King of the Dark Mountain (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Wainscott Chapman stood in front of a full length portrait of one of the Stuart kings. His father had received it as a gift from a recent reigning monarch. He loathed the picture because it reminded him of his father, a wastrel who had run through a substantial portion of the family inheritance. It had taken him an equally good portion of his own youth to get it back. He had managed this through shutting down non-productive assets that the old man held some silly sentimental attachment for. 

He had once admitted in one of his frequent drunken diatribes on the subject that they were actually descended from some Welsh coalminer and so the mines in that area must not be sold. It was nonsense of course, although looking at his elder’s besotted face, he could well imagine some connection of that sort. The old man often bragged about how he, alone of all his cohorts refused to bring in strike breakers, back in the day when the miners were always striking for better working conditions. Looking now at this token of esteem from some royal ninny, Chapman reflected how he would much rather be related to a coal miner than one of those so-called “royals.” This thought caused him to cast a glance at the far corner of the room to his safe.

Inside was a future true prince among men. It had been nearly six months since the occupant of the safe was “selected” as the fittest from amongst a bevy of thirteen brothers. Considering how the other twelve had been blown to smithereens by some interfering hillbillies in some boondoggle of a place in the United States, it was clear they were unfit for survival. If their sires couldn’t even ward off such a pathetic threat as that, how fortunate nature had arranged for their elimination. When he had first been approached with the idea of creating a perfect son, he had gone along with the project reluctantly. He had never been enthusiastic about having “brothers” for his and Reginald’s offspring, but it had seemed necessary to put up with the others, just to get the thing done. Immediately after the fiasco, he had contacted them all to offer them the opportunity to continue Project Cripton by serving the one who survived. They weren’t particularly enthusiastic, but he had ways of persuading them.

Most of them were under obligations of one sort or another to him. They were all regarded as important men, captains of industry, but he was more than a captain. No one really knew how much he was really worth, but it was more than his five closest rivals combined.

In the game of life, he had definitely won hands down. This brought on a coughing fit. He was having more of those lately. They had started when Reginald was alive, so he’d blamed it on second hand smoke. His lungs checked out, but they persisted despite every attempt he’d made to cure them. He shrugged. He came from a very long-lived line and expected to carry on for at least another twenty years. It would take that long to prepare his son to take command, not only of his vast, almost limitless wealth, but perhaps the world.

This thought brought a great smile of triumph to his face, which would have looked sinister had there been another human around to observe it. He went back to study the face of the long dead king. His face floated above the elaborate dress, with an expression both arch and sensuous. His left calf showed in a silk stocking as shapely as that of his forerunner Henry VIII’s, who had apparently started a trend among royals. They could flaunt their muscular calves all they liked, but they had been out of real power since about the time of Henry. Perhaps there was a connection between flashing their lower limbs and letting the real reins of power slide into the grasp of the always ambitious aristocracy.

The Chapmans were descended from those who had seen an opportunity with the dissolution of the monasteries to grab vast estates. However much the old man may have enjoyed the idea of a coal mining ancestor, the fact was they were descended from men who had the vision to press Henry to break with the church and create something new. They gave him the honorific title of head of the church, but what they got was worth a lot more. They became the real power houses in England for the next four hundred years.

Chapman said to the portrait, “I think my son and I will mark the occasion of his coming of age to burn you ceremoniously.” The fact was, he would have liked to have destroyed the thing when his father had been sputtering out the last of his gin soaked life. He had dreamed of tossing it into the fireplace in the old man’s sick room to give him an idea of what he intended to do with everything he considered precious. He had actually managed to burn a lot of it when he’d re-located from the family estate to this residence to supervise Project Cripton. But in the end he had decided to keep the portrait. For one thing, it was worth a fortune. That had been a much more important consideration at the time of his parent’s demise, but it still required consideration of course.

“Gin!” he hissed. What kind of aristocrat drank gin? His father had picked up a taste for it from one of his numerous tarts, and that, along with some other diseases from the same sources spelled the end of him. Well tarts, at least those of the female variety were never his weakness. He hadn’t given much thought to personal relationships until relatively late in life. 

Reginald had been his only serious relationship and their arrangement had lasted for a number of years. He was younger, more daring, from a good, but nearly destitute family. At first he had tried to get him to give some assistance to some of his family members, but he had made it quite clear that their arrangement did not include any charity work. Reginald had merely laughed at this, and blithely disconnected from his poor relations. Nothing else ever rose to disturb their peaceful co-existence until Reginald had learned from that blathering geneticist that certain of the potential offspring were eliminated. He had simply ordered him to test the various candidates for the gene which was said to control obsessive behaviors like smoking. Those who had gotten it from Reginald’s side of the family were eliminated.

“You went behind my back,” Reginald had dared to scream at him, his face livid. Until that moment, Chapman had never seen him really angry.

“I thought it was for the best,” he said quietly, but a sullen rage was beginning to grow. It had been a long time since he had felt anything quite like it. It was very rare for someone to challenge him and he did not appreciate this outburst from someone he had rescued from a life of genteel drudgery.

The resentment brewed for weeks. Reginald kept his distance and finally took a holiday, but returned in good spirits. It was quite clear that he had been on some kind of lark, involving no doubt many moments of debauchery. This thought left him livid. He simply couldn’t stand being made a fool of in such a sordid fashion.

He made a call and one afternoon while out rowing on the nearby lake, Reginald’s boat conveniently capsized. He had the remains cremated and dumped unceremoniously where the man had drowned. He had lost touch with his family, so there was no one around to ask any questions. He had moments of regret, mainly in the middle of the night, but most of the time, he was glad to be rid of Reginald’s incessant smoking. He also had the comfort of knowing that Reginald’s good aristocratic genes were preserved in the person growing in the safe.

A discreet chime sounded and Chapman nodded. He had a camera installed that allowed the foreign staff to be able to ascertain when he was available to receive contact from them. They were also required to keep a twenty-four hour watch on the vault. These measures were recently put in place and not completely understood apparently. “What is it?” he yelled. This brought a startled middle aged man running. He picked up the phone on the table on the right hand side of the old man and handed it to him.  “This is Chapman,” the old man said into the phone and motioned the man away. He turned around in a kind of military flourish and exited.

“Mr. Chapman, this is Regis Melton.”

“What do you want?”

“We’ve got some problems over here I need to discuss.”

“Alright, come over,”

“I need time to get some figures together, right now isn’t …”

“Come now, fill me in,” the old man snapped and hung up the phone. He took some sips from a snifter of brandy and waited. He began to speculate about what problems could be brewing in the nearby laboratory. Given the complexity of the various types of research going on, it could be any number of things. It was probably something gone wrong with the robotics. Melton would want an okay for pouring more money into fixing the problem.

He was inclined to deny them any more funding for that. In fact, he was inclined to deny them any more funding period. He had a good mind to close up shop and return to the ancestral home. This place wasn’t the same anymore. It hadn’t been the same since the night the previous fall when the light came down out of the sky. He winced, remembering how he of all people had been denied access to it. Well, it might be time to go out there and claim his share, and put the stupid mob in its place.

The chime sounded. He nodded his head and this time the man, Jakobweiz seemed to get it.  Momentarily, he escorted Melton into the room. “Sit down, you look white as a sheet,” Chapman said, as the servant backed out of the room.

“It’s dreadful news, just terrible.” Melton said.

“Well, it can’t be bad as all that, spit it out, man,” Chapman exclaimed. He maneuvered into his chair and waited for Melton to position himself in a chair as well.

“They just won’t work. The whole thing is a wash. I need time to go over it, but this morning the robotic system just collapsed.”

The old man squinted at him, “Collapsed, How? What?”

Melton threw up his hands, “All of it, the robots just melted into goo.” He blinked at Chapman. “How can metal melt? Without heat, how can that happen?”

Chapman shook his head, “Listen to me. I’ve had enough of all this nonsense. I’m shutting down the whole goddamn operation.”

“You can’t. It’s a problem, but it’s bound to be something we can fix. Give me just a little while to run some tests.”

“No, I’ve made up my mind. I’m withdrawing from this infernal pit. I want you to start the process. I’m packing up for London this week. I’m taking the only viable thing this rotten laboratory ever produced and getting out. I suggest you make all the arrangements.”

“Just like that? It’s over?” Melton asked, bewildered.

“Yes, that’s it. The writing was on the wall from the time that girl deprived this operation of the creation light.”

“That’s not right. The others took their offspring over there and would’ve gotten them fixed up right, if there hadn’t been more interference.”

“Yes and there’s always going to be interference until hell freezes over. I’m going to start over, back where a tiny bit of civilization still exists. I’ll take my son and he’ll be the true north, the starting point of a whole new order. Anyhow, you’ve heard my orders, get on and carry them out.”

“But you need our support to keep your son going. He won’t survive without us. And what about the new world we were going to create?”

“Your new world just melted. I knew those damned robots were no good. We don’t need them. I mean my son and I don’t need such nineteenth century fantasy contraptions. We will start something better than any machine or human thing ever seen.”

Melton stood up, his face very pale but composed. “Good day, Mr. Chapman, I’ll start the process.”

“Good man, you have until the end of the month. Clear out everything. I know someone who will buy up this property and that will be that.”

Melton looked at him startled, “You haven’t been outside lately have you?”

“I’ve kept an eye on the security cameras.”

“Haven’t you noticed anything unusual about the grounds?”

“What do you mean?”

Melton shook his head, “I just think you’ll have trouble convincing any buyer…”

Chapman cut him off, “I never have to convince a buyer, that’s not the level I have to operate on, anyhow go on. I’ll be in touch in a few days with further instructions.” Melton nodded and departed. Chapman yelled for Jakobweiz who appeared promptly. “Call Mr. Reynolds.” Jakobweiz picked up the phone and pushed a button. He listened for a few moments, and then turned to Chapman with a questioning look. “Go get Cecily,” he said. The man exited. In a few moments, a young woman appeared. “I need you to start arrangements to re-locate to the ancestral home.”

She nodded. “When?”

“As soon as it can all be arranged. I want the private jet to carry my son and me in a few days. Everything else can be sent later.” She nodded.

“Is there anything else right now?”

He shook his head. “Have you received any communications from Reynolds lately?”

“Not since last fall.” He nodded and waved her out. He sat down in the chair and gripped the arms reflexively. What was going on with Reynolds? He never stayed out of touch for such long periods. They shared many mutual interests which required at least monthly consultations. Why hadn’t he even thought of any of this until now? He glanced at the vault and reflected that it must be due to the awareness of the resentment Reynolds must no doubt feel about the demise of his own offspring.

“Well, it was a matter of the survival of the fittest,” he would love to explain to him. Though of course he could not put the matter so bluntly. Reynolds was one of the few human beings on the earth whom he really couldn’t afford to speak his mind to. This latter thought brought a frown to his face. Well, he might give him a small discount on the surrounding countryside to sooth his feathers. He had bought it with the understanding that he could unload it at any time, as per their usual real estate transactional agreements.