Chapter #25Nine Lives by: imaj   You gape at the professor, futilely trying to work your mouth.
Professor Hyde white crouches down, just out of reach even if you were able to move. “Yes, I know. It really isn’t very difficult, you see. If you’ll indulge me.”
He stares at you, not expecting an answer. You can hear the sound of people moving about behind you.
“I shall assume that you will,” states the professor, smiling wryly. He stands up again and moves to beside the window. “You see, I am called up to adminstate a number of projects, one of which happens to be a nest of quite duplicitous shapeshifters. Not perhaps as skilled as yourself, I will admit, but they make up for that with a certain murderous creativity. So what do you think is my most useful tool in this?”
You lie on the floor, unmoving.
“Being able to spot any impostures of course,” he answers his own question. “One of the research leads at Vulcan has developed a scanner that records an individual's deeper personal characteristics. Of course, I don’t want anyone else to have the scanner, otherwise Diana would become quite useless, but I digress.” He points behind you, to the door you came in by. “When the scanner compared you to Mr Dey’s known recording the imposture was obvious.”
You wonder for a second if he means anima, since your copy of Dey’s imago is flawless.
“Though I must say that approaching poor Julian in the form of Jabari Nzinghe’s absconded mistress was a poor choice on your part. He might have difficulty thinking clearly when it comes to attractive young women. The two trainees with him on the hazing rite they persist with over there did not.”
If you could scowl, you would. A foolish mistake on your part, especially since you thought the tattooed men were going to replace Sylvie Keita in the aftermath of the coup in Cabinda.
The professor sighs. “I fear I’ve soliloquised rather enough. Take him to Doctor Lillis at Vulcan. Have the good doctor take him apart and see what makes him tick.”
You’ve heard enough - the mistakes you made, how Hyde White saw through your disguise and what you assume to be the identity of the creator of Hyde White’s scanner. It’s time to turn the tables on the professor and get what you came here for. Everything goes dark as you turn in on yourself, meditating on your imago collection. The dim star that represents Julian Dey’s drugged form drifts away from you when you let it go. You grab onto something more vital. When you open your eyes again, you are cloaked in the flesh of Frank Durras.
Malacandra comes when you call it. It is at a fraction of the power the genuine Frank can call upon, but more than enough for your needs now. Your hand shoots out and grabs at Hyde-White’s secretary, wrapping round her ankle. The sigil fizzles in your palm as it makes contact with the tattooed man’s magical disguise. The feedback stuns them.
Professor Hyde-White moves in slow motion, surprise rippling across his face. He takes a handful of steps back before finding his voice. “Stop him!”
You’re already on your feet and spinning round. Two heavyset goons have dropped into a ready position. The first one comes at you, swinging wildly. Between Frank’s reflexes and Malacandra, you step aside easily. Using the knockout sigil, you shove your palm into his face as he passes.
The second goon is more circumspect, but that doesn’t save him either. You launch a punch which he bats aside easily with one arm. Then he grabs your wrist, to try and throw you. He never gets the chance as you instantly manifest the knockout sigil on the exposed skin.
You hear a crackling bang from behind you. Pain blossoms in your chest. Blood stains your shirt. In agony, you turn back round to see Hyde-White place a pistol on his desk fastidiously. “I suppose I shall just have to settle for you dead,” he sighs.
And you switch imago again, this time to the copy of Rick you used a few months ago in Cabinda. Without missing a beat, you dive at the desk for Hyde-White’s gun.
He doesn’t try to grab the gun. Professor Hyde White just gives you a sad look that somehow conveys the unfairness of it all. He simply raises his hand to his throat and makes a slicing motion. Violet sparks cascade up and down the professor, burning him alive. His charred body slumps onto the desk.
You pick up the gun and check it, shoving it in your jacket pocket before walking out the door.
*****
Three days later.
“Name,” you ask with a friendly smile.
“Miriam”, replies the one time secretary of Professor Jamieson Hyde White. Her eyes rove up and down, taking in the handsome body you’ve adopted. She gives you a shy smile and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. You appreciate the attention to detail made by the tattooed man using Miriam’s guise, one craftsman to another.
“It’ll be a few minutes,” you tell her, widening your smile. She glances downwards shyly.
Turning round, you pick up four single use cardboard cups and a marker pen. You write Miriam’s name on each. On the fourth you draw a squigle like design on the base, a trick you retrieved from the ugly memories of Florence Shabbleman. Shadowy feathers snap together like a film of glass shattering being played in reverse. An umbral corvid opens a pair of beady eyes and regards you intelligently before turning translucent.
Then you bring the cups to the coffee machine. It takes a few minutes to prepare the order, the complex concoctions are easy enough with the memories in your current imago. The real barista is at home in bed sleeping, and has been for a few days now. You hand the order to Miriam when you’re finished, watching her leave with a smirk on your face.
The next customer steps up to the counter, an older man in an expensively tailored suit. Your gaze is drawn to the old fashioned folded newspaper under his arm, where you can make out a dated headshot of Karol Lillis. The Project Vulcan doctor will not be sharing any more of his innovations with anyone else at Fane after your meeting yesterday. It’s surprising his death made the news though, even buried deep in the inside pages as it is.
Still you have more important matters to attend to. “Tom,” you call out to one of the other baristas. “I’m taking my break.”
Without waiting for his inevitable complaints, you walk through the door at the back of the coffee shop to the poky little break room. You don’t stop, and walk straight on to the storeroom and then out the back door to the street. Ten minutes later you’re riding a tube train on the circle line, where no one will disturb your apparent sleep.
You meditate, letting your attention drift to the marked coffee cup. A conference room swims into focus as you connect to the watcher spirit you bound to the cup earlier. It looks as if you are viewing it from a fisheye lens suspended from the ceiling, but the awkward angle gives you a good view of everyone in the room.
You recognise Miriam. Another man and woman you recall passing when you were at Project Huangdi in the guise of Julian day. The fourth individual catches you attention though: His broad shoulders strain the cut of his Savile Row suit as he lounges in the chair at the head of the table. He drums his fingers impatiently as Miriam talks.
“Thank you Miss Barnard,” he interrupts smoothly. “Thank all of you. Of course, I have to consult with my superiors, but we should have Professor Hyde White’s replacement in place by the end of next week.”
“I thought Stokes was handling that Mr Reeves” asks the other woman at the table. “Uh, sir.”
The man in the ill fitting suit - Reeves - sighs, indicating precisely his feeling about Stokes. “He should know better than to even think about coming here. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
You will the watcher spirit down towards the man, settling on his shoulder. It looks like you’ve found what you were looking for.
To stop reminiscing, attend to Fi's reports in "A Short Hop" 
 You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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