Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 08

Watson propped, and the troops behind him collided with one another in an effort to avoid trampling their guest. The members of the resident squad lay hands on their weapons, as the old man cleared his throat. "Good evening." he said with a dip of his head.

The woman looked at him, blinking. "Excellency, good evening."

Watson inclined his head in greeting. "And who, may I enquire, do I have the honour of addressing?"

"Me?" the woman asked. "I am Doctor Inayat umm Ahmad. Protector of the Perpetuals and loyal servant of His Majesty."

"It is an honour to meet you, Doctor." Watson bowed then nodded at the heavy wooden door. "And whom, may I ask, might be the resident of this room?"

Inayat looked around at the men in confusion, waiting for someone to come to her rescue. "Why, Your Excellency, you are not to trouble yourself with such details."

"On the contrary. In my culture, when one passes the abode of someone greatly esteemed, it is natural... no... it is necessary... to offer a prayer of safekeeping to those inside. It is a duty, Madam Doctor, a most sacred duty, and one we take very seriously."

"My Lord," Inayat replied, "forgive me, but... it's protocol, I can't."

"You can't just utter a name? Then I must ask the king why this is so."

"I can tell you why it is so. Because the resident of these chambers is to about wed His Majesty."

"A travelling wife?"

"No, Excellency, a Perpetual. And it is forbidden by tradition to speak her name."

"Which makes it all the more important that I should pay my respects." Watson pressed, his muscles turning to jelly under the haughty façade. "Now, I must go and speak with His Majesty. And when he asks, I will have to confess, I was denied the opportunity to undertake this sacred observance. Either that or just give me a name, so I can offer my prayer and I will be gone."

No one wanted a bar of this quandary and the doctor could sense her men falling back. Shot if she did, beheaded if she didn't. "Why... this is the royal residence of Lady Rebekah. His Majesty's betrothed."

Watson balled his fists, squeezing as hard as he dared, as the blood drained from his face. "Lady Rebekah." he nodded, then bowed his head, knees locked solid to stop his legs from quaking. He looked up. "There," he smiled, "a prayer for the good Lady Rebekah, whose name I will mention to no one. And one for you, my good Doctor. And, what's more, my own prayers are answered, thanks to you." He looked at the leader of his own bamboozled squad. "Shall we?"

The 2 squads pulled apart, all shrugs and head-shakes, one group waiting for the troublesome wife-to-be, the other heading with their handicap for the king's private chambers. Mopping her brow, Inayat turned on the men. "Not one word of this to anyone!"

Wide-eyed, silent, her men shook their heads. For all her bluff and bravado, her vile temper and toe-curling arrogance, the draconian Doctor Inayat had just been bested. By a man. And a filthy bleacher at that. They'd be laughing about it for weeks.

"Make sure of it. If any one of you so much as opens his mouth, all of you will pay."

The squad leader inclined his head. "I can assure you, Madam Doctor."

"Good. Now, is all in order?"

"Yes, Doctor." the squad leader nodded, "The area's been cleared and the pool has been screened."

Inayat heaved an exasperated sigh. This little western harlot and her love of the pool. The constant whining- 'I want a swim, I want a swim'- with no thought at all of the effort involved. Grumbling VVIPs to move on, privacy screens to erect, ten guards down, a handful left in waiting, ten guards up when the slut had taken her fill. Well, come the royal wedding, wasn't she in for a little surprise?

'Seen one royal chamber' Watson thought, 'seen 'em all'. Standing more or less at attention, mere meters from the king, he tried to case the joint without actually moving his eyes. Usual raised dais, almost a cliché, the low, wooden parody of an ivory tower. And some seen-before faces, not least of all His Majesty, and his flunky in chief, Mister Ghazal, resplendent in his pantomime costume. And there, behind the king, who was lounging like an elephant seal on a reinforced, padded divan, stood the three stooges, the soothsaying lie detectors, looking like something straight out of Gilbert and Sullivan. Not that he could talk, Watson thought, flexing his feet in the soft leather booties, calf-length, in yellow and green, elaborately tooled with upturned toes.

Watson's legs were still quaking at the sudden twist of fate, his beloved Rebekah, now a Perpetual, only one room away. To be in the presence of a powerful monarch, one with a penchant for summary execution, seemed suddenly so mundane. It felt as if the whole, weird world had just been turned on its head. Ally was close, Beck even closer, a miracle of sorts and a gift of mixed blessings. For the stakes were now higher than any time in the past, the 4 of them in grave danger- Beck, Ally, Sook, the geriatric imposter. And it had all sounded so simple in theory- go to the Island and come home with Beck, stay out of trouble and don't lose your head.

Minions came and went on various errands, as Watson stood, resoundingly ignored, until the king looked up as if realising for the first time he was there. Waving his flunkies away, he beckoned. "Come," he urged, "come. Don't be afraid. Come my friend."

The old man did as he'd been schooled to do, stepping up to the dais keeping his eyes on the floor. He took a knee, then pressed the king's fat knuckles to his forehead. "My Liege. I am honoured."

"Lord Gideon," the king smiled, "I am happy to see you. But tell me. Why are you looking so... so... so shaken?"

"Your Majesty... being in your presence in these... these magnificent surroundings... I must confess I feel a little overwhelmed."

"All of us are equals under god." the king kindly replied. "Now up! Up! Let us look upon each other as two old friends."

Watson backed up to the holding point, gradually elevating his gaze to take in the massive fat face. The sweating skin, the multiple chins, the short, scruffy beard dyed black to hide the grey. "Tell me, Lord Gideon," the king asked amiably, "the accommodations? Are they to your liking?"

Watson nodded. "The entire experience has been simply sublime, Your Majesty. The highlight of my life. The venue, the company, the food, the wine, the entertainment. In fact, I'd go as far as to say, this whole experience has been nothing less than life-changing, and I do not make that claim lightly."

The king indulged him with a smile. "In the great tradition of the Blood Moon. Is it fair to say, this festival makes all others pale in comparison?"

"Pale as mist on a summer morn." Watson concurred.

The mystics put their heads together. This bleacher's tongue was as silver as his hair. Pale as mist on a summer morn? That was a keeper.

The king raised his arm and a page placed a mirror in his hand. For a moment he studied himself, turning his face this way and that, while the seers stood staring daggers at Watson. Searching his soul, Watson figured. God knows what they might find there.

"Lord Gideon." the king said, and Watson sensed a change in the energy. The king's opening blandishments weren't worth the oxygen they'd consumed in the making, and he didn't need to be a clairvoyant to know he was about to be put on the spot. The king's eyes hardened. "Tell me, Lord Gideon. Why is it so? Why do not I not appear as I was in my thirties? Let alone my twenties?"

Watson's eyebrows elevated in spite of himself. "Your Majesty?"

The king raised his arm and the mirror was quickly retrieved. "I have taken your serum, yes?"

Watson nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, I witnessed it myself."

"Indeed." the king nodded. "So did my seers. So did my vizier, and my doctor, and my stewards and my guards." The king heaved his bulk upright and lowered two elephantine feet to the floor. "And yet..." he raised his hands in supplication, "I still do not look like a twenty year-old."

Watson's mind was racing. Was this some sort of a joke? A trick? A trap? Of course he didn't look like a twenty year-old. Not yet. Munt's elixir of youth- a mixture of foetal stem cells, with a dash of CRISPR and a splash of TERT, worked proportionally. A 10-year reversal took 10 years. Not 1 month, or a week, let alone 2 or 3 days. And normal saline with a dash of food colouring took even longer. "Your Majesty, forgive me, there may have been a slight misunderstanding."

"Indeed?"

"The preparation, My Liege... it can only act within the cell."

"What cell, Lord Munt? I have many."

"Exactly, Your Majesty. Your grasp of the science is impeccable. The preparation must enter your cells, many, many of them, and when they divide, the rejuvenation gets passed on. And on, and on until all of your cells carry the new code. By which time you will once again be young."

The king looked around, then beckoned one of his mystics. Fat Cleric hurried forward for a quick, whispered confab. "Lord Gideon," the king said, "I understand your elixir must act on my every living cell. Is that correct?"

'Fucked if I know' Watson thought desperately, on the brink of throwing in the towel. He was no more a billionaire psychopath genius than the three stooges were telepathic savants. "That's correct, Your Majesty."

"How many molecules are there in one dose of serum?"

Sweat popped out on Watson's forehead. "Countless, Your Majesty."

"And how many cells in my body?"

"In your magnificent royal person? Once again, a number beyond counting."

"Yet I have taken 3 more vials, by injection as required. So why am I not young?"

Watson suffered a flashback. To the Pacific, in a storm, watching Rebekah float face down, fifty meters away in an angry sea. The showdown here- in the heavily defended palace of an infantile king- this was child's play. Summoning his alter ego, the old man took a breath. "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold?"

"What do you wish?"

"If I may approach. If I may lay hands on your royal person."

A murmur went through the room and the oracles quickly conferred. Fat Cleric leant over the king's shoulder and whispered in his ear. The king snapped his fingers at a steward. "Give His Excellency some gloves."

A pair of latex gloves was delivered and Watson snapped them over his hands. "Come," the king beckoned, "you may approach. Pray, enlighten me."

Stiff-legged as a robot, Watson stepped up to the dais and held out his hand. "May I, Your Majesty?"

The king duly placed his own fat hand in Watson's. Bent at the waist, Watson made a grand production out of inspecting the king's open hand, the palm first, then the back. He looked up. "Is there a doctor here?"

Guards' hands went to their weapons and the seers all stepped back. "Is something wrong?" the king asked, beckoning the doctor, who'd been hovering in the shadows watching the show.

"On the contrary." Watson said, looking up as the doctor appeared at his side, acknowledging the fellow scientist with a nod. "Doctor," Watson frowned, "look here."

The on-duty royal doctor stooped to look, holding his white coat out of the way. As he watched, Watson curled the king's fingers into a fist, then pinched the skin on the back of his hand. Stretched taut, the skin rebounded smartly, leaving a smooth, shining surface behind. Watson looked at the doctor. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" the king demanded, leaning forward into the huddle.

"Subcutaneous rebound." Watson said, then looked at the doctor. "Doctor, if you would be so kind." Taking the medic's hand, Watson lay it flat, palm down, then pinched up a lappet of skin. On release, it submerged slowly back into place, with none of the bounce they'd observed with the king. Watson took the old monarch's hand once again, folded his fingers, and as the court looked on with bated breath, took a pinch. There was a collective gasp, followed by whispers, as it snapped smartly back into place.

"Your Majesty." Watson breathed, "I can assure you the process has well and truly begun. Mature skin does not behave that way." Peeling off the gloves, Watson clenched his own fist, then went through the whole charade once again, with predicable results. "See? Like yours, mine displays significant subcutaneous rebound, although I have been taking the treatment for a number of years. In fact," he said, upping the ante, "now I stand close to you, it is my professional opinion that you have already shed several years."

The king looked around, then summoned his seers. "Is this true?" he asked in the local tongue. "Is the Professor correct?"

Fat Cleric, Short Round and Reverend Rake swapped anxious glances. Not to be outdone, Fat Cleric reached for His Majesty's hand. "If I may be so bold?"

The king offered his hand up for a third, fourth and fifth opinion. Rather than the pinch test- he had no idea what he might be looking for, the seer closed his eyes instead, channelling his psychic energy deep into the monarch's vivisphere. After a moment's intense concentration, he staggered slightly with the effort of seeing and released the sovereign's hand. "It is indeed true, My Liege. By my estimation, you are renewed to the tune of forty weeks. You have undergone nine months of reverse gestation."

The king looked up, beaming. "Doctor? As a man of science? Can you tell me, could this be true?"

The king's doctor fought the urge to tug his collar. "By all appearances, My Liege, they are correct. While I am unable to say exactly how much, without some sort of calibrated assay, in my professional opinion that's a good estimation."

The king clapped his hands and the players all sagged in relief. They all got to keep their heads, at least for the time being. "Congratulations, Lord Munt!" the king crowed. "On both a scientific and spiritual level your appraisal is proved." He flexed his hand, admiring its youthful glow, the tone and texture and tension of the skin. "Ahhh... it feels so wonderful to be young again. At least younger. Just think what joy awaits in years to come. Just think what I might achieve. An end to those savages over the southern border for one. Ab Aldafra is on the verge of a magnificent conquest. All the lands will one day be mine. It may take fifty years, it may take one hundred, but what does that matter when I have forever?"

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The ever-present Ali delivered Watson back to his apartment. The old man walked in, spent, to find Cassandra watching TV. Stark naked, waiting for him. She bounded off the bed as the door shut behind him, and draped her arms round his neck. "Did you see the king?"

Watson looked at her. "His Majesty? Yes."

"What's he like?" Cassandra asked, grinding her pubic bone against the old man's thigh.

"Looking younger every day." Watson said gloomily.

"What's the matter?" Cassandra frowned, "You don't seem very happy to see me."

"It's been a long day." Watson said, sitting heavily on the bed, before pulling his fancy boots off.

Cassandra bounced onto the bed behind him. Up on her knees, she commenced massaging the old man's shoulders. Watson dropped his chin to his chest, shoulders hunched, and let the girl work her magic. "I had some coke, you know, Lord Gee." she said.

"Cola?"

Cassandra giggled. "The other type. The fun type. It made me horny."

Watson reached back, feeling for her crotch, and gave it an exploratory grope. She was right. Wet as a fish, all hot and slippery. He winkled a finger into her and she shivered. "Oh yeah," she said, head back, eyes closed, "that's what I'm talking about."

Watson turned inwards, looking for any hint of arousal, but the fun park was closed and the shutters were down. He pulled his finger out. "Cassie, Sweetheart, I'lm gonna have to take a rain check. Sorry. I've got some really serious business on my mind."

Not batting an eyelid, Cassandra took up the massage again. "So it's true what they say. About VVIPs. The wheels of business never stop turning."

"At this level, unfortunately no."

"Then how about a nice shower? Then I can tuck you in, and lay down beside you. And later, you know, if you feel the urge..."

The old man looked at her over his shoulder. While he still felt nothing even faintly resembling arousal, a far more troubling sensation tugged at his heart. "You know," he said, "you have no idea how much I'd like that."

"All part of the service." Cassandra said, pressing her firm little breasts into his back.

"You know, when I leave, I might just take you with me when I go." he joked, instantly regretting it.

Cassandra froze. "You know," she said, parroting the old man, "you have no idea how much I'd love that."

Reaching back, Watson patted her thigh.

"Just as long as you don't go and abandon me." Cassandra said, "Like your pilot."

Watson froze and Cassandra knew she'd blown it. "Abandon her? What do you mean I abandoned her? I'll have you know, I have never abandoned anyone in my life." Unlike the monster he was meant to portray.

"Oh dios mio, Lord Gideon, that's not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean?"

"It's just that... it's just that I hope she's okay. I mean, it didn't look like she was enjoying herself down there."

"And what's that to you?"

"Nothing, Your Lordship, nothing. It's just that..."

Watson looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "Just what?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"Do you want to keep your job?"

"Honestly. The feeling I get. You're not the kind of man to just go and ditch someone. No matter how rich you are. I think you're made of much better stuff."

There was that pang again, right in the solar plexus. "My advice, Cassandra," Watson replied, doing his best to sound menacing, "is to keep your speculation to yourself. Understand?"

Cassandra nodded, clearly chastened.

"And in any event, let me assure you, I have no intentions of leaving without her."

Cassandra's brows shot up. "Your pilot?"

"And if you ever tell anyone!"

"Never!" Cassandra exclaimed, crossing her heart. "My Lord. Never." Draping her arms over his shoulders, she nuzzled his neck. "See? I knew from the moment we met, you were different."

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Two doors down, pacing the Chinese VVIP's apartment like a caged tiger, Ally was busy looking for her own way out. There was only one door leading out of the apartment, but it was soundly locked and impervious to pounding. And that little courtyard beyond the sliding glass doors, with its own little plunge pool, a few sticks of greenery and a dear little waterfall... she stalked that perimeter as well, looking up. Too high to jump, and the furnishings were all in-built, aside from the chairs, and they just wouldn't stack. And anyway, the courtyard had been rendered escape-proof, with a flexible periphery overhead offering little if any traction, and, unbeknown to Ally, carrying a potent electric charge, meant to keep visitors out, but just as good as keeping them in.

Voices outside stopped Ally in her tracks and she stood, listening to the beep of the door code. Then in he walked, Zhang Jingli, her accidental saviour, fresh from the barracks where he'd caught a couple of shows, sitting down the back behind the raucous crowd, with a couple of travellers keeping him company.

First up an ass-rape, the third for the night, with another reluctant young girl struggling and screaming, while Yuliya, now in a filthy mood, dealt out as much degradation as she could plumb from her squalid depths. Then the vomit lesbians, demonstrating their regurgitative prowess, a show that always got the gastric juices flowing. Followed by some double dildo action, that eventually devolved into ass-to-ass. Not a bad line up, but lacking the one sexual delicacy Zhang truly craved. Time to see if it might be found in his apartment.