Baron's laboratory contained a bizarre hodge-podge of technologies which only made sense given that its owner was an amalgamation of parts taken from different bodies. Much of the assembled equipment consisted of hi-tech top-of-the-line imports from Earth – sophisticated computers, medical diagnostic machines and the like – but some of it would've been better suited to a display of antique technology: Van Der Graaf generators that sparked and sputtered and machine banks covered with rows of glowing-hot vacuum tubes. A half dozen worktables were situated around the room, containing rows of chemicals and powders stored in thick glass vials, along with spread out surgical instruments of various kinds, each longer, sharper and nastier-looking than the last. The instruments' stainless steel gleamed in the lab's fluorescent light and I was mildly surprised that the blades weren't coated with dried blood.
Victor Baron's own fleshtech was represented in the room as well. One of the computers had a woman's head attached to it instead of a monitor screen and a number of the cables that connected machines and which lay strewn about the floor resembled extended spinal columns. But most impressive – or perhaps I should say disturbing – of all was the operating table located in the center of the lab. An intertwined column of spines descended from the ceiling above the table, supporting a fleshy mass shot through with pulsating swollen veins. Extended outward from the bottom of the mass were a half dozen arms, a mix of male and female as well as various races, both human and non human. It appeared Baron was an equal opportunity vivisectionist.
'Sorry I didn't come to the door to greet you when you arrived, but I was trying to get caught up on one of my new projects. As you might imagine there's no end of work to be done around here and I feel like I'm eternally behind. Even with all the excellent help I have.'
Baron's voice was a mellow tenor and he pronounced each word with the precision and ease of a skilled elocutionist. Listening to him speak was like listening to a master musician playing his instrument. As the story goes Baron hadn't been quite so godlike when he first came to Nekropolis, but he'd had over two centuries to become his own ultimate creation, the pinnacle of what the reanimatory arts could accomplish. Dr. Frankenstein might have given Victor Baron life, but by this point he was most definitely a self-made man.
Baron had approached us as he talked and he laid a perfectly manicured hand on Henry's shoulders. The assistant grimaced in response. Maybe the man was attempting to smile and didn't have enough control of his facial muscles to pull it off, but somehow I doubted it.
I glanced over at the table where Baron had been working. A large glass tank sat on the table's surface, filled with a thick clear liquid. Suspended in the viscous goo was a coiled mass of what looked like thin red tubing surrounding a trio of hearts that had been fused together. The hearts throbbed in unison and the tubing pulsed in time with each beat.
Baron must've noticed me looking. 'It's an independently functioning circulatory system,' he explained. 'Something Lord Galm commissioned me to work on. There's a shortage of willing blood donors in the city and since aqua sanguis provides little actual nourishment for Bloodborn Galm would like me to create an alternative source of blood for his people. The Bloodborn would keep one of these creatures in their homes to feed off the blood it generates, something like a farmer getting fresh milk from a cow.' Baron frowned then. 'Unfortunately the creatures live only a few days at most, so they're hardly practical.' His frown eased. 'Still, we'll get it right eventually, won't we, Henry?'
'Yes, Victor. Eventually.' There was a distinct lack of 'go-team' enthusiasm in the man's voice, but Victor didn't seem to notice.
'I'm surprised my father hired you,' Devona said. 'He's not big on technology.'
'Perhaps Galm's perspective is broadening as time goes on. The other Darklords make use of our products. Lady Varvara especially, considering the bulk of our customers live in the Sprawl, and of course Lord Edrigu finds many uses for our creations throughout the Boneyard. But we have been known to do business in Gothtown-' he gestured toward his circulatory prototype – 'and even a bit in the Wyldwood. Not so much in Glamere, though. Lady Talaith forbids her people to have anything to do with modern technology. But even among the Arcane we've made a few inroads. Certain spells require toxic ingredients that are too risky even for the Arcane to handle. Here we can create assistants capable of withstanding all manner of dangerous substances. But Talaith has permitted only a handful of our creations to enter her Dominion. Still, one step at a time, yes?'
'Speaking of Darklords, some refer to you as the Sixth Lord,' I said. 'There's even been rumors that some of your more influential clients have been lobbying Father Dis to make the designation official.'
'That's very flattering, of course, and it speaks to how important the Foundry's products have become to the city. But when all is said and done, I'm an inventor and a businessman. I have no interest in acquiring political power.' He paused, then shook his head and gave us a rueful smile. 'Pardon my manners. I get too caught up in work at times. It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Richter. Though I must say I wish it had been under better circumstances. Henry told me about the attack on you earlier this evening. Horrid business, but that's the Sprawl for you. Violence is far too often a way of life there.'
Baron leaned down to get a better look at me. I might've felt selfconscious about that, but given how tall Baron was, even if my head had been on my body, he still would've had to bend over to look at me.
'You know, Mr. Richter, I've been following your career with interest for some time now.'
'You have?'
Baron reached out and gently prodded the edges of my neck wound with his index finger. 'Of course! There are many varieties of reanimated dead in Nekropolis, but you're the only one of your kind. That makes you a unique specimen.'
'Uh, thanks. I think.'
Baron straightened then and reached out to shake Devona's hand. 'Ms. Kanti, it's a distinct pleasure to meet you as well.'
Devona had to tuck my head under her arm to free up a hand for Baron to shake. He held the grip a bit longer than necessary, and though I couldn't see from the angle I was at, I imagined Devona blushing a bit. Baron is the handsomest man in the city, maybe the handsomest who'd ever lived, whether in Nekropolis or on Earth, and it was difficult for women not be affected by how attractive he was. Hell, I'm straight and even I had trouble taking my gaze off him.
It was stupid of me but I couldn't help thinking that if Baron had managed to perfect his physical form, then all his organs – internal as well as external – would be the epitome of anatomical perfection. In other words he probably had an enormous and indefatigable schwanzstucker.
What was it with me and being jealous lately? Devona loved me and our psychic bonding was as intimate and satisfying as any physical lovemaking, maybe more so. Still, I was glad when Baron finally released Devona's hand.
'Well, Mr. Richter, let's get you up on the table and have a look at you.'
Baron took my head from Devona and carried me to the operating table. Over his shoulder he said, 'Henry, if you could bring Mr. Richter's body?'
Henry wheeled the rest of me over and between the two of them they got the two halves of me onto the table. Henry removed the clothes from my body while Victor further examined my neck wound, all the while asking me more detailed questions about how I got it.
'Interesting,' Baron said. 'Whoever attacked you used something more elaborate than a simple garrote. Your head was severed from your body with almost laser-like precision. And to judge by the swiftness of the attack the culprit was practiced in the use of the device.'
Something about Baron's observation stirred a thought in me. There was something important there, but try as I might, I couldn't quite grasp hold of it. Baron continued.
'As to precisely what the tool was, I'm afraid I can't say. We have devices here at the Foundry that could do the job and there are any number of weapons available in the city that would serve the same purpose, at least to judge by the condition of some of the bodies my Bonegetters bring me.' He smiled. 'The good news is a clean cut like this makes for an easier repair.'
'So you can fix him?' Devona asked. She'd joined Baron and Henry at the operating table, standing a little too close to the former for my liking.
Baron's expression became serious. 'I didn't say that. While I normally work with dead bodies, my specialty is bringing them back to life, or at least a semblance thereof. But Mr. Richter is a zombie – he exists in a state between life and death. And he's not a typical zombie. He's a highly functional one whose body operates nearly as well as it did when he was alive. That makes his central nervous system more complex than a garden variety
