Africa Zero (5 page)

By
evening Susan had not stirred and I was considering picking her up and moving
on. As I reached for her a shriek echoed across the plain as if from the inner
ring of Hell; part man, part bird, and part madness. It was distant, but I well
knew it was not far enough away. The next shriek was closer, and shortly after
that a dark shape occluded the stars and there was a booming as of sails caught
in a wind. The shape descended to land on the central baobab. Again the shriek.
I saw eyes glinting red madness and upgraded my vision. There he was—the Great
African Vampire himself, last male of his kind unless the child I had heard
being born two years back was a male as well. He was an impressive sight: a
twelve-metre wing span, the body of a man crossed with a cat, claws like hook
knives, feet of an eagle, and the bear-dog face with four-inch fangs trailing
saliva. I observed him clinically as he folded his wings. He then spoke to me
in that hissing voice, his tail cracking like a whip.

“I
smell the moon’s blood on her ... machine.”

“I
am aware of the sharpness of your senses, vampire.”

“She
dying. Why concern yourself with her? You waste. Give her to me. I know her and
she escaped me.”

“I
have your code. You are one of the last. It would pain me to kill you, but in
this you are on dangerous ground.”

“Feelings,
machine?”

“Yes,
feelings.”

“I
could take her from you.”

“I
never sleep, and I could break you like a handful of twigs. You know this.”

That
got the civilities out of the way. He settled down in the tree and was silent
for a while. When he spoke again it was with less bravado.

“It
was you I sought, machine.”

Had
he come to meet his maker? Perhaps he had found out.

“Why?”

“I
have a son. He grows strong and well and soon will leave to seek his own prey.”

“I
am glad for you,” and I truly was.

He
continued speaking, his red eyes glaring at me. “I think much, on the ice, and
I read books. Once we were many. Many were killed by corporate families for
bounty. I, my mate and my son are all, now. It is not enough. Who will mate
with my son? A daughter? This makes ... weakness.”

I
think it was the longest speech I had ever heard from him and I was surprised
at his knowledge. I had genetic tissue taken from the afterbirth of his son and
at any time, with equipment I had concealed all round the world, I could
resurrect his race. From that piece of tissue I could artificially cause
diversification and soon have a viable breeding population. He wanted to do it
the old way. He wanted his family to continue. Perhaps he wanted to have
grandchildren. A funny thought when applied to the monster in the baobab. A
creature that tore the heads from human beings to drink their blood and lymph
and sometimes ate such delicacies as their livers, raw, of course.

“Why
are you telling me this?”

“You
are collector of genetic heritage, curator of species.”

He
had that verbatim from the Pykani.

“So?”
said I.

“You
are the Collector. You know.”

I
looked down at Susan and considered what I would be doing to the human race,
once again. Susan was personal. This was about what I am. At that moment there
was over a billion human beings on Earth, and three Great African Vampires.

“You
must select from as diverse a collection of humankind as you can: Negroid,
Caucasian, Asian . . . The Pykani as well, as they were spliced from men.”

His
bear-dog face showed puzzlement. It was a comical sight.

“I
do not understand.”

“You,
too, were spliced from humankind. It is possible for you to breed with them. It
may just be that this way you can get a viable breeding population started.”

He
snarled. “They are prey.”

“They
are survival.”

He
shrieked and launched himself into the air, wings booming, branches snapped
from the baobab. I watched him go then turned to look down at Susan. She was
awake and looking at me in horror.

“Come,
let me help you to the water.”

She
did not want my help, but in the end had to accept it. As she drank her fill at
the water hole I noted the sores breaking out on the back of her neck and the
way her hair was beginning to fall out. She would have been poison to him.

* * *

The
JMCC complex squatted on the plain like a huge metallic crab. It was five
kilometres in diameter, but less than half a kilometre in height. Windows below
the smooth dome of the roof glinted like beady eyes. Off to one side and
partially hidden by the complex itself was the fenced-off landing field, a
scattering of control towers, and a behemoth of a delta wing shuttle. To the
people of Earth the corporate families were notoriously reclusive. This was
only because they had no interest in Earth. Their interests were in the space
above it. Holding Susan before me I slowed to a walk for the last few
kilometres. I had about a kilometre to go when the ground car headed out to me.

The
car was of a design I had not seen before, though similar in construction to
ground cars used over a thousand years ago. It had rectangular body, with
tinted windows all around, over six bulbous rubber-tyred wheels. I was
surprised. Wheels? I could even hear the engine. Had things gone so far
downhill? I wondered if my plans for Susan were any longer tenable. If they no
longer used antigravity then perhaps other technologies had slid into the
abyss.

It
drew to a halt before me, doors hissed open, and three men in monofilament
coveralls, which looked suspiciously like military uniforms, stepped out. Two
of them were armed with hand-held machine guns. Primitive. The third had some
kind of laser pistol holstered at his hip, which was more reassuring as far as
my plans were concerned. The one with the laser spoke first.

“That
woman is JMCC,” he said. He seemed at a loss for anything to add.

“Yes,
she is certainly that, and she is in need of medical attention.” I began to
walk forward. The machine pistols trained on me. I halted. They might hit
Susan.

“What
is wrong with her?”

“Are
you a doctor?” He looked to his two companions. “You are not. Why then do you
need to know what is wrong with her? That is out of your jurisdiction. Now
kindly stop waving those toys about and take us into the complex.” I began to
walk again.

“Wait!...”
He seemed confused.

I
said, “I don’t think Jethro Hendrickson would be too impressed with your
behaviour. Now kindly stop fucking me about.”

He
looked to his companions then said slowly, “Thomas Canard is Chairman now . . .
Jethro Hendrickson died over a hundred years ago . .. “

“So,
I’m not up to date on your affairs. This woman is one of yours and she is
dying.”

He
unhooked his radio from his belt and spoke into it in some sort of word code.
After a pause to listen to the reply he asked me, “What is your name and
status?” Should I lie? No. The truth would get things moving a lot more
quickly.

“I
am the Collector,” I said.

Three
faces abruptly lost their tan. The speaker dropped his hand to his laser pistol
as if for reassurance and found none. After a pause he cleared his throat and
spoke into the radio again. The voice that replied to him was a different
voice, and not in code.

“Bring
them in.”

They
brought us in.

Things
moved quickly once we were inside the complex. A medical team met the ground
car in a place like an aeroplane hangar and Susan was soon laid out on a
stretcher. A harassed-looking doctor asked me about her condition. When I told
him he shook his head morosely.

“If
that’s the case we can do little more than make her comfortable.”

“What
about superconductor gridding and flash freezing?”

He
looked at me as if I needed some kind of medical attention myself. “S-con
gridding and flash freezing? They’re theoretically possible, I suppose.”

When
he said no more he and the other medics wheeled Susan away. I knew I would get
no action at this level, so once they were gone I turned to the guards who were
lingering around me and nervously fingering their weapons.

“I
would like to see Thomas Canard, if that is possible?” I was all politeness. It
was not yet time to start breaking heads and ripping doors off their hinges.
Later, perhaps.

The
guard who had spoken to me outside looked incredibly relieved. “He wishes to see
you. Please, come with me.” I noticed he was being more polite. It is amazing
what fear can do for social intercourse.

They
led me from the hangar through baroquely-decorated corridors. I noted with an
amount of distaste and annoyance that some of those decorations consisted of
trophies from GAVs. My annoyance was at myself for not considering this. Two
years ago I could have come here for a tissue sample instead of crusading
across the ice after a living vampire with an extremely nasty temper. The distaste
was for the kind of mental attitudes that must have become prevalent in JMCC in
the last century. Attitudes that made trophy hunting and near genocide
acceptable. Had I been about then, this would not have happened. But I had been
in China tracking down the Chuthrat Dragon. It had taken me thirty-six years to
get that sample. By the time I heard what was going on back here most of the
vampires had been exterminated. I then rushed back from China to get a vampire
tissue sample. There had not seemed to be any need before. The GAVs had been
doing quite nicely thank you.

Eventually
we came to a turbo lift that shot us up to the top of the complex in less time
than it took one of my guards to pick his nose. The doors swished open on
luxurious apartments.

The
walls were hung with paintings which to my knowledge had been there for six
centuries. There were corporation emblems and arrays of polished weapons, some
of them a lot better than the ones my guards were carrying. On pedestals there
were various suits of body armour and one motorized exoskeleton that was a
predecessor of myself. The floor was covered with one huge hand-woven rug.
Sofas, chairs, and tables were arranged tastefully. Along one wall was a row of
screens, which must have been a fairly recent addition. Jethro Hendrickson had
used holographic projections. And at the back of this room, before curving
windows, was a desk consisting of a large slab of marble on an ironwork
pedestal. Behind the desk sat the man I presumed to be Thomas Canard. I advanced
to the desk. My escort rushed forward to retain the appearance that they had me
under guard.

Canard
was surprisingly young. He was a thin fair-haired man of about thirty who had a
sardonic twist to his mouth and very direct blue eyes. He stood up and came
round his desk to shake my hand.

“Collector,
I have heard much about you.” His speech was assured and he showed no fear of
my hand. He shook it vigorously then gestured to a nearby sofa. “Come, let us
sit.” We did that thing. “I hear you came to us with one of our people. A
woman. Injured, I believe.”

“Yes,
her name is Jethro Susan and she is dying of radiation sickness.”

He
frowned. “Mmm, unfortunate, but not as unfortunate as might be supposed. If she
is the Jethro Susan I think she is then she is wanted for murder.”

I
nodded and looked back at the guards, damning myself for forgetting the one the
Pykani said she had killed. I changed the subject while I considered my next
move.

“Tell
me, why projectile weapons?”

Canard
smiled. “Don’t be misled. We have not lost the technology. This is merely the
result of policy. Inter-Family conflicts were taking a great toll in my
father’s time and the Families came to an agreement for arms limitations.
People are less inclined to fight when their firepower is so much less. A
soldier with an antiphoton rifle or any other APW thinks he can take on the
world. If he has a machine gun with only a few clips he is more inclined to
discuss matters.”

It
occurred to me then that this Thomas Canard was a likeable fellow. I glanced
towards the screens and raised an eyebrow.

Canard
frowned. “Computing power. More and more processor space is being used for
bioresearch projects, and holographic communication is a luxury.” He smiled
suddenly. “But of course you must be aware of how much processor space is taken
up by such research.”

I
nodded. “I would have thought the thing to do would be to extend and upgrade
your system.”

Canard’s
face lost all expression. “At the present time we are unable to do that.”

Ah,
I had found the limit—manufacturing capability: they were limited to low tech
manufacturing and bio’ work. I thought it likely they were not capable of
making the required micro-circuitry, the same kind of circuitry as used in
antigravity control systems, hence the wheeled ground car.

“Oh
well,” I said, “I guess you can’t do everything, but please excuse my
curiosity. You see, I have a request of you and I just wanted to find out if
JMCC still has the back-up technologies for certain micro-cryogenic
operations.”

Canard
was all smiles again. “What sort of operations would they be?”

I
leant forwards in my chair. “Specifically, the manufacture of a
super-conducting micromesh and bio-gridding of a human brain.”

Canard
leant back in his seat, looked up at the ceiling then across at the guards.
After a moment he waved at the guards. “You may leave.” Dutifully and with some
relief they headed for the lift. Canard turned to me again. “Would this concern
... yourself?”

I
shook my head. “No, I am stable and will be so for a long time yet. It is for
another.”

He
stared at me for a long moment before tipping his head back and speaking at the
ceiling. “Computer. JMCC status as to the manufacture of super-conducting
micromesh.”