'How to Rule the World Without the Orderlies Noticing.'
A beginner's manual.
********************
Walter Mayer.
I got home at approximately quarter to four. What? Why had I decided to meet unknown and dangerous beings inside my home? I had not. My apartment was needed only for an 'adapter'—a puppet with an empty brain into which I would load the necessary information before distributing it to my guests. The actual gathering would occur in a hotel's conference room. Federico should already have ensured that the room contained no devices absent from its original design. The hotel valued its reputation highly, but one never knew.
Once again, I appreciated the value of acquiring the old count. Nearly three centuries of schemes, conflicts, and crises constituted formidable experience. I had been exceptionally fortunate that by the time of the Morbius affair he had lost his desire to live and was effectively attempting suicide. Right. Puppet packed. Suit active. Nazgûl form assumed. Time to fly.
I entered the conference room under invisibility. Federico had completed his inspection and sat in a chair, glancing periodically at the clock.
"Is everything in order, my friend? No surprises?"
I removed my invisibility—the puppet remained concealed by Chameleon's effect against the wall—and returned to Walter's appearance. The count did not even twitch. What self-control. Or had he detected me somehow? No. His emotions had remained perfectly level when I appeared. Only after my greeting did he start slightly, though he recovered immediately. More control of expression than true composure, then. Still impressive.
"Everything is in order, my lord. The room contains no listening devices."
"Thank you, Count. How are our friends?"
"They will arrive at any moment."
"Then I believe we should take our places."
I went to the seat at the head of the arrangement and gestured toward the chair at my right for Federico. The moment we sat, the doors opened and seven more beings entered. Hm. The count had truly traveled across half the world to gather these Children of the Night. Europeans and Asians were present. One young woman appeared Latin American. A complete collection, apart from Indians and black people—which was unsurprising considering the count's age. The newcomers proceeded decorously to the available seats without displaying visible interest in me. Their emotional background radiated curiosity and anticipation. Time to begin.
"I am pleased to welcome this honored company. Thank you for responding to my invitation and arriving so promptly. Did my proposal interest you?"
The question was formal. If it had not, they would not be seated here. A conversation needed a beginning.
"We must admit, Herr Mayer, that your proposal is highly... intriguing. The price, however, is considerable. Ah, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. Manfred von Delwig. I have the honor of speaking on behalf of every guest present."
A fair-haired, athletic man who appeared thirty-five to forty introduced himself. His English was nearly flawless, but the form of address and certain hard edges in his pronunciation revealed German origins. A true Aryan, damn it. Had they selected him as the most authoritative person present, or because they expected me to show greater favor toward a 'countryman'?
"Everything in our world has a price, especially new possibilities. I offer sunlight, freedom from Thirst, and—" I paused briefly. "—the opportunity to continue developing. In exchange, I require a vassal's oath. I do not need slaves or mindless servants. Creating those is easy. I need dependable, loyal people whom I can trust completely. That is why an ordinary alliance is insufficient. Alliances have a tendency to collapse. A vassal's oath, by contrast, imposes duties upon both parties."
The German nodded reluctantly. The argument was understandable and logical, but he had no intention of surrendering easily.
"But to serve for the remainder of eternity..."
"Is no worse than spending that eternity without purpose. I insist upon nothing and compel no one. You are free to choose. If my proposal does not satisfy you, I hold no one here by force."
I quietly monitored the surrounding emotions. Interest and mild approval remained. So far, I appeared to be following the correct path.
"Very well. Suppose—only suppose—we accept these conditions. What exactly would you require from us?"
Now the truly serious conversation began.
"I need an extensive network of informants and operational cells capable of responding intelligently to changes in the world. Controlling every event on the planet alone is... difficult. I therefore require people who can make independent decisions, whom I can trust sufficiently not to observe every step."
"Then your goal is world domination? Many have tried. None succeeded. Why should we believe you will?"
"I am not 'many,' and my possibilities are considerable. Besides, I do not intend to rule the world. It is enough to correct key events at the proper moment and guide people into the necessary channel. This is an interesting world. I like it here, and I have no desire to watch it die within the next several years."
Now they became cautious. I could practically feel their attention against my skin.
"Do you possess evidence?"
The question for which everyone had gathered.
"Yes. But you would not accept my word alone, would you? Then... see for yourselves."
Through the puppet, I transferred a fragment of Kimura's memories. The target list: politicians and businessmen who opposed mutants. The required method: public elimination before large crowds, using obvious mutant abilities. I added several of my own conclusions concerning deliberate provocation. That would suffice for now. The vampires gradually recovered. Their emotions contained confusion and concern directed toward me. Understandable. Receiving even a small information package directly inside one's brain must be an extremely peculiar sensation. Cough. I had not expected such a surge of interest—and such an incomprehensible emotional mixture—from the petite Asian woman. What had affected her?
"This is only the first sign. It is insufficient as proof, and you may believe it to be an elaborate illusion. Therefore, I suggest confirming the truth yourselves. With your capabilities, discovering interesting information concerning Colonel Stryker and a project code-named 'Sentinel' should not be especially difficult."
I permitted myself a slight smile. The vampires gathered here were intelligent. They would understand the second meaning too. I needed to determine whether their information networks were truly useful.
"I believe we can conclude for tonight. You may contact me through Federico de Valderrama. I will not detain you further. Good night, ladies and gentlemen."
I rose. The others stood involuntarily, almost entirely through instinct. The memory-transfer trick had impressed them. Now for the final touch. The room had been designed for bilateral negotiations and possessed two exits. I walked toward the private one while gradually 'dissolving' into the air. Simply vanishing or teleporting would have been better, but the nearby vampires might have sensed something. Unfortunately, I did not possess teleportation. Yet.
Home, sweet home. I returned shortly before seven in the morning. The puppet could walk home on its own; I had issued the necessary command. Laura was already performing her sadistic warm-up in the new field uniform purchased from the military store. Zinaida Prokopyevna was preparing something delicious in the kitchen. Of course. I had asked her to stay away for only two days, and the punctual pensioner had resumed her duties immediately.
"Walter, you're back!"
The little one waved happily from another twisted position. Damn. It looked as though her organism contained no bones at all.
"Aunt Zina said breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. She's funny. She called me a 'little skeleton' and promised to fatten me properly."
The poor girl did not understand the depth of her predicament.
"Where were you?"
I approached and ruffled her hair reflexively. She snorted theatrically and made a sulky face, but happiness and pleasure from the simple affection betrayed her completely.
"So you've already met Zinaida Prokopyevna? Be careful. Before you can blink, she'll feed you until you're the size of a small elephant. As for where I was..." I paused and adopted the mysterious half-smile characteristic of a certain anime character. "That is a secret."
What an expression. A pity I had no camera nearby.
"And another thing, young lady. What kind of performance did you arrange for Miss Hardy? I have no complaints about the important parts, but your professional skill in choosing equipment is unusual for an ordinary child. Now I must invent an explanation for Felicia—and it has to sound convincing. Extremely convincing." I sighed heavily. "Never mind. I've begun grumbling."
"Why invent anything? Why don't you tell her the truth if she's your friend?"
How could I explain something that seemed simple to me to a child raised almost from birth as an assassin and unfamiliar with the subtleties of human relationships?
"You see, niece, adult relationships are more complicated than they appear. I'm simply not ready to tell her certain details about myself. Perhaps later, when I find the right words—or if something extraordinary happens." I dismissed the subject. "Don't worry about it. I'll think of something. Now march to the shower and breakfast."
I could not resist ruffling her hair again. Damn, what a pleasure. It looked coarse and unruly but was actually soft and silky. Combined with her athletic build and sweet face, it meant that in five years I would need to drive admirers away from the house with a club. Who knew what kinds of admirers they would be or what sort of club would be required? Perhaps adamantium. Problems could wait. Breakfast could not. Forward, to storm the kitchen.
*********************
Professor Charles Xavier. Evening slowly becoming night.
The headmaster of the School for Gifted Youngsters could not sleep. Thoughts, plans, and doubts moved constantly through his mind. After the incident with Landon, Charles attempted to discover everything possible about the being calling itself 'Nazgûl. The information was discouraging. It had appeared from nowhere. Its goals raised even more questions. What did it want? Why had it intervened? What plans did the... creature possess? Its style, the origin of its name in a book by a certain Tolkien, and the aura of hatred toward all life Charles had sensed around it suggested something far from heroic.
On the other hand, it had saved Anna without an obvious reason. Simple pity? Xavier rolled his eyes. Yes, certainly. A being radiating such a desire for death had rescued her from death out of pity. Strange. Extremely strange. Nazgûl's abilities were equally impressive: psychic and physical power, flight, whatever method had incapacitated Landon with a casual gesture, and the ability to grant powers to others. If that was not Omega level, it was at least an obvious candidate. A terrifying opponent without qualification.
Charles evaluated his own strength realistically. He was an Alpha—a powerful Alpha, but still an Alpha. In open confrontation, he would possess a chance only if his opponent did not understand its abilities. That seemed unlikely. Why did it want Rogue? Creatures like that rarely acted without purpose. Perhaps it knew something about her that Charles did not.
The telepath had examined the girl's emotions. Her fixation upon Nazgûl had faded, but feminine interest and deep sympathy remained. Previously, she had directed similar thoughts toward Logan. Her priorities had clearly shifted. What should he do?
Subtle persuasion and emotional guidance had produced almost no result. Instead of a passionate desire to join the team—and with her new abilities Anna could become one of its primary strike forces—she developed doubts and requested time to consider. Was that also Nazgûl's work?
A stronger influence was too dangerous. Logan might notice. Anna was his student, and he could detect small behavioral changes caused by manipulation. The consequences might become highly undesirable. The disabled man closed his eyes wearily. Everything had become complicated. Had matters truly been simpler in his youth, or was he merely tired? Guilt tormented him for using children as something close to cannon fodder.
There was no choice. To save thousands of mutants throughout the world, several dozen had to bear a terrible burden. Humans needed to see that mutants could be useful, or they would simply destroy them. It was unfortunate that children had to be used. There was no alternative. Too few adult mutants existed. Most had already found places in life. If they simply lacked interest in the wider world, that was fortunate. Often, they despised ordinary humans most strongly and lived without concern for consequences, worsening the already poor attitude toward mutants.
The younger generation already outnumbered the old by dozens of times. In the future, their numbers would grow further. If no one restrained and controlled that liberated power, the consequences could be horrifying.
"Ah, Erik. What happened to us? How did we reach this point?"
The old man addressed the darkness sadly. Somewhere within it, his best friend was probably planning another campaign of intimidation. Professor Xavier was not the only person unable to sleep that night.
*********************
Felicia Hardy. Night.
The young woman paced nervously around her room, biting the nail of her thumb—a habit formed in childhood. What had she become involved with this time? Walter. A mysterious young man with countless secrets who had stolen her heart. Whenever Felicia thought she understood him reasonably well, another secret appeared behind the one revealed—more interesting than the previous one, and darker.
At first, she had considered him an ordinary student with personal eccentricities—who lacked those?—and a peculiar sense of humor, but still a sweet, normal man. Then came the story with Michael. The ordinary student suddenly possessed unusual acquaintances: vampire hunters who, through an extraordinary coincidence, happened to be in New York at exactly the necessary time. Gods. Until then, Felicia had not even believed vampires existed. Walter had escaped that question. His explanation had been coherent and logical, and she had sensed no falsehood. Now the shadowy individual vanished for several days and returned to the city carrying a sweet little girl.
Felicia remembered Laura and smiled involuntarily. Yes, she truly was a lovely child. But her movements resembled those of several of her mother's acquaintances—people who had spent decades in military or government organizations. The same fluidity. The same... predatory grace, perhaps. Then there were her militaristic habits and sincere inability to understand why an eleven-year-old girl needed dolls or toys. What had they done to her? And once again, Walter possessed another acquaintance—this time a mercenary who 'cleansed' some facility where a little girl was apparently held against her will, then delivered her to Mayer.
In light of these events, the young man's eternal joke about conquering the world no longer sounded entirely like a joke. The girl giggled nervously and squeezed the plush cat he had recently given her. Perhaps the women of the Hardy family were destined to fall in love with rather... specialized men. Her mother had recently confessed that Felicia's father, a respected businessman, had once been better known as the Cat—an elite thief. He was currently missing because in his youth he had learned something he should not have learned.
'With my luck, Walter will turn out to lead an order of assassins or mercenaries,' the young woman thought distantly. Should she attempt to expose him? Did she have the right? As it turned out, her own closet contained several well-fed skeletons too. The young woman pressed her forehead against the cool window. Night ruled outside, but the city showed no intention of sleeping. If anything, it appeared more alive and brilliant than during the day.
"Who are you really, Walter Mayer? I'll wait until you're ready to answer. But please, don't make me wait too long."
***********************
Walter Mayer.
An omelet for breakfast. Hm. Not bad. If the portion had been three times smaller, it would have been excellent. Laura stared in horror at the modest mountain of food the compassionate pensioner had deposited upon her plate. Heh. I had warned her. I smiled and winked. Her gaze clearly said, 'You too, Brutus?'
They had evidently taught her to treat food responsibly. The child somehow consumed everything, delighting the old woman beyond words. Zinaida immediately offered the sweet child another portion. The 'sweet child' attempted to retreat from the table in horror and, with some effort, succeeded. I limited myself to coffee and the morning newspaper.
Hm. After breakfast, I must call Federico and ask for help arranging the guardianship documents. What did the newspaper contain? Nonsense. Nonsense. Oil prices did not interest me either. Then I nearly choked. The article did not occupy the front page but was extremely interesting—at least to me. The headline alone was remarkable:
'Victor von Doom Bankrupt?'
The journalists reported the magnate's serious financial difficulties. Misfortune had pursued him for years. Project after project ended in failure. His latest experiment—an apparently certain success involving cosmic-ray research from an orbital station—had also ended badly. To speak honestly, Victor found himself in deep shi—hm—a dangerous financial pit. Victor von Doom. I had forgotten about him. An outstanding scientist and magnate. Not Stark, naturally, but still impressive. A man of steel in every sense.
To build a business from nothing before age thirty—not a café, but a powerful military-industrial complex—while conducting research in chemistry, physics, cybernetics, and the devil knew what else required genius. As far as I remembered, this individual, despite every cockroach inside his head, ALWAYS kept his word. I also liked him greatly as a character. Now he was not a character but a real human being in a very poor situation.
They had already visited the station, meaning the Fantastic Four would soon announce themselves. Damn. As though New York lacked enough trouble with one Spider-Man. From the perspective of crime prevention, admittedly, one Spider-Man was genuinely insufficient. Victor might face major difficulties. Although... He simply lacked money. I possessed nearly one hundred fifty million dollars lying idle. I also doubted he wished to remain a man of steel. No beauty, no contact with the opposite sex—pure misery. Why not help a good man? Especially when his industrial capacity could become extremely useful later.
How should I include him in my small club? More precisely, in what role? Ideally, I wanted another vassal. Mr. von Doom would also be attractive as a junior partner. Yes. That was probably the correct approach. Only one minor task remained: persuade Victor himself. Why was everything so difficult? How had every other Dark Lord found assistants and servants so easily? Enough dreaming of free gifts. They did not exist in life. Work was required. My adopted daughter's future came first. With a heavy sigh, I dialed the count's number.