Serrin was still groggy when he finally came to, but so ravenously hungry that he devoured two huge bacon and egg sandwiches. He felt a lot better, but the whole business surprised him. Drain didn’t usually affect him that way. Most times, he felt like the walking dead for at least a day or two after serious draining.
“We should have the tissue sample results by about six,” Geraint was saying. “The mage will be licensed, surely, and we’ll get a match with the official sample archive. That I can pull. Yes, Francesca, another Cambridge pal. The old college tie’s a wonderful thing. He smiled broadly, the knots of tension within him easing as they completed each step on the way to finally resolving the whole sad affair.
“Added to that, we’ll be able to check the gun licenses through a contact in the Home Office. That should pin something down, too. They wiped the internal chip IDs. but overlooked the ID on one of the pistol barrels. That really was most careless. Between the mage and the gun, I think we have Transys on the rack now. Add in all the other stuff, and they’re going to take a beating. We’ve done it.”
“Enough to give to the police?” Francesca asked.
“Rakk the police” he muttered, almost to himself. “No, I’ve been thinking about it. There’s a young lady from OzNet… We’ll give the story to her. Maybe OzNet’s only a plazzy little trid channel, but when they splash this story, the rest of the media will sit up and take notice.” He was tapping out her telecom code already.
“Then we’ll supply duplicate data to the police. They’ll be able to DNA-type the elf-that is, if they suspect he’s a mage. We did take his spell focuses away with us so it might not be quite so obvious. But they’ll be so slow with their inquiries that-oh, hello? Christine? Hi, it’s Geraint. Yes, the Welsh-yes, Cambridge, yes. I know its an ungodly hour of the morning, but I’ve a huge story for you. Exclusive, yes. We’ll have the last of the evidence ready for you around six this morning. If you want to make a name for yourself, girl, be here just after then. You’re guaranteed a promotion for this one.”
He gave her his address, then rang off. “Time to get it all assembled in a nice, clean order,” he said. “That chip must have been something really strange. I couldn’t scan it at all. It’s a pity, but I don’t think we really had the time to cut off the head and bring it with us.”
“Geraint, please!” Francesca was appalled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Oh, what the hell, we left a whole streetful of bloody bodies and now we’re worrying about niceties of language? Pah.”
Mohinder had downloaded his video recording well before the results from the lab came through. He took the fat cash payment and stuffed the twenty thousand into his pocket, grinning broadly. Then he told Geraint where he might find him should he ever need help again. He even bowed to Rani on the way out.
“Got to hand it to you, girl,” Mohinder said. “You’ve come up in the world. Guess we might not see each other again for a while?” He wondered where she might be when all this was done.
“Oh, I’ll be around and about, Mohinder. I won’t forget tonight.” They hugged, friends, maybe even equals.
“Hey,” he said, in a parting shot, “wasn’t that as much fun as you can have with your clothes on?” Rani giggled; she’d seen that trid show, too. Mohinder closed the door behind him carefully.
The telecom beeped at a quarter to six. It was Geraint’s contact in the genetics lab at Imperial College.
“Morning, Geraint. Thanks for the charitable donation. We’ll put that toward the metagene research project. You’re most generous.”
“You’re welcome, Richard. Now, tell me what you got.”
“Well, a courier is on the way with formal confirmation of the data and samples, but in summary, here’s how it goes. The metahuman was a magician, licensed to a corporation. But first, is this line safe?”
“You can speak freely. I’ve got more precautions against bugging than you can imagine. Retroactive phasing scramblers. And more,” Geraint breezed.
“Good. His name is Pieren Featherbrook, age thirty. lives in-”
“Yes, yes.” Geraint was impatient, “That’lI be in the data you’ve sent over. Who did he work for?”
“Transys Neuronet.” It was a moment of absolute, exquisite beauty.
Geraint was delighted. “Thanks, Richard. That just about ties it up.” He paused for a small gloat of pleasure. Oh boy, have we got them now.
“The other one, well, that was a problem. And very strange. Tissue was almost completely degraded by a fungal mycotoxic agent, but we had just enough. Can’t make any ID from the link we have with officialdom, for which help many thanks, but there’s something very weird indeed.”
“Like what?”
“Like there’s a ninety-nine point nine hundred ninety-seven percent chance this guy is a member of the Royal Family.”
“What?” Geraint spluttered. He couldn’t believe his ears. This was completely beyond belief.
“Yes, really. I know it sounds bizarre, but it all checks out. He has the 0A2 gene, which is a real marker, has been for generations, and the F52-A3-gamma linkages on chromosome 16 are a cert too. There’s other stuff, but it’s all in the specs. No doubt about it in my mind. He’s a Royal” The academic paused, wondering. “How did you get this? I know you’re titled and all, but I didn’t realize you had friends in such high places.”
“Well, you know how it is,” Geraint said modestly. trying to accommodate this new revelation. “Richard, I think we should have lunch somewhere disgustingly expensive fairly soon. My treat.”
Francesca was already at work on the console. She’d done some checking on the original Ripper stories, and she knew where the archive was. On the left-hand screen was the image of the Ripper’s face from 2054, scanned in from Mohinder’s vid record. Hacking through the photo archive in the optical storage systems, she used the matching program to lift out the Ripper, 1888 version. The image lit up on the right screen. A perfect match.
The template matching program was registering a probability as close to one hundred percent that no differences existed between the two. They all stared at the evidence flickering electronically before their eyes.
Prince Albert Victor Christian Edward Windsor, Duke of Clarence. By God.” Geraint could hardly speak. In the background came the sound of the doorbell ringing. No wonder my scanner couldn’t find a chip. It was a rakking clone!
OzNet had checked the core facts, then cleared the first bulletin for transmission at seven-thirty. By nine o’clock, they’d even found a witness to the dumping of Catherine Eddowes’ remains, and had people starling to dredge the river. Every media station in the country was going bananas for a piece of story.
The series of Ripper slayings we have documented were carried out by a clone of the original Ripper, the Duke of Clarence. Investigations by the Metropolitan Police are said to be focused on the theft of bone samples from his grave. and we anticipate a bulletin on that shortly. When we hear it, you’ll hear it, here on OzNet, the station that brings you all the big stories first.” The news blond couldn’t hide her delight in getting something meaty to read for a change.
“The evidence incriminating the British corporation of Transys Neuronet is now overwhelming. The body of a licensed Transys mage was found at the site of today’s fifth slaying.” Mohinder’s grainy cybereye recording showed the room with the elf, the samurai, and the Ripper, and then the backscreen cut to a profile of just the elf. “Pieren Featherbrook has been a registered employee of the Transys hermetic security division since March 2046. Identification of weapons carried by security personnel at the site of the slaying shows they were licensed to Transys Neuronet, and OzNet researchers have found still further links.”