The Terminus experiment s-34

by Jonathan E Bond

  “The light burns me, brother,” Marco said, sitting in his wheelchair, relishing the sprinkle of rain. “And yet I endure it and survive.” Through the heavy makeup he wore, the daylight was a glorious scalding on his skin. Everything seemed so bright that it took all his willpower to remember why he was here. He felt a mad desire to grin, even though he knew that would be deemed inappropriate by the lovely, blood-filled humans who surrounded him.

  Julius touched Marco’s shoulder. “You should be considering the death of your son,” he said.

  Marco nodded, but he was thinking, Derek’s body and soul died long ago, as did mine. Marco turned his head and glanced upward into Julius’ somber, grieving brow, and the slightest hint of a smile touched his bloodless lips. Everything about his brother seemed to pulse, vivid with life. Marco could smell the faint odor of sweat under his sharp cologne, could hear, dimly, under the patter of rain and the shuffling of feet surrounding the grave site, the gentle thump of his brother’s heartbeat. Could see the coursing of blood through Julius’ veins that stood out like some glorious road map through his skin.

  Marco tried to bring himself under control. The ability to withstand the light of day had also brought with it increased bloodlust. I must maintain my restraint around Julius. His feelings about my most recent change have not gone unnoticed, but he will understand in time.

  Marco glanced around at those gathered around the grave of his son, all of them listening to the droning of the priest. So purposeful, so intent, all of them. Marco forced down a small chuckle. These petty humans with their stupid ideas about life and death they thought they were looking at their own mortality in this place, but in reality their own mortality was busy Watching them, seeing nothing more than a delicious feast.

  Julius laid his hand on Marco’s shoulder the weight a chafing comfort, as if he could read Marco’s thoughts and was trying to help him stay calm. Julius knew of Marco’s condition, and supported him, though of late, his support had been more formal, more stiff than ever before. Julius’ feelings came through most strongly whenever the subject of the procedure came up. His vehement reaction to Marco’s proposal that he himself undergo infection was simply the most obvious change in Julius’ attitude.

  In time he will be persuaded.

  Marco’s thoughts shifted slightly, settling on the plan, his plan. The men of Ordo Maximus had made his role in their scheme clear, but they were short-sighted, thinking only of walking in the daylight again and the power it would give them. They seemed oblivious to the next steps, to where that power could take them. To them, he was simply another cog in the wheel, a vampire who would be in the right place at the right time. It had been their idea for the personal protection angle exploited so profitably by Fratellanza, Inc., and it had been their money that had funded it. All so that when the moment came, certain powerful individuals-individuals who might be in position to cause problems for Ordo Maximus-could be quietly disposed of. It angered Marco to think that they could discount him as a simple tool, but soon they would learn of their mistake.

  With considerable effort, Marco stifled a surge of anger. “Thank you, brother,” he said to Julius.

  Sorrow, he thought, sorrow is what I’m supposed to be feeling. He looked at the bronze-tinted casket, and forced himself to think about Derek. His son, his heir, his dreams for the future. The casket was normal size, though Marco knew that Derek’s body, once so strong, so commanding, only took up a small portion of the casket’s interior.

  The only way Lone Star had been able to identify the eviscerated, burned thing that now rode inside the plush interior of the metal box was by Derek’s credstick, which had been jammed into the blackened, cracked mouth. That mouth had been stretched into an eternal scream of fear and anger. That scream had been so hard, so violent that it had actually unhinged Derek’s jawbone.

  There were doubts at Lone Star whether the body was actually Derek’s, but Marco had known instantly. He’d been expecting news of his son’s death ever since the trid chip had been delivered. Silent anger began to build inside as he remembered the trid recording. He felt an itch of madness take hold as the face of Martin de Vries came into his memory-the smug self-assurance in those undead eyes, the casual way a fellow vampire could torture and kill one of his own.

  Even now, Marco’s men and hired mercs were scouring the city for any sign of the rogue vampire, searching with extreme prejudice to find the man who had murdered the heir apparent to Fratellanza. Inc. And when they found him, Marco would be there.

  Now. Marco looked down at the skeletal ruin of his legs, the vicious twist of his hip bones that spoke of the helix that had been his spine. He looked like a cripple, but Marco knew that if needed, his body would respond in ways that would surprise even another vampire. When the moment came, he would be the one looking down at Martin de Vries’ dead-white skin, and de Vries’ death would make the murder of Derek look like a mercy killing.

  The pressure of Julius’ hand increased ever so slightly on Marco’s shoulder, and Marco could sense his brother leaning in to whisper in his ear. “There he is. I told you he would make it.”

  Marco squinted to see into the distance and through the hazy drizzle, he saw the metallic-gray Saab Dynamit in the cemetery’s roughrock gateway, idling behind the electrified wrought-iron fencing.

  Marco watched as Biggs, a big red-haired ork and one of Fratellanza’s best captains, checked Warren for ID. Biggs was in charge of today’s security arrangements and had personally taken over the gate. He was ambitious for a meta, and Marco had even considered breaking one of his unspoken rules for the man. No meta had made advancement past captain in Fratellanza, Inc. Riggs might just be the first.

  Tires hissed on the wet pavement as the sleek car rumbled through the now-open gate and accelerated up the narrow asphalt path into a forest of granite and marble.

  Marco watched as Warren got out and walked across the wet grass to the gravesite, stopping at the outer fringe of mourners.

  The young man was dressed in a suit just barely appropriate for the occasion, not nearly somber enough for a member of the family. He stood there, head bowed, his spine rigid and angry.

  He is no Derek.

  The thought brought just a hint of bitterness to Marco. There had been a time, not so many years ago, when Marco and Julius had discussed Warren as the logical heir to Marco’s wealth and power. There had been no doubt that Warren was far more intelligent than Derek, but Warren lacked other qualities that Derek had possessed in spades. Where Warren was soft, Derek had been hard, where Warren was understanding, Derek had been demanding, where Warren was squeamish, Derek had shown delight. Derek had been a warrior. Warren an artist.

  Now, the situation had been forced. Warren would have to be the first step on the path to Marco’s realizing his dreams, and the thought galled him. Not just because Warren was not his first choice, no, it went deeper than that. What galled him most was that he had been short-sighted. He’d placed so much faith in Derek, who’d seemed so untouchable. Derek had shown himself able to kill, burn, ravage.

  Marco had come to believe that Derek would always be around. Now, Warren was untried, untested, and certainly not ready to captain Marco’s forces into the upcoming alliance with Don Maurice Bigio that would be the first step in Marco’s double-cross of Ordo Maximus. He’d use both of them as long as he could, until the day he had so much power than even they would have to bow to him.

  I am to blame for his lack of conditioning. And I must correct this error.

  Marco looked across the grave site and tried to picture Warren, not as he saw him now, a delicate creature that pulsed with lifeblood, but as the rest of these fools must see him. He let a small smile creep onto his heavily made-up lips.

  Warren was strong, standing tall, his long hair beaded with rain. Despite Warren’s seeming gentleness, Marco believed that he could be fashioned into a warrior, molded into something more than the self-absorbed brat Julius had allowed him to become.
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  If Warren could be made to understand, he might still make a better leader than Derek ever would. Recently, Warren had been going through a rebellious phase, and Julius had given the boy entirely too much slack to pursue his whims. Warren had taken all that slack and had demanded more.

  He was even seeing a stripper. Marco knew all about Warren’s secret life as Warren Storey. All about the fact that Rachel Harlan, Warren’s current quim in residence, knew nothing of Warren’s connection to Fratellanza, Inc.

  Frag, the boy has convinced her that he’s poor.

  Marco knew that Warren had been slumming, merely to gain attention from Julius and himself. He would come back around to the corporate way, eventually. Of that Marco was certain, which was why he’d allowed his brother to be so lenient with his son.

  Now that Derek was gone, Marco could no longer afford to be so lax. Derek’s death was a setback, but I can’t afford to let that affect the plan. I will rule the entire earth one day, with my offspring crushing all opposition in my path.

  Marco knew of one sure way to exorcise all of Warren’s faults, without jeopardizing his good qualities. An exorcism involving a vampiric virus tailored by Dr. Olso Wake.

  He thought about the day Wake had come to him, telling him that Ordo Maximus believed Marco had potential and should be the first of the vampires to walk in the light of day.

  At first, Marco hadn’t believed him, but one quick telecom call to London had put Marco’s suspicions to rest.

  Despite the crippling outcome of the procedure, Marco held no grudge against the man. Marco knew that the leaders of Ordo Maximus had been the ones to rush the procedure, had been the ones to force Wake’s hand, even though the doctor had warned them of the risks.

  It was worth it, Marco thought as he looked around, seeing his natural prey by the light of day. I’d do it again in a second. Now how do I convince Warren to undergo Doctor Wake’s procedure?

  Where Derek had welcomed the transformation, Marco knew that it would offend all of Warren’s tender sensibilities. However, once Warren had been… changed, once he saw the world as it really was, once he’d tasted the true fruits the new life had to offer, he would fall into line. Marco had no doubts about that.

  Still, there was another possible complication involved there. Julius would never be party to coercing Warren. Julius’ love for his son would be his downfall if Marco didn’t solve the problem soon. And it might only widen the rift that’s come between us. That would not do. Julius knew too much, and Marco wanted to avoid any action that might turn Julius definitively against him. Julius could ruin everything.

  Marco thought of de Vries and Derek, and then of Warren, and a plan came to mind. It was so simple, so ridiculously simple, that for a moment, he let his smile out in force.

  Luckily, none of the mourners happened to be looking in his direction when he made the slip. Because, in that smile, even the simplest person would have realized that there was nothing remotely human hiding behind the mask that was Marco D’imato.

  The only person to see that smile stood just outside the high stone wall that marked the perimeter of the cemetery. The high-powered digital camera on the telescoping boom was capturing every moment of the funeral.

  Jacked into the camera, Short Eyes saw everything. She shuddered as the camera zoomed in on Marco D’imato’s face.

  Acting as de Vries’ daylight eyes took its toll on her, and the security here was very high. She simply needed to get some good trid of the funeral and then she could call it blowtime.

  Since meeting de Vries last year, Short Eyes had felt purpose come back into her life. Before, she’d been nothing more than a second-rate media snoop and a chiphead. Now, she had direction.

  She remembered the night she’d met de Vries in the alley behind a club in Amsterdam, the night he was hunting a vampire named Carlson. When Short Eyes first saw him stalking through the club, tall and stooped, chain-smoking his cigarettes, she’d thought he was a chipdream. But then she’d quickly realized what he was, and had followed him. She was the only witness to the magical vampire duel that had taken place in the deserted alleyway behind the club.

  As de Vries was taking Carlson’s life, she’d tried to get away, but somehow, de Vries had known. He’d cornered her before she’d taken ten steps. She thought she was dead, but instead of draining her blood, de Vries said he wanted to speak with her.

  They began to walk and by the end of that fifteen-minute conversation, Short Eyes knew she would follow de Vries anywhere. When he told her he would be headed for UCAS soon, and asked if she would accompany him, she hadn’t needed to think twice before accepting. She pledged her life to the cause, and no force of darkness, no matter how terrible, would ever sway her from her course.

  Through the boom cameras field of vision, Short Eyes saw that the funeral was over and that Marco D’imato was being wheeled away from the grave as the casket finished its short descent.

  The man standing behind Marco stopped for a moment and gestured for a younger man to approach. The latter was the one who’d come speeding up to the funeral gates, his sports car moving like the devil himself were giving chase.

  Short Eyes zoomed in to catch a close-up of him, and she didn’t have to be a genius to see the physical similarities between the young man and the older one pushing Marco’s wheel chair.

  Something in the young man’s manner caught Short Eyes attention. Unlike the rest of the mourners, who had approached both of the older men with respect and deference, this one seemed to show Marco cold indifference. That only broke when he shook the hand of the other man, whom she guessed was his father. The respect and admiration were apparent on both of their faces.

  They talked for a moment, and Short Eyes wished she had a shotgun mike to catch the conversation.

  Finally the man in the wheelchair frowned and motioned with his hand toward the waiting limo. The young man shook his head, and pointed toward his car. The two older ones nodded, reluctantly, and the three separated.

  Short Eyes collapsed her equipment and stepped further back into the tree line as the funeral procession began to leave the cemetery. Then she loaded the equipment into the rented Ford Americar and drove it back to the hotel, where de Vries slept the day away.

  5

  Vampire, sanguisuga europa. Vampires are not a true species. but rather they are individuals of a human subspecies who have been infected with an agent that causes the vampiric condition. The infection only seems to reach its full virulence in a magic-rich environment, but there are indications that both the Human-Metahuman Vampiric Virus (HMHVV) and vampires were present before the Awakening.

  –

  from Dictionary of Parabiology, edited by Professor Charles Spencer, third edition, MIT amp;T Press, Cambridge, 2053

  Summer had returned with a vengeance to the Seattle sprawl. Even this near midnight, the air was close and humid, the heat still well into the eighties. No breeze stirred the noxious brew, and the night stank of hot desperation.

  The normal noises of the city seemed muted and faraway as the sound waves struggled to penetrate the sluggish air.

  Two vampires climbed out of a stepvan, leaving it running. They left a third vampire inside the vehicle and walked across the street toward a low tenement. At their signal, the two Fratellanza guards parked in a black Chrysler-Nissan Jackrabbit near the tenement’s front door pulled out onto the street and disappeared around the corner. Within seconds, the sound of the car’s motor had faded to nothing.

  The two vampires continued on foot and walked up the steps to the door of the doss in the middle of the block.

  Behind them, on the roof of the tire retread shop across the street, a clinging shadow disengaged itself like a slice of midnight, and vaulted silently to the ground. What the two vampires didn’t realize was that this piece of darkness had been with them ever since they’d left Magnolia Bluff.

  Martin de Vries watched the two inhuman monsters dressed in double-breasted suits ste
p lightly across the street. conscious of keeping their movements slow and controlled. De Vries watched carefully, studying them, searching for their strengths and weaknesses.

  He knew that to these two vampires, the putrid night was a thing of beauty, something that still held incomparable wonder. These were young bloodsuckers, new to their enhanced senses and fantastic powers. It had only been a month since they’d been mere humans, trusted captains in Fratellanza, Inc.’s corporate structure, with nothing much of distinction to their lives.

  Now, the whole city was their playground, and the night was the most magical time they’d ever experienced.

  De Vries could sense their hunger, their bloodlust so strong it threatened to consume them. He could tell that they’d stifled it for now. Tonight, they were not abroad to feed, they were on business.

  They passed the Honda Viking that was chained to the mangled parking meter, then walked calmly up the stairs to the doorway of the doss. One of them knocked three times.

  It took a moment, but finally a man’s voice answered, full of suspicion “Who’s there?” De Vries could here it clearly even from across the street.

  “Mr. D’imato? It’s Max Fein. I’ve been sent by your uncle. He needs to speak with you, in person. It’s very urgent.”

  “Spirits be fragged!” came the muffled voice through the door. Then, “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to come here?”

  De Vries moved a step closer, wondering at the disappearance of the first pair of Fratetlanza guards. These vampires were from Marco D’imato, so why had the guards left? Why weren’t they used as travel insurance? Things didn’t seem right.

  De Vries got his answer as the young man, so familiar from the trid images Short Eyes had obtained, opened the door.

  Both of the vampires moved, and with a speed no uninfected could even hope to follow. The young man was knocked unconscious and carried across the street.