Blood Born

Chapter 34

34  Knowledge

"You understand that if you do not do what I require, then I will simply make you do it anyway and then kill you?"  Ofælia paced the small floor of the mobile laboratory.  The blood of the technician Eric had been delivering a bottle of whisky to, pooled on the floor and dribbled out of the open doorway.  His new night-shift friend had done several samples for him recently - the lab was a resource that Eric intended to make full use of.  All it took was another bottle of decent scotch with each run.

"I don't know how to do it!  You can't make me do it any more than you can make him do it!"  Eric was absolutely terrified!  His friend lay dead - his throat cut out.  The tall ice-blonde woman who towered above Eric's prone form wore the man's blood all across her face and down her chest.  Next to her, stood a wild-eyed man with a long knife.  In the doorway of the small office area stood a huge black gent with dreadlocks and a diminutive bloke with pale skin and red hair.  Behind them was jet-black darkness.  They were ten miles from anything, and he'd accidentally walked in on their murder party just minutes ago.

Great timing!

The man with the knife restrained the woman, who lunged at Eric with a guttural snarl of rage - obviously dissatisfied with his response.  "He's a scientist!"  The knife-wielder protested.  "He might be able to work it out, Ofælia - but not if you destroy his mind, or his body!"

Eric cowered on the floor!  Work the machine?  He could probably do it, but not as well as his friend had.  He could recall most of the startup sequence, and the proper sampling technique.

"Look, it's not like switching on a TV and finding the right channel!  I'd have to prep the sample over there," he pointed to a sealed booth with work gloves built into it.  "Then, it has to be transferred cleanly in an evacuated pod.  The electron beam is tricky to calibrate, and if I make any mistakes, the spectral results can be all fucked up."

The man with the knife wrestled the insane woman out of the door, and the two calmer men took over.  "Do your best.  Here is the sample," said the huge guy, handing him a thin disc in a plastic bag.

Eric sat up and looked at the metal.  It was a dull grey on one face, but still shiny on the other side.  The disc was only about six millimetres across, and only about a millimetre thick.

He looked up at the tall, burly man.  "Let me guess.  This is possibly an elemental actinide, but you want to know its purity and isotopic composition."  The big man pursed his lips and nodded once.  The chap in the doorway grinned.

In the darkness, a large figure loomed by the parked, idling limousine.  "It's shit!"  Tomas declared to Rafe, who stood by the door to the limousine.

"You tell her," he replied.  There was fear in his voice.  He reached for the door handle, and pulled on it.  The black door swung open smoothly.

"Ofælia," Tomas began, "The material is useless.  The scientist was able to analyze it, but comparisons with a previous experiment that was conducted on a sample of the enriched material proves that this is nothing but nuclear waste product."  He controlled his anger, but it was clear to Ofælia that he was furious.

"Did you kill the worm?"  She asked, almost hoping that he had - it would have been his first act of passion, if he had done so.

"No.  This is not his failure - it is yours!"  Tomas growled, grasping the roof of the car and the door to lean in closer to Ofælia.  "The sample he compared to ours was provided by Drake!"  Her response was to scream at him, which he ended by slamming the door in her face.

"Rafe.  Tell her that George and I will dispose of the man.  It might be a good time to activate the contingency plan.  When we rendezvous, she'll be calmer… I hope."

Rafe just nodded - enraged in his own way.  Tomas didn't fear him, so he just turned and walked back to the trailer.  Stepping inside, he slammed the door behind him.

"Is he senseless yet?"  He snapped at George.

"Yes," George assured with a laugh, indicating the unconscious man on the floor.  "You take things too seriously, my friend."

Tomas punched the desk, leaving marks in the laminate surface.  "It angers me, how incompetent the bitch is!  She acts like a wild animal - out of control!  Interested only in her depraved pursuits, and caring nothing for our purpose here, or the people under her charge.  It's her carelessness that has led us to this!"

George nodded solemnly.  "You're right, of course," he sighed.  "Well," he continued after a moment's thought, "Let's get this bugger home.  I call dibs on the whisky bottle, though."