The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Chapter Twelve



“So how about you make Varna as comfortable as possible eh? Then we’ll get suited up and get to my ship…” It wasn’t a suggestion, or command; just a reasonable course of action, for them to take.



“I don’t have a suit,” Henry admitted.



“No problem,” Shade assured the anxious fellow, “there’ll be one around somewhere for you, of that I’m sure...”



He then set about looking in cupboards and behind door, finding what he wanted even quicker than he had originally assumed.



Shade handed the extra EV suite to Henry, once he had finished with Varna, then the two men entered the airlock.



Minutes later, the two men left the airlock and The Harmony Bar and made their way to Shade’s ship; his ship with no-name.



The walked slowly, across an unforgiving terrain, until they neared the starfreighter.



It stood on four retractable legs and, as they approached the ship, Henry was struck by lack of size and, it’s poor condition.



The ship was far smaller than he’d expected of a starfreighter and, it appeared as though it had gone through several conflicts, each of which had left its mark.



As Shade walked onward, toward the aft airlock Henry paused to stare at the small starfreighter: “And, this ship has a transmat?” Henry asked, incredulous that it had.



“Uh-huh fella,” he heard Shade drawl in answer; “Now c’mon, times a wasting. Just think of Varna, not whether my ship looks like it should have a mattrans or not…”



“Transmat…” Henry reminded Shade, as he followed his path.



And a short while later, in the ships airlock, Shade quickly stripped out of his EV suit. As Henry followed his example, he asked Shade; “Any idea’s what happened to the mattrans?”



Shade did not want to admit to long moments of introspection, filled with bouts of the loneliness, which had led to him drinking too much and mistaking the mattrans for the ships toilet. He did not want to admit it, so did not.



“An accident, I guess. It worked one day, then not the next…” He explained, but Henry caught the blush to his cheeks, indicating an untruth, yet he did not press the matter, as the cause did not matter; what mattered was that he fixed the machine so that they could help Varna.



“Well, you show me where it is, then get me some tools eh?” Henry prompted.



“Uh-huh,” Shade acknowledged, as he led the way.

Chapter Eleven



Bemused, Shade looked to Henry; then filled with curiosity he asked, “What does a janitor know about a transmat?”



“Back in the day,” the smaller man began, “I worked on the programme that developed it…” He sighed, then continued; “It was back before The Brood and we had quite the team on the project. We believed in what we were doing; bringing a new form of transport to the masses. And then, the corporations had another war and, the transmat project was seen as a tactical advantage over the enemy. And, it was…”



Again Henry looked to the glass, wishing it were full.



“And then?” Shade prompted Henry to continue his story with a gesture, as he lifted a flap in the bar and made his way behind it.



“The war went the way wars went. Some people made a lot of money and, others died…” he droned on, as Shade poured them each a beer, stepping over the barman’s feet to do so.



“Eventually things returned to normal, ‘ceptin then we had The Brood and, a lot people unemployed. And, as for me? They wanted me in sight, but me and the rest of the team were separated and, I ended up on Mars as a janitor…”



Henry gratefully accepted the beer offered to him, sipped at the cold brew then finished his story, “When The Brood went offworld, I lost my job; and by then, somehow I’d been forgotten. No-one followed up on me, not even when I took the samples and left for The Fringe…”



Shade had sat opposite Henry while he spoke, sipping at a beer of his own: “It took them nearly a week, I think,” he muttered.



“See!” Exclaimed the smaller man, irate at the ignominy of it all: “They didn’t even notice me when I’d gone…”



Shade grinned a mirthless smile, “Many of us could say the same… you know?”



“Hell yes, that’s so true… I… I don’t even know your name and, you’re helping me, after Varna…” Henry stuttered.



“Name’s Shade…”



“Shade?” Henry enquired.



Shade simply nodded.



“So, you left with a few samples, eh?” He asked, a light smile playing on his lips.



Henry grinned sheepishly before replying: “I told you… I…”



“You just wanted your ideal woman. Yes, I know…” Shade acknowledged, sarcasm dripping from every word.



The two men turned their heads to look at Varna, still alive; but with laboured breathing: “Well,” Shade told Henry, “Taking it that you know what you say you do, we have a chance at saving Varna, now…”



The smaller man smiled wanly, admitting, “I’ll know better what t o do when I see the damage…”



This worried Shade, a little. But he was loath to admit why.

Chapter Ten



Shade watched the blade descending and his decision had been made. He angled his weapon from hip height and fired, the powerful handgun bucking in his grip.



The shell sped through the air, tore at flesh and muscle, then impacted on bone and shattered into fragments, as intended. Blood erupted from the wound and, the woman turned mid-air, then fell to the ground.



At the sound of the shot, the little man stopped running away and ran back, to crouch down by his woman: “She’s called Varna,” he explained to Shade, reaching out with his right hand, to her pale face.



The woman was alive, but the shot had done its intended damage.



“I only wanted my ideal woman,” he told Shade, looking up to him, tears running down his face. Something hit a nerve inside the normally taciturn spacer and, he holstered his weapon, then bent down and picked Varna up, in a two-handed grip.



“I didn’t want to be lonely any more…” Henry added, his words all a tumble, as Shade carried Varna downstairs, with Henry following close behind.



Shade laid her down carefully on the long bar and turned to look at Henry, who had buried his head amidst his crossed arms.



“You’ll be lonely again, if we don’t get those fragments of bullet. Hell, lord knows what damage they could do…” He was resigned to the fact that he had probably killed the little man’s true Love. And, that sickened him.



Henry looked up and, almost smiled: “If we could, she’ll heal herself… it’s how her Brood cells were programmed…”



“Typical, just my luck…” Shade muttered and sighed, “I’m only helping Absolute for a friend, ‘coz I need a working transmat and, a working transmat could get the pieces out…”



Henry had sat looking dolefully at an empty beer glass, until he heard Shade’s mention of a transmat. At this, Henry lifted his head and, his tears stopped.



“Transmat, Mattrans, it doesn’t matter what the name is. I worked on their original design,” he told Shade, a smile on his lips.

Chapter Nine



Sighing heavily Shade muttered, “Always the hard way, always the damn hard way…” as he watched Henry reach the top of the stairs, then turn left.



Shade’s grip on his handgun was tight, too tight and, his knuckles were turning white. He knew he was probably walking in a trap, or just… worse trouble: so his body had readied him, for any possible onset of trouble.



“Have ta wind my neck in…” he continued to mutter; Shade knew he had to relax, particularly if he had to kill.



“Honey! We gotta move!…” he heard from above and, to his right.



Shade took another step and, the board beneath his foot leading left foot squeaked.

“Well, if I’d been trying to stay quiet, I failed…” he reminded himself quietly.



Shade moved fast up the rest of the stairs, knowing his quarry had been alerted and, any advantage that he’d had was lost.



He reached the short corridor, of bedrooms either side, to see a small figure racing away from him and another, running toward him.



The figure moving toward Shade was not Henry of that he was sure. Nor was it male; yet more muscular than Shade might ever hope to be: ‘except my dreams’, he mused, deliberating whether to level his weapon, or not.



The woman who had halted before him was statuesque and bronzed; not toned but with muscles pumped and, intimidating, carrying a sword in just a chain mail bikini.



She stared at Shade through eyes of the bluest blue, set amid an attractive face, that was framed with long-bleach-blonde hair, back-combed at the front and sides.



She studied Shade, as one enemy studies another and, he continued to hesitate.

Finally his decision was made for him, as the woman emitted a feral snarl from lips coated in red lipstick. She leapt forward and mid-air swung the short sharp blade downward, shouting loudly, “Now Henry, run!”

Chapter Eight



Passing through the doorway, Shade found himself at the foot of a set of stairs, with a hastily dressed man running toward him, arms flailing wildly, “I heard shots!” he exclaimed, “What happened?”



“Henry?” I presume, shade asked, quietly and slowly.



Henry was small and wiry, with an unruly mop of red hair atop the bluest of blue eyes. He wore battered and torn combats and, apparently little else.



‘Serious case of bedhead?’ Shade debated with himself, as he stared at the little man, who stared back wild-eyed, running long fingers through his tousled hair.



“Who are you?” the redhead asked, his nervous disposition evident in his voice.



“The fellow who wants your sample case…” Shade responded, his fingers twitching.



“It was for personal use!” Henry suddenly shouted at Shade, before turning and running back up the stairs, the first floor and, his room.



The taciturn spacer spat to the floor muttering, “Why can’t things ever be easy?” Then he slowly began to follow after the little man, with the sample case.

Chapter Seven



The iris opened onto the airlock to The Harmony Bar and Shade and, Shade stripped off his suit, sweating profusely. The walk from his ship to the small miners town had been far more arduous than he’d imagined it would be and, he welcomed the thought of a cold beer.



Once depressurisation was complete, Shade opened a second Iris and was dismayed to find the bar quiet, except for the burly barman, who had the appearance of a fighter.



“What can I can you?” the fellow asked, as he polished a glass, with a rag that had needed washing months earlier.



“Beer, bottled… with the top off… thanks…” Shade drawled, looking round the bar.

“Quiet isn’t it…” he observed.



There were twenty small round tables in the crudely built hostelry, it’s fixtures and fitting bearing the hallmarks of their ancestry, cargo pods for mining equipment.



The barman turned from a large fridge, with Shade’s beer in hand, “Been like this since the last frakking. The seams opened up and, anyone with the guts to do so is out there, mining what they can, before this ‘ere asteroid’s finished…”



“So no more ferries?” Shade asked, accepting the cold bottle.

“Nah,” the fellow began, “last one in was a week ago…”



“Uhuh,” Shade acknowledged, chugging down his beer and, slaking a thirst that he felt was well-earned.



“An anyone get off that ferry?” he added, setting down the bottle on the long bar, his eyes alert to the big man’s movements.



The Ferry was the asteroid’s contact with the last satellite before the Fringe and, the untamed reaches of uncharted space, that was The Outer Fringe and, Beyond.



“You ask a lot of questions, for a spacer…” the barman said to Shade, as his hands made movements toward the underside of the bar.



“I guess too much talking is bad for a man, sometimes,” Shade muttered, reaching behind his back quickly, and grasping the butt of his .357 Magnum pistol, it’s resting place against his spine, the long barrel tucked down his jeans, to rest between his cheeks.



He levelled his arm, before the barman could reach his weapon and Shade called out, “Don’t do it…”



But, he noticed the barman make his move and, so did he. And, the sound of his pistol firing rang out once, twice and then three times.



The big man fell face forward across the bar, clutching at the bloody hole in his gut and, the morass of flesh and bone that had been the top of his skull.



The third shot had hit a bottle on the shelf behind him and liquor dripped down onto the dying man’s lower back, drip by drip…



“What a waste,” Shade muttered, eyeing the spilt alcohol. The dying man abruptly forgotten, Shade turned toward the stairwell at the back of the long room.



“I figure this place got itself a guest, with luggage…” he muttered, walking slowly, his smoking gun still in his hand.

Chapter Six



If Shade had been sure of the asteroid’s atmosphere, he’d have not needed an E.V. Suit. As it was, he was not sure and, the ship had acknowledged that it could not give a true reading: ‘Perhaps due to magnetic interference?’ It had suggested helpfully.



Without the mattrans Shade needed to leave the ship via the aft airlock and the ladder.

So Shade needed an Environmental Suit and, one that could be pressurised as needed.



“Bothersome to the extreme,” he muttered, as he pulled on the one-size-fits-all suit, idly thinking of the soft downy hair on Maribelle’s lower arms.



After so much time living alone Shade was still surprised that he had contacted Maribelle. He had not seen her since his days as a cadet. Yet way back then, she had listened, when he had needed, truly needed someone to listen, after his parents death.



It had only happened on a few occasions, but the young Shade had appreciated it, greatly. But, thoughts of Maribelle were a distraction, ensuring he failed to notice a small tear on the arm of his suit, until the airlock and depressurisation.



Yet Shade did not worry about the leak, dealing with that situation rapidly enough. He stripped down to his coat and jeans, then sat to repair the suits arm with an insta-patch still concerned about his lack of control, that had allowed him to ignore his own personal safety.



Making contact with Maribelle had been intended as a distraction from the solitude of life of The Fringe. Now it had led to him working for the corporation and, that he did not like, although he needed the transmat and the corpies were the only one’s who could obtain the parts he needed.



Shade sighed, as he finally repaired the suit to his satisfaction. Then he checked his wrist-comm, to remind himself of his ‘mission:’ locate Henry Machin and the samples that he carries. It had sounded simple enough, when Maribelle had said it to him.



“Now I suppose I’ll find out,” he pronounced, standing and divesting himself of his coat, which he carefully folded, prior to setting it down in a locker, with a mirror inside the door on his eye-line.



Briefly he stared at his reflected self, idly wondering whether Maribelle would recognise the man that Timothy Summers had become. Back then he had not needed to shave and now, although his face his needed one, much of his chest did not.



For a second he smiled: to shave his chest-hair like this had been an affectation he had garnered in memory of his captain, who would shave downward from his collar-bone to his waistline, downward; so that as he moved he would feel of the rough leather of the inside of his coat, against his naked flesh.



He grinned a mirthless grin and, turning from the mirror and his memories of the he who had been, Shade picked up the E.V. suit and dressed once again, before making his way through the cargo hold, to the rear of the ship and the air-lock he would use.