Phoebe Harkness Omnibus Page 3

  “Phoebe,” I said quietly. It echoed and bellowed around the room, followed by a harpy like screech of feedback, which had several people wincing, including me.

  Some invisible sound engineer made an adjustment somewhere, and I tried again.

  “Sorry about that. It’s Phoebe, that’s all, not Fiona. Phoebe Harkness,” I clarified. Someone coughed in the audience. I shuffled my papers on the podium slightly.

  “Thank you all for coming. Please bear with me as due to the … um … ill health of the good Servant Trevelyan, tonight’s report is coming straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. It isn’t often that us lab rats have the chance to get out and face to face with our funding bodies, our academic peers and of course the public, so I will try to attempt to keep things as brief and as clear as possible for you all. No complicated and impenetrable paratoxicology terminology, I promise.”

  There was a polite murmur of laughter at this, especially from the press at the back, which gave me a slight confidence boost.

  I’d planned to begin with a little background on the Pepys Building itself. As I’ve said, I’m a history geek for anything pre-wars. I had a whole anecdote about Samuel Pepys and the Bibliotheca Pepysiana, but it withered under the expectant stares of the audience.

  I skipped ahead in my notes. “We’re here in the Pepys,” I began. “A building which like so many others started off in a different city and ended up here, salvaged by New Oxford, saved from the wars. It’s a fitting place for our subject really, as included in the design of this great and accomplished place was the eminent architect and polymath Robert Hooke, whom I’m sure all of you, and indeed anyone connected with science, has heard of.”

  Some nods. Good, I wasn’t the only person with an interest in humanity’s back-story then. Most folk in our brave new world only knew as much as the last hours DataStream told them.

  “Robert Hooke was known for many things,” I continued, “… but he was perhaps best known for coining the idea of a biological cell. He discovered this back in 1665. Of course, discovery, while impressive, is not everything. The cell theory itself was developed from Hooke’s initial discovery much later in 1839 by Schleiden and Schwann, and it’s a remarkably simple theory.”

  I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and cleared my throat. “Cell theory states that all organisms are composed of one or more cells; that all cells come from pre-existing cells; that vital functions of an organism occur within cells, and that all cells contain the hereditary information necessary for regulating cell functions and for transmitting information to the next generation of cells. This we know. This we have known since the nineteen hundreds. It’s impressive, and it’s elegant in its simplicity, but it’s not what brings us here tonight.

  “What we also know,” I continued, “… is that the more complex the organism, the more impressive and complicated the cell count. The cell is the basic structural and functional unit of all known living organisms. It is the smallest unit of life that is classified as a living thing – except of course a virus, which consists only from DNA and RNA covered by protein and lipids, so for the sake of expediency, we will skip viruses. The cell is often called the building block of life. Organisms can be classified as unicellular which means they basically consist of a single cell, bacteria for example, or else multicellular, which pretty much covered all plants and animals. Human beings contain about ten trillion cells. Just to put this in perspective for the work we are doing at Blue Lab, samples we have been able to take from the Pale indicate that their average cell count is roughly fifteen trillion.”

  This got murmurs from certain parts of the audience. “I understand the immediate question is going to be, does this mean the Pale more evolved than us? More advanced? Are they perhaps the next stage of evolution? The simple answer is no … and yes.”

  I seemed to have their attention. I wondered if there were any Church representatives in the audience. They were often rather vocal when it came to any public discussion of the Genetic Others.

  “The Pale are certainly more complex structurally than we are, as are almost all of the Genetic Others we are working to understand,” I continued. “But to fully understand the Pale, perhaps it would be useful to remember why they exist in the first place. Where they came from. They did not evolve from humans. They were made, engineered, by humans. We created the Pale genetically, as a weapon. We manipulated their cells, we tampered with their DNA, their RNA, and we grew them, in layman’s terms, the first generation at any rate, in tubes. This is public knowledge. This is our history.”

  The room was uncomfortable now. Hundreds of eyes trained on me. We all knew our history. Mankind’s legacy, how we created our own worst enemy by playing God.

  I pressed on against the sea of silence. “And just as those who first used nuclear weapons back in the twentieth century had no idea they would be dealing with the radiation and the fallout for a great deal of time to come, so too those who came before us here today could not have known that their decision to create this breed of other would have far reaching implications for our own society.”

  “Dr Harkness?”

  The voice came from a woman in the third row. She was expensively middle aged, with a severe black bob of hair and wearing a plum-coloured suit, a choker of black jet like a net around her throat, and a mildly bemused expression.

  “Veronica Cloves. I have a question from the board of Cabal,” she said crisply, lowering a gloved hand. “Forgive my seeming impudence, I am aware that this presentation has been somewhat thrust upon you at the last moment due to the Servant being indisposed, but usually the purpose of this meeting is to present the current research and development findings of your area.” She toyed with her choker with a polite smile that did not remotely reach her eyes. “It would seem that, though entertaining, Dr Harkness, you are presenting a history lecture.”

  I knew her face of course, everyone did. Cabal may be our overlords and government, but they ensure they keep a very open and public face. No accusations of secrecy, no cloak and dagger nonsense. Cloves was their favourite figurehead. The PR queen. The people loved her like a celebrity.

  “I thought that it would be useful to put our findings in context,” I explained. “Especially for the benefit of the wider public present here.”

  “I understand your motivation, Dr Harkness,” the member of Cabal replied, again in a soft and polite voice which somehow managed to carry throughout the hall. “However, I think it fair to assume that we are aware of our history and of the issues surrounding the Pale and the Genetic Others, and the threats posed by them. Perhaps it would be more scientific for you to stick to the relevant facts at hand?”

  As usual with the all-powerful Cabal, it was an instruction presented as a suggestion. Veronica Cloves’ make up was too pale, her skin just ever so slightly too tight on her face. But she smiled like the nation’s sweetheart.

  Usually, I would have been cowed merely by being under the scrutiny of someone so much higher in the food chain that Trevelyan. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made me argumentative, but her words riled me.

  “I feel I should make a distinction on your comment regarding the Pale and the Genetic Others, before I continue in any fashion,” I said. “You cannot simply lump them all together as a ‘threat’.”

  I made quotation marks in the air … God help me. “The Pale are creatures we created. They carry the condition we seek to cure. The bloodlust, the inherent violent tendencies, the danger they pose to society – they are all our doing. The others, the group we have deemed to class together as Genetic Others, are not of our making.”

  Veronica Cloves’ expression had frozen in a tight smile. Her eyes were murderous. “We are here to discuss the Pale, Dr Harkness. Not the current issues with … other things.”

  “But it is exactly the mentality you just exhibited which is counter-productive to the work we are trying to achieve,” I replied, trying not to sound exasperated. I addressed the roo
m at large, part of my mind half-expecting Cabal to take me out right there and then with a well-placed sniper.

  “When the wars came, and we created the Pale, we lost control of them. We had literally created a monster, and it turned on us. A new war began which humanity almost lost, let’s not forget that. Almost a third of our population was lost in the thirty years which followed. Our society was very nearly not here at all. It was only then, when our total dominion over the world was no longer so certain, that the Genetic Others came forward. When they came into the light, as it were, and for the most part, they came to our aid.”

  “Can you elaborate, Doctor?” came a question from one of the press officers at the rear of the hall. “You’re talking about the vampires, right?”

  A ripple of noise rolled through the crowd. I raised my hands. “This is the distinction I am trying to make clear,” I said. “We do not call them vampires. But … yes, all of the … others, who had always lived hidden within our human society came forward. Many types of Genetic Other, not just the ones the media have called vampires, types of being we had no idea we had been sharing our planet with, they all made themselves known – to combat a common enemy, an enemy we had created, the Pale.” I looked back to Veronica Cloves, who was still staring at me tight lipped. I think if she could have stood up and shot me dead right there and then, she wouldn’t have hesitated. I had a giddy mental image of her standing and pulling a silver pistol from a stocking garter. “These Genetic Others, the ‘vampires’ if you will, and the ones who call themselves the Tribals, the Bonewalkers, and who knows how many others, they helped humanity repel the genetic horror of the Pale, murderous creatures we had brought upon ourselves. Their world was in danger as well as ours. They couldn’t stay in the shadows anymore, not with the Pandora’s Box we had opened. And afterwards? When we had won, in a fashion … when we were rebuilding our cities and countries, what were left of them, putting the shreds of our civilisation back together? Well, let’s be honest, after the war, well, the cat was pretty much out of the bag. We share our world with all these creatures now, and we cannot make the generalisation that they are all a danger, as the Pale are, when the groups could not be more distinct.”

  “This is mostly off topic,” Cloves said. “We are here to discuss the impact of your research. Not the questionable rights of various subhuman groups.”

  “Subhuman?” another voice called out in the crowd. I inwardly winced. The social and societal rights of the Genetic Others was a hot topic at the moment. They lived among us, in our cities, in our communities. They held jobs, they had their own neighbourhoods, their own districts, but we knew so little about them. To many, they were fascinating; to others, they were monsters to be feared. The current debate in the media was whether Genetic Others should have the right to vote or to hold public office. It was hotly contested. Most people seemed to forget that without the help of these peoples, the Pale would have overwhelmed the world during the war. We would have been killed by our own creations if these creatures, once myths and legends, had not come to our aid.

  “I’m sure there are many who would argue with the term ‘subhuman’, Servant Cloves of the Cabal.”

  The voice was coming from the other side of the lecture theatre. A man. People craned their necks to see who was challenging the great and powerful Cabal. He was tall and pale, dressed in a simply cut black suit, the shirt beneath crisply white. His dark hair was shaggy and long, falling carelessly over his ears. His skin was only a few shades richer than his shirt, a pale ivory.

  “Dr Harkness,” the man called, sounding confident and a little amused. “Tell me, do you see my people as a threat, or as a scientific curiosity?” His voice practically purred across the lecture theatre, as though it had been rolled in honey. It was loud enough to carry, to ensure that all present heard the question, but somehow crafted to seem like a soft whisper in my ear at the same time.

  I stared for a few moments, utterly lost for words. He was one of them. I’d never seen one close up. New Oxford has a few districts, like most towns, for Genetic Others. They’re not officially ghettoised, but they keep to their own areas, and we keep to ours, for the most part. They had a killer nightlife – no pun intended – but I’d never really strayed into it.

  I had my own reasons for that.

  “You’re a…” I faltered.

  “Genetic Other?” He grinned at me, entertained by my surprise; his smile was wide and white. “You can use the word ‘Vampire’ if you wish. Your people seem most fond of it. It does not offend.”

  The crowd became louder and more agitated. Some of the people sitting close to the man practically climbed out of their seats in barely controlled panic, trying to get away from him. Others seemed to clamour to get a better view, as though he was a movie star. One of his kind in the midst of the Campus was very rare. One of his kind in the same room as several members of Cabal was absolutely unheard of.

  Veronica Cloves was on her feet in the rows of chairs so quickly I swear to God she had viper in her DNA. I wondered vaguely if she had biomodifications. It wouldn’t surprise me. “This is a private function by invitation only,” she said coldly. “Not a three ring circus. Official Cabal business is being discussed this evening. The only people … or otherwise … who should be in attendance are those by invitation. This is certainly no place for…”

  “… for an undead bloodsucking vampire?” the man asked, cocking his head to one side, still looking faintly amused as his eyes flicked over to the woman on the other side of the lecture hall. “Perhaps not, Servant Cloves. But part of your audience here tonight are members of the public, chosen as per rote as with each of the presentations to ensure a representation of the vox populis. I am one of those. I applied for a seat, and was selected with my fellow guests.”

  I could see Veronica Cloves’ jaw work for a moment, and knew that what she wanted to say was that the section of the public was meant to mean the human population, but of course she couldn’t say this. There was no box on the attendance forms to tick to indicate your species. There had never been any need for one. None of the Genetic Others had ever yet shown even the slightest interest in our affairs. They moved amongst us, lived amongst us now even, but they kept apart, like gypsy travellers in a foreign land. I found myself wondering why there was suddenly a change in that. What on earth was one of his kind doing here?

  His eyes flicked dismissively away from Veronica Cloves and back to me. Even across this distance, they pinned me to the spot, a soft grey and piercing pair. I noted absently amidst my confusion that he was astonishingly beautiful. Not handsome, that word was too heavy handed, too gung ho American and plain. He didn’t look feminine in any way, despite the flowing dark hair – his jaw was too strong for that. But his features on the whole made him look like a Rossetti painting. I wondered how old he was. Some of them were hundreds of years.

  “You haven’t answered my question, Doctor,” he smiled,

  “Your question?” I heard myself say.

  “Whether you see my kind, vampires, as a scientific curiosity or a threat.”

  “I…” I faltered. “GO studies … that is, my area of expertise, is not … sociological,” I managed. “I work with blood. I’ve not had enough exposure to Genetic Others to form an opinion one way or another.”

  This seemed to amuse him further. “By a happy coincidence I work with blood also,” he said, which got a nervous laugh from some of the media presence, who were lapping him up, capturing every moment of this on camera. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “But that is a shame, for you not to have been, as you say, exposed … to us.”

  I felt myself flush. In my periphery, Cloves hovered. I dared not look over to see if she was glaring at me or the otherworldly creature stood in the audience. I don’t think I could have moved my head if I tried; his eyes held me trapped like a pinned insect. The part of my brain that never stopped being an analytical science geek, even when faced with supernatural creatures, won
dered absently if it was some low level hypnosis. Were the GOs telepathic to some degree? I had never heard as much, not confirmed anyway.

  “If you are to venture an opinion on a subject,” he purred, “… surely you have to know it first, to get under its skin? And please do call us vampires; it’s not a dirty word.”

  His tone suggested, with little room for misinterpretation, that it could be, if the situation dictated.

  A scoff from Veronica Cloves seemed to disagree most strongly. “Your name please, Mr…?” she demanded.

  He didn’t even glance over at her. His eyes still trained on me, as though we were the only people in the auditorium. “I am Allesandro,” he told me.

  What was he doing here? Except possibly trying to get me fired and my career completely destroyed?

  As this thought passed through my head, something unreal happened. I could see his lips moving, addressing Cloves, but his words and the rest of the noise in the lecture hall, were utterly drowned out. It was suddenly as though I was watching a silent movie. His voice appeared simultaneously, right by my ear. As though he were standing right behind me on the stage, close enough to touch, whispering in my ear. “Allesandro,” he repeated. “It’s an old name from the old country, the Italian form of the Latin Alexandrius, in fact – it means defender of mankind. Fitting, no? Given what you were just saying to these fine people, about how we selflessly came to your aid in the wars.”

  His voice was intimate, warm and utterly inside my head. I stared down from the stage, frozen to the spot, watching him engage in some kind of back and forth argument with the member of Cabal.