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influenza models. Virus B: piggybacked onto A as the all-purpose transporting
agent, it was designed to trigger upon encountering telomeres of reduced
lengths in the host's cells. It didn't have to be powerful to kill hosts of
advanced age. Younger victims either would not trigger the secondary agent or
would be healthy and strong enough to throw it off with little difficulty.
That was the initial design./
But Báthory tampered with the design?
/Yes. The blueprints I saw last night show a tertiary virus, piggybacked
behind B. Virus C is actually wired directly to A and uses the mild, flulike
symptoms to mask its own purposes./
Which are? The connection suddenly flared in my mind. Oh dear God! The unborn!
It's designed to sterilize the host!
The ghost of Chalice Delacroix inclined her head.
/As one generation passeth away . . ./
So passeth the end of the world. And no one will notice until it's too late. I
stared into her translucent eyes. Are you sure?
/I would need a month or more of research and testing to be sure. But she
certainly believes it.
And the documentation lays it out in no uncertain terms. The only thing that
doesn't make sense is why would a vampire want to bring about the end of the
world? Or, at the least, eliminate her food supply?/
That's easy.
/It is . . . ?/
Yeah. The short answer is, she isn't.
/She isn't . . . ?/
A vampire. I think she's something else. Not only some thing, but also some
Skippy yanked me away from the mirror. "Come on, man. Time to join the
family."
I got in two backward glances as they walked me out the door. The mirror was
as empty as the eyes of the corpse sprawled across the desk.
"Gentlemen," I said as we trundled down the hall to the door marked Gen/GEN,
"the countess may be the Big Boo around here and I know that if she says
'bat,' everybody flaps . . ."
Skippy grinned but Kurt was listening very carefully.
" . . . but if anyone other than myself so much as touches that poor girl back
there, I will dedicate the rest of my unlife however short and difficult to
fucking them up beyond all recognition." I hadn't raised my voice but Skippy
stopped grinning. "Do I make myself clear?"
Kurt nodded. "Crystal."
* * *
Gen/GEN looked different packed with people. There were about a dozen
vampires, another dozen human soldier-types, and yet another dozen or so
humanoids that were neither alive nor undead but as different from one another
as the inhabitants of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. Shakespeare said that there
were more things in heaven and earth than we could dream of perhaps he was
referring to the denizens of that twilight realm in-between. Báthory, it
appeared, had drawn most of her recruits, allies, and servitors from an
otherworldly zip code.
The military attendees dressed uniformly (if you'll pardon the implied pun) in
gray shirts with black ties and pants. Again, no insignia but that
unmistakable carriage and attitude that set them apart and suggested martial
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discipline and training. The BioWeb vampires were dressed semiformally. No
ties or joint color coordination but they dressed so as not to raise eyebrows
as they passed among humans on the outside. The rest were a sartorial mixed
bag: they dressed more like extras from
The Rocky Horror
Picture Show than envoys and ambassadors from unworldly realms. Perhaps this
was the contingent from the Peewee Herman Dimension.
Since no one was wearing paper hats and booties I figured the need for "clean
room" standards was at an end. That or perhaps paper-wear just wasn't festive
enough for the fête that was about to commence.
I stood off to the side, flanked by my escorts who were doing their best to
look more like an honor guard and less like my handlers.
I tried taking my mind off my broken promise to Robert Delacroix by
contemplating the logistics of tonight's departure. If we were supposed to
fly, I wondered whether the juxtaposition of a plane's wings and fuselage
presented any impediment to vampires with hypersensitivity to a cruciform
design.
Obviously the drugs still retained some finger-holds on my cortical folds.
Meanwhile, Liz was working the room.
There was the usual blather about being united in an important cause and how
great things would come to pass due to the efforts of those gathered here
tonight. I wasn't following too closely as I was trying to fight my way
through the residual buzzing in my head and reach out to Deirdre.
Either the lines were down or she wasn't answering.
Now Báthory was putting an interesting spin on the events of this morning.
About how her research had uncovered some unique properties in the family
bloodline proving, by the way, her incipient superiority over lesser vampires
and humans and, thus, her divine right to rule as she saw fit.
Yadda, yadda, yadda . . .
Then there was the matter of The Dragonspawn how he had been sired by Dracula,
achieved the powers of a Doman and more, had slain a dozen vampires, himself,
including Drac and the ancient sorcerer Kadeth Bey it took me another moment
to realize that she was talking about me. The big buildup was designed to lend
significance to our pending alliance by magnifying my own importance.
Blah, blah, blah.
Finally, she announced that a little demonstration was in order.
Theresa was brought forward (sorry Toots, you can run but you can't hide) and
she looked terrible.
Not as bad as she would if Krakovski hadn't been scalpel-tated this morning,
but bad nonetheless.
What are you doing?
I asked, shooting the thought straight at Erzsébet's forehead.
It furrowed as if in pain. she
shot back.
If she intended to mindsmack me, the last vestiges of the tranquilizer must
have still cushioned my brain from the brunt. That or the ingestion of
Chalice's amped hemoglobin was reinforcing my own shields and defenses.
Hey, I'm still a couple of pints low from this morning, I reminded her.
That was a snack, not a meal.
The idea of referring to Chalice Delacroix as a snack was repugnant but I made
the emotion work for me. I sent that ambiguity back at her in the guise of
uncertainty, along with:
Not to mention the residual dope in my system, thanks to your toy soldiers.
Might throw off your demo in ways you haven't considered.
She scowled and glanced over at a video camera on a tripod and wired to one of
the lab computers.
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Yeah, you're in good hands with All-Stake.
Looking at her face I was forcibly reminded why I
never went out on a second date with a woman who didn't have a sense of humor.
"Join me, Mr. Cséjthe," she commanded aloud. She backed it up with a mental [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]

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