Indefinite Renewal Page 17

  He stopped and studied them again. There was one that had almost worked, and had prompted the old man to follow a different line for a while, but it had never panned out. Now, as he shut off the water and reached for a towel, Nick reviewed the experience.

  There had been a young woman who had claimed to have limited telepathic powers. The professor had tested her and found that she did seem to be able to pick out thoughts occasionally—better than most people, and well enough consistently enough for it to seem to be something other than an odd fluke. He had tried the experiment on her then, guiding her through the process he had developed to unlock the hidden depths, and while she had not taken possession of her full potential, her mind-reading abilities did improve. She was never completely reliable, but they had made a marked improvement, which apparently was permanent. So Dr. Alexander had stopped his regular experiments for a time and, believing that it would be easier to tap the potential in a person who had already touched even a fragment of it, began working exclusively with people who claimed to already possess psychic powers of one sort or another.

  Nick chuckled at the thought of it all. The little old man had taken out an ad in several ‘psychic’ magazines, stating that he could help people enhance and improve their abilities, in return for their cooperation and the use of the results for his studies. Over five hundred people had replied in two months, and he had treated them all. Half of them turned out to be frauds, of course, but the other half were the real thing, from tea-readers to mind-readers to fire-breathers to astral projectors to people who claimed they could walk through walls and one old man who said he could talk to animals. Alexander had dutifully tested each one, both in general psychic ability and in their claimed area of expertise, and had then guided each one separately through the process. Then he had tested each of them again.

  Every person that completed the procedure—several dropped out, and one woman died before the last day—showed a definite improvement in their ability, both general and specific. They had all been extremely grateful to Dr. Alexander, and had promised to spread his fame among the psychic community. The good professor, for his part, had finally received proof that the process did put people more in touch with their true potential, and that it did work better when there was already something to latch onto.

  But still no one had reached their full potential.

  Nick frowned as he pulled on a pair of cut-off shorts and an over-sized Florida T-shirt. There still didn’t seem to be any reason why the process hadn’t completely worked. All of the patients had followed his instructions carefully, and each of them had apparently believed in it enough to stick with it for the two months that it required. That was important, since a lot of the effect was actually psychosomatic—as long as the person truly believed that it would work, it would. Alexander had occasionally wondered if they following all of his instructions to the letter, and if perhaps that was the cause of the process’ only-partial success, but he hadn’t been able to discover if that was the case.

  Nick snorted to himself as he made a cursory attempt to brush his hair. He could always try and find one of the doctor’s former patients, one of the slightly psychic ones, and absorb them. That would at least tell him whether they had understood what they had been supposed to do, and if they had done everything properly. The only problem was, all that would accomplish would be to tell him whether they had thought they were doing it right—if they weren’t, it wouldn’t necessarily prove that that was the missing ingredient, and if they were he’d be right back where they started. He shook his head ruefully—it just wasn’t enough to make him drain another person dry.

  He glanced back at his desk, where a copy of Thursday’s Tribune lay open to the Metro section. The top of the second page was a headline that read “Famed Psychologist dies at 83.” They had diagnosed it as a heart attack, and put it down to natural causes.

  There wasn’t any mention of Jeremy Baker, the young student that had wandered in at exactly the wrong moment and paid the price. Nick turned away from the desk quickly—under the paper he could just make out the outline of Baker’s bachelor thesis, on how to diagnose criminal tendencies at an early age. He had read it yesterday, and accessed Alexander’s mind to understand all of the technical jargon involved. It was a little sloppy, and some of the research needed to be more in-depth, but it was only a first draft. Judging from the professor’s memories of past papers, and his criterion for grading theses, he would probably have given it a B-plus. Nick thought that the old man had been a little overly critical in his requirements—he had given it an A.

  He sighed and left the room in a hurry, pausing at the couch to scoop up his Frisbee. It would be a little while before he was ready to absorb anyone again—he hadn’t even touched Baker’s memories yet, and had only just gotten up the courage to mess with Alexander’s this morning. But that was okay—he wasn’t in any particular rush.

  A quick glance at his watch informed him that it was almost 12:20. Hillary, Brian, Gordo, and a few of the others were supposed to meet him down at the park at a quarter to one—they were all going to play Frisbee for a while, get something to eat, and then maybe take in that new sci-fi movie about the aliens that took over automobiles. He grinned at the thought. Time enough to nitpick the professor’s memories later—there had to be something he was missing here, and he would find it soon enough. Right now, however, it was time to play.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’ll be here.”

  “It’s been almost a week.”

  “You’d think, after all these years, you’d be used to waiting.”

  “You’re accusing me of being impatient? That’s rich!”

  “Oh, shut up! I said he’d be here, and he will!”

  “I hope you’re right!”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Nick knocked gently on the door.

  “Come.”

  Nick pushed the door open slightly and peered inside. The room was still the same as he remembered it, with its fancy rug and its antique furniture. Daniel stood by the window, back to him, but turned at the sound of the hinges creaking. His face broke into a smile when he saw who it was.

  “Nick!” He stepped forward, skirting around the couch to come to the door and pull it open all the way. “Come in!”

  “Thanks.” Nick allowed himself to be led inside, as the door was shut behind them, and seated himself on the couch again, an odd feeling of déjà vu taking him as he made himself comfortable—it seemed like a lot of his time the last few weeks had been spent in this room, on this couch, talking with this man. He sighed. He had seen Marion downstairs, and would rather be exchanging pleasantries with her, but that could wait. First things first.

  “So how are you, my boy?” Daniel asked, taking his customary chair and leaning forward with a surprising amount of interest reflected in his bearded face. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “A little over a week,” Nick agreed, wondering why he had bother to come. Because this is a part of your life now, he reminded himself, and you’ve got to get used to it. Simply ignoring it won’t make it go away, so you might as well face it and make the best of it.

  “And what have you been up to in that time?” His father asked in a disarmingly casual tone of voice.

  Beating my brains out, Nick thought to himself, but he bit his tongue before the words could make it out. He had spent the last four days puzzling over the missing link in his equation, and had even finally assimilated Baker’s memories in the hopes that the younger man might have some psychological insights that Alexander had overlooked. As a result he now knew a good deal more about criminal psychology than he had thought possible, and was a much better squash and racquetball player, but he hadn’t gotten any closer to cracking this quandary he was in. The answer was here somewhere, he was sure of it—it was even something he should have thought of himself, long ago, but he just couldn’t seem to see it.

  He didn’t mention any of this to Daniel, ho
wever—if he were going to turn to anyone for advice, it would be either Michael or Marion, not this manipulative weasel who had turned out to be his father.

  “Not much,” he finally answered as casually as he could, glad once again that Daniel couldn’t read his mind. “Classes, papers, the usual.” He stretched a bit, and draped his arms over the edge of the couch. “I’ve been taking advantage of the nice weather, too, while it lasts.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been playing Frisbee out by the park, and we even had a game of football the other day.” A grin escaped him at the memory—his new body had finally come into its own then, and he had scored three touchdowns on his own, much to the awe of Hillary and the others. It had been a lot of fun, as had the outing for Chinese food afterwards.

  “Well, good for you,” his father commented, smiling easily. “It’ll start getting hot again soon, so you might as well play while you can.” The older man regarded him more closely. “So why did you come by?”

  Nick shrugged and glanced around the room, not bothering to meet his gaze. “I don’t know—it had been a while, so I thought I’d just drop in and see what was up.” He finally let his eyes wander over to Daniel’s face, and matched glances with him. “I was also curious about that list you were going to give me, last time we talked.”

  “Ah, yes, that,” his father chuckled. He stood up and walked over to a small roll-top desk at the back of the room and removed a folder from the top drawer, then strode back over and handed it to Nick. “Here you are—there are instructions in there, and my authorization number, so that you can bid my shares for me.” He resumed his seat and watched silently as Nick flipped through the pages inside, studying each one for a moment before closing it again and looking up at him.

  “How long have you had this?” Nick demanded, feeling his temper starting to rise again. He fought to keep it under control, but his father’s answer didn’t help much.

  “I put it together the day after we talked,” the words came, casually, but Nick rose to his feet at the sound of them, folder clenched accusingly in his right hand.

  “Then why didn’t you send them to me, like you said?” he demanded, fingers tightening on the thick paper.

  Daniel smiled slyly and shook his head. “I said no such thing, my boy. If you remember, what I told you was this: ‘I’ll get them to you within the space of a few days.’“ He waved his hand at the folder that was bobbing before his face. “And there they are—you came here, and got them from me.”

  Nick forced himself to take a deep breath and speak slowly. “It’s been a week, Daniel. You said a few days.” But the older man only shrugged in apparent unconcern.

  “A few days, a week,” he pronounced smoothly, hands fluttering apologetically. “What’s the difference?” He smiled again. “After all, I’ve been alive more than a thousand years now—anything less than a month is a few days, to me.” He yawned theatrically. “But if it put you out any, I’m sorry. I suppose I should be more specific, next time.”

  “You suppose?” That was the last straw—Nick hurled the papers at the man in the chair and followed them himself, leaning low until his face was only inches from Daniel’s own. “You manipulative son-of-a-bitch, don’t try leading me on like that!” He stabbed a finger accusingly at his father, who listened without the slightest show of fear or surprise. “You deliberately held onto these to make me come and get them, didn’t you?” Daniel didn’t bother to answer, and after a minute Nick straightened up in disgust. “Pah! I hate this shit! I really do! You’re so determined that everything has to be exactly your way, all the time, no matter what!” He took a step away, and then spun to face him again. “Why are you so full of yourself that you feel everything has to be to your satisfaction? What makes you think you’re the end-all and be-all of creation, that everything should bend to your will and your whim in every little detail? Your megalomania would be comical in its scope, if it wasn’t so scary!” He wanted to say more, but he could feel the anger swelling within him, a rising tide of violence and destruction, and clamped his lips shut before any more poison could leak out.

  Daniel waited until he had finished his ranting before rising from his chair and facing him squarely. His face was unchanged, no hint of anger darkening the brow, with perhaps even the faintest shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.

  “If you’re quite done?” He inquired in a soft tone. Nick nodded, not daring to say more.

  “Yes, well, let’s see.” Daniel turned and strode to the bar by the door and poured himself a glass of brandy, then returned to regard his son again. “You are right, of course—I do have a touch of megalomania in me.” A touch, Nick wanted to cry, but he held himself back, and the man before him continued to talk without noticing. “But that is not unusual for one of our kind.” Dark eyes studied Nick closely. “You may even show signs of it yourself, some day. No, don’t argue,” he exclaimed quietly, cutting off Nick’s protests before they had formed. “I know it may not seem that way now, but things change.”

  Daniel waved his arm around him to take in the chairs and sofa, the room, the Club. “You look around you now, and you see me as the owner of a very elegant private club on a very desirable piece of land, right by the river.” He took a sip of brandy then, a small smile on his lips. “You think of me as a wealthy man, certainly, perhaps one with power, even, but that is all. A man.” Now the eyes burned into Nick’s own, and he could almost feel the smoldering heat of their gaze.

  “But I am not a man, Nicholas. I am an immortal, one of the Renewed. I have lived a thousand years, longer than most kingdoms or governments, and I may live forever!” His free hand clenched with emotion, and Nick watched, awestruck despite himself. “I have seen Columbus set off on his famous journey to America, already knowing what he would find. How did I know? Because I was a member of Amerigo Vespucci’s expedition years before, and had already been to the New World myself. I met Leonardo daVinci in Italy, and spent several months with him in Padua.” He gestured to a painting on the wall, and Nick realized with a start that the dark oils were worked into a portrait of Daniel, with the long hair and full beard of the period. “Leonardo did that for me, before I left him—it is worth several million now, but I would never sell it.” He moved a step closer to Nick, and his eyes burned holes in him with their intensity. “Do you understand what I am saying, Nick? I have a right to a certain amount of egotism—I have met famous men, been alive through what are now historic moments, been present for momentous discoveries and decisive battles! I have been known by almost three hundred different names over the years, and have been feared as a demon by some, branded as a witch by others, and even worshipped as a god by a handful! I am not a normal man, and I feel that, having lived as long as I have and done as much as I have, I have a right to impress my desires on the lesser, short-lived masses, to bend them to my bidding if necessary to achieve my own far-reaching goals!”

  Nick stood frozen, half-impressed and half-aghast at the fervor of the older man’s self-importance, and Daniel glared at him for a moment as the silence built to deafening levels. Then he stepped back and turned away, breathing deeply and quickly. Nick still didn’t move, and after another moment Daniel spun to face him again, face returned to its usual smooth guise of pleasant normality, all emotion safely stored away again.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he apologized softly. “But you don’t understand, Nick, and I wanted to try and make you see it a little. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It—it’s okay,” Nick finally managed, moving creaking limbs and drawing a shaky breath. “I just didn’t expect that.” He shook his head to clear it, and took several more breaths to steady himself. “I guess I still don’t understand, really. But you do have some reason for pride, certainly.”

  Daniel nodded. “Yes, I do. We all do. You will too, someday, Nick, and then you really will understand.” He regarded him again, but now his gaze was calmer and wiser, the former heat replaced
by cool experience.

  “You never truly understand anything until you try it yourself—that’s just the way life is.” He shrugged. “You can think you know what’s going on, but unless you’re actually a party to it, to all of it, there are always bits that will escape your attention.” A small smile crept across his face again. “More words to live by, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Nick agreed, running a slightly unsteady hand through his hair. “But I know what you mean—even when I write up a test for my students, unless I try taking it myself I can’t be sure that it’s working proper . . .” the word trailed away as it hit him. That was it! That was the piece that was missing, and Daniel, of all people, had been the one to hand it to him!

  The man in question was watching him curiously, and Nick realized that he had stopped in mid-word.

  “Are you all right?” His father asked, concern actually showing in his voice and face.

  “Fine, fine,” Nick replied quickly, closing his eyes as he willed control into his thoughts. “Just a little shaky, I guess—I’ll be fine in a minute.” He sank down onto the couch as if to recover, but inside he was jumping for joy as the pieces finally locked in place. Alexander had taken the process himself, of course, but it hadn’t worked. Then he had tried it on people with some psychic ability, and it had improved their control but nothing more. He hadn’t been able to figure out why not, but now he knew.

  Alexander hadn’t been able to try it himself, the second time! He had no apparent psychic abilities, so he couldn’t see for himself whether it worked or not! He had the training, and the mindset, that the others lacked to fully utilize it, but he hadn’t had the power!