Стефани Перри: Code Veronica

the poor, doomed dumbass … just in time to see him throwing something, something small and dark, the Sweeper leaping out from behind the corner, still screaming, the object landing at its feet… … and the building was shaking, the screens going white and then black, the deep thunder of explosives rumbling through the floor. Wesker was astounded. And then furious. That creature had been a miracle of science, a warrior created for battle who was this dick who'd just rambled in and blown it to shit? A dead dick, Wesker thought darkly, pushing the crate away and heading for the stairs. He took them two at a time, carefully bypassing a few still burning fires, aware that he was channeling all his frustrations and upsets toward the unknown soldier and not particularly caring. Alexia wasn't at Rockfort, which meant he had to get his ass to the Antarctic of all places, to the only other facility she might be at; why else would Alfred have gone there? And if Wesker didn't get to her before she woke up, he might have to go home empty handed … all of which added up to failure, and if there was one thing Wesker hated, it was losing. He marched through the crumbling leftovers of the training facility, reaching the hall he wanted, silencing his steps as he edged farther along. There was still smoke in the air when he reached the corner where the conflict had taken place, but little left of the Sweeper. Most of it was stuck to the walls and ceiling. There, ahead and to the left; he could smell the intruder, could smell sweat and anxiety emanating from the small working lab to which he'd retreated. This is going to hurt you more than it hurts me, he thought, his mood lifting somewhat at the thought of a little personal interaction. Not wanting to get blown up, Wesker didn't hesitate, didn't give the guy a chance to get paranoid. He strode into the room, saw the soon-to-be corpse standing with his back turned, and moved. Moved the way only he could move one second, he was walking through the door, the next, he was spinning the intruder around, lifting him by his throat… … and then looking into the startled face of Chris Redfield.

Oh, my.

Chris, who'd been on the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S., who'd been led under Wesker's command to the Spencer estate, where he'd proceeded to thoroughly screw up Wesker's plans. Chris Redfield had cost him money, had almost cost him his life but worst of all, he had been primarily responsible for the biggest failure in Wesker's career.

Wesker recovered himself quickly, a dark, wonderful joy spreading through his entire body. "Chris Redfield, as I live and breathe what brings you to Rockfort, if you don't mind me…"

Wesker trailed off, still gazing up into Redfield's increasingly red face as he uselessly pried at Wesker's fingers. The girl, of course! He hadn't even known that Chris had a sister, but the deranged letter that Alfred Ashford had so thoughtfully left behind explained everything… including his plans for the young Claire Redfield. "She's not here," Wesker said, grinning. With his free hand, he straightened his sunglasses. "You … you're dead," Chris gasped, and Wesker grinned wider, not bothering to respond to such a stupid statement.

"Don't change the subject, Chris. Don't you want to know where Claire is, hmmm? Did you know that her plane took a little unplanned detour to the Antarctic?"

Chris was slowly choking to death, but Wesker could see that the news of his sister was hitting him harder than his own imminent demise. Wonderful! "There are experiments being performed there,"

Wesker mock-whispered, as if telling him a secret.

"I plan on going myself, see if I can get an experiment or two of my own going … tell me, is your sister goodlooking? Do you think she might be interested in getting some action, because I've got a hard-on like you wouldn't believe…"

Chris flailed at Wesker, the helpless fury in his eyes absolutely gorgeous. He hit Wesker in the face, knocking his sunglasses to the ground … and Wesker laughed, blinking up at him slowly, letting him see. He still wasn't used to it himself, the gold-red cat's eyes occasionally surprising him when he looked in a mirror and they had exactly the effect he'd hoped for. "What … are you?" Chris rasped out. "I'm better, that's what," Wesker said. "New employers, you know. After the Spencer estate, I needed a little help getting back on my feet, which they were perfectly willing to provide. You think Claire will like it?" "Monster," Chris spat. I'll show you monster, you shit.

Wesker started to close his hand, slowly, watching Chris's eyes bulging, a vein on his forehead popping out… … and was stopped by the sound of laughter. Cool, female laughter, filling the room, surrounding them. "Don't you want to play with me?" a voice said, the same woman, low and sexy and dangerous, and then she began to laugh again, an unmerciful, beautiful sound that finally trailed away to nothing.

Alexia!

God, she was awake … and the kind of power it would take for her to look in on him here, to project herself so far… Wesker threw Chris to one side, barely hearing the plaster wall crack beneath his useless skull, his thoughts full of Alexia. He had to go to her immediately. He had to have her, and not just for the sample … though he'd take what he could get. "I'm coming," he said, scooping up his sunglasses and then moving, speeding through the broken facility to where his private plane waited. Chris Redfield was his past; Alexia Ashford meant his future. Chris crawled to his feet soon after Wesker left, aching in about a dozen places, his throat horribly sore. He didn't know what had happened, exactly, didn't know who the woman was or why Wesker had seemed so eager to get to her but he understood now who had attacked Rockfort, and suspected the reason. Albert Wesker should have died when the Spencer mansion had burned, but it seemed he'd sold his soul to someone new at the price of his life, someone obviously as nasty and amoral as Umbrella someone who was perfectly willing to kill for whatever it was they wanted, for something that Umbrella had. Chris didn't care. At the moment, all he cared about was Claire, and getting himself to this Antarctica facility. He knew that Umbrella had a legitimate base there … it had to be the same one, and if it wasn't, somebody there would know where the experiments were taking place. He had one grenade left. If he could find the underground airport, he'd have no trouble getting inside, and he could fly anything with wings. He'd radio on the way for a read on the Umbrella base, and if he couldn't find a weapon to get her out, he'd use his bare hands. All that mattered was Claire. And he was on his way.

They were mere hours away. Two men connected by history, one her enemy, the other … Alexia didn't know about the other, not yet, but knew that he meant to reclaim the girl she'd taken from the snow machine. Probably the boy, as well. None of them would be leaving, of course … but she was looking forward to the petty intrigues and overblown, self-important dramas that their humanity would bring to her home. She would enjoy the chance to observe their natural tendencies and instincts before forever altering their lives. She stood in the great hall considering things: possi-

ble futures, her next transformation, the structural and psychological changes her new synthesis would create in humans, how she should welcome her new guests… … and it occurred to her that her home, deep beneath the ice and snow, might be difficult for them to achieve. She immediately wished for the doors to be opened, for obstacles to be removed … and she heard and saw and felt the result in the same instant, existing in a hundred places at once as locks were broken and walls were taken down, as debris was pushed aside and apertures were widened. She was prepared. Things would move quickly now … and what happened in the next hours would, to a degree, define her choices for some time to come. It was all still so new, the templates of her new life written only in sand… Smiling at her own poetic notions, Alexia went to see about the first series of injections for the boy.