Jonathan Bond - The Terminus experiment

Marco felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. “What do you mean?” His voice was low and dangerous.

Pakow shook his head. “It’s just that this is no ordinary procedure. This is something we have never done before. I’m sorry to say that it won’t be pleasant, especially in the first stages. I think that was why Doctor Wake wanted to get you in as soon as possible.”

Marco frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Pakow shrugged. “Your condition is not good. We may have to resort to extreme measures to bring it back under control, before we can even begin to attempt any reversal. Those extreme measures will very likely be painful, requiring a well, staggering amount of sedation.”

Marco chewed on his lip. “So what you’re saying is that I’ll be out of it for a few days.”

Pakow nodded, and resumed pushing Marco’s chair. “If things progress well, you should be past the worst by the time your nephew is ready to be released.”

Marco shook his head. “I don’t care. I want the telecom, and I want it today. With a secure outside line.”

They had reached the bed, and Pakow let the wheelchair roll to a stop. “Of course. As said, I’ll see to it personally.”

Marco looked at the bed, then up at Pakow, who was once again expressionless.

“I won’t presume to insult you by offering to help, Mister D’imato, If you would kindly getup onto the bed, I’ll get you a dressing gown, and we can get the procedure underway.”

Marco smiled, and for the first time since the man had defied him when he’d delivered Warren to the loading dock, he thought he might just spare him after all.

Willing his body to break down, he let his form shift, and turn. Not quite mist, he settled lightly onto the bed, then solidified. He stripped out of his suit jacket and shirt, the sable skin of his chest and belly eating the light.

Pakow turned away as Marco finished stripping and walked toward one wall near the row of monitors, He pressed an off-colored tile, and a small closet opened. Marco watched as the man drew a dressing gown from the rack and brought it over to him.

By then Marco was completely naked. Pakow set the gown next to him, and then returned to the closet. He closed it with a gentle push, then moved down about two meters to another discolored tile. Marco made sure to memorize where each odd-colored tile was located.

When Pakow pushed on the tile, a waist-high section of the wall moved out, and Pakow pulled it clear, leaving a small cubbyhole. In it was a portable sink, complete with integral hot and cold. Two smaller nozzles at the sides were labeled betadine disinfection soap and hand lotion.

Pakow rolled the cart to Marco. who took the opportunity to rid himself of the irritating makeup on his hands and face.

As he was washing, Pakow said, “Just below the hot water faucet, you’ll find a small green button. It opens a tray on the side where you’ll find towels to dry off.”

With that, Pakow turned to the bank of monitors and began powering up the system.

Marco finished rubbing lotion onto his skin, which still burned slightly from the alcohol. He looked over at Pakow, who was just finishing up. After returning the cart to its proper place in the wall, Pakow said, Are you ready to begin?”

Marco grunted. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then if you’ll just lie back, I’ll start the first of the painkillers.”

Marco raised a hand, but before he could speak, Pakow nodded. “Don’t worry, Mister D’imato. As soon as the process is underway, I’ll get you your telecom.”

Marco smiled, and used his hands to swing his legs up onto the bed. He lay back, looking up into the clear plastic tent that Pakow held over him.

Pakow let it down gently, then returned to the monitors. Within seconds. Marco could detect a gentle hissing sound.

For just a moment, he almost ripped the tent oft his face. Something felt wrong. This whole thing had suddenly begun to take on the proportions of a nightmare.

The moment passed just as quickly as it had come, and Marco felt the pain in his spine ease. He began to drift, the world growing fuzzy and comfortable around him.

Thirty minutes later, Pakow left the room and locked the door behind him. He turned to the small panel next to the door

and pulled it open. Flipping switches in sequence, he started the room’s air evacuation.

As soon as all the lights had turned red, Pakow took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The shakes hit his knees first, and be thought they might buckle under him.

The monster was safely out of the way. Without any air in the room, the vampire would go into stasis. Considering that he’d fed just before going in, Pakow calculated that D’imato would finally expire in a little over a month, unless Doctor Wake found a reason to revive him.

Wiping at the sweat on his forehead, which mercifully hadn’t appeared while he was with D’imato, Pakow walked quickly on his still shaking legs back to the monitoring station down the hall. He half expected the display to show the room empty, but when he touched the screen, he was relieved to see the motionless form of Marco D’imato still lying on the bed.

He reached over and opened the line to Doctor Wake.

“Wake here,” came the immediate response. “I trust everything went according to plan?”

Pakow laughed, a wry, almost angry sound. “Yes, but you night have told me he wanted a telecom in the room. I thought he was going to renege on the whole deal.”

The sound of a drawn-out sigh filled the hallway, and when Wake answered, Pakow could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I apologize, Doctor Pakow. It slipped my mind. What happened?”

Pakow shook his head, though part of him realized that Wake couldn’t see him do it. “Nothing. I managed to convince him that it was an oversight, and that as soon as the procedure was started, I would make sure he got what he wanted.”

“Excellent. You are to be commended for quick thinking, though I have always known you had a devious streak.”

Something in Wake’s tone bothered Pakow. The man surely suspected what Pakow had been doing, that he’d been the one who had contacted de Vries. Or did he?

Pakow sighed heavily. One thing was certain; he wasn’t going to risk crossing Wake again. I’m sorry. de Vries. From here on. you’re on your own.

In his study. Wake leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He tried to roll his shoulders to alleviate some of the tension that had built up in his muscles, but it was no use.

Things are getting too complicated here, and the work is suffering for it. That can’t be allowed.

He straightened and turned to the telecom on his desk. Tapping in a sixteen-digit code he hadn’t used in over two years, he waited patiently for the connection. As he did, he calculated what time it would be in London. Just a bit after four in the afternoon.

The man who came on line was balding and pale, with a huge mole on his forehead. Wake reflected for a moment that he didn’t even know the man’s name. When they’d first met, names were a dangerous thing. Later, they seemed unimportant.