BDP56
Casca was hardly what one would call a model patient. He had terrorized the duty staff until they avoided his room like the plague. This was no small feat considering they were used to bad behavior and worse language, especially from high-ranking patients. The nurses brought his food, his medication, and that was it. No inquiries, no pillow fluffing, and definitely no lingering.
This suited Casca just fine. He had a great deal of uninterrupted time to himself, which he put to no good purpose. He liked to imagine himself as a giant black spider, spinning out an invisible web of treachery in which to catch his prey unawares. Casca tallied data, reviewed security tapes, and listened to reports from his spies. He used this information to check the status of old plots and institute new ones.
The recordings from Burke's apartment were a greater source of amusement than information. To be sure, he had not been pleased initially. This was the obvious source of Nottingham's defiance and Burke's assault to his person. He had not believed Nottingham's cock and bull story about struggling with the paramedics for a minute. There had been an attack all right, but it wasn't his heart, it had been hers.
Women were just as prone to violence as men, the only difference being that females fought to protect others long before they would think to attack for themselves. He had clearly aroused Burke's maternal instincts, given that she had helped Bronte escape, as well as her territorial ones over Nottingham.
Casca had wanted to sign himself out of the hospital and confront them both at the apartment. He could use his knowledge to blackmail them into doing exactly as he wished. He savored the vision for several minutes. Then the surge of fury passed, and Casca began plotting.
Nottingham poured out existential angst and sexual tension like a bad French movie. The soldier teetered precariously between his passion for the doctor, and his fear of hurting her. Casca thought it would not be long before the confused virgin gave in to the demands of his flesh, no matter what he had seen his brethren do.
When he did, Casca intended to reap a bountiful reward. He had switched Burke's birth control pills. It was very convenient of her to use the brand manufactured by one of Vorshlag's pharmaceutical firms. It had been simplicity itself to substitute out her prescription. The packaging was the same, but the pills inside were for fertility. When the two finally had sex, the odds were greatly stacked in favor of conception.
All Casca had done was arrange to have several of the white compacts delivered with the wrong label. One of his flunkies slipped into her apartment to make the switch, the other to the base pharmacy, where he had made arrangements with one of the pharmacy techs. When Burke ran out of her current batch and went in to pick up her refill, she'd just get more of the same.
The pill Burke was taking now had been designed to cause the release of multiple ova. Add that together with the chemical cocktail he'd had put in her coffee, and she could conceive as early as three days after changing meds. If Nottingham did lose it and maul Burke, she probably wouldn't let him near her again. Once might be all the chance they would have for conception, so Casca had taken some very hasty steps and had to trust to luck, both of which he hated to do.
Burke could have noticed something amiss about the pills, or even her own body. Current events had conspired against her, and with Casca though. Everything was so chaotic, that even if she did notice anything, she'd chalk it up to stress. Especially when her period didn't start on time. It would probably take her weeks to realize the truth, but by then it would be too late.
She would be far enough along in her pregnancy that any abortificant Burke could possibly concoct would be very dangerous to the mother, even fatal if there was no one to monitor her and she had a reaction. Of course, Burke was religious enough that she might consider abortion murder, and not even try to do anything about the baby.
Or babies. The black haired bitch could end up with triplets or even sextuplets. It didn't matter to Casca if she did; extras came in handy in this kind of research. Irons would be pleased as well, having become strangely concerned over Nottingham's refusal to participate in this part of the program.
If he wanted to breed that bloodline up, Burke was a very logical choice. Casca had investigated her very thoroughly a few years ago. Moved by some odd suspicion, he had recently acquired a strand of her hair for DNA testing as well. She was highly intelligent, more cunning and devious than any of them had originally thought, and most important, had several of the same genetic markers as those of the missing Bronte girl.
That thought brought a flinch; even though it was hardly the first time subject eight had escaped. Irons was inordinately cross over the whole situation, despite Bronte's tendency toward flight at the slightest opportunity. Casca was actually glad to be hospitalized. It had gone a long way to exonerating him, as it was difficult to retain control of someone when you're having a heart attack, but Irons had made it clear that he had used up any leeway he may have had.
The wrath of his master was something Casca worked very assiduously to avoid. Unlike many who were employed by Kenneth, he was not fool enough to believe his position gave him any immunity. Sitting at the right hand of the Devil only meant that he didn't have to reach out very far to smite you.
Casca had his agents watching for Bronte. With no money and no way to arrange gainful employment, she would resurface as soon as she got hungry enough. She always had before, and when she did, he would be ready. In the meantime, he would pretend to be as wounded as his enemies could wish. Let them grow fat and complacent in his absence. Their incaution would only make it easier for him to catch them when he returned.
A soft tap at the door was met with a brusque, "Come." Casca smiled coldly at the tall black man opening the door. He had a trap to spring, and this was just the person to set the bait.
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Casca was hardly what one would call a model patient. He had terrorized the duty staff until they avoided his room like the plague. This was no small feat considering they were used to bad behavior and worse language, especially from high-ranking patients. The nurses brought his food, his medication, and that was it. No inquiries, no pillow fluffing, and definitely no lingering.
This suited Casca just fine. He had a great deal of uninterrupted time to himself, which he put to no good purpose. He liked to imagine himself as a giant black spider, spinning out an invisible web of treachery in which to catch his prey unawares. Casca tallied data, reviewed security tapes, and listened to reports from his spies. He used this information to check the status of old plots and institute new ones.
The recordings from Burke's apartment were a greater source of amusement than information. To be sure, he had not been pleased initially. This was the obvious source of Nottingham's defiance and Burke's assault to his person. He had not believed Nottingham's cock and bull story about struggling with the paramedics for a minute. There had been an attack all right, but it wasn't his heart, it had been hers.
Women were just as prone to violence as men, the only difference being that females fought to protect others long before they would think to attack for themselves. He had clearly aroused Burke's maternal instincts, given that she had helped Bronte escape, as well as her territorial ones over Nottingham.
Casca had wanted to sign himself out of the hospital and confront them both at the apartment. He could use his knowledge to blackmail them into doing exactly as he wished. He savored the vision for several minutes. Then the surge of fury passed, and Casca began plotting.
Nottingham poured out existential angst and sexual tension like a bad French movie. The soldier teetered precariously between his passion for the doctor, and his fear of hurting her. Casca thought it would not be long before the confused virgin gave in to the demands of his flesh, no matter what he had seen his brethren do.
When he did, Casca intended to reap a bountiful reward. He had switched Burke's birth control pills. It was very convenient of her to use the brand manufactured by one of Vorshlag's pharmaceutical firms. It had been simplicity itself to substitute out her prescription. The packaging was the same, but the pills inside were for fertility. When the two finally had sex, the odds were greatly stacked in favor of conception.
All Casca had done was arrange to have several of the white compacts delivered with the wrong label. One of his flunkies slipped into her apartment to make the switch, the other to the base pharmacy, where he had made arrangements with one of the pharmacy techs. When Burke ran out of her current batch and went in to pick up her refill, she'd just get more of the same.
The pill Burke was taking now had been designed to cause the release of multiple ova. Add that together with the chemical cocktail he'd had put in her coffee, and she could conceive as early as three days after changing meds. If Nottingham did lose it and maul Burke, she probably wouldn't let him near her again. Once might be all the chance they would have for conception, so Casca had taken some very hasty steps and had to trust to luck, both of which he hated to do.
Burke could have noticed something amiss about the pills, or even her own body. Current events had conspired against her, and with Casca though. Everything was so chaotic, that even if she did notice anything, she'd chalk it up to stress. Especially when her period didn't start on time. It would probably take her weeks to realize the truth, but by then it would be too late.
She would be far enough along in her pregnancy that any abortificant Burke could possibly concoct would be very dangerous to the mother, even fatal if there was no one to monitor her and she had a reaction. Of course, Burke was religious enough that she might consider abortion murder, and not even try to do anything about the baby.
Or babies. The black haired bitch could end up with triplets or even sextuplets. It didn't matter to Casca if she did; extras came in handy in this kind of research. Irons would be pleased as well, having become strangely concerned over Nottingham's refusal to participate in this part of the program.
If he wanted to breed that bloodline up, Burke was a very logical choice. Casca had investigated her very thoroughly a few years ago. Moved by some odd suspicion, he had recently acquired a strand of her hair for DNA testing as well. She was highly intelligent, more cunning and devious than any of them had originally thought, and most important, had several of the same genetic markers as those of the missing Bronte girl.
That thought brought a flinch; even though it was hardly the first time subject eight had escaped. Irons was inordinately cross over the whole situation, despite Bronte's tendency toward flight at the slightest opportunity. Casca was actually glad to be hospitalized. It had gone a long way to exonerating him, as it was difficult to retain control of someone when you're having a heart attack, but Irons had made it clear that he had used up any leeway he may have had.
The wrath of his master was something Casca worked very assiduously to avoid. Unlike many who were employed by Kenneth, he was not fool enough to believe his position gave him any immunity. Sitting at the right hand of the Devil only meant that he didn't have to reach out very far to smite you.
Casca had his agents watching for Bronte. With no money and no way to arrange gainful employment, she would resurface as soon as she got hungry enough. She always had before, and when she did, he would be ready. In the meantime, he would pretend to be as wounded as his enemies could wish. Let them grow fat and complacent in his absence. Their incaution would only make it easier for him to catch them when he returned.
A soft tap at the door was met with a brusque, "Come." Casca smiled coldly at the tall black man opening the door. He had a trap to spring, and this was just the person to set the bait.
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