11.07.08
Rewiring.
Someone landed lightly on the roof. Adrian didn’t take his eyes off the door as Amethyst pointed her gun at the ceiling.
“Who’s there?” The sheriff’s question was a command.
A dark, grinning figure dropped down in front of the door. Adrian blinked and shifted his grip on his sword.
Francis tapped on the window. “Can I come in?” he asked in his own voice. Silver glinted at his throat.
Adrian looked back at Amethyst, who nodded, lips tense. He opened the door.
Francis walked in as if he’d never used a wheelchair.
Adrian sucked in a sharp breath. Amethyst’s eyes widened.
“Francis…”
“What did you do?”
Francis gave another sharklike grin. “I spent the past six days rewiring my spinal column and hardwiring my neural net against seizures,” he said. “It’ll probably last until the next thunderstorm rolls in, so let’s get this sonuvabitch already.”
Adrian was already watching the alleys again, waiting for the shooter to move. Amethyst looked Francis over, and nodded.
10.09.08
Technopath.
To say he couldn’t feel his body would be a lie, but it didn’t feel like his body. It felt like lead. He couldn’t even blink.
At least he was breathing on his own, now. That tube had not been pleasant.
He really wished he’d just fall asleep and stay asleep – being awake, alert, and utterly unable to move was torturous.
Oh God. He couldn’t even blink.
And the prickle, prickle, prickle of the electrical signals in the room was almost worse, niggling at the back of his brain even when he was sleeping. He was half-convinced he was developing some kind of synesthesia – every ping! of the EKG was literally causing him to see stars.
It was some time later – it’s hard to tell time when you can’t move – that he realized he could see through the security cameras, feel the signals from other patients’ medical devices.
A little time later, he managed to make the wires move…
04.10.08
A First Glimpse.
A too-calm, too-precise voice rang out of the darkness. “It’s about time you got back.”
She turned, still holding out her electronic keycard. “Who’s there? How did you get in?”
A faint wheeze, like the whisper of a laugh, reached her ears. The light by her head flickered on; from further in her hotel room, soundlessly, came a man in a wheelchair.
He sat loose-limbed in the chair, completely relaxed; with his bowed head and shallow breathing, it looked as if he were on the verge of sleep. It was impossible to guess his age; he could have been approaching thirty or even older. His skin was eerily translucent; thin blue veins were clearly visible even by the light of only one lamp. One hand rested limply on the laptop he carried.
She frowned; there was something odd about his hand…
He gave another breathy laugh. “Done with the scrutiny yet?” came the false voice she now recognized as coming from the computer. The stranger rolled forward a little more and raised his head.
She gasped, jerking back against the door. That strange brown-black hair, those hooded black eyes with their silver tracings, those fine silvery circuits running up his hands, that she’d mistaken for veins…
This was no stranger.
“Francis Delacroix,” she breathed, fighting not to cross herself. “You scared me half to death!”
He gave her a lazy lizard’s smile. “Too bad it was only halfway, cousin,” said his computer.
Francis’ No-Good, Very Bad Day.
His sister opened her mouth to speak, but before she could draw enough breath, the wires bit deep into her throat and she dropped silently to the ground. Francis wheeled over by her head and bent down to look in her eyes.
“I am not as cruel as I should have been, Marie,” he said conversationally while pulling the wires back into his flesh. “In fact -”
An infant’s wail split the air. Francis froze, dark eyes going wide, one hand still holding a loose coil of wire. Oh, no.
Slowly, he followed the cry through the apartment to its source. No no no no...
Francis entered the small bedroom, drawing up next to a tall crib. Gingerly, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning on the crib’s rails for support.
The baby girl inside shut up and stared at this strange man. He was very odd, and parts of him were all shiny, which was interesting. Plus, he looked a little like Mama. He was okay, then, she decided, and wiggled.
Francis just stared at her.
The infant gurgled and turned red. Perhaps the strange man didn’t understand her. She tried waving her arms at him, and he finally seemed to get the message.
Francis reached down and picked up the girl. She squealed happily, and set about investigating the metal tracings on his arm while Francis unsteadily sank down into his chair. He fumbled for his touchpad and dialed a number.
“Professor O’Neill. This better be good.”
“Professor?”
“Francis? Aren’t you in California?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. “What’s wrong?” Kathleen asked in a low voice.
Francis stared at the infant, who was now slobbering happily on his arm.
“Francis?”
“…I have a niece,” he responded at last.
12.30.07
Grail Castle.
He really hated the south of France. Fucking Pyrenees.
Dr. Cain scrabbled up another cliff, his head pounding from his magically-induced eyesight. He barked his shin on an outcropping, cursed, and kicked it again just out of spite. It hurt his toe, but it made him feel better.
Times like this, he wished he’d never been given the ability to make his eyes work. Then he could’ve told Francis to fuck off.
Dragon talons did come in handy for scaling mountains, though. Dr. Cain wheezed out a laugh. Kathleen had told him he climbed like a gecko. Not strictly true, but amusing nevertheless.
Dr. Cain pulled himself onto what was more or less the mountaintop and curled up in the brush, blending in seamlessly. Being able to turn “green as spring grass”, as his brother had put it, had moments of usefulness.
All in all, thought the scientist, he had too many useful traits. If he were more boring, he’d never have been sent on this damn fool errand.
He poked his watch irritably. “Francis.”
The watch twitched. “What?”
“Why am I breaking into your family’s ancestral castle, again?”
The watch sighed. “Because I’m holding your laboratory hostage.”
“Besides that.”
No response. Dr. Cain poked the watch again. “Francis. If you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on, I’m going to jump off this mountain and go home.”
“Most people ask before they leave, you know,” Francis muttered irritably. “And I told you. Something weird’s up there. I don’t know what, and I can’t exactly scale a mountain, and I don’t exactly trust the rest of my family to check it for me.”
“That’s really a sad commentary on your family,” said a third voice as its owner hunched down next to Dr. Cain.
Dr. Cain promptly punched him.
Or tried to, anyway. The stranger ducked back and got to his feet in one smooth motion.
Something tugged at the back of Dr. Cain’s mind.
The man twitched his disheveled robe straighter, ran a hand over his cropped white hair, and half-grinned down at the green man.
“So, Mordred, has anyone ever told you you climb like a gecko?”
