Chapter 48
We had asked the prime minister about getting a taxi or ride share to get to our hotel, as arrival by drone seemed excessive.
He provided a three-vehicle convoy of Omega-powered Range Rovers.
More than a bit flashy but not quite the level of a Meg war drone descending upon a posh downtown London hotel.
The Sabre Arms Hotel in Belgravia was a bit of a shock to my system.
Frontier planet boy, remember? A luxury hotel in central London facing Hyde Park wasn’t in my wheelhouse of experience.
Luckily, it didn’t phase Vesta. My clothing was American business casual, and I stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.
Vesta’s apparel was a bit better, but not the high-end labels of the UK elite.
She was, however, the Steward’s Heir. In a race for status, that one ends all others.
The staff expected us, the hotel’s multi-billionare vampire owner having alerted the management of our impending open-ended stay.
Uniformed staff were highly visible in the foyer, and the hotel manager met us at the door, an impeccably dressed middle-aged woman who was quick to smile despite her internal anxiety at having anyone related to the Steward as a guest. Vesta was equally quick to set her at ease.
“Mrs. Wilshire, could you perhaps provide us some direction on clothing stores?” she asked after glancing around the lobby at the other guests, all of whom were watching us.
“Yes; I feel like someone painted me orange,” I agreed.
Mrs. Wilshire nodded, a tiny smile flickering across her serious expression. “Of course, although I should like to point out that you two would gather attention no matter how you were dressed.”
“Ah, lifestyles of the suddenly famous,” I muttered and the stoic Mrs. Wilshire might have snorted ever so softly.
“Well, you have made a bit of splash,” she said as she led us toward the elevators.
“It’s probably just Buster,” Vesta said. “She’s an attention magnet.”
Buster was trotting at my side, her sharp green eyes studying everyone and everything.
“She does add an exotic element to your presentation,” Mrs. Wilshire said.
“Oh, you are good,” I said. A bellhop standing against the wall snagged my threat meter and I stopped suddenly to look at him. He was blank-faced but humming with anticipation, antipathy, and self-amusement. A flash of something waiting for us crossed his mind.
“Craig?” Vesta asked, her tone indicating she was picking up how suddenly alert I was.
“He needs to come with us. There’s something in our suite that he left for us, and I don’t know as it was a friendly gesture.”
The young man, who was maybe ten years older than I, was suddenly worried and angry at the same time. Defiant anger.
“Lyle, come with us,” Mrs. Wilshire said instantly, nodding at two of her security guys as well.
The elevator let us out on the top floor, which housed two suites. We had one of them to ourselves. Bedroom, living room, giant bathroom, huge walk-in closet, a not-too-mini bar complete with refrigerator and microwave, all done with over-the-top finishes and furniture.
But waiting for us on the couch were four different costumes, all variations of wolf or witch or lizard.
Mrs. Wilshire turned to Lyle, lips pressed flat and cheeks red with anger.
“Ma’am, I didn’t do it. He has no proof,” the man protested, more angry than contrite.
Omega appeared among us. “He might not, but I do. Video, keycard records, purchase records, and social media conversations with Human First supporters. You didn’t even apply yourself to covering your tracks.”
“Lyle, you are dismissed. See him out,” she said to her security men. Then she turned to us and her own anxiety was ratcheting to hyper levels while two of the other bellhops immediately gathered up the costumes. “I am so very sorry for this offense.”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Wilshire,” Vesta said after a glance at me. “Haters will hate. Stupid haters tend to self-destruct. Although I do find the lizard costume amusing.”
“We are not easily offended, ma’am,” I said.
“But I take our security extremely seriously. You should warn the staff not to enter the room without checking with Omega or us. Also, Buster will be in here, and she’s pretty good at detecting threats.
We have enemies, none of whom have likely not considered the consequences to mankind if they were to actually harm Vesta. ”
She went dead pale at that and the staff around her all froze as my words penetrated.
“Craig,” Vesta warned.
“Just truth, Vee. Your dad has zero mercy for threats to his daughter. We chat, you know.”
“What has he said?” she demanded.
“That I am to murder anything and anyone that threatens you. Anyone of any rank, anywhere, and at any time. He trusts that I will use appropriate levels of force, but he wants me to escalate from punching to instant death with nothing in between. The phrase he used was that mankind’s continued existence depended on your survival. So… no pressure.”
Mrs. Wilshire was about to hyperventilate.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said, holding her gaze as I spoke.
“I didn’t say that to scare anyone because between Omega and myself and her own extremely powerful abilities, it would be extraordinarily difficult to get to her.
Had Lyle’s gift been dangerous, we would have left immediately.
I could tell it was just mean, not deadly.
But the margin for error is extremely small, so your actions with Lyle are entirely appropriate.
You should consider who you assign to this suite very carefully. ”
“I will likely be dismissed myself as soon as Ms. Demidova hears of this,” she said.
“Unlikely,” Vesta said. “Aunt Tanya would ask us first what happened and we would tell her of your instant and decisive response to Lyle’s actions, as well as your subsequent attention to detail.
But enough of that. We have a much more important problem than Lyle…
where should we have dinner, considering our sartorial weakness? ”
Mrs. Wilshire blinked a few times as she took that in, then nodded. “Before I make suggestions, I should ask a few questions. Does entree size matter? Are you looking for exotic or simply sublime?”
“Oh, sublime mixed with substantial. I am a werewolf, ma’am, and my alien barbarian here eats like one too.”
“Very good, Miss Vesta. I should think that Cyclone might be appropriate. Four Michelin stars and considered optimum for people who savor animal protein. Popular, I am told, with weres of all types. Also, their dress code is not at all formal. I can make you a reservation if you like?”
“That would be amazing,” I said.
“Very well. Notify the desk if you need anything,” she said with a nod. She was shaken but determined and confident she could meet and exceed our expectations.
“Do we go as us or incognito?” I asked Vesta.
“Ourselves. We have to project confidence in the face of Wagner’s actions,” Vesta said.
“His administration is making overtures to me, yet he, himself, continues to post inane commentary about you, Craig,” Omega said.
“A distraction, do you think?” Vesta asked.
“Highly likely. I have found the probable reason, and we will discuss it after your meal. That will give me time to complete my investigation.”
The hotel manager was frozen as she listened to us, and her intent was radiating realization and a certain amount of amazement. We were not just college kids, were we?
Two hours later, we stepped out of the hotel toward the government Range Rovers and security team. Paparazzi and reporters waiting in ambush immediately snapped pictures, video, and called out questions. One caught my attention.
“Why did you get a bellhop fired?” a young man yelled. His intent showed he was anti-us and anti-sup and anti-Omega. I turned to him immediately.
“To save his life,” I said. He wasn’t expecting that and he failed to jump in another question before I addressed the attentive crowd.
“He’s referring to a staff member who played a prank of sorts on us, leaving wolf and lizard costumes in our room. Harmless, yet not,” I said.
“Why not?” a woman reporter asked, taking my bait with glee.
“Because it showed a deliberate lack of survival sense for him, his family, and, frankly, everyone,” I said.
“You are threatening him?” she asked.
“No. He already got fired. Done and over. But the idea that you would risk your job, your livelihood, to send a message of hate is dangerous. On Green… sorry, Golf Alpha, education is only required to the eighth-grade level. If you’re able to go on, it’s great.
But a frontier world is unforgiving. We had sixteen people in my freshman class and by the end of the first semester, one of them was dead.
Caught in an autumn rainstorm. On Golf Alpha, an average storm is like a hurricane here.
Caught outside, you can literally drown standing up because the wind and rain block all airways. ”
“What does that have to do with a bellhop in London?” the original guy asked.
“Great segue. In grades seven and eight, we spend a lot of time on recent history. Specifically, the Vorsook war and the Culling. Our planet tries to kill us daily, yet it’s really just indifferent to humans.
We aren’t faced with an angry Mother Nature, hell-bent on our extinction.
But the teachers like to make sure we understand how close humanity came to checking out.
People on Earth seem to have forgotten that.
If someone tries to harm Vesta, I will kill them instantly and you all should wish me luck.
If I fail and she is harmed or killed, humanity is likely done.
Her dad would kill everyone responsible and then some.
But Mother Nature? She might decide we have failed our second chance.
So, idiot organizations calling for humans before all else ought to maybe move off Earth or just commit mass suicide and let everyone else live in peace.
Have a good night,” I said to my stunned audience, turning to the cars.
“Holy shit,” Vesta said as we rode to the restaurant. The driver was very good, very professional, but his eyes flicked my way multiple times in the rearview. His fellow bodyguard in the passenger seat was equally in turmoil but stayed silent.
Dinner was great. No one approached us while we ate, but everyone watched us like we were rabid beasts.