“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 do 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.”