Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 06

"We were so close!" Worthington sobbed. "The doctors said, a month or two and she could have been saved."

Fragments of Kevin's briefing linked up in the maelstrom, scattered facts coalescing in a hasty hypothesis. "I am a man of my word." Watson said loftily. "If the treatment was withdrawn then it was not at my behest."

Worthington narrowed his brimming eyes. "You signed off on it, you lying old bastard."

"Look," Watson-Munt glared, ad-libbing for all he was worth, "I own a trillion-dollar company with thirty thousand employees. At least one hundred of whom have my signature authority. I am a billionaire, yes, and a genius, of course, yet even I have my limitations. We have thousands of subjects on our clinical trials, I can not keep track of every one."

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" Worthington growled. "Watching someone you love die by degrees? To watch them suffer, to watch them fade away, day by day by day? Do you?"

Watson crossed his legs, hardly able to hear for the pounding of his heart. "In fact I do." he told the window. Munt's mother, Evelyn, had died of breast cancer. "Why else would I have made the cure my life's work?" He shot the snivelling official a glare. "It's funny how everyone thinks they're the only ones to ever go through this. Get a grip, man, this is humiliating."

"We'll do anything, your Lordship. Anything."

Watson heaved a sigh. "Aki? Who's leading the implementation team?"

"Professor Watson." Sook replied.

Watson snapped his fingers at Worthington. "You! Worthington! Give my assistant your card. Aki, get onto Watson. Ask him, why was this subject dropped from the trial. Have him reinstate her immediately, and sack the individual who made that decision."

While Watson sat back, smoothing his wig, Sook held out her hand.

"Thankyou, your Lordship!" Worthington gushed, fumbling his wallet and fishing out a card. "Thankyou. Sir, I'm sorry if I came on a bit strong. It's just... my wife, she's just so... bloody... sick, it's just so cruel. I'm absolutely desperate."

Watson looked away. "Ask Mister Worthington if we may be on our way."

"Well?" Sook cocked her head. "Now you've made a complete fool of yourself in front of everyone. Are we free to leave?"

"Of course, of course. When do you think it'll be available? We haven't much time you see, and-"

"Aki! Tear up that card. Then put a call through to the home secretary. Use her private line."

Worthington raised his hands. "SORRY! Sorry. Of course, you're free to go. And if I can do anything, ANYthing, don't hesitate to call. Seriously." With a jerk of his head the rent-a-cops beat a hasty retreat, grateful for the narrow escape. What were they thinking? Railway Police storming a foreign aircraft, armed and intimidating? The Independent Office of Review would have a field day. They climbed into their police car and idled away, no flashing reds and blues this end of the charade.

Pausing at the top of the airstairs, Worthington opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, dipped his head and departed. Watson and Sook watched his vehicle dwindle until it was swallowed by the gloom. Lily, the flight attendant, raised the airstairs like a drawbridge.

Locking the door behind her, she disappeared into the cockpit, leaving the wide-eyed imposters to their own enigmatic devices. A moment later, the first engine spooled up, filling the cabin with a muted whine. Watson looked at Sook, Sook looked at Watson. "Poor bastard." the old man breathed.

"Breast cancer?" Sook asked.

Watson shrugged. "It's gotta be. Munt's been working on a cure the past few years. Using RISC and CRISPR. He's getting close, apparently."

"How close?" Sook asked. "Do you think we can help him?"

The plane's second engine wound up and the seatbelt chime went 'BONG!'

Watson looked at Sook, frowning. "Who?"

"That poor man."

"The Border Force guy? How?"

"I don't know." Sook said, clearly upset. "Put his wife back on that trial?"

Watson reached across the aisle and patted her arm. "Sook, Sweetheart... We're in enough trouble as it is. We'll be lucky not to wind up in the slammer."

Sook crossed her arms and stared miserably out the window. "Well, Kevin's already hacked Munt's AI. Why don't we ask him?"

"Kev?"

Sook nodded. The plane came off the brakes with a jerk and set off at a jog down the taxiway.

"A nice thought, but some poor dying woman's the least of our worries. Let's face it, everyone dies."

"Don't care." Sook glared, "I'm gonna do something."

Watson heaved a sigh. "You know they still have the death penalty, don't you? In Ab Aldafra. For crossing the royals."

Sook turned to face him, a flash in her dark eyes. "Is that so?" she said and arched her eyebrows. "Well let's face it, Damon. Everyone dies."

*************************************************************************************************************

Vicky came-to, feeling like she'd been run overby a bus. Full of football hooligans, fresh from the pub. Pushing up, she blew the hair from her cheek and looked around through sleep-slitted eyes. The Hyatt, she thought. She must be in Canberra. Rolling onto her back, she slung her legs off the bed and sat with a groan, stark naked, face in her hands, shoulders stooped under the weight of a wicked hangover. The in-house phone on the bedside bureau began to warble. This wasn't the Hyatt. The phone was wrong.

For a long time she sat, just staring at the phone, but just as she reached for the handset the call rang out. She rubbed her eyes, still struggling to orient, too groggy to step up to the window and throw back the drapes. Her eyes tracked to the small kitchenette on the far side of the room. The thought, 'coffee', wallowed up out of the mire.

The phone rang again and she reached out with a trembling hand. Partly wary, mostly confused, she hesitated for a heartbeat, then picked up the handset and cleared her throat. "Hello?"

"Macca?" a voice said, "Is that you?"

"Tan?" Vicky frowned.

"Oh, thank god, Baby," Tanya breathed, "we've been calling for hours. Are you okay?"

"Where am I?"

"At the hotel."

"What hotel?"

"Munt's."

"Whose?"

Tanya snapped her fingers down the line. "Come on, Macca. Focus. You're in the Hyde Park hotel. Remember? You hooked up with a billionaire sociopath last night."

"I did?"

"Yes Darling, you did."

Vicky's brow furrowed in thought. "Oh... Right... So why do I feel like I've just been sicked-up by a mangy dog?"

"He drugged you."

"The mangy dog?"

"Munt. That's his MO. He lures girls up to the penthouse apartment, drugs them, does whatever he does with them, then moves them to a different room."

"He does?"

"Uh huh. You didn't read the brief?"

"No."

"You silly girl. He does it all the time. He spiked your drink with tranquilizer. Delayed release."

"You're talking about the gene guy, right?"

"Yes, Darling, I am."

"Well I'm not silly, Tan. He's a sociopath, not an idiot. If I'd shown up knowing too much about him, he would have twigged."

"Sorry Darling, sorry. That's not what I meant."

Vicky scratched her pubic hair then squinted at her nails. Looking down, she found her belly covered in dried, flaky residue from her bellybutton to her thatch. "Eww..."

"What Darling? What's up?"

"That dirty old pervert came all over me."

"Munt?"

"Someone." Vicky mumbled, fondling each breast in turn. "Hell's bells my boobs are sore."

"That's another thing you would have discovered. He has a breast fetish."

"Tit man, huh?" Vicky said under her breath, "Lucky for me."

"But you're not injured, Darling? Are you? That's the main thing."

Chin on her sternum, Vicky studied her breasts, searching for the bite marks she was sure she would find. "That man's a monster, Tan. Drugging me, hurting my girls. Squirting his goo all over me while I was down for the count. Should we call the cops?"

"Well," Tanya said warily, "that depends. You see, he may well have just got his comeuppance."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, listen. What did you do to him?"

"Munt?"

"Uh huh."

"Why, what's up?"

"They put him away." Tanya said gleefully.

"Put him away?"

"Mmm hmm. In a psychiatric hospital."

"Munt?" Vicky demanded.

"Uh huh."

"The billionaire scientist?"

"Uh huh."

"A psychiatric hospital?"

"Bedlam no less." Tanya snickered.

"What for?"

"They picked him up near the river." Tanya said, barely able to contain herself. "Raving incoherently. Listen. What was he wearing? When you last saw him?"

"Wearing?" Vicky shrugged. "I don't remember. Jeans I guess, some sort of flying jacket."

"Well, when they picked him up he was wearing a pair of cowboy boots."

"Cowboy boots?"

"Silver heels and everything. And an Air Force bomber jacket, from the sixties. And white leather flying gloves. And... wait for it... a pair of silk boxers. With his junk hanging out."

"His genitals?" Vicky exclaimed.

"Uh huh," Tanya confirmed. "And that's not all. The medical report said he had three frostbitten fingers."

Vicky palmed her forehead. "Frostbitten?"

"Yep," Tanya said, "down to the bone. Dead as three little dodos, apparently. They'll have to amputate."

"What the fuck?"

"What the fuck indeed." Tanya confirmed. "Come on, Macca, spill. What did you do?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"Not as much as your boyfriend. Trying to convince the psyches he's a billionaire. His lifelong obsession with secrecy has just come back to haunt him. There's no way to identify the silly old prick. Far as they're concerned he's just some homeless old derro."

"Oh my god." Vicky breathed. "Are you for real?"

"Scout's honour." Tanya said and allowed herself an evil cackle. "At this rate he'll be in there for years."

"How do you know all this?"

"Kev kept track of him on CCTV. It's everywhere in London."

"Where was the idiot's security?"

"Gave them the slip. He hates the sight of them, anyway, so they have to be stand-off. So there he was, just wandering around all on his lonesome, down by the river."

"Jesus, Tanya. What have I done?"

"What has HE done, you mean? Date-raping unconscious young women, then playing with their titties. If you ask me he got what was coming."

"I guess." Vicky said unconvincingly. "Can I come home now?"

"Soon, Darling, we're just waiting for the shift change. But Macca, Baby, put us out of our misery. Was it you? Are you behind this little debacle?"

Vicky sucked a breath through her teeth. "Probably."

"Well come on Baby, spill. We're busting to know."

Vicky heard a voice off-stage say, 'Tell her the suspenders are killing me.'

"See?" Tanya said, "Comet says the suspenders are killing her."

Vicky heaved a trembling sigh. "Well..." she began, "remember that case? The Crown V Harrow?"

There was a short, puzzled silence.

"The Acid Queen." Vicky prompted.

Tanya took a short, sharp breath. "Nooo... Macca, you didn't."

"Uh huh." Vicky nodded, picking at the dried cum on her belly. "I did. I used flavoured barrier cream. Then painted my nipples with LSD. Good shit too, so I was assured."

Tanya held the phone away. "She painted her nipples with LSD!" she crowed, and Vicky heard several 'Ooooo's' of approval. "Macca," she laughed, "that's just bloody brilliant. No wonder they locked him up."

"Double dose." Vicky said with guilty pleasure. "He must have been tripping balls."

"What about the fingers?" Tanya asked.

Vicky shrugged. "Mm nnn know. I was unconscious."

"Well it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Tanya said flatly. "Oh Macca. LSD-on your titties. That's frikken' brilliant."

"Well, you said you needed him out of the way. So, you know, I figured a nice little trip. And how about Damon? Did he make that flight?"

"He's on the ground in Ab Aldafra as we speak."

"With Sookie?"

"His little ninja sidekick? Absolutely."

"So now the waiting starts."

"It won't be long, Darling, thanks to you."

"Can you please come and get me, Tan? Please? This place gives me the creeps."

"Soon as the coast is clear, Lucrezia."

"Lucrezia?"

"Borgia, Darling. Don't you know? She was an Italian noblewoman."

********************************************************************************************************

Cross-legged on a dazzling silk carpet, Beck rattled the dice in a cut-crystal glass. With a toss, they clattered across the game board and she picked up her token, a miniature yacht in solid gold, then advanced 9 spaces, counting under her breath. Dark eyes looked up from the far side of the board, where fat wads of multicoloured cash lay neatly stacked in a row. "You owe me five thousand." Floraliza said.

Beck wiggled her bottom against the slippery gold silk of her slip, then raked her hair back in simmering frustration. "Lizzy," she said, bunching the hem of her slip in her crotch, "when is it my turn to win?"

The little Filipina hefted a shoulder. "I don't make the rules, My Lady. I just use them to beat you."

"Are you sure about these rules?" Beck whined. "Do I really have to bribe you when I land on the jail?"

"Unless you want to stay there, and the bank take all your money."

"But you are the bank. And you've already taken my money."

"Well you should stop to be too much in jail."

"For a parking fine? On a square that says 'free parking'?"

"Only free on the weekend."

"It is the weekend!"

"Monopoly use different calendar." Floraliza said and picked up the rule book. "Today Tuesday."

Beck reached across the board. "Let me see."

"Two thousand dorrar." Floraliza said, clutching the rule book to her chest.

"Just for a look?"

"That's what it say. In the rule book."

"You know, one day I'm gonna get my hands on that book."

"Not till you banker."

"Well let me be banker then. Just for once."

"Can't be banker till you win one hundred game. Rule book say."

Beck gave her little boob a frustrated squeeze, while Floraliza, Beck's cut-throat, implacable, wheeling-dealing handmaiden, sat staring stony-faced, waiting for the shady lady to cough up. "Well can you lend me five grand till I can sell a couple of properties?"

Floraliza compressed her lips. "Mmm... big problem. You already borrow bank to buy hotel. Now price go up. Ten thousand dorrar."

Beck palmed her forehead. "Ten thousand dorrar?"

"Sorry."

"It was five thousand dorrar last time."

"Bad luck. Inflation."

"Alright," Beck sighed, "put it on my tab."

Floraliza pencilled the figures onto Beck's IOU, then handed Beck a wad of notes, which Beck then placed on Floraliza's open palm. The handmaiden smiled. "Bank say pleasure doing business with you."

"How much do I owe you now?"

"Twelve million." Floraliza said, picking up the dice and dropping them into the glass.

"You know," Beck said, as Floraliza picked up the cannon token, "might be easier if I just rob the bloody bank."

"Then it feel just like home." Floraliza said darkly, as a door in the far, silk-lined wall swung open and the Bitch Doctor strode in. Cruella. The Alien Queen. Fingernail-puller in chief. She stood, towering over them, as Floraliza looked up in trembling fear.

"My Lady," Inayat said flatly, "forgive my intrusion. I bring word from His Majesty, the King."

"Cole or Kong?" Beck replied. "Go on, Lizzy, your turn. Roll the dice"

"My Lady, I must insist. His Majesty requests the... ahem... pleasure... of your company. In the Parley Hall. You must prepare."

"Barley what?" Beck demanded.

Inayat had that look in her eye. The scary one that said, 'Don't fuck with me, or I'll serve you up to the cannibals. Bending, she seized the insolent little guttersnipe by one skinny arm.

"Alright, alright, keep your burka on!" Beck fumed, wrenching free. She pushed up onto her little bare feet, as slowly and awkwardly as she could manage. "It's nearly dinnertime, you know. And I was just thrashing Lizzy at Monopoly."

Floraliza came up beside her mistress and stood, head bowed, shoulders stooped, hands clasped chastely in front of her.

Inayat kicked the game board aside and a fanciful fortune went flying. "Bringing that filth under his Majesty's roof." she snarled. "Sinful gambling."

Beck flicked her hair back. "It's not gambling." she said defiantly, "Lizzy's teaching me how to do finance."

Scowling, Inayat looked Beck's little Filipino Hand Maiden up and down. At Beck's behest, she'd shed her chaste blue dress with white lace trim, half-apron and nurse's cap, for skin-tight charcoal yoga pants, and a sleeveless, low-sided shirt that offered a sneaky peek of pert brown side-boob. "Why is this slut not in uniform?" Inayat hissed.

Beck draped her arm over the trembling girl's shoulders. "Cos' I said she didn't have to be. Not twenty four-seven. It's not right. It's not healthy. You wouldn't want me being served by an unhealthy handmaiden. Would you?"

Teeth clenched, Inayat balled her fists, and for an instant looked on the brink of striking someone. "Be gone!" she barked and Floraliza cowered.

"You stay where you are!" Beck said, catching Floraliza's hand. "Inny... Put yourself in my silk slippers... Here we are, me and Lizzy, playing mono... learning how to do finance. Then you barge in. And it's all, 'My Lady do this, and My Lady do that, the king wants to see you in the parlour room!' No 'please' or 'thank you', not so much as a 'how are you today?'. So why don't we try it again? 'Good evening, My Lady', you say, 'how are you?' And I say, 'Awesome, Inny, thanks for asking. And how are you?'"

When Inayat opened her mouth to put an end to the performance, Beck raised a hand.

"And you say, 'Not too shabby, My Lady. I am touched and grateful that my wellbeing is of your concern.'" Beck put her face in Inayat's and narrowed her eyes. "And I say, 'think nothing of it, Inny'... because good manners don't cost anything, do they?"

Inayat's nostrils flared. "I did not come here to play your stupid-"

Beck raised a finger. "Buu-upp bup bup bup! No ad-libbing, Inny, stick to the script. 'How are you, My Lady?' you say, because may I remind you, I will soon be the wife of your king, with all the hiring and firing potential that implies." She wagged her finger. "Don't diss me, Inayat, I'm warning you. Me or my girl. Or you'll be lucky to be pouring tea at a sidewalk sheesha bar."

Inayat grit her teeth, quaking with pent up rage. Somehow this little blonde trollop had foreseen the powers that lay in store, and was now trying them on for size. Beck tilted her head. "I'm waiting."

Heaving a deep breath, Inayat smoothed her white medical coat and swept back her fringe. "Good evening, My Lady. How are you?"

Floraliza began softly sobbing. Sooner or later, she would lose the protection of this crazy young girl and that dragon, Inayat, would tear her to pieces.

"Like you mean it." Beck growled. "Don't cry, Lizzy, it's okay. Because when I go I'm taking you with me."

Inayat offered a dead-eyed smile- the snivelling little Filipina stood a better chance of flying to the moon than following this young harlot into the palace. "Greetings, My Lady." she said and dipped her head. "How are you on this fine evening?"

"I am well, thank you Inayat. And how are you?"

Inayat faked a courteous bow. "I am honoured you should ask and all the better for it."

Beck clicked her tongue with a wink. "Good for you, Inny. Now, how may I... we... be of assistance?"

"I bring you greetings from His Majesty, the King." Inayat replied. "He is desirous of your presence in the Great Hall. In the chamber of the Blood Moon Parley. He wishes to welcome you in person, as his new wife-to-be."

"I see," Beck said shrewdly, though her heart was racing at the very idea; setting eyes on this mythic character for the very first time. "And when does he desireth to see me?"