Episode 104
...from the Files of Hydrogen Guy
Part I
Hans-Raoul Galerkin sat at his desk and stared past his computer screen. On the screen was a resource request form. This one was from an Agent Zermelo, who asked for a convertible submarine/jet, three henches armed with flame-throwers, and a brass marching band.
Hans-Raoul planned to reject it, as soon as he got around to it.
The best word to describe Hans-Raoul was "nondescript". He was just a shade under six foot, an average height; a bit overweight, not at all remarkable for someone with a middle-management job. If you were looking at him, you could easily bring yourself to describe him as handsome, but as soon as you weren't looking at him, you would be just as likely to forget what he looked like. The only things even vaguely remarkable about him were that, no matter how well-dressed and well-groomed he looked otherwise, his hair was a frustrated sandy blond mop; and the air of apparently unearned arrogance he normally wore.
He hadn't felt that old arrogance in some time, though. Lately he'd been feeling as average and nondescript as he looked. Not even Agent Zermelo's egregious requisition made an impression.
Admit it, you'd have to be pretty low not to be curious why Zermelo wanted a marching band.
There was a knock at the office door. He looked up quickly, suddenly displaying signs of life. The door opened, and his latest secretary, who he suspected of being named Patricia, poked her head in. Hans-Raoul's interest was replaced briefly with disappointment, and the dreariness returned.
Hans-Raoul
Yes, what is it?
Secretary
A message from the Comptroller's Office, sir. The Comptroller wants to meet you for lunch.
There was a touch of awe in her voice.
Hans-Raoul
Meet me for lunch? In person?
Secretary
Yes, sir, at twelve thirty. This is the address of the restaurant.
She handed him a slip of paper. He glanced at his watch; he had two hours to prepare. It was an unexpected request. ICBC's shadowy Comptroller rarely left his mountain stronghold.
The secretary looked at him like he was prisoner on his way to the electric chair. It was often true that a summons by the Comptroller proved fatal, but Hans-Raoul was Valleen - a powerful being from beyond space and time - not mortal, and even the Comptroller was no great danger to him.
But that didn't mean he wasn't worried.
Hans-Raoul
Let his office know I'll be there.
Secretary
I will. It... it was nice working for you, sir.
Hans-Raoul
Thank you, Patricia. It was nice working with you, too.
He smiled slightly and went back to the requisition forms as she slipped out.
There are cities in Europe where entire streets have been forgotten, where neighbourhoods remain essentially the same as they were four hundred years ago. An intangible quality clings to worn stones, a remnant of inhuman experience from the nameless past. Sunlight penetrates between the thin, ancient houses, but never really warms. Strange nostalgic odours linger, and shadows drift and waver like solid things.
It was to one of these peculiar backwaters that three hunters had traced their quarry.
"Crikey," muttered Lydia Fitzwallace. "I thought eyesores like this had all been bombed flat and replaced by condos." Her accent was hard to identify, muddled by years of traveling, most resembled Australian. She was short and stocky. Her tousled brown pony-tail was shot with streaks of premature grey. Dressed in warm city clothes with a multi-pocketed hunting vest over top, she sat on a rooftop behind a hunting blind. A powerful hunting rifle lay across her knees.
"It'd be an improvement," agreed Bill Oliver. He sat to her right, his back against a low half-wall. He shivered in the cold April wind. He was a large, soft man, nearly a foot taller than Lydia. His blond hair and ruddy complexion made him look like bucolic Irish shepherd. His accent clearly indicated his origin as the American South.
The group's third member shook his head slightly, a reserved, economical movement. "This is a protected place," he said, his accent Southern, like Bill's, but gentler. He had long loose black hair, a goatee and moustache. He was dressed in a black sweater and jeans, heavy black boots and a long black leather overcoat. His hands, with neatly manicured fingers, were covered in tattooed symbols. A small worn canvas knapsack sat in his lap. "During the war, the bombs missed it. City planners and developers have forgotten about it."
"Why?" asked Lydia. He shrugged.
"Who knows, Lyd. Someone or something had a reason. Or has one."
Bill shivered again, this time not from the wind. "Damian, are you saying there's some wizard around here, protecting this place?"
"No, not necessarily. Don't think about it too much, Bill, it doesn't concern us."
Bill shifted uncomfortably between them. "Good," he said, nodding. "Good." But he thought about it anyway. He wished he could have waited back in the car. In Atlanta.
"She's coming," Damian said suddenly. Lydia peaked around the edge of the blind, a plywood board made out to look like a piece of wall. She hugged the rifle close.
"I don't see a bloody thing," she said. "The street's still empty."
"Trust me. I feel it."
"Wait... there she is," said Lydia. She lifted the rifle and stuck it through the hole in the blind. The two men peaked around the other side of the blind.
A figure in a bright scarlet hooded robe had come around a corner and was moving down the street. The robe hid the figure's face, but the walk suggested a woman.
"Couldn't have asked for a better target," said Lydia. "Damian?"
"At your convenience, Lyd."
She took a measure of the figure's speed, then pulled the trigger. The shot cracked loudly in the stillness. The scarlet robes fluttered to the ground, a pile of empty clothes.
"Bloody cripes! I couldn't have missed!"
"I don't think you did," said Damian. "Everyone keep alert."
Bill fumbled to pull a revolver from his belt.
Their skin pricked, and the hair on their arms stood on end. Before Damian Leary could bark a warning, a loud electrical crackling erupted on the rooftop behind them. Lydia spun around, instantly firing another shot. It struck the demon in the shoulder. The creature shrieked and fired a bolt of red electrical energy in return. The hunters scattered as the bolt demolished the plywood blind.
Bill fired several rounds in succession, all of which went wide. Lydia fired again. Her aim was accurate, but the bullets veered away from the demon, deflected by its powerful magnetic field. It fired twin streams of lightning, engulfing their weapons. Bill and Lydia dropped their guns and ran for cover.
While his partners kept it busy, Damian pulled a small earthenware pot from his knapsack. It was a closed jar wrapped in gold foil almost to its neck. The gold foil was decorated with dense Hebrew script, and a gold rod a few inches long protruded from the top. He held it out with his left hand towards the demon and began to recite a Hebrew incantation.
The demon paused. It turned away from Bill and Lydia and extended a claw towards Damian. A stream of lightning shot from the talon and was drawn to the rod. Damian grimaced, but kept his grip on the pot, which absorbed the attack.
The demon continue to pour forth its energy, apparently unable to stop. It struggled to resist whatever pull the jar exerted. It raised its other claw and fired a second stream, not at Damian but at a copper weathercock on the peak of a neighbouring roof.
"What's it doing?" said Bill.
"I don't like this," said Lydia.
The weathercock shook violently. Damian and the demon acted as if they were tied together by the jar and the demon's energy, neither one able to escape. Suddenly the weathercock tore from its perch and hurtled towards Damian.
Lydia shouted a panicked warning. Damian saw the projectile coming, but either could not or would not drop the golden jar. The weathercock struck him in the chest and tore straight through his body. The jar flew from his hands and shattered on the rooftop. The demon shrieked triumphantly, launched itself into the sky, and vanished in a clap of thunder.
Bill and Lydia emerged from their cover and ran to where Damian's body lay in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. The weathercock lay several feet away, partly embedded in the wall. The air was charged with residual static.
"Crikey," said Lydia, gazing at their partner's remains. "He's not going to be too happy, is he?"
Hans-Raoul had had three meetings with the Comptroller, and so far he could discern no pattern between them, other than the Comptroller's love of misdirection. The first had been conducted at the Comptroller's mountain stronghold in a darkened room. The Comptroller, or at least someone pretending to be him, had been present in person. The second was in Hans-Raoul's own office, through a miniature communicator hidden in his office chair.
The restaurant he sat in today was one of the most popular in the city for business lunches. A young girl who looked about seven or eight sat across the table from him. A small, black ear-piece was visible in her ear, and Hans-Raoul suspected the bauble on her necklace concealed a microphone. Hans-Raoul had picked her up at the Comptroller's Office, and she now thoughtfully ate from a plate of chicken strips while he picked at his pasta primavera.
Hans-Raoul
How are the chicken strips?
Girl
Good.
She dipped one in a puddle of ketchup and took a bite.
Hans-Raoul
I see they're shaped like dinosaurs.
Girl
Uh-huh.
There was another lull in the conversation. Hans-Raoul wasn't really comfortable with human children. Children were rare among the Valleen, since they had such long life spans, so he lacked experience.
Hans-Raoul
Do you like dinosaurs?
She thought about it.
Girl
They're okay.
Hans-Raoul
I've seen dinosaurs before. Live ones.
She looked understandably sceptical.
Girl
There's no alive dinosaurs. They're all extinct.
Hans-Raoul
It wasn't here on Earth. It was in another realm. Another universe, you'd say. And in that one, they are definitely not extinct.
Girl
You're just making that up.
Hans-Raoul
Nope. It's true.
Girl
Nuh-uh.
Hans-Raoul
I swear as a son of the Second House, I've seen live dinosaurs. Brontosauruses, like your chicken strips, as big as a castle. And triceratops, with the three horns. Cross my heart.
Though she still looked sceptical, he though he was doing pretty well. Then her face grew serious and she put down her half-eaten brontosaurus.
Girl
Mr. Galerkin, the Comptroller's here now. I'm gonna speak for him, okay?
Hans-Raoul
Go ahead. We'll talk about dinosaurs later.
Girl
I'm glad to see you're having a pleasant lunch, Mr. Galerkin.
Hans-Raoul
Thank you, sir. Your spokes-lady is a charming companion.
The little girl didn't smile. Well-trained, he thought.
Girl
I thought that given the nature of our discussion, this might put you more at ease.
Curious.
Hans-Raoul
And what is the nature of our discussion, sir?
Girl
Mr. Galerkin, I am very disappointed with your recent performance. In particular, I'm referring to the incident with the Danish ambassador. The ease with which the League of Heroes defeated your
agents is embarrassing. As a result of this failure, we've lost an important portal to Northern Europe.
Hans-Raoul
I apologize, sir. You're right. I'm not defending my failure by any means, but superheroes will interfere –
The girl interrupted him immediately.
Girl
I'm not talking about Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy, Mr. Galerkin. A defeat by the Diatomic Duo would have been understandable, if not forgivable. But this operation was foiled by Gen X Man and the
Rainbow Warrior. Alone. It was carelessly and sloppily planned, staffed seemingly at random, and the follow-up rushed and haphazard. And I'm afraid that this has been typical of your work
recently.
Hans-Raoul nodded. He could not deny that his heart had not been in his work lately, and it was suffering as a result.
Girl
Mr. Galerkin, as vice-president of Crisis Suppression, you have dozens of henches, agents and criminal masterminds working under you, and many more report to your office as part of their particular
projects. Your department, dealing with threats to the Corporation's activities, is a crucial one. We cannot afford to have it headed by an incompetent. Under most circumstances, a decline like yours
would be grounds for termination.
The Comptroller was using the word literally.
Girl
I also notice that you've had problems keeping secretaries.
Hans-Raoul couldn't help flinching.
Hans-Raoul
Ah... sir, I...
Girl
Despite the image I try to project, Mr. Galerkin, I'm not an ogre. I'm aware that you've been devoting a great deal of your time looking for Ms. Cheung.
Hans-Raoul
Yes, sir.
He said it very quietly.
Robyn Cheung had been his secretary and executive assistant, and then later his mistress. Neither of them had had any illusions about the relationship. She was attracted to him because he was a powerful man who could help her career in ICBC, and he was attracted to her because she was a pleasant distraction from work.
On a mission to another dimensional plane, Robyn had carried back a passenger. He didn't have a clue until it was too late. The demon had taken full possession of her six months ago, and she had vanished, killing three ICBC troopers in the process.
At first Hans-Raoul had tried to convince himself that he was merely annoyed that he'd lost a competent secretary and lover. But as the weeks progressed, he'd began to realize that there was more to it than that. Her disappearance had left a hole inside him larger than a lack of sex or competent filing could explain. Robyn had become his friend. He rarely formed friendships with other Valleen, let alone with mortals. Mists, until Robyn he'd only had one real friend. At last he had to accept that he'd fallen in love with her.
He'd never been in love, not as an adult. He felt weak, and he hated it. What was worse, he knew Robyn would think it weak, too. He'd raged in anger against the traitorous emotion, demolishing his apartment in a fit of Valleen strength. When he finally calmed down, he felt only grim numbness. After week or two, rational thought returned, and he realized the only way to compensate for the weakness was to placate it. He consulted his files, picked up the phone and engaged a specialist in paranormal investigation to find out what had happened to Robyn. And maybe bring her back.
But he'd been unable to think of much else. It had turned into an obsession. And he'd done a bad job of hiding it.
Girl
Your motives are none of my business, obviously... Hans-Raoul, you are a valuable asset to ICBC. I'm well aware of everything you're capable of... No way!
The girl dropped her serious expression, clapped her hands to her mouth and giggled.
Girl
Sorry! He just said you were probably telling the truth about the dinosaurs.
Hans-Raoul smiled.
Hans-Raoul
Told you.
She returned to her businesslike manner.
Girl
Hans-Raoul, I want you to take a leave of absence. Devote your full energies to bringing back Ms. Cheung. Take some time back in your own dimension, if you need it. I expect both of you back in
Crisis Suppression one month from today.
Hans-Raoul stared at the girl. She glanced nervously to the side.
Hans-Raoul
Sir, that's... very generous of you...
The girl, hence the Comptroller, said nothing. Hans-Raoul composed himself.
Hans-Raoul
Thank you, sir. I'll carry out your request.
Girl
I never make requests, Mr. Galerkin. Your position in ICBC depends on the success of this project. You are in charge of Crisis Suppression, and anything that affects one of the corporation's
vice-presidents in such an adverse manner is a crisis which must be suppressed. Failure will result in your termination. Am I understood?
Hans-Raoul
Yes, sir.
Girl
You may use the corporation's non-critical personnel and resources within reason. Nothing ex... ex-or-bi-tant. Assign the expenses a CP-7 code, standard rates.
Hans-Raoul
Understood, sir.
Girl
You're in my debt, Mr. Galerkin. Remember that. I wish you the best of luck. Please don't dawdle over lunch too long, the young lady has to be back at school by two. Aw, man...
Hans-Raoul was in a turmoil of relief, shame, anger and joy. His better Valleen self vowed that he would make the Comptroller pay for such condescending interference in his personal life, but his more practical, humanized self told it to shut up.
The little girl ignored him, and relieved that her work was over with, went back to her lukewarm chicken strips. She smeared the ketchup around the plate some more, and took a bite.
Girl
What colour were they?
Hans-Raoul
Hm? Sorry?
Girl
What colour were the dinosaurs?
He smiled, a sincere smile that went all the way down.
Hans-Raoul
Every colour you could imagine.
In Maple Ridge, the perennially damp cosmopolis of Canada's Pacific coast, the day was as grey and overcast as Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy's faces. They sat on a concrete barrier in the parking lot of the Albion Market, as police, fire crews and an SHVD team flowed around them. The heroes sat gazing at the burned out, smoking, smashed and flattened shell of the late Tritium Truck.
Hydrogen Guy
Well...
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
So, we stopped Terrier Ironcore's diabolical plan to introduce genetically-modified, mind-controlling cauliflower into the city's vegetable markets.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
And we lost another Tritium Truck in the process.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
But, no regrets, right? I mean, mutant veggies that turn people into mindless zombies are the last thing the province's farmers need. What with mad cow disease and the avian flu and everything.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
Still... this is, what, the fourth Tritium Truck we've lost in the last year?
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
It's been a real run of bad luck.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
Our insurance premiums are going through the roof.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
Our deductible's so high, the pay-out won't be nearly enough to cover the cost of a new truck.
Deuterium Boy
Nope.
Hydrogen Guy
And since the Super-Hero Development Grant's been cut, we don't have enough in our budget for a new truck.
Deuterium Boy
Nope.
Hydrogen Guy
We could take out a loan, or another mortgage on the Cave, but we're already in debt up to our tushes.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
So it looks like either a corporate sponsorship, which I'm loathe to accept, or a whole lotta League of Heroes car washes and bake sales.
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
DB, have you got anything else to contribute to the discussion other than "Yup" or the occasional "Nope" for flavour?
Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Hydrogen Guy
Oh?
Deuterium Boy
HG... we're screwed.
Hydrogen Guy sighed. At that moment, they were approached by the agent heading up the SHVD team, the one-armed Special Agent Parker, wearing his usual trench-coat, hat and nonchalance.
Parker
Well, boys, looks like we're about to put the lid on this clambake. Good job, as always.
Hydrogen Guy
Thanks, Parker.
Parker
Damn shame about the truck, though.
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Parker
Number four this year, isn't it?
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Parker
Rotten run of luck, that.
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Parker
Hard to get it replaced, eh? What with insurance premiums and Prime Minister Pokey cutting the Grant.
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
Yup.
Parker
Got anything lined up?
Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
Nope.
Parker
Hmf. Well, wish I could help. Lemme know. Anyway, my job's done here, and since the conversation's sounding like a one-note samba, I'll take my muffins elsewhere. Oh, I almost forgot. Here.
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Hydrogen Guy.
Hydrogen Guy
What's this?
Parker
Bill for towing. You'll notice the vultures down at City Hall have included a new toxic waste disposal charge and a fee for disposing of unexploded missiles and energy clips.
Deuterium Boy
ARRGH!!
Hydrogen Guy
Maple Ridge must be the only city in Canada with legislation on energy weapons.
Parker
With you two around, it's the only one that needs it. They take that sign at the city limits that says "A Nuclear-Free Zone" seriously. Anyhoo. Take care, gents.
Parker tipped his hat and departed. Hydrogen Guy stuffed the invoice in his Useful Things Belt and turned to his partner.
Hydrogen Guy
Well, now what?
Deuterium Boy
I guess we grab the nearest Hydrogen Duct home and start looking in the Auto Trader.
Hydrogen Guy
I bet Alpha Man doesn't have this problem.
Deuterium Boy
Alpha Man can fly.
Hydrogen Guy
Lucky bastard.
Hans-Raoul Galerkin flung open his apartment door even before his visitors finished knocking. He'd been waiting just inside the threshold since buzzing them in. The door's moorings complained audibly, as in his eagerness he hadn't modified his Valleen strength quite as carefully as usual.
Hans-Raoul
Hi! Any problems getting in?
Damian Leary raised his left eyebrow a few millimetres.
Damian
Into the building?
Hans-Raoul
At customs, I mean. You sounded a little concerned on the phone.
Damian
Ah, no, no. The passport worked fine. I don't fly under my own anymore, not since the "Cereal Killer" business... Hans-Raoul, let me introduce Lydia Fitzwallace and Bill Oliver. They're long-time
collaborators of mine, and they've been helping me on this case. Lyd can shoot anything, and Bill can drive anything.
Hans-Raoul
It's good to meet you.
Lydia
Cheers.
Bill
My pleasure, Mr. Galerkin.
Hans-Raoul
Let me take your coats. We'll talk in the living room.
A panoramic window, looking out over the city lights of Maple Ridge, dominated Hans-Raoul's front room. The furnishings and decor were for the most part expensive but bland, expressing the tastes of a typical upwardly-mobile executive more interested in function than ostentation. The room had only a few personal touches. A bastard sword with a peculiarly grotesque grip hung over the mantle, which Damian studied with considerable interest. The few knickknacks on display were of decidedly medieval taste, including a silvered hand mirror, framed in ornate golden filigree; a dragon-like creature carved out of some kind of hardwood; and a few painted ceramic statuettes, a few inches high, of people in royal dress. Damian had the feeling that these last were of some religious significance, but didn't ask about them.
Hans-Raoul and Damian sat in a pair of leather luxurious rocker-recliners, separated by a long glass coffee table, upon which Damian had placed a cloth shopping bag. Hans-Raoul and Lydia both had tumblers of scotch, and Bill sipped self-consciously on a cola. Damian had declined anything to drink until after business was finished.
Hans-Raoul
So you tracked her down, but it didn't go well.
Damian shrugged and nodded.
Damian
It could have gone worse. We gathered a lot of information that only a first-hand encounter could give us... But I'm afraid that I'll have to invoke the casualty clause in our contract.
It was Hans-Raoul's turn to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. When he had hired Leary, the contract contained a stipulation that Hans-Raoul would pay an additional US$20,000 if any member of Leary's team were killed during the investigation. Lydia coughed and suppressed a smirk, while Bill continued to feign interest in his drink.
Hans-Raoul
You lost a member of the tracking team? Who, if you don't mind my asking?
Damian
Ah... I'd prefer to keep the name confidential, if you don't mind.
Hans-Raoul
I do, actually, since it's costing me money. If you can't produce a death certificate, I'd at least like a name.
Damian
There won't be a death certificate, and the body will have disappeared by now.
Hans-Raoul
Damian, I don't mind your being mysterious. It's part of this business of being a professional paranormal investigator, I can understand that. But my situation has changed since the last time we met.
I'm now on leave of absence from ICBC.
Lydia and Bill suddenly grew concerned.
Lydia
Here, does that mean we're not getting paid?
Hans-Raoul
No, just that from now on, we have to curb expenses as much as possible. And if I'm paying out twenty grand, I want to know for whose funeral.
Lydia
Better come clean, then, Dame.
Hans-Raoul looked expectantly at his employee.
Damian
All right... but understand, this is confidential. It stays in this room.
Hans-Raoul
Of course.
Damian
It was me. I was killed. Or rather, my construct was.
Hans-Raoul
Your... construct?
Damian
Yes.
He looked annoyed.
Damian
It's the second time this year.
Hans-Raoul
You mean the "Cereal Killer" incident? The papers reported that you were killed by the police. I know you said that you're not the Cereal Killer, but I assumed you somehow faked your own death, or
–
Damian shook his head.
Damian
No, no. Again, what the "Cereal Killer" entity killed was not me, but a construct.
Hans-Raoul
What are these constructs of yours? Robots, clones...?
Damian
As you know, I was trained in several magical and psychic arts by the Tuatha de Dannan, the Fairies you would call them. I'm one of only a very few in the last two millennia to have that honour. The
constructs are made of straw and clay, and then animated. They're similar to the Tuatha changelings, but of a higher quality. I then project myself astrally into the construct. While the construct is
walking around, talking to people, my real body is in a deep trance somewhere else. The constructs, when animated, are indistinguishable from a real human, even by a medical doctor, up to several
hours after death.
Hans-Raoul was genuinely impressed.
Hans-Raoul
That's damned useful.
Damian smiled.
Damian
Many people have asked me to teach them the method, which I won't do at any price. When the construct is killed, reconnecting my consciousness with my body is a very chancy business. I've been lucky
so far. And building a construct is no easy task, either. So when one of my constructs is destroyed, I feel entitled to a little extra from my employers.
Hans-Raoul smirked.
Hans-Raoul
All right. No argument there. So... right now, am I talking to a construct, or a real person?
Damian
That's for me to know, and you to find out. Maybe.
Lydia chuckled.
Hans-Raoul
Well, we all have our professional secrets. Now... what happened in the encounter? Was it the demon you met, or... ?
Damian described the incident in Europe, up until his "death", Lydia supplying extra details as necessary. Hans-Raoul nodded reflectively as Damian finished.
Hans-Raoul
So she still takes human form, sometimes... What was she doing in that area?
Damian
I don't know her reasons. But all dark things in the city come to that street, eventually... After several months of tracking, and following up on the encounters of others, this was our first
engagement with the creature. As I said before, it taught us a lot.
Hans-Raoul
Like what?
Lydia
Getting shot with a .30 calibre hollow-point gets her right pissy.
Hans-Raoul
I can imagine. Remember what I said about bringing her back alive, Damian?
Lydia
Crikey, chief, you're not gonna bring a demon that size in by coaxing it with milk and biscuits, are you?
Damian
We did confirm that one could physically injure her, even in demon form. More pertinently, she matched the description of Azoni in Lupenstein's Daemonologie, so we know our tentative
identification was accurate. Also, we know she's too powerful to be contained by the Leyden jar.
He reached forward and dumped the contents of the cloth bag onto the coffee table - shards of broken pottery, some still wrapped on either side by gold foil bearing Hebrew script and cabalistic symbols.
Hans-Raoul
What is it?
Damian
The Leyden jar is a primitive capacitor, first used for containing electrical spirits and demons by Rabbi Levi of Prague in the sixteenth century. The physicist van Musschenbroek introduced it to
conventional science in 1745, but he learned it from the Jewish community of Leyden.
Hans-Raoul
Talking to you is certainly an education, Damian.
Damian
I do specialize in the esoteric, after all... This small Leyden jar drained the demon considerably, but it wasn't enough to actually contain her. I purchased this one, and it was the largest
available.
Hans-Raoul
So you build a bigger one.
Damian
Not without help.
Hans-Raoul
What kind of help?
Damian sat back and steepled his fingers.
Damian
My skills in this area are relatively limited. I specialize in defensive magic, plant- and earth-based in nature, focusing on detection and containment. I'm most effective against poltergeists,
ghosts and smaller entities than Azoni. I know what needs to be done, but it's beyond my skills to do it.
Hans-Raoul
What do you want to do, then?
Damian
In order to do the rest of the job you hired me for - containing and subduing the demon that's possessed your secretary - I'll need to hire a specialist or two. An experienced thaumaturge who's dealt
with large, energy-based entities and can build a device for containing them. And someone capable of fighting toe-to-claw, so to speak, with the demon. Lydia's gun won't be enough.
Hans-Raoul
Okay...
Damian
I think the time for tracking the demon and trying to capture it in the field is over. It's dangerous, as we demonstrated, prone to accident, and we don't know where she is now, anyway. Better to
summon her ourselves. That way it's a carefully prepared, controlled environment.
Hans-Raoul
Do you know anybody who can do this kind of work?
Damian pulled himself out of the chair and began to pace the room.
Damian
To be honest, there aren't many these days. There are a few minor leaguers - I'm thinking of Trebant, Ignaczek, de la Poer, for example - but many of them are dangerous and untrustworthy, and
they'll all be expensive.
Hans-Raoul
I'd prefer to avoid that type.
Damian
So would I. On the other hand, our investigation has already found us a summoner who'll work cheaply, and who knows someone who's had experience with the demon.
Hans-Raoul
Room!
Damian
Yes. And the jewel thief, Kettle. She was possessed by the Ice Witch when she summoned the demon. Sally Kettle may have residual memories that can help us.
Hans-Raoul
And she's demonstrated that she's susceptible to possession. If we need to persuade Azoni to leave Robyn for another receptacle –
DamianYes. I suppose that is a possibility.
He paced silently for a few minutes.
Lydia
So this Room bloke, then, he can help you build a bigger Leyden jar?
Damian
I don't know how far his abilities go. But if we're summoning, a Leyden jar may not be the way to go. We could need something stronger, a heavy circle of protection...
Hans-Raoul
Hmm... I read a report the other day, and it got me thinking. Consider this...
He briefly outlined a scheme. Damian nodded and agreed the equipment would be ideal, and easily adaptable. The only problem would be getting it, and finding someone to run it.
Hans-Raoul
Not a problem, either way. I have people who owe me favours.
Damian
A very good position to be in. All right. The only thing left is, who do you know who can go up against the demon?
Hans-Raoul
In other words, who's our muscle?
Lydia
If the bugger's all bottled up, we don't need'em, do we?
Hans-Raoul pointed to the shattered Leyden jar.
Hans-Raoul
All bottles can break, Ms. Fitzwallace... I have an idea on that point, too.
Damian nodded. He sank back down into the empty chair.
Damian
All right. I'd say this demon's days of walking the Earth are numbered.
Hans-Raoul
All I want is my secretary back.
Damian
Of course. That's why you're paying me – to worry about the demon.
Damian, Bill and Lydia left Galerkin's apartment two hours later. Together, Galerkin and Damian had sketched the outline of a plan to summon and defeat Azoni - and most importantly, to save Robyn Cheung. As they returned to their rental car, Lydia was thoughtful. She had the same expression on her face as when she sized up an elephant, deciding which gun to use.
Lydia
Whaddya think of this Galerkin bird, Dame?
Damian
Hmm.
He kept silent as Bill opened the doors and they climbed in. Lydia took the seat next to Bill while Damian stretched out in the back. Bill was pulling out into traffic before Damian answered.
Damian
I think Hans-Raoul Galerkin is a complicated man.
Lydia
That's one way to put it. I think he's... you know... whotsit.
Damian
Whatsit?
Lydia
You know... whotsit, Machiavellian, that's what I mean.
Damian
Hmm. Yes, he is definitely Machiavellian. Yet he's going to all this effort, at his own expense, not for power or money but for the woman he insists on calling his secretary, with no discernible
ulterior motive.
Lydia
I suppose even Machiavellian types have to fall in love at some point, Dame.
Damian
I wonder... what about you, Bill? You were awfully quiet tonight. What do you think of our boss?
Bill grimaced, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Bill
I admit, I don't really like him. He doesn't seem straight with people; he's dishonest, I mean.
Damian
As a vice-president at ICBC, that doesn't even begin to describe him.
Bill
So why'd you take this job?
Damian
Because there's a demon loose that needs to be stopped. Not to mention, we all have to eat.
Lydia
Y'don't think he'll really try to pawn the beastie off on some other poor girl?
Damian
I don't think he'd have a problem with it, but I won't let that happen if I can help it.
Bill
I guess you don't really need me for much in this plan of his, right, Damian?
Damian
Don't worry, Bill. Mr. Adrian Room and I will certainly need you around, even if we aren't tailing or chasing anyone.
Bill sighed.
Bill
Damn. I was afraid you'd say that.
So how do you catch a demon, anyway?
And how will the Covalent Crusaders budget for a new Tritium Truck? Find out what in Part II of...
Same Hydrogen Time... Same Hydrogen Website!