Sister of Shadows by Eric Kent Edstrom

Author:Eric Kent Edstrom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Undermountain Books LLC

40

Transfiguration Bentilius

Dr. Carlhagen’s quarters in the Lazarus facility were not as relaxed as those in his hacienda on St. Vitus. But that was good, in a way. The move to this facility was a signal—as much to himself as to his clients—that the Scion program was a business. That he was here much earlier than he anticipated didn’t bother him at all.

The fact that the Scions were running amok on St. Vitus did bother him. A great deal.

As confident as he was that all would be set aright soon, something nagged at him. He decided it was Mr. Justin. The man was very competent and he had betrayed him. And Dr. Carlhagen hadn’t seen it coming.

Dr. Carlhagen stretched in his comfortable bed and observed the faux sunrise just now making the wall screens glow. He’d made up for the lack of windows in his rooms by covering the hewn stone walls with nano-pixel paint.

Unless he smacked the wall with his hand, his brain could not tell there wasn’t a great stone arch giving a magnificent view of the sea to the east.

Nano-fans embedded among the paint pixels created breezes scented with floral perfumes. The scents were made on demand by manufactory nanites of his own design.

The overall effect of the scene and scents pleased him. He recalled how his father had complained about every new technology that had come along, from autonomous cars to VR eye implants. The man truly had been born a century or three too late.

Dr. Carlhagen felt tremendous satisfaction in defeating this disadvantage of living underground. It was confirmation that man could—and should—conform the world to his needs, not be conformed by the world. That went for his windowless room the same way it did for his new, young body.

With the pixel walls he could enjoy all the sunrises, sunsets, and moonlit nights he wanted. The swimming pool three levels down was never fouled with leaves, bugs, and iguana scat, or dead frogs. Weather had no impact on his day, hurricane or heat wave.

If necessary, he could live here for years on end without going stir-crazy.

Of course, he had no plans to do that. And some of the furnishings reflected that. Oh, it was all expensive, luxurious. But none of it meant anything to him. The artwork was not precious, the wine collection modest. The furniture was solid, craftsman style from the early twentieth century—a bit of an obsession he’d had at the time he’d bought it all.

None of those deficiencies really mattered. The only thing he really missed was having a man to wait on him.

He grumbled a curse as the topic of Mr. Justin reappeared in his mind.

Maxine stirred next to him. She had slept poorly in her ever-weakening state. The sheets were tangled around her, and dark circles made her eyes look bruised. She threw an arm over her eyes and swore at the growing light of the sunrise.

She didn’t find the mountain hideaway nearly as comfortable, it seemed. All the previous evening she had kept arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched, as she paced the floor.

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