The next morning I am at the FOF convention in the Holiday Inn, milling around the many booths, poking my head in on lectures. The attendance is substantial, at least two thousand people. The crowd is pretty evenly divided between males and females, but other?wise the cross section is peculiar. There are, for want of a better expression, a lot of nerds here. Many are overweight and wear thick glasses. These are true believers, no doubt about it. The saucers are coming and they are prepared. In fact, they believe they are already here. Eavesdropping on their jumbled thoughts, I soon get a headache.
I sense no superbeings in the vicinity, yet I don't drop my guard. If this convention was important to Linda, there is somebody significant here. If only I knew who. Besides thoughts, I listen to heartbeats, trying to find physiologies that mimic mine. But there is nothing here but pure humanity.
The talks are boring, discussions of different sightings that have about as much credibility as reports of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. As I sit through one, yawning, I think about what I should have done with my life. Retired to a remote spot to spend a year building toys and baking goodies, which I would deliver once a year to the needy. At least then I could have given vampires a better name.
Yet there is a lecture at the end of the day that catches my eye. It is entitled: "Control Versus Anarchy--An Interstellar Dilemma." The speaker is to be Dr. Richard Stoon, a parapsychologist from Duke University. He has a list of impressive academic credentials beside his name, but it is really the buzz of the crowd that draws me to the talk. They have been waiting for this guy. I hear them whispering to one another. Dr. Stoon is supposed to be brilliant, charis?matic, unorthodox. It is the last lecture of the conven?tion, and I take a seat at the back of the audience and wait for Dr. Stoon to enter.
Beside me sits a pale blond woman, with a waist as small as my own, and clear blue eyes. She has a kind smile and I quickly scan her mind, detecting nothing more than a day job at a boring office, and a husband who has just been laid off. She appears to be in her early twenties but could be older. Noticing my scruti?ny, she glances over and brightens.
"Hello," she said with a southern accent. "It's been a fun convention, hasn't it?"
"I haven't been here for the whole thing. I just caught today."
"Have you heard Dr. Stoon speak before?'"
"This will be my first time. What's he like?"
"Very forceful, opinionated." She pauses. "He's interesting but to tell the truth he is awfully arro?gant."
"Why don't you leave then?" I ask.
She makes a face. "Oh, I couldn't do that. I'm one of those people who has to see everything." She pauses and studies me. There is a sparkle in her eyes; she is far from stupid, but she doesn't want people to know. She offers her hand. "I'm Stacy Baxter."
I shake. "Alisa Perne. Pleased to meet you." I give one of my more common aliases because I'm no longer trying to hide. I want to draw the enemy out.
"Very pleased to meet you," Stacy replies. "I don't think I've seen you around before?"
"This is my first UFO convention."
"So what do you think?"
"It's all very interesting."
Stacy laughs. "No, you don't! You think we're all crackers."
Crackers. I haven't heard that expression in twenty years.
I have to smile. "I don't think you're crackers, Stacy."
She's pleased. "Maybe we can have coffee together after Dr. Stoon's talk."
"I'd enjoy that," I reply.
Dr. Stoon enters a short time afterward. He is a big burly man, of Slavic descent, with dark piercing eyes. His age, like Stacy's, is difficult to pinpoint. He could be thirty-five, or ten years older. He moves as if he owns the room, as if every eye should be on him. After a brief introduction, he is at the podium, overpowering it with his bulk and attitude. His voice, when he speaks, is gruff and unpleasant. Yet he sounds smart, like someone who knows more than he is saying.
And his words sound strikingly familiar.
"There are two kinds of beings in this creation," he says. "Those who strive for perfection and those who submit to chaos. It is the same in outer space as it is on this world--there is no difference. We either choose to be masters of our destinies, or we let the fates rule us. I am speaking now about power, and you might wonder what power has to do with a lecture on UFOs. I tell you it has everything to do with our space brothers. Each night we look to the heavens, waiting for them to arrive. But why should they come if we haven't made a choice in our own lives? But when we do make the choice, the right choice, to be important in the galactic scheme of things, then they will know. They will come to us at the most unexpected time, and fill our hands and minds with knowledge we cannot begin to imagine."
Stacy leans over and speaks in my ear. "Sounds like a bit of an evangelist, doesn't he?"
"Yeah. He talks without saying anything specific."
Stacy nodded. "But look at the people in this room. They are spellbound. Dr. Stoon doesn't have to say anything to have the effect he wants."
Stacy misunderstands me, but her point is well made. Dr. Stoon is one of those people who draws others in, smothers them. Even though he's not being specific, he touches on issues Suzama--and that's who she will always be to me--also explained. Yet his bias is from the other side, even though nothing he says sounds intrinsically negative.
He continues in a loud voice.
"We have to open our minds fully to the truth that we control our own futures, while at the same time we must accept that there are powers above us that are willing to help us if we align our thinking with theirs. Who are our space brothers? They are us a thousand years from now. They are strong. And for us to be strong we must cut off all that weakens us as a people. Here I have to speak on a matter that is almost considered a blasphemy in our society, and yet it is the single most important issue regarding our survi?val. We are literally drowning in the shallow end of our gene pool. Who is reproducing at the most rapid rate in our world? The uneducated and the foolish. But how did our space brothers reach their exalted state? By casting out the foolish. Our genes are our only treasure. We must plan their use, and use the plan--the plan our brothers are waiting to give us."
Again Stacy leans over and whispers in my ear.
"Sounds like Hitler to me," she says.
I smile. "But he's not blaming any specific group for mankind's woes."
"Isn't he?" Stacy asks, and her question is worth contemplating.
Dr. Stoon speaks for another half hour, and at the end of that time he doesn't accept questions-- probably because no one would know what to ask him. I certainly wouldn't. Yet his words have affected me, not so much by their content, but by their resonance. I don't know, however, if the effect is a good one. His lecture was divisive; nothing he said could be used to bring people together for the com?mon good. Another might say that was not true. Such was the strength and weakness of his talk.
When he finishes I wander toward the front, where he stands chatting with what appear to be old friends. But when his eyes meet mine, he momentarily freezes, and then quickly turns away. He excuses himself from his group and walks briskly toward the exit.
I walk after him.
In the parking lot he climbs in his car and races out onto the road, heading for the desert. Naturally I follow him. He must know I am tailing him. At this time of day, a half hour after dusk, we are the only ones on this narrow road that runs perpendicular to the main highway. Within twenty minutes we are deep in the desert, with the city only a glow on the horizon. The stars come out. Dr. Stoon is driving fast, but now it is possible he may not know I am behind him. I have turned off my headlights. I don't need them, of course, but maybe he doesn't either.
Ten minutes later he suddenly swerves off the road and drives across the sand toward a massive hill that is more reminiscent of Utah's Zion National Park than Phoenix's backyard. The hill is more a stone cathedral, built around a symmetrical interior. The rough terrain is hard on Dr. Stoon's BMW but my Jeep loves the challenge.
He drives his car as close to the hill as he can, then stops and gets out.
What do I do? I realize I could be walking into a trap. If he has a matrix, as I have, he could incinerate my Jeep from a distance. I have experimented with the weapon--it has a substantial range. The way he fled from me, for no apparent reason, indicates he is more than he seems. Yet his exit was obvious as well. But I sense no one else in the area, and I can hear a snake slither at a distance of five miles in such a desert.
I decide to risk direct confrontation.
Dr. Stoon stands with his arms at his sides as I drive up. Slowly I climb from my Jeep, the matrix in hand. I do not wish to waste time on pretense. If he is like Linda, he is going to do some talking. If he is human, he has a funny way of showing it. Either way I believe he will die in this desert tonight. I may even drink his blood, although I have not fed from anyone since Kalika brought me back from the edge of death. My hunger simply seems to have vanished. I gesture with my weapon. A million stars shine down on us. I see them all, more than a mortal can see with a medium-size telescope. "Move away from the car," I say. "Put your hands in the air." He does as I command.
"What do you want?" he asks in a much softer voice than he used at the convention.
I step closer. "I should ask you that question, Dr. Stoon," I say.
"What do you want?" He does not hesitate. "We told you."
"You told me little. Who are you people?"
He smiles slightly, cocky bastard. "Who do you think?"
"Extraterrestrials."
"You are partially right, and partially wrong. We have been here a long time."
"How long?"
"Don't you remember?"
His question disturbs me, his voice. I realize he is trying to overpower me with his eyes. His are at least as strong as Linda's. Try as I might, I cannot pierce his aura to read his mind.
"I remember nothing of you. Answer my question."
"Over a thousand years," he says.
"Where did you come from? Originally?"
"There is no simple answer to that question. We move in space and time, through dimensions and distortions."
"Are you here to distort humanity?"
"We are here for the harvest."
"For which side of the harvest?"
"There is only one side--the expansion of the self, the growth of self-awareness."
"Sounds nice. But at whose expense?"
He snorts. "The expense of all those too weak to move forward. Why do you ask these questions? We know you are a vampire, the most powerful vampire on Earth. We have watched you for centuries. You do what you wish; we do as we wish. We are brothers to you, sisters. Why don't you join us?"
"It doesn't sound like you want me as a brother or sister. It sounds like you want me as a blood bank." I pause. "Or do you already have some of my blood?"
He makes me wait. "We do," he says finally.
I stiffen. The confirmation wounds me.
"When?" I ask. I feel violated.
"Over a thousand years ago."
"When?" I demand.
He gloats. "Kalot Enbblot. Chateau Merveille." He pauses before he says the next words. "The Castle of Wonder."
I tremble, not just in my body, but in my very soul.
In all my long life, there had never been darker days.
Yet I thought I had escaped his aerie unscathed.
"Landulf," I whisper. "Oh God."
Dr. Stoon grins. "Landulf took the best you had to give, now we will take it again. With or without your assistance."
I back up involuntarily. "You lie!" I gasp. "He never touched me!"
Dr. Stoon speaks with scorn. "He did more than touch you. He bled you, used you, and then twisted your mind so that you didn't know. But don't you remember now, Sita? As you swam through the waves away from his castle? Swam to what you thought was freedom? Even the ocean water could not wash off the contamination you felt then. Yet you thought you had won, defeated him. Just as you think you will defeat us now."
I cannot stop shaking. The images his words invoke--I cannot bear to see them in my suddenly shattered mind. Landulf and his sexual magic, satanic practice that used terror and pain for fuel. The human sacrifices, bodies split open with dirty knives, and worst of all the spirits that would appear at his bidding, vicious creatures from an astral hell buried beneath unheeded cries. From the Temple of Erix at which the Priestess of Antiquity had once guarded the Oracle of Venus, in southwest Sicily, he sent forth these unclean spirits and dominated the minds and hearts of men and women throughout southern Eu?rope. Inviting the hordes of invading Moslems, show?ing them the weaknesses in the Christian world's defenses and so betraying his own race, Landulf had changed the course of history in the ninth century. And so he had changed my life, putting a stain on it that more than ten centuries had not totally erased. I tremble for many reasons, all of them unbearable. Landulf had indeed touched me, I remember, kissed me even, with lips that often enjoyed raw human flesh.
Yet I still thought I had tricked him.
"I will defeat you," I whisper without conviction. "If you have anything to do with him, I will not rest until all of your kind are wiped out. Landulf was a demon, and you use his name as if he were a hero. Your power is a travesty." I aim the matrix. "You will all die."
Dr. Stoon grins and lowers his hands. "We are not alone."
I glance left and right, see nothing, hear only the desert.
Yet I sense the truth of his words, sense a presence.
"Tell them to show themselves," I say carefully. "If you want to live one second longer."
"Very well." He bows his head slightly.
Suddenly there are three figures in red robes, one on each side, another at my back. Each carries a matrix in his or her hand, although their faces are shadowed, as are their minds. They are humanoid but that is all I know about them. They have me in their sights. There seems to be no escape. Dr. Stoon sticks out his hand.
"The matrix, please," he says.
I shake my head. "I will vaporize myself before you will have my blood."
He is amused. "Try."
I try the weapon on him. But it doesn't work.
"We neutralized it at the convention," he explains.
I throw the weapon aside. "You don't want me dead."
"True," he says. "But we will kill you before we allow you to kill us. Lay facedown on the sand."
"I hardly think so," I say, and my attention goes to the figure on my right, the one whose hand shakes ever so slightly, This person--I cannot even see his eyes--but I know it is a male, weaker than the others that guard me. Even though I cannot read his mind, I can sense the general character of it. This is an important assignment for him, one that he has had to struggle to win. If he completes it successfully, cap?tures the vampire's blood, he will receive some type of advancement. But if he fails, he will be killed. Indeed, he is especially fearful of Dr. Stoon. He wishes the doctor dead. That is the chink in his psychic armor. He does not care for his associates, hates them in fact, wishes they all were dead so that all the glory could be his. My eyes fasten on his hidden face, my thoughts drill into his cranium.
Kill them. Burn them. Vanquish them.
The man's arm trembles more.
"It is not wise to refuse us," Dr. Stoon says.
"Do you still give me a chance to join you?" I mutter, stalling for time. Never before have I focused so hard, called upon the depths of my will. The strain is immense. For even though this one is the weakest, he is still strong beyond belief.
"Perhaps," Dr. Stoon says. "Lay facedown or die. Now."
"Die," I repeat softly, to the man. "Die."
His aim shifts slights. The finger on the button on his matrix twitches.
Dr. Stoon is suddenly aware of the danger. He whirls on the man.
"Kill him!" he screams.
There are two bursts of red light, one from behind me, one from my left. My victim vaporizes on an ear-piercing scream. But I do not pause to mourn the sound. I am already in the air, flipping backward in a curving arc, my legs going over me, carrying me over the assailant at my rear. There is another burst of red death--the one on my left tries to shoot me out of the sky. But already I have landed, behind the one who moments earlier stood behind me. In a matter of microseconds I seize his matrix and break his arm. Without speaking, I blow away the red robe on the left. Dr. Stoon reaches into his coat pocket but I caution him to remain still.
"Don't," I say.
The figure I have disarmed groans, moves.
I shoot him and he is no more.
Dr. Stoon has stopped grinning.
"How many more of you are there?" I ask.
He pauses. "There is just me."
"And when you die, you die?"
He hesitates. "We prefer not to surrender this form."
I chuckle. "I do believe there is a note of fear in your voice, good doctor. For a moment there, you know, I thought you were Landulf himself. But Landulf was never afraid."
"Not even of you," he says bitterly.
"Yes," I say sadly, thinking of what he has told me. "Perhaps I was tricked. What did he use my blood for?"
"Is it not obvious?"
"Only your death is obvious. Answer my question so that death won't catch you asking."
He is defiant. "I will not be your puppet. We are alone for the moment, but others of my kind are coming. And if you should slay me, their treatment of you will be that more hideous."
I shake my head. "Nothing can be hideous to me. Not after Landulf."
He speaks arrogantly. "You will not escape us."
"Really? You thought I wouldn't escape you."
He doesn't have an answer for that.
I shoot him and he troubles me no more.
