The car salesman looked at him incredulously.

"Now, Mr. Hauser, you know I cannot do that. We could both go to jail!"

Forrest took a 500-dollar bill out or his pocket and put it on the desk in front of the man.

"Five-hundred bucks? I wouldn't do this for five-thousand, and you show me five-hundred?"

Before the change, Forrest would not have considered making such a request. But he was not the same Forrest Hauser he was seven days ago. A part of him was still the same, but another part, a more powerful part, had taken over and its needs dictated the actions of the whole. The fat little salesman was going to do as he demanded for whatever amount of money he showed him.

"The transponder will be disabled. And this," he pointed at the money on the desk, "is all I offer in return."

"I will not--"

The little man's expression changed as he looked at Forrest. A compelling force within his mind told him it was the right thing to do. And besides, five-hundred bucks would come in handy.

"Yessir," he said. He left the room and soon returned carrying the box containing the access cards. He opened the metal box and searched through the cards until he found the one whose identification code matched the vehicle Forrest had just purchased. He then stood and walked out of the small office onto the car lot.

Forrest followed and when they reached the new automobile, the man gave the card to him. Forrest opened the trunk of the vehicle and pulled back the padding that hid the transponder. A warning sticker advised him that what he was about to do was illegal, and would result in severe legal penalties. But he ignored it. He slid the card through the reader, and the box opened. Inside, the electronics of the transponder blinked its activity lights. Forrest entered a false response code into the keypad and pressed the Write key. With an invalid response code, the vehicle would be essentially invisible to the satellites orbiting the Earth--at least if Forrest changed the code often enough. When done, he closed the box and replaced the padding. He put the card into his billfold and looked at the salesman.

"Our business is done," he said.

"Yessir," the man responded, still not sure why this was happening.

"Do not worry," Forrest continued. "You will not remember these events once I have gone. You will not remember I was here, and it was not you who sold this automobile to me."

The man nodded agreement, and suddenly he was back at his desk wondering where the five-hundred dollars came from.

By this time Forrest was driving to the suburbs of the city in his new, all-terrain vehicle.

Other than what he had done to the nurse back at his (previous) home, this was Forrest's first experience at having such control over another human being. And he liked it. At least a part of himself liked it; the remaining human part of him found the act to be immoral and unnatural. He remembered leaving his house after drinking the blood of the nurse, and remembered the remorse he felt as the implications of what he had done came to him. The sense of loss he felt when he realized his wife and daughter were no longer his to love--his life no longer his to live--had broken his spirit. He had been a man confused and lost, not knowing what he was going to do or where he could possibly go. He had known only that he had to get as far away from the people he loved before he hurt them as well.

And then a feeling--something like euphoria, but not--came to him. It was a power--the power to feel, to see, to understand. The physical world around him presented itself to his consciousness with an intense clarity that made reality distinct and infinitely discernible. The veil of illusion was stripped away, and he understood that which he could not have understood before. It was a wordless knowledge. He simply knew and beheld existence in a way that his human mind would not have been able to process. And it was not just the external world, but the inner world--his inner self--that made itself known to him. Fine details and relationships became obvious. It was as if someone (something) had turned up the contrast control of reality, and he had no difficulty processing the information.

He became aware for the first time that the two realities, both within and without, were aspects of the same reality. And with this awareness came power and control--control over himself and the Universe he created by the very act of observation. All he must do was ask, and his mind would provide. Imagine it, and it would be so. Believe it, and it would be truth.

It would take time, of course. He did not truly understand everything he saw. Experience would be his teacher, error his guide, and practice the means to mastery. Time was the essence, and space the source. If he did not fully comprehend, it did not matter. It would come, this he knew.

So by the time he had arrived at the car dealership, he knew what he must do.

The house looked the same in the darkness, but it did not feel the same. Mandoss sat in a rocking chair on the porch and watched as Forrest came up the steps. He said nothing. Forrest stood on the porch and gazed at Mandoss. He knew not to try his newfound powers on this alien being. The two of them locked their eyes together, two beings not quite equal, but somehow alike. The human part of him loathed this creature, but the inhuman part only feared him.

"I drank her blood," Forrest said at last.

"I know," Mandoss said softly.

"I'm different."

"That is as it should be."

"I need answers. I need to know who and what I've become. And why."

Mandoss stood.

"Come. I have something to show you."

He opened the front door and entered with Forrest following. They passed through the foyer and went beyond the footing of the stairway. Beneath the stairway was another door. They entered and descended the steps leading into the ground under the house. The stairway seemed to go unusually deep into the earth. Finally, they came to another door with a coded lock. Forrest watched and memorized the code as Mandoss entered it into the keypad. The heavy door opened.

Forrest's human stomach tightened as the stench hit his nostrils. It was a smell of human sweat and waste. They went through the door onto what felt like a brickwork floor. It was totally dark save for the light that came from the doorway. Mandoss flipped a switch and the room became dimly lit by a single low-wattage light bulb.

The cellar was about twenty meters wide by thirty meters long, and constructed of concrete blocks. The ceiling was just high enough for Forrest to stand upright. An incinerator was build into the far wall. Small barred cages no more than two meters in depth and width lined the adjacent walls. Each cage contained a water bowl and a food platter on the floor. The floors of the cages were damp with human urine and feces. Most of the cages held humans, the others empty.

Forrest studied the humans, and was sickened. Even his newfound understanding could not prepare him for what he saw. There were humans of both sexes, different races and various ages. Some were naked and some were clothed, or partially clothed. They all had a sickly pale look about them. Most did not seem to notice they had visitors. Others starred blankly at Forrest. It seemed they all had lost what little humanity could have possibly survived in this environment.

One cage, immediately behind where Forrest stood, was covered with an opaque shroud. Mandoss went and pulled the cloth to the floor. A young woman of about seventeen huddled against the far side of the cage. She had long, brownish hair and wore jeans and a yellow blouse. She seemed much healthier than the others. She stared at them, confused terror in her eyes. Forrest recognized her as the university student that had turned up missing a few weeks ago; an event that was not uncommon.

"This is where you come when you feel the thirst," Mandoss said. "This one is yours. Drink slowly, about a half-liter a feeding is all you will need. The others are taken. Do not drink from them."

"I can't," Forrest said, his eyes on the girl.

Mandoss continued without delay.

"You must! You will die if you do not."

"But how can I do that to another human being?" Forrest asked.

"There is a human inside you, but it will eventually die. You are one of us now, and you must drink if you are to live. You are no longer human."

The girl promised to Forrest overcame her fear. She came and grasped the bars at the front of her cage.

"Listen to you!" she screamed. "What are you? What goes on here?"

Forrest turned to her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry?" she snapped. "You keep me here for I don't know how long. You feed me water and dog food. You keep me caged in the dark listening to sucking sounds at all hours. You let me piss and shit all over the floor. And you tell me you're sorry? Well, fuck you! Whatever you are." She began to cry.

Forrest looked at Mandoss.

"These are human beings," Forrest said. "I can understand the feeding since I have known the thirst, but why do they have to live like this?"

Mandoss did not change his expression.

"It is the human in you that feels compassion. You must overcome that. You cannot feel compassion for your prey."

"I don't understand your reasoning. Why can't they live with some dignity?"

"Most do not live more than a month or two. They die when their bodies can no longer replenish the blood we drink from them. Then we have to replace them."

"You're fucking vampires," the girl said through her tears.

"That does not answer my question," Forrest said, ignoring the girl.

"I can answer that," came a voice from behind them.

Forrest swung around and saw Lasandra standing by the doorway. She wore an ankle length white dress with long sleeves. The dress was cut deep in front exposing much of her breasts. Her hair was long and black just as he remembered, but her eyes were red.

She approached him. "They are just animals, cows!" The contempt in her voice was obvious.

"They are human beings," Forrest countered, looking into her eyes. Her eyes glowed with an impending feeding frenzy.

"They are cattle! I will show you!"

"Lasandra--" Mandoss started.

"Not now!" she spat back at him.

Lasandra went to one of the cages where a middle-aged man lay on the floor. She took a mechanical key and unlocked the cage, entering. Bending over, she grasped the man by his hair and pulled him upright. His eyes opened briefly, but then closed as if he had decided long ago not to experience anything further. His clothes were tattered and stained from his own urine and defecation.

"This is a cow, a pig, whatever you wish to call it," she said. She smiled, her expression intense and evil.

While still holding the man upright, she exposed her fangs and buried them in the man's neck. The sound of her sucking seemed loud, amplified by the hard walls of the cellar.

"Oh my God!" the young girl said. "I don't believe this." She continued to cry.

Forrest watched as Lasandra drank and was reminded of his own first feeding. The sucking lasted no more than a minute and then Lasandra turned and looked at Forrest. Her mouth was covered with the man's blood, her eyes wild.

"And what do we do with pigs when we are done with them?" she said.

"This is not necessary, Lasandra!" Mandoss said.

She ignored him. She put a hand on the man's shoulder while wrapping her other arm around his head. She then spun the man's body with an inhuman force until his head was wrung from his body. The body fell to the floor and convulsed, no longer having a brain to tell it what to do. Lasandra held the head so Forrest could see the man's face. His eyes jerked about in terror until the oxygen in his brain was depleted and he died. Lasandra laughed, the evil sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

The girl in the cage screamed.

Forrest stared, horrorstruck, unable to speak.

Mandoss showed no expression.

Finally, Lasandra dragged the body to the other end of the room and opened the door to the incinerator. She tossed the body and head into the opening, shut the door, and wrenched the locking mechanism tight. She pushed the switch that would start the incinerator and then turned and walked toward Forrest.

"Get use to it," she said as she passed him and exited the room.

"Is this what's going to happen to me?" the girl asked.

Forrest glanced at Mandoss and then went to the girl. She backed away from the bars and studied him.

"No. What you have seen will not happen to you," he said.

The girl came a little closer.

"You are not like the others?"

"No. I am not. You are mine, and I will take care of you."

She just looked at him, and Forrest wished he could believe what he had just said. When the thirst came, he knew that he would (must) drink from her.

"Please let me go."

"What is your name?"

"Linda."

Forrest felt Mandoss' hand on his arm. He was pulled away from the cage.

"Do not do this, Forrest."

"And why not?" he asked, with less force than intended.

"Think about it. You are going to feed on her. You cannot afford to get close to her. You must have no feelings about her. You must learn to lose your human emotions if you are to survive."

"Let her go, Mandoss. I'll find someone else to feed on . . . a transient, a wino, anyone, but not her."

"It is too dangerous. You have not been trained. You will be caught."

"Then you find someone else for me. Just let her go. You can blank her mind so she'll remember nothing."

"I cannot let her go."

"Why not?"

"Think about it."

And he did. Then he understood. They had purposely chosen this girl as someone who would arouse his sympathies. Someone who would awaken his human emotions--the very emotions he had to kill. It was part of his training.

"Maybe it would be better if I died. I don't think I want to be one of you," Forrest said.

"The human speaks," Mandoss concluded. "You are already one of us. You cannot turn back. In time you will think as we think, and you will understand."

"The same way Lasandra understands?"

For the first time Forrest saw a look of consternation on Mandoss' face.

"Lasandra is not your teacher. Ignore her actions. She is a forceful one, and has not adapted well to the limitations of this world."

Forrest just looked at him.

"I think it is time you met Artemus," Mandoss said.

A tear ran down the girl's cheek as the two of them left the room and closed the door behind them.

It was another underground facility, nearly three times the size of the cellar where the human stock was kept, and the ceiling was much higher. Mandoss and Forrest reached the facility by elevator. Forrest guessed their descent to be nearly thirty meters into the earth.

The area was partitioned in to several rooms with walls made of clear metacrystal. A central hallway ran the full length of the area connecting each room to the other. Each room seemed to have a specific purpose. Some were filled with banks of electronic equipment whose purpose Forrest could not determine. Others contained machinery apparently intended for manufacturing. At least one room appeared to be a chemical lab. A room at the far end was dark and Forrest could not see what it contained. Still another was nothing more than office space.

It was to this room that Mandoss led Forrest.

"Artemus," he called. "Forrest has returned."

A black man sat at the desk studying a terminal screen. He seemed to be much older than the others, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair had turned almost fully gray. He did not have green tinted skin. He looked up at Forrest and gave him an almost human smile. He switched off the terminal.

"Ah, yes. Forrest Hauser. Team leader of the Forever Project at Worldly Machines. You are the pride and joy of your company, you know."

"Not anymore, I suspect," Forrest said. He paid little notice to the fact that Mandoss had left them alone, returning to the house.

"But that is no matter, now. You have a much greater purpose at hand. Please sit." He pointed to the chair that waited in front of the desk.

Forrest sat. "I suppose you are going to give me some answers?"

"Yes, as you need them." The man, if he was a man, studied Forrest.

"Who are you?" Forrest asked.

"They call me Artemus. My father was a Greek artisan and my mother the princess of an African nation that is not recorded in the history books. But that is of little importance. I seldom think of them now."

"How old are you? You seem older than the others I have seen."

Artemus brought his large hands together in a posture that made him look as if he were about to pray.

"Actually, I am very much younger. Six-thousand years is my age, give or take a century," he said.

After what Forrest had seen in this place, a man professing to have lived for six millennia did not surprise him.

"You are not one of the others."

"I am not one of the originals. But I am one of them. I am a transitioner, like yourself."

"The originals, how old are they?"

"They are not sure themselves. When you are immortal, age has little importance. After a few thousand years you stop counting. But they do know they have been on this planet for one-hundred-thousand years or so."

Forrest tried to digest this information. These beings had been on earth since before modern civilization had evolved, since the time when humans were still living in caves and fighting each other with sticks and bones.

"I find this hard to accept. It's unimaginable."

Artemus laughed. "You have not met Anthony yet. He is the oldest of all. They think he may be one of the first immortals. That would make him more than a million years old. But they are not sure. Anthony does not speak."

Forrest laughed nervously. Artemus joined him, but his laughter confident.

"Think of it, Forrest," he continued. "Someday you will yourself be one-million years old."

Forrest was stunned. "I am immortal?"

"Yes, of course. That is what the transitioning is about. Has this not occurred to you?"

"Too much has happened too fast. I have not had time to think."

"Of course. I do not think I believed it either, when I first transitioned. But you get use to the idea."

"Do you get use to the feeding?"

Artemus pondered him. "Yes, you do. That is perhaps the most difficult part of the transition. The humanity in you is strong and dies hard, but die it will. In time you will feel no more remorse for your human prey than you do now for the cow that died to put meat on your table."

Forrest thought of the meat from which he had sucked blood as his wife looked on. That was perhaps the beginning of his transition, followed by his feeding on the nurse. Next would be the feeding upon and killing of the young girl kept with the other human stock. And for this sin, he would live forever. The thought of living for a thousand, much less a million, years was more than his mind was ready to handle. He could not imagine what it would be like to look back upon a thousand or ten-thousand years of memories. What would the world be like? What would he be like?

"And do you forget?" Forrest asked.

"Forget what?"

"Your past life. Who you were, what you were. Do you forget your family? The people you love?"

Artemus studied him for a moment.

"Yes and no," he said. "I realize that is not much of an answer. But you have to take things slowly. Your transitioning is not complete. Do not try to absorb everything at once. Move slowly, learn your new life one moment at a time. After all, you do have forever. "

Forrest stood up and paced the room. Artemus watched him silently, giving him time to collect his thoughts. Finally, Forrest turned and placed his hands on the desk, facing Artemus.

"Two questions," he said, perhaps too forcefully. "Who are you--who are they? And why I'm I here?"

"I will try to answer your questions, but I cannot tell you everything now. They are what is left of a people exiled on Earth many thousands of years ago. They are beings from another world nearby in the galaxy."

"Enonians."

"You know about that?"

"I've had dreams--"

"Already? Most do not begin the dreams until months after transitioning. This is most unusual."

"The dreams are real?" Forrest asked.

"The dreams are memories."

"The nanomechs!"

"My, you are moving fast. How do you know about the keepers?"

"You mean the nanomechs?"

"Yes."

"I had my blood analyzed. I've seen them at work."

"Yes, I should have realized you would do that. You are a scientist, an engineer. Very little will escape you."

Forrest felt an urge to laugh, but held it back.

"I'm afraid a lot is escaping me right now. Such as, what the hell am I doing here?" He stood back from the desk and challenged Artemus with a stare.

"To answer your second question, all I can say for now is that we need you for what you are and what you know."

"And what do I know?" Forrest said, raising his voice. "All I know is that these strange creatures have taken away everything that I care about--everything that has meaning to me. And they have converted me in to something that I can only consider vile and evil!"

"It is not evil," Artemus said.

"Yes it is! I'm a fucking vampire. You're all fucking vampires."

The expression on the black man's face changed to one of hatred, and he rose from his chair and converged on Forrest with a quickness that even his enhanced senses would not let him follow. He had his huge hands about Forrest's neck before he could know that Artemus had moved. And the man's eyes pulsed red.

"I advise you never to use that word again. Do you understand?"

Forrest said nothing. He envisioned his head being ripped from his body as Lasandra had done to the man in the cellar. Artemus released his grip and turned away.

"I am sorry," Artemus said. "Anger is an emotion of survival. It does not go away with time. Let me tell you something, Forrest. I've been alive for many thousands of years. And during that time, I've seen many friends and loved ones die at the hands of humans. I've seen mobs pull their bodies apart until long after death. I've seen them burned to death. I've seen them with a wooden stake driven through their heart as they slept. Humans have had many words to call us, and most recent is vampire. That word has come to symbolize all that we hate and despise in the human species. We have been hunted down, tortured and put to death by humans for more time than you can imagine. And now there are but a few of us left."

"Do you not prey upon humans?" Forrest asked, his voice cautious.

"Yes we do. But not by choice. The keepers require it. Without human blood we would die."

"But you cannot blame humans for defending themselves against you."

"There is still too much of the human within you. You do not understand. Yes we kill humans, but only the weak. We cull out the inferior stock. And as a result the human species has advance to where it is today. If it were not for the Enonians, humans would still be living in caves."

"You take credit for human advancement?"

"In the past, yes. Once there were many thousands of us. We fed off the weak and avoided the strong. We made sure that only the strong would breed, and we gave knowledge and guidance to the strong."

Forrest realized that Artemus was speaking as if he were one of the originals. And in a way, he must be. The nanomechs, or keepers as Artemus called them, would have given him the dreams, the memories, just as they were giving himself the dreams now.

Artemus continued. "We designed the human race. The human race is what it is because we made it so. But humans cannot understand what we have done for them. Instead, when they discover us, we are put to death. We understandably hate them for what they have done to us."

"But why? Why did you steer the human race toward advancement? It would seem that you would have preferred humans to remain weak and easy prey."

"To produce a technologically advanced civilization. And to produce you."

A silence fell between them. Artemus went and sat at his desk. Forrest sat in the chair opposite him. The once human man seemed to be regaining his composure after his emotional outburst.

"Do not use that word--vampire, I mean. The others might not let you live, no matter that we need you."

"I will not say it again," Forrest said.

"Good."

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You said my transitioning was not complete. What does that mean?"

"Only that it takes time. In your case I expect it will go fairly quickly. You have adapted well to the keepers. Full transition can take many months. For you it will be much quicker."

"Can the process be reversed?"

Artemus smiled at him. "Don't go looking for a way out. There have been those that tried, and they died in doing so. Once the keepers are in your body, they control it. You could never flush them out, and even if you could it would do no good. Your body requires the keepers to survive. You have been permanently changed. It cannot be undone."

"Can they not be reprogrammed?"

"No, that is not possible."

"In my dreams the Enonians had their nanomechs, their keepers, reprogrammed to make them compatible with Earth. Is that not true?"

"Yes, it is. But remember that the Enonians had a technological society that had existed for over a million solar years. The required technology does not exist here. Do not fight this, Forrest. Accept what has happened."

"And if I refuse?"

"Assuming you could resist the thirst, and I doubt that, you would die."

"Perhaps that would be better."

"When the thirst comes you will feel different. And as the transitioning progresses and your sense of being is enhanced, you will find that death is not an option to be desired. You have had only a taste of what you are to become. In time you will be glad this has happened."

It was not until Forrest leaned back into his chair that he noticed someone had entered the room. He turned and saw standing in the doorway a young boy perhaps thirteen years of age. The boy came and stood before him, his eyes locked on Forrest's. His eyes were dark and he had long black hair. He wore a black robe made of a cotton-like material. The robe reached to his bare feet and the sleeves were long and expansive, his tiny hands scarcely visible. His skin was very pale, but did not have the green tint as did Mandoss and Lasandra. The boy did not speak or show any expression. But Forrest could sense the power in him. He could feel the boy probing his mind, and he knew no harm was meant--only exploration. The experience was almost pleasurable, and their eyes remained transfixed on one another for many seconds. Finally, the boy stepped back and Forrest thought he saw the slightest smile on his face, but it happened too quickly to be sure. The boy then turned and left the room.

Forrest looked at Artemus.

"Why is there a boy here?"

Artemus seemed to be thinking and did not respond.

"Who was that?" Forrest prodded.

"Anthony," he answered, and said nothing more.

"Anthony is a child?"

"The body of a child. That tiny body contains the mind of a being more than a million years old. I am but an infant compared to him. The wisdom, the understanding that must exist within that mind . . . I cannot begin to fathom the things he must know."

"Why did he probe me? What did he want?"

"I do not know. Anthony rarely leaves his room. He must have sensed something in you, and came to study you more closely. Why, I do not know. We know very little about him, except that he is very old."

Artemus had spoken with a soft, distant voice, as if he were lost within his own thoughts. He had not looked at Forrest as he spoke. It was clear that Anthony was a deep and disturbing mystery to Artemus and probably the others. Forrest decided he must get to know the ancient boy. There was something very important about him.

"You must go to your room now," Artemus said.

"My room?"

"Come with me."

The voice was Lasandra's. She stood behind him in the doorway. Forrest rose and looked at her. She had changed her clothing to something more casual and less revealing. She seemed lost in thought, her eyes watching him but not looking into his. Forrest realized these beings were not invulnerable, and thought he might have discovered a weakness. Something to do with Anthony.

"To my room, I suppose?"

"To your room," she said, and turned, heading for the elevator.

Forrest followed her. As they ascended there was an uneasy silence between them. Forrest perused her. Despite her alienness, the greenish flesh that made up her body, she was a ravishing woman. There was a power about her, a sexual power that no human man should be able to resist. And that included himself, even though he was not quite so human anymore. He wanted her, and he would have taken her right here in the elevator if he had thought she would let him. A smile came to his face.

"Why do you smile?" she asked.

"I was just thinking of you."

"I am not in the mood."

"I didn't think you were."

She turned to him. "What did he communicate to you?"

"Who?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Anthony. Did he give you any information?" Her eyes were tense and nervous.

"No. He did not. At least not that I'm aware of." He added this last to create doubt in her mind.

"What did it feel like?"

"It was pleasant. He was probing my mind. I don't why." She said nothing, and he continued. "Does he not probe your mind? Communicate with you?" He knew he was goading her, but she did not react. Forrest knew that indeed Anthony did not communicate with her; perhaps he never had. And she was annoyed that Anthony should now communicate with him.

The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. He followed close behind her as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. She led him to the end of the long hallway and stopped at the last door.

"I would like to see Anthony," Forrest said.

"You cannot see Anthony!"

She opened the door and motioned him to enter. He did not move, but only looked deep into her eyes.

"Anthony does not make contact with you, does he? And you are jealous of me because he has made such contact."

Her face distorted to a furious scowl, her eyes pulsing red.

"You are very foolish, Once Human! And you have a lot to learn."

She grabbed his arm. With her other hand she took his index finger and forced it backward until it lay flat across the top of his hand. He could hear the bone pop out of its joint and the tendons tear. The pain was excruciating. He went to his knees as the agony overwhelmed his consciousness.

She stared down at him. "One of the benefits of being an immortal is that all experience is enhanced, magnified tenfold. And that includes pain. Do not play games with me, Forrest. For if you do, the pain you now feel will seem like ecstasy when compared to what I can do to you."

She pulled him up and shoved him into the room, causing him to lose his balance. He fell to the floor and watched her distorted image through his tears. She gave him a contemptuous smile, and shut the door. He heard it lock. He stood and went to the door, trying to open it with his uninjured hand. The door would not bulge. He was a prisoner.

"Damn you!" he said, but he knew she was no longer there.

He looked at his damaged finger. Holding the finger securely with this free hand, he pushed the bone back into the joint and almost fainted as the pain entered his mind. He searched the adjacent bathroom and found a hand towel. After placing the injured finger between its neighbors, he folded and wrapped the four fingers with the towel and held it in place with his thumb. It was beginning to swell, and his body's natural opiates were already producing a welcome numbness. He then went and sat on the bed located to one side of the room. For the first time in his life he felt the urge to kill another living being for no better reason than pure anger.

His hand was almost completely numb now, only a dull throb informing his brain of the injury. The pain would be ferocious when the healing process began; he could only hope that his enhanced metabolism would speed the healing. Someday, somehow, when his new powers were complete and he better understood what he was becoming, the arrogant, lustful Lasandra would pay for what she has done to him. And he was not thinking just of his injured hand, or the transitioning. Someday . . .

He surveyed the room. Despite his status as a prisoner (or so it seemed), the room was not a prison cell. The room was clean and uncluttered, the floor covered with thick, blood red carpet, the walls made of fine-grained oak. The bed he sat on was large and comfortable, its frame made of gleaming, polished brass. In one corner sat a comfortable looking chair with a reading lamp next to it. There was even a large wooden desk on which sat a holoviewer and a terminal. The chair at the desk was huge and made of leather and fine wood. The wall next to the desk contained a bank of holodisks. There must have been thousands of them, covering virtually every topic known to man, and likely more. A retriever was parked in its resting place to the lower right of the bank, awaiting instructions from the console. At the center of the bank, a holocorder was attached, ready to record whatever he wished to send from the terminal. If was clear that he was expected to engage in some sort of work. He had no idea what. Too many questions remained unanswered.

He went to the desk and activated the terminal. He pressed the control key that would link the terminal to the Network. To his surprise, the logo screen of the Network software appeared on the holodisplay, asking for his access code. Apparently the others did not intend to cut him off from the outside world. This was reasonable, since what could he do? He was a fugitive, a murderer. If he led the authorities to this place, it would only result in his eventual death. He knew, as the others knew, that he must remain hidden in this new world. And besides, the work they had planned for him probably required outside access.

He started to enter his access code, but then remember he had no access code. The Network Guardians would be looking for any of his usual access codes, and when found would immediately locate him. He would have to hack the system, and that would be no easy task considering the sophisticated security measures protecting the Network.

It was then that he noticed the slip of paper lying on the desk in front of the terminal screen. He picked it up and found the single word becoming hand written on the paper. As access codes go, this was not a very good one. But if it worked, he didn't care.

He entered the code, and the opening menu of the Network appeared on the screen. He scrolled the menu until he found the listing entitled "Late breaking News" and selected it. A list of headlines filled the screen. He searched the list until he found the title "Missing Engineer Returns, Kills Nurse." He hit the View button, and the list was replaced with a newsman talking into a microphone. In the background Forrest could see the front of his (previous) home. He listened as the newsman spoke.

"As you may know, Forrest Hauser, a senior engineer at Worldly Machines, was reported missing seven days ago. Three days later he returned home and was under the care of a Dr. Peterson for an unidentified illness. For reasons not given, Hauser was being cared for at his home, rather than a hospital. Dr. Peterson reported that Hauser was getting better, but citing confidentiality laws, refused to give details about the illness Hauser suffered.

"Earlier this evening Nancy Williams, a nurse from Manchester Hospital, arrived at the Hauser home to relieve the nurse then on duty. When no one answered the door, she became concerned and entered the house. She found the nude body of Marsha Hendly, who had been with Hauser all of the day, lying dead in a puddle of blood on Hauser's bed. Hauser was not present."

The scene switched to the bedroom where Forrest had drank the nurse's blood. He cringed at the sight of the room. The nurse's body was not there, having been removed.

"When the police arrived, they reported that Ms. Hendly had apparently died of blood lost due to an injury to one of her breasts. The police said that no motive for the killing was apparent, but an investigation was underway. One officer did say that evidence of sexual activity was present.

"Since Hauser is team leader for the Forever Project at Worldly Machines, World Government agents have been called in and are now searching for Hauser.

"It is expected that first degree murder charges will be brought against Hauser when he is found."

Forrest hit the Stop button. A list of cross-references was superimposed over the murder scene. He selected the one entitled "Interview with Mrs. Hauser." The image shifted to the waiting room at Dr. Peterson's office. Melinda was standing with Dr. Peterson by her side. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and she looked exhausted. Forrest felt a pang of remorse at having done this to her. He recalled the confusion on her face when she found him and the nurse naked together and touching each other in their bedroom.

Microphones were being shoved in her direction.

"Mrs. Hauser, do you believe your husband committed this murder?" a reporter asked.

"No. I do not. My husband is not capable of murder." She stared at the reporter as if the question had been stupid. Forrest could not believe she was defending him--not after what she had seen.

The doctor leaned forward to speak into the microphone. "Mr. Hauser was kept captive by persons as yet unidentified for several days before he escaped. We believe these persons are responsible for the murder, and that Mr. Hauser is again in captivity."

"Mrs. Hauser, do you believe your husband had sex with the victim?" another reported asked.

"No, I do not!"

"That is not what the police believe."

"The police are wrong. I know my husband."

"The police report says the victim had been sexually assaulted before her death. If it was not your husband, then who was it?"

"I don't know," she answered weakly.

A third reporter spoke. "Dr. Peterson says your husband was ill. Could not his illness have affected his mind? Could he not have assaulted the victim and then killed her, perhaps not knowing what he was doing?"

Dr. Peterson answered, "Mr. Hauser was physically ill. His mind was not affected."

"What was his illness?"

"That is confidential," he said.

"You will have to tell the government."

"I already have. When the report is released, you will know."

"Mrs. Hauser, the police say that the crime scene analysis shows no evidence of anyone having been in the room except Mr. Hauser, yourself, Dr. Peterson, the nurses on duty, and the equipment crew from the hospital. Since all persons have alibis, that leaves only your husband at the scene. What do you say to that?"

"The analysis must be wrong. My husband was too weak to have hurt anyone."

"But your husband's car was found abandoned in the central business district. And a neighbor reported seeing your husband driving away shortly after the time of the crime. Also, large sums of money have been withdrawn from his company accounts. Do not these facts point to your husband as the perpetrator?"

Melinda looked at Dr. Peterson.

He spoke, "We believe Forrest Hauser has been set up. Whoever it is that is holding him captive, has gone to great pains to make it look like he committed this crime."

A reporter from the back of the room spoke up. "Could this have something to do with the Forever Project?"

Dr. Peterson continued. "Perhaps that is true. There are political groups that feel the Forever Project is a waste of money. And there are those who have threatened to seize the Forever."

"So you think a radical activist group is behind all of this? Perhaps genoclones?"

"As I said, we don't know. But I do think that is a strong possibility."

A woman pushed her way through the crowd of reporters and stuck a microphone in Melinda's face.

"Mrs. Hauser, I've just received a report from my office about the autopsy on the victim. There are two points I'd like you to comment on. First, the report states the victim's body was completely drained of blood."

Melinda shuddered at this news. "She had a wound, the blood must have drained out of her."

"But the victim was lying on her back when discovered. And since the wound was on her breast, all of her blood could not have drained out. In addition, the report states that two small puncture wounds were found on her neck, and that the jugular vein had been penetrated. It seems the blood had been sucked out of her."

"I do not know about that," Melinda responded, a confused look.

"Then tell me what you know about this: semen was found in the victim, and the genetic material matches that on record for your husband."

Melinda just looked at the woman, and then began to cry.

Forrest could not stand it anymore, and he hit the Stop button. Why were they treating her as if she were a criminal? She was a victim. His victim. He knew he was a victim himself, but he could not stop the anguish he felt against himself. At that moment it seemed to him that all compassion and morality had gone out of the human race. The reporters were more concerned about getting a story than about how Melinda must feel. The human race was dying of self-absorption and greed. And that was why the Forever Project was so important. But then he was no longer a part of the Forever Project, was he? Perhaps he was no longer even human.

And he still did not know why.

He perused the cross-reference list. The title "PAAV Warns Hauser is a Vampire" caught his attention. He selected it, and the screen switched to the Downtown Plaza located next to the City Government Complex. The plaza was a favorite place for fringe groups to gather and spout their beliefs. A newswoman stood behind a crowd that faced the plaza's stage.

"The People's Army Against Vampires called a rally of its supporters soon after the news of the murder at Forrest Hauser's home today was released to the Network. The group is claiming that Hauser is a newly converted vampire. They cite the police report that the victim's body was drained of blood as conclusive evidence. Let's now see what the speaker has to say."

The camera zoomed in on the stage. Two men and one woman stood on the stage. They looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. They wore loose, multicolored clothing, and their hair was long and unstyled, typical of many of the radical fringe. The taller of the two men, who seemed to be in charge, spoke into a microphone.

"Over the last ten years nearly two-hundred men, women and yes, even children, have mysteriously disappeared within our city. And of these, the police have been able to account for only three. Only three! Of these three one was a young boy lost in the underground maintenance tunnels and later found dead of starvation. A second was a man buried in his own backyard, apparently a victim of domestic violence. And the third was a young woman found dead in an alleyway in the downtown district, her body drained of blood through a puncture wound found on her neck.

"Listen to what I just said, people! Her body was drained of blood! What kind of crime is that? Who, or what, would kill its victim by sucking the life-giving blood from the body? And what of the remaining missing persons? How many of them died the same death? Why is it that to this day the police have no clue as to what happened to them? It is as if they have disappeared off the face of the Earth.

"I can tell you the reason, people. There are beings among us, powerful human-like beings that co-evolved on this planet along with the human species. They look human, they act human. They may even be your neighbors! But they are not human! They are a species that feeds off of human blood. They are vampires!

"We don't know how many of them there may be. But we do know that a group of them are located right here in our own city. And that is why we have such a high rate of missing persons. The national average for missing persons is one-point-two per ten-thousand. Our rate is five! That's nearly five times the national average.

"People, you are in danger! We will be passing out literature that tells you how to detect a vampire, and how to destroy it when you do. The literature is free, but we do request a small donation to support our efforts."

The man continued, but the camera switched back to the newswoman.

"That was Stan Watkins, the leader of the local chapter of PAAV. Police say they have warned Watkins that his literature is illegal and that he will be arrested for incitement to murder if he distributes as planned. Watkins has said his lawyers are ready to take his case as far as the World Court if arrested. He is claiming that the people must be warned and taught how to kill the alleged vampires, and that PAAV will do so no matter what the legal consequences.

"The spokesperson for the local police, Billy Rimmer, says Watkins' claims are ludicrous. He said Watkins and his followers have been watching too much holovision, and that the public must ignore the rantings of the PAAV. When asked about the high incident of missing persons in the area, he responded that this was a statistical anomaly. He did not explain what he meant by that."

Forrest stopped the playback. Before now, he would have paid no more attention to fringe groups such as PAAV than the average person. But his neat and tidy, predictable little world had been forever changed, and he now knew how close PAAV was to the truth.

A knock came at the door and he heard it unlock. He went to the door holding his injured hand with the other. The door opened. The woman who stood there was as alien as the others, but she was perhaps more beautiful than even the wicked Lasandra. It was no wonder that these beings had no problems finding victims for their blood lust. Who could resist the power and beauty these beings exuded?

"I am Eletel. It will be daylight soon and we must sleep. But first we must take nourishment." She seemed to have difficulty maintaining eye contact with him.

"I do not feel the thirst," Forrest said, studying her.

"Nor do I. It is of food to nourish the body that I speak. Follow me."

She turned and Forrest followed her.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked. She spoke softly, as if unsure of herself.

"A gift from Lasandra," he answered.

"It is not wise to anger her."

"I know that, now."

They descended to the ground floor and went to the back of the house. There they entered the dining room. The room was extravagant. Lush, thick, red carpet covered the floor. Expensive looking paintings, some new, some old, covered the walls, many skirted with a rich cloth the same color as the carpet. At the center of the room stood a long, hardwood table. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling at each end of the table. They held candles that lit the room with a pleasant dimness. An elaborately woven, white table cloth adorned the table. Upon the table sat brightly polished silver dishes and utensils. Crystal wine glasses sat at each place.

All chairs around the table were occupied except two. Eletel took one of the chairs leaving Forrest the other. Mandoss sat at one end of the long table and Lasandra at the other. Forrest found himself sitting next to Mandoss with Eletel across from him. To his left were two males he had not seen before. Artemus sat next to Lasandra, and between him and Eletel sat another female unknown to Forrest.

Anthony was not at the table.

"Well, we are all here," Mandoss said. He rang the bell next to his plate.

Three humans, two females and one male, entered the room carrying platters of food. The females placed healthy portions of the food on each plate--meats, vegetables and breads, decidedly human food. The male poured dark red wine into each crystal glass. The females seemed to be in their mid-forties and the male perhaps a bit younger. Their clothing was bland, and they had dull expressions on their faces.

"Human servants?" Forrest asked of no one in particular.

"Yes," Mandoss answered. "They cook, clean, and in general maintain the house."

"You do not drink from them?"

"Of course not. They are our servants!"

When the servants had completed their tasks and left the room, Mandoss raised his glass into the air before him and said, "Let us begin."

Each of the others raised their glasses in a like manner, except for Forrest. When he finally realized that the others were waiting for him, he raised his glass, too.

"To Enon, our Lord to whom we shall return," Mandoss said.

"To Enon," the others said in unison.

They began to eat. Forrest followed suit and found that the food was incredibly delicious. He assumed his enhanced senses were at least in part responsible for this. Then again, he could not remember the last time he had eaten. No one bothered introducing Forrest to the aliens he had not met. He imagined he would learn who they were soon enough. He eyed the female sitting next to Eletel. She noticed his glance and smiled at him. He smiled back. She was as beautiful as the other females. He could not believe these creatures. The women were beautiful, the men handsome, even if they were alien. Only he and Artemus stood out as ordinary.

Quiet conversations broke out among the group as they ate.

"This is all of you?" he asked Mandoss.

"Yes, this is all of us."

"Except for Anthony. Why is he not here?"

"Do not speak of Anthony!" Lasandra blazed from her end of the table.

Forrest looked at her, and suddenly his injured hand began to hurt. The others seemed to pay her little mind.

"Enough, Lasandra," Mandoss said. "How is he going to learn if he does not asked questions?" He turned to Forrest. "Anthony is not a social creature. He never eats with others. He spends his time alone."

"Because he is so old?"

"Perhaps."

"When does he drink? Does he seek his own prey? Or do you bring humans to him?"

"Anthony does not drink," Mandoss said.

This was something new. All the aliens, including transitioners, required human blood to survive. But not Anthony. Forrest felt it would be better not to ask why this was so, at least not now. It was time to change the subject.

"So why am I here? What do you want with me?"

"You are not ready for that knowledge."

"When will I be ready?"

"Soon."

Forrest ate in silence. He felt an uneasy calmness. Was he beginning to accept these beings? Was he beginning to feel he was one of them? He did not want to be one of them. But did he have a choice? Despite his enhanced awareness, his enhanced senses and intellectual capacity, he was as confused as any human could be. In a way he liked and respected these beings, except for Lasandra. Were they making him feel this way? Was he in any way in control of his own thoughts? He could only guess at the powers they might have over him. After all, he was only a mere thirty-two years old, and they many thousands of years. He was hardly more than a fetus compared to them. He could not imagine what they wanted him for.

One by one the others finished their meals and left the table until only Mandoss, Eletel and the unnamed female were left. Forrest realized he had cleaned his plate.

"Do you want more?" Mandoss asked.

"No, that was plenty." He looked at the unnamed female, and she smiled.

"Then you best go to your room. It is time to sleep. Eletel will escort you."

To my prison cell, Forrest thought.

"I will take him," the unnamed female said.

Mandoss smiled at her. "Then do it."

She stood and came around the table. She took Forrest by his good hand and led him out of the room. As they climbed the stairs, he asked for her name.

"Linwolse," she answered. "But you can call me Lin. That is so much easier to pronounce."

She had not let go of his hand since they left the dining room, and he did not mind. The touch of her was delightful to his senses. And this was unnerving.

When they got to his room, he entered. He expected her to lock the door and leave. But instead, she followed him into the room, shutting the door behind her. He turned and faced her, and she kissed him softly. She did not give him time to kiss back, not that it would have occurred to him.

"I like you," she said, smiling.

"Why?" he asked, truly confused.

"Why not?" she quickly responded.

Forrest had no answer. She seemed so genuine, so real. It did not seem she was using him, merely playing out her part in whatever plans the others had for him. And he wanted her, to be with her--to feel her presence, if nothing else. He did not know why.

She led him to the bed and they sat next to one another. Like the others, she had long black hair and dark penetrating eyes. She wore a full-length white dress made of silks and finely woven cottons with lace about the sleeves and neck, as if she were about to go to some formal affair. Despite the full dress, Forrest had no difficulty imagining her firm, youthful body underneath.

"Let me have your hand," she said.

Forrest gave her his good hand.

"No, silly. The other hand."

He gave her the injured hand. She placed her hands about his injury, palms inward, and applied gentle pressure. With her eyes closed, she seemed to concentrate. Forrest watched her face, amazed at her beauty, at his feelings for her. Soon his hand began to tingle and he felt warmth surround the injured finger. There was no pain, just a sense of pleasant activity. She began to breathe deeply as she increased her concentration.

"Soon, now," she said, with some difficulty.

She tilted her head back and her long black hair fell off her shoulders. Forrest could see tiny beads of sweat developing on her face. It then occurred to him that she was healing him. And this convinced him that she was for real. She had no reason to want to heal him, other than just simply wanting him healed. She was displaying compassion, and this was something he had not expected.

The warmth in his hand began to recede, and she opened her eyes and looked at him. She pulled herself back onto the bed and laid her head on a pillow. She seemed tired. Forrest just sat and looked at his hand.

"Take the towel off," she said.

This he did. He held his hand in front of his face and moved the (once) injured finger back and forth. It was completely healed. He could not even tell there had been an injury.

"This is amazing. How did you do that?"

"Magic," she said softly, smiling.

"Well, however you did it, thank you very much!"

"You are very welcome, my love."

He looked at her and she gave him a look only a woman could give. Forrest moved next to her, and she pressed her body against his, resting her head on his chest as if to listen to his heart beat. Forrest enjoyed the feel of her next to him, the scent of her hair, her womanhood. He knew he must be cautious; might she not be controlling his mind? But he didn't think so. He was convinced her presence was nothing more than what it seemed, a desire to be with him--however unexpected it might be. And as the sun rose above the horizon they drifted into peaceful, dreamless sleep.

They slept in each other's arms the whole day.