The young man seethed and his face reddened. Maybe, I’ve hit too close to home, Nix thought as he quickly became aware of the gun again. I hope to God the Oldmans don’t waste the opportunity I’m giving them and produce someone like this young man, Nix thought.
As it turned out, the Oldmans never would produce a child like the young man. The young man’s gun barked twice and Nix felt a searing pain in his chest. Even as his body lost feeling and slumped to the floor, he wondered who would carry on his work, if indeed, anyone really wanted to.
Dr. Mayhew smiled broadly as she welcomed Andrew Bregan into her office. She knew she needed to make the best impression possible if she was to convince the noted philanthropist to fund her advanced cancer research center. She’d made great strides in the decade since she’d taken Eugene Nix’s place as senior doctor at the hospital.
“Good morning, Mr. Bregan,” she greeted, motioning for him to sit down.
She offered him something to drink, but he declined and she took her seat behind her large oaken desk. For a few seconds, she studied the man before her and noted the deep lines of age around his eyes. They were far more prevalent than hers, but he obviously had not undergone plastic surgery like she had.
“Well, sir, have you had a chance to go over my proposal for the cancer center?” she said.
“Yes, yes, Doctor,” Bregan replied, his voice evenly measured and sounding as if he’d practiced hard to remove any vestige of an accent. “It’s quite marvelous, at least on paper.”
Mayhew cocked her head slightly at the remark. At least, she told herself, he’d said the word “marvelous.” That had to be a positive sign, she thought.
“Don’t take that the wrong way, Dr. Mayhew,” Bregan explained further. “It’s just that you’ve come up with some marvelous things that will, undoubtedly help fight cancer, but I can’t help thinking that there must be a better way.”
“I assure you, sir, that the new cancer facility will come up with the most advanced treatments,” Emmalene promised, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
“Oh, I’m sure it will, Doctor,” Bregan retorted. “I’m sure it will. It’s just that, cancer seems so much more prevalent these days. The outlook on life is rather baleful. Maybe it’s the Greenhouse Effect or the accumulation of pollutants in the air or maybe we’re all just getting too fat and unhealthy and we want science to cure us when we should be taking better care of ourselves. Pardon me, Doctor, if I seem to be prattling.”
No, no, sir, you go right on, Emmalene wanted to say. She smiled and nodded, understandingly, but knew she could do nothing else. She needed his money, and for more reasons than just research. Medicine today was so thoroughly and completely dependent on sponsors and big corporations; she wondered how it was possible to reconcile the Hippocratic Oath with the business side of healthcare. She’d often wondered whether she was really a doctor anymore or just a whore prostituting herself for grant money. Whatever the case, she knew she would go along with just about anything Bregan said or did as long as it included a big check.
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Bregan continued. “I am not losing my mind. It’s just that, on the way here, I started thinking about Doctor Nix.”
Emmalene hoped Bregan didn’t see the color drain out of her face at the mention of Eugene. His death had been tragic and she’d had to answer many questions about it to the media, the police and to the hospital board. After all that, she’d heard nothing of his name for more than seven years.
“I’m sure you’re well aware of just how controversial Dr. Nix’s work was, sir,” she finally blurted, trying to recover her professionalism. “As a doctor, I have to deal with facts, the here and now.”
“Oh, yes, I quite understand,” Bregan replied, somewhat smugly. “That’s why I’m paying for your institute in full. I want to see more facts discovered. But, I want to be sure that it is all secure, even if my brother would have conniptions.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Emmalene said, cocking her eyebrow again, not sure what he’d meant by “secure” and missing the fact that he’d just promised to fund her institute.
“It’s such a shame about the state of America today, isn’t it?” Bregan explained. “You can’t go anywhere without feeling unsafe. You could be mugged walking to your car, molested by some trusted teacher or clergyman or shot by an assailant who somehow slips past a phalanx of expert hospital guards, perhaps with some inside help.”
Emmalene felt a knot in her chest and seemed unable to get enough air.
“It’s also a shame that America has lost its technological edge,” Bregan continued. “Instead of reaching out for new ideas, we fight amongst ourselves for the scraps of what hasn’t been snapped up by greedy rich people or shipped off to other countries. That’s why I’ve given full funding for your cancer center, doctor, so that we can, once again, be at the forefront.”
Emmalene’s throat was dry; she couldn’t speak.
“I really don’t know what happened to let that young man get into Nix’s lab,” Bregan said, “but I don’t much care now. Unless it were to somehow happen again. There are those who would push their beliefs on others at the point of a gun or through a bullheaded law. Others would let greed get the better of their conscience and then find themselves so dependent on that largesse as to completely compromise their morals. Now, I’m not endorsing Nix’s ideas and I really don’t know if they truly would have worked or not, but I would like to believe Nix was killed because of misplaced idealism. I would hate to think that Eugene Nix really died just so someone could keep the money flowing.”
Bregan stopped long enough to wipe the corner of his mouth with a kerchief that he quickly placed back in the pocket of his coat.
“That’s where I can do the most good, Doctor Mayhew,” he said. “I can see to it that my money does good things and does not corrupt. In turn, I can also see to it that good ideas are not tossed aside because it makes the establishment uncomfortable and breaks the status quo. Science must be allowed to continue, Doctor. You can kill the man, but you can’t kill the idea. I’m sure you’ll agree. In time.”
Bregan stood up, but Emmalene found it difficult to get her legs under her. It was like Bregan had seen right through her with X-ray vision. He politely told her not to get up, that he would see himself out and she slumped back into her chair, her strength suddenly gone. For someone who had just gotten a lifelong dream fulfilled, she looked very much defeated.
Outside of the office, Andrew Bregan smiled broadly, like the cat that had eaten the canary. He felt one hundred percent better, but he had no real reason to worry in the first place. Doctor Mayhew was no different than most other doctors-cum-administrators. Her Hippocratic Oath included a dollar sign instead of a caduceus.
Bregan knew his brother would surely not approve. Then again, his brother had not been feeling himself lately. Actually, Leonard Oldman was his half-brother, but Andrew had always treated him like full kin, nonetheless.
Bregan glanced at his watch and sighed heavily. He had just enough time to make the wake for Marguerita. Poor woman, he thought heavily. She’d seemed to wither on the vine when her only son succumbed to his cystic fibrosis three years earlier. He’d lived far longer than the doctors said he should have, thanks to Marguerita.
All the work had taken the life out of her, literally. Finally, after much despair, she’d given up the ghost and passed away in her sleep. She’d never completely gotten over the loss of her son and the cruel way in which her hopes of his having a normal life had been dashed by an anonymous young man.
“Never again,” he said to himself as he strolled down the hallway. “Not if I can help it.”
Your Most Urgent Attention Requested
I had to say that I was greatly surprised by the accommodations upon my arrival in Accra. I had imagined the capital city of Ghana to be much older. Yet, everywhere, there were signs of modernity. The streets held with a mixture of the old and new – cars, mopeds, people. It made
me wonder if that requirement for the yellow fever vaccination was still valid.
As I sat on the couch in the house of my host, I glanced around at the modern décor. This was certainly a house befitting a vice president of one of the country's largest banks. Across from me, an incredibly beautiful woman smiled at me. I thought at first that she was the host's wife, but I knew now that she was not. Perhaps, I surmised, she was meant to keep me company until the arrival of my host.
In my mind, I went over all that had happened to me in the past three months. I certainly had not expected to be contacted by Joseph P. Mbodj, Vice-President of Ghana National Bank by e-mail, but, his subject line – "You're most urgent attention requested" – had let me know he was serious.
As vice president in charge of auditing, he had stumbled upon fifteen million dollars left by a man who had died recently in a plane crash. The money was very close to being forfeited to the Ghanaian government by default and he needed my help to move it into a much safer American account. My return would be forty percent of the money and there were a lot of things I could do with that much money.
Naturally, it was not so simple a case. First, I had to open an account with Mbodj's bank, which he gladly helped me do. Then, I had to pay some upfront fees for various administrative details, the kind of things that all banks put in small print at the bottom of one's monthly statements. Finally, I did have to pay some taxes on the money, but what was $20,000 in return for six million?
Mbodj had graciously offered to do all the work, but I had finally talked him into letting me help. After all, I had a strong work ethic and didn't want to feel like I had taken and not given. To that end, he had suddenly suggested I come to Ghana to meet him personally for the final transfer of the money.
I took to the idea so much that I went straight from the airport to Mbodj's house. In hindsight, I guessed I should have checked in with the American embassy, but there would be time for that later. I had mentioned that to the woman across from me. She had called Mbodj and had learned that all was in order at the bank. I would be able to stroll into the American embassy a very rich man.
I heard the knob of the door behind me turn and in walked a tall, dark-skinned man clad in a tailored three-piece suit. He held a briefcase in one hand. I stood up and turned to greet him, enthusiastically. That is, until I saw the two much larger, meaner looking men who walked in behind him. They were whispering something in what I guessed to be Akan, the dominant tribal language in the country.
"Mr. Joseph Mbodj, I presume," I said, somewhat nervously. "We spoke on the phone and chatted on the Internet. My name is–"
"Yes, yes, we know who you are," Mbodj replied, rather rudely. "Without your help, we could never have gotten this far. But, I'm sorry, our association, such as it was, must come to an end."
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," I retorted. "I understand if there is some police trouble. Just let me know if my money is secure in the account and I will take my leave. We need never see each other again."
"You are right, sir," Mbodj replied. "We will not see each other again."
With that, both of the strong men, who each had one arm hidden behind his back, revealed machetes. I involuntarily took a step back. I looked at the woman and saw that she was smiling again, but not in a good way. Obviously, I was not the first person to fall into this trap. Sounding desperate, I told them they could never get away with their crime, that my government would see that they paid dearly.
"You forget, sir, that you are in my country now," Mbodj replied, with an evil grin. "Your embassy does not even know that you are here."
Well, that would serve me right for skipping that all-important step when I landed in Accra. The two men with the machetes stepped closer, brandishing their weapons menacingly and trying to goad me into leaving out the back door with them. No doubt Mbodj did not want my blood spoiling the nice décor of his house. I knew that if I left the house, I would be done for, so I decided to end the charade then and there.
When I first pulled this stunt, the looks on the faces of the people had been priceless. Now, however, it was all too common. Then again, seeing a man's skin split and fall away like a discarded bathrobe was not a common thing.
It felt good to shed the skin. Wearing that shell twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week tended to make me claustrophobic. Not to mention that contorting my enormous form into a body that was less than a third my size – though considered tall by human standards – wasn't all that comfortable either.
I extended my jaws and took the first man's head off. His corpse stood on its feet for at least a minute before toppling over. My next bite garnered the heart and lungs of the second man. Lifting my talons, I fired bristles into the necks of Mbodj and the woman before she could let out an ear-piercing shriek. I didn't need any unwanted company.
I could have gloated over the paralyzed body of Mbodj. I could have let him know that I had been fully aware of his Internet scam from the start. I could have let him know that once I ate his brain and absorbed his thoughts that I would be able to get most of my money back, if not all of it. I could have, but I didn't. Mother had taught me never to play with my food, so I just devoured him alive.
In hindsight, it was easy to see Mbodj’s point of view. Though Ghana’s economy was beginning to rise, life for its citizens was still tough. In America, a man could expect to live up to seventy-seven and a woman up to eighty. In Ghana still, life expectancy for men and women was fifty-five and fifty-nine respectively, not even retirement age in a western country. If there was going to be a good lifestyle in this country, it would not come through ordinary means. Unfortunately, for Mbodj, the means had been criminal and murderous.
I did feel some regret about the woman, but only a little. I always seemed to have a soft spot for beautiful woman, but that smile of hers a moment ago had let me know she wasn't as innocent as she seemed. Alas, I couldn't have any witnesses, so I dispatched her as quickly as possible, risking indigestion.
It took me an hour to finish off the two thugs and lick up as much blood as possible. Unfortunately, the blood that had soaked into the furniture and walls would not be too palatable on my stomach. Mother would not be proud of the mess, but then again, Mother was a long way from here – about 350 million light years, to be exact.
Being a carnivorous extraterrestrial was difficult on this planet. While not as bad as portrayed on many of the so-called "science fiction" films, one such as myself could easily run afoul of some secret government agency. That could mean a fate worse than death and I did harbor hopes of using this mission to secure a post closer to home.
I was just supposed to observe the humans in their natural state, but the Council had realized my dietary needs and had authorized me to subsist on those humans considered unfit to remain freely among the race by Earth’s societal standards. Sadly, there seemed to be more and more of those types of people every day.
My metabolism allows each meal to last me a long time, sort of like how a small pig can sustain an anaconda for many weeks. I had to be selective in my food sources as it would not be good to be associated with evidence of a ghastly meal more befitting a cheap horror novel than civilized society. Even though I could subconsciously will myself not to leave fingerprints or recognizable DNA, I could still be identified visually if I wasn’t careful, meaning I really couldn’t play in my own backyard, so to speak.
Thus, the Internet proved ideal. There were plenty of guys like Mbodj on it. In fact, I had dozens of men and women I could contact for future meals and I wouldn't even need to leave the Dark Continent. Best of all, I would be doing the human race a big favor, justifying the sustenance I was taking from them.
It took me less than five minutes to slip back into my human suit. I then went into a small room down the hall and logged onto the Internet via the laptop computer Mbodj had set up on his nightstand. Sure enough, I had another message and it looked promising. It said "Your most urgent attention needed" and it was close by
, too, in Kumasi in the Ashanti Region. Hmm, another rich man died in a plane crash, leaving seven million in limbo. It seemed flying on a plane in Africa was detrimental to the health of rich white people.
I checked my watch and frowned. Speaking of flying, my own return flight to Italy was due to take off in eight hours. I really had nothing to worry about. As I moved the e-mail into a nearly full folder marked "Diet," I knew I need never starve. Not as long as Man continued to be “human.”
Society’s Children
The takeover was subtle, at first. The long trip to Alpha Centauri had lulled the guards into a false state of ennui. In fact, they were playing poker in a spare room when the five convicts entered, seized them and promptly garroted them with spare communication wire. That left the convicts with access to the release keys as well as pass cards to gain access to other parts of the ship.
What saved the rest of the crew was that the passes were not all-access in that they had been programmed based on the principle of least privilege. They only allowed entry into parts of the vessel that their assignees were given access to. Thus, the convicts hadn’t known the guards they’d killed were limited to one area of the ship. When they’d tried to move out of the holding area and were not properly recognized, they’d set off numerous alarms.
From the time of the first alarm to the first full assessment of the crisis from Officer-of-the-Deck Norterm to Commander Ilena Davila, it had barely been five minutes. That was enough time for the security system to seal the convicts in the holding area. Heavily-armed guards controlled all access ports out of it. Unfortunately, Davila knew that even these fastidious measures wouldn’t stop the convicts for long.
Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II Page 4