by Max Thorn
I convinced myself that the professor probably hadn’t broken any laws. Things had been different in the 1950s and his company had paid out compensation when his experiments had worked out badly. The whole thing must’ve been out in the open back then.
Even so, I had a vague anxiety. A feeling like I’d agreed to do a parachute jump for the first time, and now that I was up in the plane, I’d changed my mind.
The soporific effect of stress, food and wine sent me to sleep before Christmas came out of the bathroom. While I slept, the doubts returned.
SEVENTEEN
I awoke from a nightmare with a strangled cry, already sitting upright. Looking around anxiously, the room was unfamiliar in the faint dawn light.
Christmas said, “What’s wrong?”
Her voice seemed to come from my dream, startling me and causing me to yelp a second time.
She lifted herself on one elbow and asked earnestly, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I looked at her in the half-light and recognized her after a moment. “I’m sorry. It was a nightmare. I forgot where I was.”
She touched my arm. “You’re dripping wet.” She got up wearing a long tee-shirt, came round to my side of the bed, pulled the quilt back and said softly, “Come with me.”
She led me by the hand slowly to the bathroom. I could still feel a tremor from the nightmare adrenaline. It had seemed terrifyingly real.
At the washbasin she rinsed a washcloth under a running tap. “Lift up,” she said, guiding my arms upward. She took my damp tee-shirt off and wiped the cool cloth over my shoulders and back. “Tell me about your dream.”
“It was a nightmare. I was being chased by a monster. Tall, eight legs, no head but a wide mouth at the front. Shrieking and ferocious. Running after me fast and then stopping. Then running again. I wasn’t alone. I was with my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
“No. But in the dream I had a dog. A black German Shepherd. All black.”
She wiped the perspiration from my chest and stomach with the washcloth and rinsed it again.
“It was a strange feeling. We were so connected. It was like I’d known this dog forever. We were best friends in this terrible chase together. The creature was fast and relentless. It caught up with us on the moor. My dog confronted it.”
She wiped the washcloth down my legs.
“He was brave and loyal. He was protecting me. I’d run on a short distance and looked back. The creature snapped him up in its huge black mouth. My dog screamed. It was a long desperate cry, full of pain and fear. I wanted to go back. But I was scared. I couldn’t save my friend. And then I woke up. I’d let my friend down. I feel wretched, even though I know it was all in my mind. It’s like it really happened somewhere.”
She pulled my damp boxers down gently, saying “Lift up,” as she guided each leg out and carefully wiped my backside and groin. “It was just a bad dream. You’ve had a tough couple of days. It’s not surprising you had a nightmare. Your mind is trying to make sense of what’s happened.”
“Was I wrong to not go back for my dog?”
She dried me with a large white towel as she spoke. “Dogs are like our personal brave soldiers. You care for them and feed them, but for some dogs there comes a point where they lay down their life for you. Dogs seem to know that instinctively.” She put my clothes by the sink and took a second large towel from the rail, and then led me back to the bedroom.
“They’re fiercely loyal and will often defend their owners to the death. Your dog in your dream was doing his job.” She laid the dry bath towel on my side of the bed. “Lie down on your front and be still for a while.”
I laid face down on the towel.
Christmas sat lightly astride my lower back, massaging my shoulders and back. “Your tactical mistake was in not making the most of the opportunity he gave you. You should’ve run further. What’s the point in your dog dying for you if you then get killed straight after?” She squeezed the muscles in my shoulders and neck slowly, and firmly.
“Thank you. That’s nice.”
“And now you have to realize that it was just a bad dream. You’re safe. No dogs have been killed. There’s no monster. There are men with guns, knives and umm…nerve agent. But we’ll confront them on better terms. We’ve got the police looking out for us now.”
“I’m getting uncomfortable.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she started to get off.
“No, no it’s not that. I just need to…adjust myself.” I rolled sideways for a moment and then laid down on my front again. “I like it, very much.”
“I thought you might,” she said with a smile in her voice and the soft sound of her tee-shirt falling onto the bed. Christmas settled again on my lower back. After a few minutes she said, “Roll over now, but be nice. I haven’t been naked in front of a man for a while.”
I rolled over and she sat astride my hips.
She massaged my chest and arms for a while and then leaned close, her hair on my face and said quietly, “But if it’s me getting grabbed by some monster, you have to come back for me.”
“I won’t leave you in danger. We’ll face it together.”
She reached over to the bedside drawer, her breasts against my chest. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, close into my ear while tearing a foil packet. “This condom has been in that drawer for over two years. I’ve actually killed more men than I’ve slept with.”
“I’ve no idea whether that’s good or bad. Actually, it sounds mostly bad.”
“It’s neither. Relax.” She pushed my hand away gently. “Let me do it.” Then she stayed on top of me and slowly took me inside her. She breathed into my ear, “I want to hold you this way; tell me if it hurts,” as she gently held my neck at the shoulder between her teeth, the contact fizzing and entwined with the feel of her body.
I put my hand behind her head, her scent surrounding me, and pressed her to me saying, “Do what you like.”
She held me tightly while we made love, until she eventually shuddered with a contented sigh. We slept afterward for a little longer and then made love again, dozing until bright morning light came through the window blinds.
We got up and made breakfast together wearing just our shirts. Afterward, we showered. I shaved. Christmas stood behind me, her chin on my shoulder, looking in the bathroom mirror at the livid mark on my neck.
“Is it ownership?” I asked.
“It’s hard to explain. I wanted to taste you and hold you so that I know you’re there. So that we become one. I didn’t mean for it to be such an obvious mark. I hope you were telling the truth about there being no Mrs Fox, otherwise you’re going to be in trouble.”
“There’s no Mrs Fox, and the trouble I’m in isn’t the romantic kind.”
“So far,” she said.
EIGHTEEN
Christmas said, “Take this,” putting a pill in my mouth and giving me a glass of water.
I swallowed it first and then asked her what it was, realizing I’d done these actions in the wrong order.
“It relieves anxiety.”
“Is this part of your dad’s battlefield narcotics menu?”
“It’s on the dessert list. Reduces post-traumatic stress. It’ll stop you having nightmares.”
She insisted on driving me to Flaxbury. I didn’t object. My chest still hurt from the knife wound, so I didn’t mind avoiding the jostle from crowds across town. Less opportunity too, for a sly needle-jab from a little, dark-haired assassin.
Christmas armed herself with her nine-millimeter pistol.
The moment for changing my mind about the meeting flashed by and was gone.
Outside in the street she put her arm through mine unselfconsciously. We walked down from the sunlit street to the underground garage behind the residential block, to find her car. On the slope into the underground gloom I felt momentarily fearful. Then the medication took over. I looked at my attractive bodyguard and decided we’d probably be
alright.
As my eyes adjusted to the neon-lit garage space, I looked over the rows of parked cars, sparkling under the strip-lights like a gigantic car showroom. Warm oil and fuel mingled with the smell of tires and damp concrete. The underground chill on my face reminded me that there was potential danger here. But I saw no one hiding behind concrete pillars, heard no footsteps echoing off the smooth concrete floor and no closing doors or metallic clack of weapons, apart from the sound of Christmas drawing her pistol. She held the gun out of sight under her short coat. The garage remained quiet with just the outside reverberation of London traffic and passenger jets overhead, following us down from the surface.
Christmas’s scarlet Italian coupe sat on its own, vacant spaces on either side. I opened the doors wide. Using a flashlight from the glove compartment, I checked under the seats for anything that might be a block of explosive. I looked under the car body, behind the wheels, and then under the hood and around the engine compartment. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for, but Christmas assured me that everything I pointed at was supposed to be there. Eventually there was nothing to do but get in.
With long-practiced familiarity, she shook the gearshift from side to side to check that the transmission was in neutral, pushed the clutch in and paused, with her hand on the ignition key. “If anything’s going to happen, it’ll be now. Keep the doors open just in case.”
She turned the key. The engine fired, stuttered and then roared like a mechanical thoroughbred ready for a thousand-mile dash across the continent in pursuit of a silver trophy with handles like elephants’ ears. We sat for a minute while the engine settled into a contented, low growl. Closing the doors, we waited some more. Then Christmas engaged first gear and we moved off slowly, up the ramp to the street of red brick buildings under a bright blue sky.
At the top she paused. “Seems normal. Seatbelts on then.”
We set off down the quiet side roads and then out into London’s rush-hour traffic, eventually heading west. Christmas was quiet while she negotiated the traffic. I stayed alert for smoke or the smell of burning that might warn of an imminent explosion. Fear faded as we reached the expressway.
She read my mind saying, “Evidently car bombs are not the way they like to do things.”
Heading away from town, the traffic was light. Most people were heading in the opposite direction, into the metropolis.
As the suburban landscape of houses and gardens gave way to woodland and agriculture, I relaxed and my thoughts turned to the pioneering pharmaceutical business that her father had created.
“What did your dad do after you all returned to the flying saucer? Was he frustrated at not being able to work in the field?”
“Not at all. Dad sits up there like Darwin, subcontracting all the field work. He’s had a spider’s web of contacts sending him samples and letters and emails, all day, every day, for years. He’s ninety-two and still has two secretaries dealing with his work. If he’d been able to tell the world about what he’s discovered and created, he’d have three Nobel prizes by now. Although if they knew about absolutely everything that he’s done, he might also be in prison for crimes against humanity.”
“If you’re talking about the mutant monstrosities, I agree.”
“Things were different back then and if he’d known what was going to happen, he’d have acted differently. People aren’t born wise. Wisdom comes from making mistakes. Don’t forget he was younger than me when they started carving up human DNA.”
“Do you know Ariadne?”
“I’ve met her two or three times.”
“What’s she like?”
“I remember her being kind and affectionate. Not what I’d expected from the stories about her.”
“What stories?”
“Apparently she killed two men.”
“What?”
“One was an accident. The other was self-defense. Or so I’m told. Both covered up. The authorities didn’t get involved. I’ve no idea how that was managed. People who know about it, like my dad, get a little vague over the details.”
“Is this going to be dangerous?”
“The technicians will look after you. She’s nice, usually. Hasn’t killed anyone in decades. I wouldn’t be taking you there otherwise. My dad did tell me to protect you, remember?”
“Do you always do what your dad says?”
“If it suits us both,” she said with a smile.
In a little under three hours we arrived at the exit for the main road to Flaxbury. The smell of damp earth and cattle dung seeped into the car as we drove briskly down the rural road.
Twenty minutes later we drove around the blue head of the beetle-shaped HomEvo estate and arrived at the barrier to the research park.
The same guards that I’d met two weeks earlier, hurried toward the car.
The older guard glanced at his watch and squatted next to Christmas’s door. “Good morning, Miss Pendle. It’s been a long while since we’ve seen you.”
“How’re things?”
“Always something new in Flaxbury, Miss. Would you pop the trunk please?”
The younger one approached me, referring to his tablet device and said, “Can you show me some identification?”
I handed him my driving license.
He read out, “Mister Xavier Fox.” His face lit up with recognition, saying to his colleague, “Hey, it’s the spider guy.”
The other guard closed the trunk and came around to my side of the car. “So you decided against the PhD then, sir?” Glancing at the younger guard he said, “We didn’t think of suggesting the founder’s daughter as a ticket inside, did we?”
Christmas glared at him.
“Beg your pardon Miss Pendle,” he said through the open window, “We met Mister Fox two weeks ago and told him he’d need a PhD and ground-breaking research to get in here Miss.”
“Same rules as always,’ she said firmly, “Do your jobs, be respectful to guests and no gossiping.”
“Of course, Miss. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“We have important business inside. Is everything in order?”
“Yes, please go ahead.”
The younger guard waved as we passed the rising barrier saying, “Have a great meeting, Mister Fox,” with sarcasm so faint, I wondered whether the AI receptionists would’ve recognized it.
Christmas drove slowly along the estate’s main street, past a supermarket, coffee shops, restaurants and tennis courts. She pointed out the theatre, a large glass and wood-clad structure. “It’s a self-contained world here. Just enough distractions to make people happy, while keeping them close to their work.” We parked in a small parking lot, beside a four-story building.
“Ariadne has most of the top floor,” she pointed a finger upward as we got out of the car. “Don’t fall out.”
Inside the large entrance hall, three men in white laboratory coats waited for us.
Christmas embraced the man at the front, a dark-haired anxious-looking type, my height and build. “Darren, thank you for organizing this,” she said warmly.
He blushed a little, pushing his black-framed glasses back into place. “We’ll need Xavier to comply with our rules though.”
“Of course. Zav, this is Darren. He leads Ariadne’s close-monitoring team.”
We shook hands.
“I’m going to say hello to some old friends while you have your meeting. Have fun and play nicely,” she said breezily as she headed back to her car.
The three technicians stood silently watching her until she turned out of sight.
Darren said, “This way.”
I followed them to the elevators. I guessed that somewhere nearby a camera had registered my face and was updating HomEvo records at that moment with the details of my second visit.
We got out at the top floor.
Darren nodded toward a large residential-type front door as we walked past, “That’s Ariadne’s apartment.”
“Why aren�
�t we calling there?”
“We’ve got several things to discuss first and a little insurance to arrange in case the worst happens.”
“The worst being?”
“For you, death. For us? Well, we have bigger concerns.”
NINETEEN
We stopped at a heavy door with a narrow, vertical window of reinforced glass. Darren stood in front of the display panel beside the door. The screen flickered, showed an image of his face and the door unlocked with a deep clunk. The four of us stepped into a darkened room. As we entered, a ceiling light softly illuminated the room, enough for us to see the furniture but too dark for reading a book. The space inside was the size of a small bedroom and mostly filled by a plain wooden table with six straight-backed chairs.
On the wall opposite the door, a large picture window showed a view into a bright domestic living room with sofas, tables, and on its far side, room-height exterior windows with curtains drawn back, framing the rolling countryside beyond. Beside the internal picture window, another heavy door with a vertical glass slit gave access to the living room. A small panel beside the door showed the word Locked in soft red lighting.
Darren held his computer in front of his face, the gentle green screen-glow giving him an otherworldly pallor in the gloom. He flicked a finger over the screen. “Pay careful attention,” he said sternly glancing at the screen. “You must comply with these instructions for your own safety, for Ariadne’s safety and,” he waved his hand toward his lab-coated assistants, “for our safety. She is dangerous. Don’t forget that. She’s killed two men.”
“Wasn’t it a long time ago? I heard she was good company nowadays.”
“It was about fifty years ago. Everyone has been scrupulously careful with her ever since and thanks to that level of caution, we’ve had no major incidents. That doesn’t alter the fact that she remains a real danger while at the same time being one of our most valuable assets. Also, we have a major testing and sampling event in three days’ time. We don’t want her getting angry and uncooperative.”