"(teaser) Neon Generation: Exodus 2035"
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LAST EDITED ON Nov-03-05 AT 12:32 PM (EST) I dunno if I'd be so bold as to say it's coming soon... but it's coming sometime. In that chair sat a broad-shouldered man in his middle thirties, dressed in a charcoal-gray sweater with raglan sleeves shoved up to his elbows, showing lean but muscular forearms lightly furred in black. He had a boyish face topped with a thick, slightly unruly, similarly black shock of hair, and he hadn't shaved in a day or so. He was looking down at his desk, intent upon something the girl couldn't see, so his eyes weren't visible to her. "... In conclusion, comma," he was saying as Keller led her into the room, "I daresay that Sir Eddingsley knows what he can do with his offer, semicolon; but in the event that it must be elucidated for him, comma, would you be so kind as to tell him that he can bloody well shove it up his - ah, Keller!" he broke off, sighting the new arrivals. He looked up from his desk with smiling bright-blue eyes. "Is this our guest?" "It is, my lord," said the butler. "Thank you, Keller," said the man. "Very good, my lord," said Keller, and he vanished from the room. "I'm glad to see you're up and about," said the man in the sweater, getting to his feet. "Welcome to Crofthenge. I'm Derek, Lord Langley-Croft." He gestured to the wingback chair. "This is my confidential assistant, the Honourable Miss Carillon Ellison." She hadn't noticed there was somebody in the chair until Lord Langley-Croft had pointed the other woman out. She was a small and delicate-looking creature in her late teens, with a short bob of blue-silver hair, pale white skin, and wide eyes the same color as her hair. She wore a smart gray suit and white blouse, and had a stenographic pad propped up on one knee. "How do you do," said Miss Ellison in a soft, pleasant voice. The girl nodded and turned to Lord Langley-Croft. "If they find me here they'll kill you," she said flatly. "I've dealt with dangerous people before," said Langley-Croft. "The prospect of doing so again doesn't fill me with terror." "No," she said. "I'm grateful that you saved my life, my lord, but trust me - you don't want to stay involved in this." Lord Langley-Croft - still DJ to his friends - sat down again and regarded his visitor. Now that he got a long, uninterrupted look at her in good light, she looked curiously familiar... An alarm bell began to jingle softly at the back of DJ's mind. Outwardly, he had only frowned for a moment; then he sighed. "Well, miss, if that's the way you feel, I won't try to hold you here against your will. If you're in some sort of trouble, I wish you'd let me try to help you." "Thanks," she said with a wan smile, "but nobody can help me. You'd only get hurt trying." He affected a hurt scowl. "I'm so glad you think so highly of my abilities," he grumped. Before he could go on with that line, though, Keller had appeared in the door bearing a small silver tray with a card on it. "A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, placing the tray on Lord Langley-Croft's desk. DJ picked up the buff-colored card and regarded it quizzically. "Anton DeMarco, Consolidated Biochemistry Limited? What on Earth does he want with - " The girl sucked in a sharp breath, what little color there had been in her face draining away. "Oh, my God," she hissed, panic edging into her voice, "he's found me already." Lord Langley-Croft looked over the card at her eyes, his own, a moment ago sparkling with a slightly mocking joviality, now as hard and cold as ice. "-CBL- are the dangerous people who are after you?" "They're not what they seem to be," she said, her voice quavering as she fought down the panic. "They'll kill you if you try to - " "Listen to me carefully," said Langley-Croft, fixing his eyes on the girl's. "You're safe here. We can protect you from this man DeMarco and his friends. If you don't want to go with them, you don't. Period. All right?" The girl thought to argue again, then nodded silently. "Good," said Langley-Croft. "Now please take a seat there," he said, indicating one of the straight chairs which stood at the end of his desk opposite the door, "and try not to worry." As she went to sit down, the fierce tension drained out of Langley-Croft's face, replaced once more with a slightly jovial aristocratic blandness; he settled back into his seat and adjusted his sleeves. "Show him in, Keller," he said calmly. "Very good, my lord," said Keller as though nothing unusual had passed, and he went. DJ had time to wink at Carillon before the door opened and Keller showed in a tall, portly man in a nicely-cut brown three-piece with tan pinstripes, covered by a brown camel-hair topcoat. "Good afternoon, Mr. DeMarco," said DJ, rising to his feet and extending a hand. "I'm Lord Langley-Croft. What can I do for - " He stopped as DeMarco turned to the girl sitting in the chair at the end of the desk and shouted, "Galatea, your mother and I have been worried sick about you! When we get home you'll be dealt with severely. Now get out into the car and wait while I apologize to this man for his time you've wasted." The girl seemed to visibly shrink, trying to pull herself away from the red-faced man without leaving the chair. Langley-Croft gave the man a sharp look. "I say, old man, we don't shout at people in my house. Do you know this girl?" "She's my daughter, Galatea," DeMarco said, his anger moderating slightly as if for the sake of good manners as he faced the lord of the manor. "As you can see," said DeMarco with a gesture toward the girl's hairstyle and metallic adornments, "she's in her rebellious phase. Always defying me and her mother, running away, getting into trouble. She's lost respect for us. Runs with a bad crowd." "Well, bellowing at her's not going to make her respect you," said his lordship offensively. "Now why don't you take a seat there," he went on, pointing to a chair not far from Miss Ellison's, on the other side of the wingback from the place where Galatea sat, "and let's discuss this calmly." "There's nothing to discuss, my lord," said DeMarco frostily. "Galatea is going home to face her punishment." Galatea's eyes flicked to Langley-Croft's, silently pleading. Langley-Croft frowned. "Have you some evidence that this girl is your daughter?" he inquired. DeMarco scowled. "Are you implying that I am a liar?" he demanded. Langley-Croft replied unflappably, "I'm implying that it's possible. Have you?" "No, of course not," DeMarco said. "She's not old enough to have a driving license, and I don't carry my children's birth certificates with me. This is absurd!" "Absurd it may be," Langley-Croft said, resuming his seat, "but I have a responsibility. The girl came to me in need of help and sanctuary, and I have offered her both. To turn her over to a man who says he's her father on the basis of nothing but his insistence would be unforgivably irresponsible." "Ridiculous!" DeMarco spluttered. "She's my daughter and she's coming with me. End of discussion!" "Fine," said his lordship, turning the telephone on his desk and pushing it toward DeMarco. "Ring the police, then. I'm sure they can sort out where she ought to go." DeMarco snarled and pushed the phone away, taking a step around the back of Miss Ellison's chair toward the girl, who shrank away. "By God, Galatea," he said, "you're really going to pay for this one!" "Mr. DeMarco!" Lord Langley-Croft snapped, freezing the man in his tracks. "I will not tolerate this! You are a guest in this house. See that you comport yourself accordingly." DeMarco whirled, his face a mask of anger. He pulled a long-barrelled automatic from under his topcoat and thrust it into his lordship's face. "Carillon!" Lord Langley-Croft barked. Something touched DeMarco's right shoulder, but before he could react to the light contact, it had become a crushing, twisting agony. His whole arm went numb, the automatic dropping with a thud onto Lord Langley-Croft's desk blotter, and, gasping, he fell to his knees in the vain hope that it would relieve the crushing pain. He forced his head to turn to the right and raised his eyes to see the slim, smartly-dressed form of Langley-Croft's secretary. To an outside observer, her left hand appeared to rest lightly on DeMarco's shoulder. Langley-Croft picked up the automatic, dropped it into a drawer of his desk, and smiled. "Thank you, Miss Ellison," he said. "I think you can let him up now." Carrie smiled slightly, let go of DeMarco's shoulder, and returned to her chair. Gasping, the portly man slumped against the front of the desk. "Now then, Mr. DeMarco," said Lord Langley-Croft conversationally, sitting back in his chair. "Did you want to ring the police?" "By God, I'd like to see you try me man to man," DeMarco snarled, struggling to his feet. Langley-Croft shook his head. "No, you wouldn't," he said pleasantly. "Now, suppose you tell me what's so important about this poor girl that you have two men beat her up and drive her across the country in the middle of the night." DeMarco glared. Lord Langley-Croft shrugged offhandedly. "All right, failing that, then suppose you get out of my house," he said. DeMarco glared a little more, then turned on his heel and headed for the door. Just as he arrived at it, Keller opened it, but DeMarco didn't see him; he turned back to direct a furious gaze at the man behind the desk. "We'll be watching you," he snarled. "You can't hide her in here forever." "Yes, well, that's very nice, Mr. DeMarco. Keller, show Mr. DeMarco out, please." "Very good, my lord," said Keller, and he conducted the fuming interloper out. DJ waited until the door closed, then let out a sigh. "Nice save, Carrie," he said. "D'you know, for a moment there I almost thought the bastard was going to shoot me." "Not on my watch," said Carrie with a smile. |
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