?

She yelled for someone else to take over the milking, and found Sonya, who hadn't sensed anything yet. Together, they tried to sense where it was coming from. During this honing, Sonya began hearing the hum-like distress call. Now they were better able to hone. Holding hands increased the sensitivity, so they faced each other, holding each hand palm to palm mirror fashion.

After a few minutes, they felt themselves being transported. They were outside in the night sky, but the sky was beginning to lighten around the edges. The air was cold, like it might snow. It was hard to tell where they were, for no recognizable icons were anywhere. A smell of salt in the air told them they were likely near an ocean.

The abundance of trees suggested a park, and soon they noticed a medium sized man with a chiseled face flopped over on a park bench. He, like Zaksher, looked like a biomechanical android shut down.

Goldie looked at his sandy hair and slightly wrinkled face. She wondered about his history. Not sure of the best means of transport, she bent down, and grabbed him, putting him over her shoulder. Sonya helped steady him.

Then they began 'honing', and found themselves back on the farm. All of the others were abuzz with curiousity, and wanted to watch. Goldie and Sonya had been told nothing regarding 'watchers', so they let them gather around the 'refrigerator cooler', and opened the door.

Michael got a closer look at the machine, ''All the dials and buttons are labeled with strange squiggles. That must be the Telestrian written language!''

Goldie sat the man upright on a chair, belted him in securely, and reached for a hose attached to the machine. Holding the tip of it to his neck artery, she then touched a button, ''This is the 'intake' button.'' The hose will now begin drawing his blood into the machine.''

Goldie only needed to hold the tube to him a moment, and some inner device within it clamped down securely. Sonya explained further, ''All the blood must be drained first and put into the receiving chamber. After this man is completely drained, a small amount of perservative is shot into the artery. The process can take awhile.''

Everyone had a look at the screen, in which each reddish tinged blood bit paused for a minute, while tiny pliers pulled out a tiny dark brown egg shaped generator, and replaced it with a dark red egg shaped generator. Sonya wondered if each of the blood bits woke up with a startle as did the hosts she'd seen revived. Whatever their reactions, they were not recognizable.

Once a sizable group of them had been gathered in the finished chamber, (a percentage bar showed the percentage finished), another hose was put to the man's artery. Sonya held it there while she pushed a different button, ''This is the outgoing button. That dial in the middle controls the speed of flow. Slow is better than too rapid.''

This hose, too, attached itself tightly. When the percentage bar was nearly to 100%, the man tried to jump out of his seat when awake. He began shouting, ''I don't know you! Do I owe you money? Who do I owe money that had me put in this contraption? I want out! I'll pay you back, I promise I'll pay you back! And I got a crowd of observers, too. None of ya looks like anyone I owe. Who do you represent?''

Goldie tried to sound firm, ''You don't owe us any money. Your generators broke down, and we're replacing them. The observers are merely friends of ours.''

The man shouted with a thick New York accent, ''GENERATORS? What generators? What kind of sci-fi bullshit are you talking about?''

Sonya gave him their biological background. She didn't like this man. He looked suspicious.

He WAS suspicious, ''I don't believe this crap. I ain't a f*cking machine!'' Michael entered in, as this man was becoming difficult. ''Whether or not you believe we have generators, we do. You ARE an immortal blood drinker, are you not?''

The man's voice had the gruff edge caused by many years of smoking, ''Yea, I drinks blood. What's that got to do with it?''

Michael tried to explain the biology. In the middle of explaining, he grew curious, ''How OLD are you?''

The man shouted, ''Will you please unbelt from this torture device? I ain't gonna run away. Not until I find out where I am. I'll answer yer questions afta ya loose me!''

Goldie did so, also not liking this man. ''Eh, by the way, my name's Tommy. Ya wanted to know my age, what fer? I'm eighty. But I sure don't feel it. Hah!''

Michael exclaimed, ''You're only eighty, and your generators gave out? How old were you when you were made?''

Tommy spat on the ground, why, no one had any idea. Maybe it was a habit from his pre-vampire days. ''I was forty five. Picked in the prime of life, hah hah! No cancer for me! Hah hah!'' It was Sebastian who nosed his way into the center, ''You're only eighty years old! You've only spent thirty five years in the blood? However did you exhaust yourself?''

Michael got more to the point, ''Just HOW MANY fledglings have you made?''

Tommy tossed his head, ''I dunno. How do you expect me to remember something like that?''

In unison everyone said, ''You're only thirty five years in the blood!'' Livia stepped in for a closer look, and declared, ''No wonder he crapped out!''

Everyone wanted to know his story. Goldie and Sonya completed the finishing tasks of shutting down the machine, ushered everyone out, and securely shut the door.

But he couldn't be left there on the farm. Michael reminded him there was a moratorium on making any more fledglings. In answer to their curiousity, or perhaps as a way of confession, he said, ''Well, I'd be with a lady. I'd only mean to take a teaser nip. But I'd always be hungrier than what I knew, and instincts took over. I felt bad, didn't want her to die and all cuz of my thirst, so I'd hafta make her. There's a lot of 'my ladies' out there, hah!''

Sebastian advised him, ''In my many decades, centuries even, of seducing the ladies, I'd always come to them well fed! You must feed until the point of orgasm. Then and only then, when you're with your lady, does she NOT SMELL LIKE FOOD! Only then, you may have the sensuous and tender dessert nips. How could you not know this?''

Tommy just scratched his head, ''I dunno. I'll remember that. No dates with the ladies until I stuff myself.''

Sebastian could scarcely believe this man's stupidity, and addressed him bluntly, ''I want you to know, sir, that prior to meeting you, I believed myself the paragon of the unexamined life. I want everyone to know, that compared to Tommy, I'm a regular, um, a regular, um, philosophical, um, GENIUS! I would have never thought it possible!''

Tommy grunted, ''You with the beak nose and hair, a genius! Hah! Oh well, I never did claim to be smart . . . I wouldn't friggin owe so many dam people. Gotta quit the gambling. Someday . . .''

Sonya took a forceful tone, ''It's time to take you back from whence you came. That park of yours have a ramada? Or do you have a nearby apartment? Try to visualize it.''

Both Sonya and Golden held his shoulder while they honed, after picking up an image of a shabby studio apartment. A few minutes of 'honing', and they were there, in that smelly apartment with the nicotine tan cracked walls, saggy sofa, and coffee table covered with piles of newspaper. Newspapers and magazines were piled waist high all along the wall.

Sonya thought she ought to warn him, ''You should know, all that aging paper is a fire hazard!'' Tommy grunted, ''Yeah . . . Say, how did you get me here?'' Goldie found it very easy to erase his memories of the day. ''So I don't owe ya any money? You look awful young and kinda clean-cut, da both o' yas. Maybe not.''

Sonya told him, ''We found you passed out on a park bench and we took you home.'' There was no need for him to know the intermediate steps.

Go to Chapter 17, Artful Adventure
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