Serrin was now almost broke. He'd virtually emptied his accounts in order to give it to the orks they'd met in the bar. They had left so many dead, after all. Knowing the orks would refuse blood money, the elf had talked about their families. About what they believed in, their policlub, their rights. Persuasive words had sent some of the money in the direction of relatives and some into education for their children. Frag it, it's only money, Serrin had thought at the time. With only a few thousand still in his account, maybe he'd have to start looking for gainful
employment as a corporate mage again. It didn't matter. He had to give them the money.
The situation with Kristen was the one he didn't know how to right. Though he'd tried to explain what the elf had revealed to him, she couldn't seem to grasp it even though Serrin was sure she believed him. That didn't surprise the elf. What had he ever really known about himself before being shown those deep, ancient memories? And yet it was still troubling. He was partly fascinated, desperate to know the who and why and where of it all, and partly repelled, not wanting to confront it. In some ways all this made him even more uncertain about how to behave with her. Michael, gently, tried to tell him that she was growing restless and unhappy, as though Serrin couldn't see that for himself.
He remembered Magellan's words about taking better care of the world when you know you're coming back. But for Magellan it had ended in obsession to the point of madness, an unshakable belief in an ever-returning master elven race whose destiny made them special. Serrin didn't want to be vulnerable to such delusions.
And then there was Tom, who was gradually returning to some semblance of normality, but spent more time lost in his own bliss, perhaps in profound contemplation of his new self. Serrin guessed that every time the troll moved, he must feel the wonder of it all. Every muscle movement would be a miracle to him. He was glad for Tom, truly glad, but where did all this leave him?
The elf, whose name he'd never know, had been the one to destroy Luther. It was true he'd said that the only way in was through Tom, but Serrin somehow couldn't get an emotional fix on that. But, one way or the other, they had left a long trail of corpses behind him and he didn't think he'd ever get over the horror and impotence of those final moments.
There was something else bothering him, too. Something intangible, amorphous, half-sensed or half-glimpsed, something that he couldn't really remember but which nagged at him, leaving him restless, tossing and turning in bed at night. It was as frustrating as if he'd forgotten his
own name. He was stirring the dregs of his coffee, staring mournfully at the cold liquid, when it came back to him.
Locally, things are at a more advanced stage, of course.
It wasn't that one of those metal boxes had yet to be filled. No, the container had already been emptied. Not everything was still there for Mathanas to destroy.
What had actually happened?
He hadn't heard news of any outbreak of zombie syndrome in Germany. So what did that mean, "locally"? Was someone else still sitting on the rest of the stuff?
No, that's impossible, Serrin thought. Isn't it?
Time for another trip to the library, whose computer systems were better set up to handle multiple searches than any home rig. First, he scoured the German media of the past week, then went through everything on retroviruses. He couldn't understand much of the technical stuff, but if he could turn up even a single lead anything something he might be able to take back to Michael amp;
It was after ten that night when he paid for the printed abstracts, preferring hardcopy to a disk, and walked out into the night, lighting a cigarette as he went. Maybe I should look Julia up again, he thought. Maybe there's some other madman involved. What if Luther had already shipped some of that damned virus to another bloodsucker who also happened to be around? Hell, he didn't have the time to check on everyone, or everything, to which Luther might have had connections. I've got to talk to Julia, Serrin thought. See if we can't get through to that chummer of hers one last time; she might breathe easier about talking now that Luther is dead.
Julia wasn't home when he arrived by cab, which he kept waiting in that very event. He climbed back in and directed the cabbie to a downtown bar. The gnawing fear wouldn't stop, so he decided to try drinking it into submission.
He left the bar at two o'clock, unable to get drunk on the indifferent beer, and unwilling to pursue the comfort of something stronger. He waited in the damp street for a cab, poring over the printouts in the dull streetlight. This
time, there wasn't even a tardy warning from his spell lock as the car pulled slowly round the corner. The masking was far, far too good for that. The gun was at his back as the car drew to a halt alongside him.
"Get in," came a voice as the rear door of the car opened. Something about the voice was familiar. Knowing he had no choice, Serrin climbed in.
"I think you should take a drink of this," the elf sitting beside him said.
"This is where I came in," Serrin said wearily and swallowed the sedative cocktail.
It wasn't Magellan, of course. Luther had pretty much destroyed what was left of him. The voice had sounded familiar because of the Irish brogue, but it wasn't the mystery elf either. When Serrin was shaken into wakeful-ness, he found himself sitting on a chair in a pool of light, an elf shrouded in the darkness beyond it. Flanking him were two other elves, with an air about them more sinister than Serrin had ever seen.
The berets and shades were obligatory, of course, but it was the weaponry that looked like nothing on earth. The weirdly fluted and shaped pistols perfectly fitted the hands holding them, and rifles even more distorted and bizarre stood against the wall at their sides. In the darkness he couldn't make out any details. Magic and power screamed from the figures in opposition to him. If the standing elves were samurai, they were of a kind Serrin could never have imagined. The power they radiated as tangibly as body heat to an IR scanner wasn't that of mere physical adepts. These were beings of raw power and force. They never moved a muscle.
"I do not think we will need to dispose of you if we can get our answers," the central elf said. "We only want to know what you have been up to. First, tell me what made you spend nearly ten hours checking out retroviruses in the library? What sudden inspiration gave you that idea?"
Serrin hesitated, trying to think up a plausible lie.
"If you lie to me, I will know it," his interrogator said.
I don't think I want to test the truth of that, Serrin thought glumly. Better take it on faith.
"I remembered something. I remembered that some of the virus Luther had made wasn't there. In his laboratory. I wondered what could have happened to it. I don't know much about retroviruses. I wondered if it might still be about. Latent, maybe, I don't know."
"Yes," the elf said. "And why go to the woman? The journalist?"
"To find out if there might have been any local connections to Luther. Someone who might have the rest of it. It was only a hunch; she had a friend who knew something about him."
"Fine. However, I think it would be an extraordinarily good idea if you stopped asking any more questions about this," the elf replied. Safety catches clicked. "Can I trust you to do that?"
"But if this thing is still out there amp; "
"It isn't. We have taken care of that. Actually, you are quite correct. He had released an air dispersion just before you and your friends arrived. We countered with an anti-viral sprayed from our aircraft. A few farmers in rural Bavaria are a bit stupider than they used to be, but not so you'd notice. The virus has been totally contained. Oh, your ladyfriend was rather fortunate in getting away without being affected, but then maybe she's entitled to some good luck."
"But, medical tests… "