Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 "You know, we have to trim the club back down to one name," Geoffrey
Parkhurst said.  "The Wellspring Gentlemen's Club sounds a lot better than
the Waterford League of Gentlemen gentlemen's club, anyway." "It suited our
purpose at one time to go under two names," Philip replied.  "It may do so
again.  Certainly it aided us when the Wellspring Club's premises were set
on fire." "Yes, but that was in 1842," Geoffrey said.  "The riots up in
Scotland, and that chap's cousin.  It isn't likely to happen again." "It
isn't likely, but it may.  And if it should, I for one would like to be
prepared in advance." "I knew you spent too long in the Scouts." "I was
selling them nude pictures of Claudia.  It was a profitable time."
"Indeed," Geoffrey said.  "And, of course, acting like a tradesman is a
good thing these days." The sarcasm in his voice could have sunk a
battleship. "I wasn't even yet a student.  Youthful shenanigans can be
ignored.  All the same, let's give our Wellspring address for the next
little while.  As Geoffrey says, it sounds a lot better." The members still
assemled nodded, smiling.  As if it mattered. *** Kirk's eyes widened
further with every second of Erin's report. "All right, Erin," he said. 
"Thanks.  See if you can hit him with the trank without being seen.  But
don't you dare be seen." He put the phone back down and rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. "This is going to be the toughest." Ethel raised her
eyebrows. "Sir?" "Erin just saw Whyte put one of the police under and told
her to break Adrienne Little out.  And she has done.  Total induction time
three seconds to make someone do something utterly out of character.  Ranks
alongside the more powerful vampires.  And in broad daylight.  Do we know
of anything that powerful?" "Not that I'm aware of.  Oh, by the way, I just
had a call from Mike Ross.  Looks like they're just clearing out the last
vampire now." Kirk nodded.  He picked up the phone and dialled Dave Carver.
*** "Get Peter Whyte.  And for Christ's sake, don't look into his eyes. 
We're going to need him as a bargaining tool." Carver nodded.  "Got you,
guv." "Has he seen you?" "Not as far as I know, guv.  He hasn't gone out of
the Hall and his window faces the wrong way to see me." "Good.  Keep it
that way; whatever they are it's nasty.  He may have other powers;
enhanced-" "Strength, superhuman agility, lightning bolts from the eyes,
electric-eel skin...  I know the drill, boss.  I'll wear me rubber gloves."
"You can't afford not to take this seriously, David.  This looks like being
the most dangerous threat we've experienced yet.  And Adrienne Little was
just broken out of her cell." "Shit.  Who by?" "One of the cops.  Mr Whyte,
who you so confidently predicted had nothing to do with this, talks to her
for all of ten seconds, seven of which she spent unconscious, and then she
goes and resigns, wastes Custody with Mace, and lets Little out." "Well...
arrest her again, then." "And then what's Whyte going to do, brainwash the
jury into letting her go?  We can't risk that, David.  We've got to take
care of the Whytes before we can do anything about those two.  And doing
anything about them would be unfair." "Right." "Anyway, make sure you get
Peter Whyte.  Now." "On it, guv." *** Debbie was still staring at the palm
of her hand, watching the cuts close, when Peter stiffened.  "He's coming,"
he said. "Who?" "Whoever's been watching me.  Can't you feel him coming?"
"I...  no.  Are you sure you're not just getting paranoid?" "No.  But I
don't think I am." He banged on the wall and waited.  Sure enough, Jeremy
was at the door inside a minute. "Someone's coming after me.  Can you take
them for me?" "Sure." "Good." Peter walked out to the window and watched
Carver pass beneath on his way in.  "Here he comes," Peter continued,
opening the window.  "See you in five minutes." And then he hopped out of
the window. "What do we do now?" Debbie asked.  Jeremy looked at her,
stepped across and offered her his hand.  "Welcome back to the fold," he
said. "Never mind that, what do we do now?" "Well, we have two options. 
Hope he doesn't have some form of mental protection and exert our will, or
knock him unconscious.  At this point ensuring he remains alive would be a
good idea." Jeremy looked down at his hand still in midair, and took it
away with an air of unease. How does he DO that?  Debbie screamed inwardly.
But she didn't ask.  It wouldn't be right.  They had duty to get out of the
way.  Shit, was this the way Peter thought all the time? She smiled.  "I
think I choose option 'B'.  Let me handle this...  please?" And she
injected just the right amount of poignant femininity into the final plea,
without feeling it, the way Peter always does. Fucking hell. Jeremy smiled.
"You're getting good at this.  All right.  I'll be next door; kick a hole
in the wall if you want anything." And he left. Debbie watched him go, a
feeling of cold rage bubbling beneath the surface at this total
impropriety. How could he ignore the duty like that?...  Never mind.  He'd
be watching and just pretending not to be, at the request of...  not only a
lady, but a lady of the breed. *** Chris Sayer was, to the best of Peter's
knowledge, the only human on the floor of Trinity Hall occupied mostly by
the breed.  He'd grown up with many of them, his parents sacrificing almost
everything so that he and his five siblings could go through Eton despite
their relative poverty...  relative to the breed, in any case. He was
sitting in the stairwell, MD player firmly planted in his ears, eyes
closed, deliberately not thinking about the essay he'd half finished and
got stuck on.  Raven black hair, slicked back apparently in silent tribute
to Withnail, bordered a face whose most prominent feature was a keenly
aquiline nose.  When Carver tried to step over him, the light on his
eyelids changed.  They flicked open. "Can I help you?" Carver looked down
at him and did a quick evaluation.  He decided the risk of the student
being put there to snare approaching people looking for Peter Whyte was
small enough to put it in the category of paranoid fantasies. "I'm looking
for Peter Whyte.  Is he up there?" Chris shrugged.  "Far as I know." Carver
nodded.  "Thanks." Chris watched him up the stairs, then looked back to the
base of the stairwell.  "OK, Pete.  Out you come." Peter emerged from
below. "You're getting better at this, aren't you?" Chris shrugged.  "Just
when it's no longer any use, yeah." "You're good at spatial awareness, for
a human." Chris stuck a finger up at him and closed his eyes again.  He
pulled one of the MD earplugs out.  "Go get yourself a pint, Pete.  I'll
make sure he doesn't get out if he slips by the rest." "Can't," Peter said.
Chris opened his eyes, looked at him, and pointedly rolled his eyes.  "You
and your bloody duty crap." "I don't see why I should take this from a
human." "Because you actually like me." "Emotion is a choice with us."
"Yes, and you made it." "One of these days you will get killed for this
attitude," Peter said, infusing the comment with just the right amount of
sarcasm.  "Just watch it, because as we all know you're only human." Chris
grinned back appreciatively.  Peter carried on up the stairs. "Where're you
going?" "I'm going to settle this myself." "That's the Pete I know." After
Peter was safely out of sight Chris smiled to himself.  He muttered "Only
human...  Shows how much you bloody know, moron," under his breath, and put
the other MD earplug back in.  He closed his eyes and returned to a
delicious dreamworld involving the four female members of S Club 7. ***
"Can I help you, sir?" Debbie asked Carver politely.  He looked at her with
more than a little suspicion, as the scab on her neck hadn't yet fully come
off.  Speaking to someone who has apparently been bleeding from a wound
about half the size of their neck is creepy. Now this one might well be
part of Whyte's cadre... "I'm looking for Peter Whyte.  Is he in?" "He was
last time I checked," Debbie said, with a blend of sarcasm and helpfulness
so perfect that Carver had nodded acknowledgement and stepped in the
direction indicated by her arm before his caution returned. "I'll handle
this, Debs," Peter said, from the other side of the corridor.  Carver
whirled, alarm bells shrilling in his mind. "Peter," Debbie said, stunned.
"I thought-" Then duty cut in.  Peter must have a plan, after all.  It was
his choice and she didn't intend to mess it up for him when this might have
been what he was after.  She was somehow aware of Jeremy emerging from the
room behind her and taking up a silent position just behind her.  And,
oddly, she now realised what people meant by the smell of fear...  Carver
reeked of it.  And he hadn't even shit himself yet.  She shut up. Carver
stared at him, forgetting Kirk's warning. Peter shrugged apologetically. 
"I could do with a few days off lectures.  Come on then, arrest me." "Uh...
right." Carver looked a little puzzled, but stepped forward and took Peter
by the arm.  This time he remembered not to make eye contact.  "Come on,
then." "Thank you." Peter flicked the unresponsive Carver a look of utter
disdain and dignity, which he followed up with a grin over Caver's shoulder
to Debbie and Jeremy. As Carver led him down the stairs and away from
sight, Jeremy shook his head.  "Typical.  Bloody typical.  Letting his
facade slip, even for a moment, during an operation.  Still, at least he's
doing his duty." Debbie wondered. *** Chris looked up again as Peter and
Carver descended.  He looked at his watch, then looked up at the pair
again, now looking faintly puzzled.  Finally he shrugged his shoulders and
moved his legs so that they could get by.  Peter winked at him on the way
down; he winked back and tapped his watch.  Had Carver been paying
attention, he might have wondered at the amount of attention Chris was
giving a thin black Casio digital watch, and had he known the alterations
Chris had made, he might have been intensely suspicious.  But he did not,
and thus history continued as it had to. When they were out of sight Chris
got to his feet, and slowly walked upstairs. *** "Just calling to let you
know my game plan," Alex said.  "I'm going to let my son have a look at the
setup from this end, so that he can learn.  Right now I'm being
tranquilised, and Erin is going to chauffeur me into the enemy camp.  Have
fun; I'll try not to, but I think duty is going to be enjoyable this time."
"But-" The line went dead.  Geoffrey looked at the earpiece accusingly,
then sighed.  Alex was no doubt pursuing a line that would work, even if he
didn't choose to let the rest of them in on it.  He waited for the dial
tone, and dialled the number for Peter's mobile. *** "I need this thing
repaired," Chris said, emerging onto the breed's floor.  "Pete just walked
off, obviously under some kind of 'fluence, and it didn't register at all.
But - hey, hang on, still works.  Showing definite influence on her," he
continued, glancing from the watch face to Debbie. "What is that?" "A
device that monitors the action of external forces upon mental energy flow
routes," Jeremy said.  "And that's the simple explanation.  There was no
influence exerted, Chris.  Peter left of his own accord." Chris looked at
him suspiciously, but accepted the explanation.  "So what do we do now?"
Peter's phone rang.  They looked at it for a moment before Debbie scooped
it up.  Chris and Jeremy settled back to try and piece the conversation
together from Debbie's side. "Yeah?" "No, he just left.  Some guy came for
him and he set a trap, then changed his mind.  Said he'd go with him. 
Guess he wants to work from the inside." "You're kidding.  Right?  Right?"
A note of uncertainty began to creep into her voice.  "Oh, shit.  So what
do we do now?" "You can't be serious." "Well, yes, I do know it's the right
thing to do.  I just don't feel like it is." "Will people stop telling me
to shut off my fucking emotions?" A pause.  Finally Debbie spoke again, and
to Jeremy's relief all the emotion in her voice shut off.  "Yes, you're
right.  I accept that we just have to wait.  But why not tell us the plan?"
"All right." She switched the phone off and dropped it back on the desk
where it had previously rested. Silence descended on the room.  Eventually
Chris broke the silence, turning to Jeremy and saying, "I thought she was
human." "Only partly.  And she's become closer to the pure bloodline now."
Chris shook his head in disgust.  "You're not breeding horses, you know."
"Dad does." "That's hardly relevant.  What's going on?" "Peter's dad was
supposed to be running this," Debbie said.  "He's decided to do exactly the
same thing that Peter did, leaving us with no one who knows what's going
on." "And, I gather from your earlier comments, you intend to do nothing
about this." "Essentially, yeah." "Right.  Well, I am.  Jeremy, can I
borrow your Suzi?" "What for?" Jeremy said, handing the keys over. "I need,
it seems, to get to London.  Did...  whoever was on the other end of the
phone...  mention where those two morons are going to be staying?" Debbie
shook her head.  "Get them back and ask them, then." "You can't do this,"
Jeremy said, flatly. "Bloody can," Chris replied.  "I haven't got any of
this duty and honour stuff weighing me down.  Oh, and ask them to lend me
that policewoman, will you?  I'll stop by Chester and pick her up."
"Chester's in the opposite direction.  What do you need her for, anyway?"
"ID.  Her resignation won't have filtered down to London yet; I'm going to
need to bluff my way through security.  Unlike some people here, I'm not
capable of warping people's minds.  And I'd have done this entirely
differently, myself.  I wouldn't have let the bureau know I existed until
I'd destroyed it, for a start." "Honour demanded we make it as fair a fight
as we could." "Always said it was a stupid concept.  Debbie, are you going
to use that bloody phone?" *** "Dad, you know the WWII souvenirs grandad
never handed back?  Can I borrow the flare gun?" *** Chris let himself into
Jonathan's house through a disabled alarm system and window and looked
around until he found Jane.  Then he rang Jonathan on his own mobile and
held it next to her ear. "Hello, Jane." Without warning - because Chris had
stealth down to a fine art, following years of practice alongside the breed
- Jane heard her master's voice, and stiffened.  Once more she shifted from
bored human to blank-faced automaton.  "Yes, master?" "Obey the man beside
you until I tell you otherwise." "Yes, master." Had Jane still been in a
thinking mode, she might have wondered at the tinge of regret in her
master's voice, but she wasn't.  Thinking was for those who controlled her.
The mobile phone was withdrawn, and Jane didn't know. "Got your ID?" Chris
asked. "Yes...  uh..." "Just Chris will do.  After all, you're going to be
the sergeant.  I'm only going to be a constable." "Yes, Chris." Chris
grinned in the darkness.  The spin of obedience that Jane could put on a
name certainly rivalled 'master'.  Total obedience, total devotion.  On the
other hand, in this state she couldn't even think for herself. "Come on,"
he said. "Yes, Chris." SOON TO BE CONCLUDED...  I THINK...