anticipated Julius learning of Warren’s disappearance so soon.

  “And I’m telling you he’s gone!” Julius’ voice was like a diamond saw cutting through stone. “Warren’s been taken by someone who knew our release codes.” Julius turned and paced across the Persian rug.

  Marco knew he had to handle this with extreme care. “Maybe he simply went to one of his art shows.” He made sure to add just the hint of derision that Julius would expect.

  Julius shook his head impatiently. “Impossible. When I tried to get in touch with him this morning. I got no answer. So I checked the guard logs, which showed he was left unattended from just before midnight last night. I went over there personally, and his front door was wide open. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign of a struggle, but Warren is gone. He would’ve told me if he was planning to leave Seattle.”

  “And who do you think did this?”

  Julius stopped pacing and turned to face his brother. “I’ve been warning you for months that something like this was bound to happen. Our contract with Don Bigio makes us a target. The yaks, the Seoulpa, it could be anyone. But whoever it was, it looks like they took a page from Derek’s killers and decided to get to us through Warren.”

  Marco suppressed a smile. This anger on his brother’s part would serve his purposes nicely. “First off, we have contracts with a number of Mafia families as well as with the yaks. None has ever considered it a conflict of interests, and I don’t see why they would start now. Also, if you say there was no sign of forced entry, then it’s nothing like what happened to Derek. In case you’ve forgotten, Derek’s car was completely shredded. If Warren has been kidnapped, then he must not have put up a fight. Therefore, it might be something you haven’t considered, though I don’t think you are too far wrong.”

  Julius’ face grew still, and in a soft voice he said, “You’re keeping secrets from me.”

  Marco nodded. “I’m sorry, brother. Derek’s death seemed like a personal attack, and it pained me so much, I didn’t want to share what I’ve learned. However, in light of Warren’s disappearance, there’s something I’ve got to show you.”

  Marco crossed the room, his nearly useless legs dragging on the floor as his will carried his misshapen body. Sitting down heavily in the overstuffed chair behind his desk, he pulled the trid recording from the center desk drawer. “Have a look at this.”

  Julius’ face became even more still. “What is it?” His voice was little more than a whisper, the soft buffeting of a breeze through fallen leaves.

  “It’s from the man who killed Derek.”

  As if reaching for a live scorpion, Julius took the c
hip over to a tall bookshelf. He put his race to the hidden retinal scanner that had been placed in an ancient hardcover of Moby Dick. Then he stepped back, and the book case recessed and slid down into the floor, revealing a security console and a large trideo rig.

  Marco slotted the chip and stood there as Martin de Vries came into view. Julius watched the whole thing without making a sound. When the monitor faded to black, he turned back to Marco.

  Julius was nearly shaking with anger. “This explains a few things, like the unusual distribution of our Sec forces for the last couple of weeks. You shouldn’t have kept this from me.”

  Marco forced himself to seem contrite. Bowing his head, he said, “You’re right, brother. It was short-sighted of me to think that this de Vries was through, that he would only come after me.”

  “I want him. If he’s taken Warren, he’ll find that we have ways of making even vampires suffer before they die.”

  Marco nodded, once again keeping a smile from his lips only by force of will. “Find him. If you can get to him soon enough, Warren might still be alive. Go, use whatever resources you need.”

  Julius turned and headed for the door. “I will, brother. I will hunt this Martin de Vries, and if he’s hurt Warren, then I’ll make sure his death is neither clean, nor painless.”

  Marco squinted at the bit of sunlight that peeked through as Julius opened the door and left. Be careful, brother You’re still human. At least for a little while longer.

  7

  A creature with the power of mist form can transform its physical body into a mist by controlling the molecular cohesion of its cells. The mist can pass through any crack or crevice that is not airtight, even penetrating filtration systems that are proof against gases or pollution.

  – from Paranonnal Animals of Europe. first edition, by Charles Spencer, Department of Parabiology, University of Oxford, 2053