Indefinite Renewal Page 14

  That’ll show you, Nick thought to the extra minds he was hosting, and finished his milk in a gulp, standing up and grabbing his books on the way to the door. This is my head, my body, and I’m in control. Don’t forget it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Nick walked to the L, lost in thought. It was a cool night, crisp enough that he was once again glad for his jacket, and he tugged the collar up as he strode along, shivering slightly but not in a bad way. Sometimes it was good to be a little uncomfortable.

  Later, he reflected that his discomfort had probably saved his life.

  He was at the turnstile—unmanned and empty at this hour—to swipe his card when a hand reached out from the shadows and clamped down on his wrist, yanking him back.

  But because of the chill, the hand caught him by the jacket cuff, rather than latching onto bare flesh.

  Nick saw the surprise in his assailant’s face—a face that looked familiar, but only vaguely—right before that changed to anger.

  Then the stranger punched him full in the face.

  Nick’s head rocked back from the impact, hands flailing up—and the other man took advantage of his motion to latch onto those hands, fingers interlacing, palms pressed tight together. Nick felt an all-too familiar tingle through their adjoining flesh as a wave of fatigue swept through him.

  He’s going to drain me dry! He thought desperately, his mind already going slightly fuzzy. I’ve got to stop him!

  The last time this had happened, Nick had been taken unawares—and had no idea about the world he was about to enter. Now he was better informed.

  This time he could fight back.

  He struggled against the rushing enervation, and though it did not falter after a second he felt a swell of renewed energy. It alleviated the drain, but did not stop it or even slow it.

  I can’t stop him, Nick admitted after a second of this, the new strength lending his thoughts clarity once more. But I can drain him right back again.

  He pitted all of his concentration to the task. After a second, the rush increased, until it was all but balancing the drain. He could still feel himself weakening, but he was now strengthening again at the same time, and at roughly the same rate.

  The man he was struggling with snarled as he, too, seemed to realize what was going on. But he was already committed fully, and the drain did not increase.

  We’re evenly matched, Nick realized. We could be here forever, trading energy back and forth, with neither of us getting the upper hand.

  The phrase “get the upper hand” made an old memory flash into his head, one from his childhood, and Nick smiled through the maelstrom of fatigue and vigor.

  Time to turn the tables a bit.

  When he’d been a child, the girls in his class had had a favorite game, and they liked to inflict it not only upon each other but upon any boys they could convince to play against them. It was a simple game, and involved lacing your fingers together and then trying to squeeze or twist or bend your opponent’s fingers until they gave in and surrendered.

  Nick had proven almost sinfully good at it.

  He’d already had long, strong fingers then, and he’d been gifted with a degree of suppleness and a mental agility that had put most opponents to shame. He had been fast on his way to becoming the undisputed school champion when a girl named Cinnamon, angered by her unexpected defeat, used her pointed shoe to deliver a different lesson—never gloat over a fallen foe. After he’d recovered, Nick had sworn off the game for good.

  But he still remembered his old tricks.

  Tightening his fingers around the other man’s, Nick twisted both hands outward, forcing his foe’s hands to move with him. But because he was the one controlling the motion, Nick had placed his hands on the outside. Leaving his opponent to find his wrists twisting uncomfortably, as his arms were trapped and unable to bend enough to give the wrists any relief.

  Then, when the other man was already starting to grimace, Nick clamped down and squeezed with his fingers—

  —and bent his foes’ fingers backward, almost to the breaking point.

  The other man cried out, his legs starting to buckle, the energy drain slacking as pain ate at his concentration.

  Which was when Nick kneed him in the groin, hard and fast.

  The other man doubled over, gagging, and would have toppled if not for Nick’s grip on his hands. As it was, he fell to his knees, and was helpless to stop Nick from draining him further now.

  Nick could feel himself growing flush with energy as he drew vitality from his now-vanquished foe. The feeling was giddying, and he struggled to keep his head against the rush of energy and elation.

  It took a supreme effort of will for him to stop drawing from the other man, and then to disentangle his fingers and step back.

  The stranger dropped fully to the ground then, and lay there, curled into a ball, twitching slightly.

  Nick took a deep breath and backed away further.

  He was still alive.

  And he’d just survived an attack by another Renewed.

  And defeated him.

  Without killing him or—worse—completely absorbing him.

  A train pulled up, and Nick vaulted the turnstile and hurried in as soon as the doors had opened. He collapsed into a seat and watched as the doors slid shut and the train slide away again. The other man had not risen yet. He would, eventually, but Nick wasn’t worried about the stranger coming after him again.

  He was concerned, however—and more than a little bit angry—at the attack itself. Daniel had claimed that Nick was protected, that no one would dare to attack him. Of course, he’d also warned Nick that he needed that protection right now, because he was terribly vulnerable, virtually helpless.

  Clearly Daniel had been wrong.

  About a lot of things.

  Teaching went well the next day. Nick found himself lecturing with a new self-assurance he was sure came at least partially from the recently deceased Mr. Williams, but the words and thoughts were still his so he didn’t let it bother him. The man’s abilities were his now, and even the comments some of the students made as they were leaving afterward, about how the session had been especially good that day, didn’t faze him. After all, if he let himself get jealous of his own new abilities, how would he deal with absorbing the good Dr. Alexander later, or anyone else in the future? It was still his mind in control, Nick reminded himself as he walked back to his office. Besides, people acquired new skills or improved on old ones all the time. He just did it a little differently, was all.

  Neither Hillary nor Gordo were in when he got back, but there was someone waiting for him, sitting in his chair, patent leather shoes propped up on Gordo’s desk. Nick stopped short just inside the door and stared at the man in his seat, teaching successes forgotten. Neither spoke for a moment.

  Finally Nick found his voice. “Daniel,” he managed, surprised at his own anger.

  His father didn’t seem to notice, but waved Nick in as if it were his office and Nick was some poor student come to ask for help.

  “Nick, good to see you again,” he said cheerfully. “Please, sit down—this is your office, after all.”

  “I’d love to,” Nick replied, determined not to give in here of all places, “but you’re sitting in my chair.”

  “Am I? So sorry.” Daniel immediately straightened up, set his feet back on the ground, and rose, all in one fluid motion, then stepped aside and gestured Nick toward the chair in question with a grandiose flourish and a smile. “By all means, be seated. I will make do over here”—he sank down into Gordo’s chair—“although it pales in comparison, which is why I chose as I did. I’m glad to see you have such good taste.” He waited while Nick stalked across, placed folder and book on the desk, and settled into his chair properly, before continuing.

  “So, how are you, my boy?”

  Nick glanced at the man in front of him, but couldn’t tell whether he were joking or serious. “All right, I guess. Yours
elf?”

  “Oh, passable, passable.” The two locked gazes for a moment, and neither spoke. Again it was Nick who broke the silence.

  “Look, why exactly did you come here?” he demanded. “Is this just a friendly paternal visit”—his face twisted bitterly—“trying to make up for lost time, or did you want something?”

  Daniel looked surprised and a little hurt. “Nick,” he exclaimed, one hand fluttering to his chest, “you wound me! Can’t I drop in to see how you are? I thought we were friends, at least—don’t friends visit each other from time to time? You’ve come to see me several times now, and so I thought it only fair that I come to see you—sharing the wealth, as it were.” He half-rose from his chair. “I’ll leave if you prefer, but I had hoped we could talk.”

  Nick watched his father suspiciously and considered letting him walk out, but finally shook his head. “No, sit down,” he sighed, trying to hide the anger he still felt inside. “I’m sorry I snapped at you—you just caught me by surprise, and it’s been a rough couple of days, is all.” He leaned back in his chair. “Actually, I met another one of your friends last night. Though he wasn’t quite so friendly.” Daniel raised an eyebrow, but as Nick recounted the attack his father’s face creased into a fearsome scowl.

  “How dare he!” Daniel finally burst out after Nick had finished. “I’ll have his head for this! You’re under my protection!” The anger certainly looked genuine, but Nick had to laugh at the expression.

  “Have his head?” He asked. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, you know.”

  That got a bared-teeth snarl. “If only it were! Things were simpler then, and no one crossed you a second time!”

  “Yeah, well, I think it’ll be a while before he decides to try me again.”

  That collapsed Daniel’s rage as he chuckled. “Yes, I suppose so. Still, I’ll need to make sure. What did he look like, exactly?”

  Nick closed his eyes and recalled the scene. “Shorter than me, a little broader,” he remembered. “Ruddy complexion, heavy face, thick jaw.” He frowned, searching his memory for more details. “Brown hair. Brown eyes. A thick brown jacket and a flat cap.”

  Across from him, his father growled. “Sergei.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s Slavic, a few centuries old, from what became Georgia. A bit of a brute.” Daniel sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Sergei’s always been rebellious. He likes to push the rules wherever possible. He probably attacked you to see if I’d really punish him for it.”

  “And will you?” Nick hoped the answer wouldn’t involve removing anyone’s head.

  “Oh, he’ll be punished, all right.” The smile that spread across Daniel’s face was slow and wicked. “From this moment forward, Sergei Denisovitch is banned from the Renewal Society.”

  “Can you do that?”

  His father actually looked slightly offended. “Of course! It’s my club—I can ban anyone I like. Besides, he violated the rules when he went after you.” He chuckled. “A few decades without access to the club—and the rest of us—should make him think twice before he steps out of line again.”

  Nick nodded. He had to remember that the Renewed thought long-term. In everything.

  “So,” he said, changing the subject. “How’s your stock contest going?”

  “Not too badly—I believe Francisco is ahead at the moment, but I’ve got a few things to try and the gap isn’t insurmountable. It’s been close right from the start,” he admitted, studying the nails on his left hand, “but I’m fairly certain I’ll win out in the end. Francisco is a good opponent, but he doesn’t have the patience for an extended campaign. I do.”

  “I’ll say,” Nick muttered, an image of Daniel watching him over the years flashing through his head, but he put it out of his mind. “What about Harcourt and Marion? Where do they stand at the moment?”

  “Jonathan is in the running, I suppose,” Daniel conceded casually, “but he’d have to make quite a move to catch up at this point. Marion still claims to have no real interest in the competition, but she’s overtaking Jonathan anyhow, and could even potentially be a threat to Francisco and I.” He frowned at the thought, then shook his head and laughed. “Of course, knowing Marion, she’ll lose interest at some point and sell off all her stock, then turn her attention to something else. She’s very bright, but not very consistent.” His gaze locked on Nick. “I understand the two of you had a long talk the other day.”

  “Yes, she invited me to have lunch with her,” Nick replied, wondering where Daniel had found out about that, and from whom. Had Marion herself told him? She might have, just to rub Daniel’s face in it—Nick smiled at the thought. “She seems like a very nice lady.”

  Daniel snorted. “Lady? Perhaps, when she wants to be. The same goes for the ‘nice’ part. She’s . . . formidable would perhaps be the best word for her.” He leaned forward. “Watch out for that one, son—she can be dangerous when roused.”

  Nick allowed himself a grin. “That’s funny, she said the same thing about you.”

  Daniel studied him for a second, then laughed. “Oh, did she? And what was your response?”

  “I said I’d keep it in mind.”

  “Good.” The older man nodded his approval. “Always consider what others tell you, even if you disagree with it. And while you’re at it, consider why they might be telling you, and what they stand to gain from it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Words to live by.”

  Nick shook his head. “I swear, you people are the most paranoid bunch I’ve ever met, although I guess you’ve been alive long enough to merit some of it. After all, you can’t outlive these enemies, and they can gather plenty of leverage on you, with enough time.” He saw Daniel’s eyes narrow as he tried to figure out where this was going, and rather than enlighten him Nick changed the topic. “I still feel lost on a lot of things,” he said smoothly. “Like this current contest of yours—what is it about, exactly? What are the rules?”

  Daniel accepted the new line of questioning gracefully. “It’s simple, really—we agreed to each buy stocks and then see who could make more money from it. You can purchase any stocks you want, up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth, although you don’t have to go so high. No previous possessions are allowed, and once you’ve made your initial purchases you can’t spend any more real money; you can buy more stock, of course, but only with the money you make selling shares or through dividends. If you drop below a hundred dollars of accumulated value, you’re disqualified.” He shrugged. “The last one left, or the one with the most money if the contest is declared over, wins. Nothing to it.”

  “How long have you been playing?”

  “We started right after the Crash in 1929. A few people have dropped out over the years, or were disqualified, and Marion didn’t show any interest until the late 80’s. Francisco, Jonathan, and I were among the original contestants.”

  Nick shook his head. “You guys must all be ridiculously wealthy to afford a quarter million dollars on a game like this.”

  “Of course we are.” Daniel smiled modestly. “After all, any property Jonathan owned originally would be worth phenomenal amounts now, and he’s the youngest of us, so our acquisitions would be worth a good deal more. Even some painting we commissioned a few centuries ago might be worth a few million now, if the artist became well known. So we all start out with a certain value, which only increases as time goes on, and each of us tries to invest carefully and wisely. Actually, any investment is a good one if it yields even a small amount every year.” He smiled serenely. “Think about it—even on your teaching salary, take the money you’re making now, put it in a Swiss bank account at five percent interest, then leave it there for a few hundred years and you’ll have a tidy little sum, tax-free and untraceable.”

  Nick laughed. “Great, I’ll be the richest genetics professor in the world.”

  “Most likely. Of course, you could make a great deal more money
a great deal sooner if you had a little help.” He leaned forward, all seriousness now, and his voice dropped an octave. “For example, if you ally with me and help me defeat Francisco, I’ll reward you with half of the portfolio’s final value. Right now that’s roughly seven hundred thousand dollars.” His eyes were bright in the office’s dim lighting. “What do you say?”

  Nick shook his head. “Why would you want my help? I know nothing about stocks! I don’t have any money to contribute, even if that were allowed.”

  Daniel nodded calmly. “Perhaps that’s true, but you don’t have to know anything about stocks, not really. I could tell you which stocks and how many shares, and you could purchase them for me.”

  “Why not just buy them yourself?”

  “Because that would draw the others’ attention.” His father sighed. “You see, it’s all about timing and perception. If I buy shares in a company and it does well, I’ll make money, but the others will notice and buy shares there as well. That will cause the stock value to increase still more, but I’ll lose the advantage—the longer I have the stock before they buy in, the greater the distance between us. If you take care of the buying, Francisco won’t be able to track my movements as easily—he won’t be watching for you. Thus we could buy into a company, make a profit, and get out before he even noticed, which would improve our lead.”

  Nick nodded. That did make sense from what little he knew of stocks and what he understood of this game. It wasn’t just who made a lot of money, it was who made the most money, so it was as important to keep your opponents from doing well as it was to do well yourself. Daniel watched him think this through, nodding and settling back when he saw the understanding flare in Nick’s eyes.

  “So,” he repeated softly, “are you with me?”

  Nick considered for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess I am.” For now, he added silently. Until he had completed his own plans.

  “Excellent!” his father exclaimed, leaning forward again to clap him on the shoulder. “We’ll show them!” He stood up then and retrieved a gray overcoat from Heather’s chair. “I need to get going, but I’ll draw up a list of what to do and how to do it. I’ll take care of the age issue as well. I should have everything together and over to you within the space of a few days.” He stepped toward the door and paused to nod at his son again. “You won’t regret this, Nick! Really you won’t.”