Though he appreciated his new, high-teck artificial eyes, Bradley McWilliam remained a bit critical. Images from the nanotech prosthetics were less than perfect. That much he knew empirically. Though a gun accident at eighteen had ruptured both eyes, Brad still had a good visual memory. Now, ten years after his most recent surgery, after a difficult adaptation to cortical implants and months of recurring headaches, the spectacle of a sunset was still little more than a blurry fireball amid braiding streaks of reddish pink and lavander. His photographic memory and imagination were still able to fill in details, but the lack of resolution was frustrating.

He stared out a window of the luxurious suite, unimpressed by the blurred image of grape vines on chalky hills. Silver Estates Vinyard in the Cowichan Valley of Vancouver Island produced huge quantities of grape juice and select fine wines, but the computer specialist wasn’t there to indulge in wine tasting, certainly not to enjoy the scenery, or his sophisticated hostess.

Thoughts drawn back to the dining room and dinner, Brad found it difficult to get a clear impression of the vineyard owner. The widow Angelique De Joliette- Castille, ‘just call me Angelique dear’, was an enigma. Elegant but not aloof, the woman had breezed in after the maid deliberately seated him at the foot of a fairly long banqueting table. Despite the quality of his artificial eyes, his prosthetic contacts could prove annoying. Even after focusing, they were incapable of giving fine detail and sharp resolution at more than a metre distance. Cameras in the lenses communicated with trancievers and implants connected to severed optic nerve, providing him reasonably functional vision; but his position at the dinner table had been at least three metres from the owner of Silver Estates.

Dressed in a cream and gold confection, the lady appeared rather blurry. She hadn’t approached his end of the table or offered her hand. Instead, she greeted him warmly from a distance, being seated by her large, rather intimidating butler.

Brad was not offended. His boss in Toronto had warned him that the lady was a reclusive widow, a fairly recent European transplant. Along with that, she was a respected, close friend to his employers superior and some very influential, very wealthy people.

Surprisingly, her complexion was a light moca, quite unlike the pale white of many immortals. The woman’s features had been indistinct, but a few items were identifiable. Her eyes were large, slightly arched and a dark brown, almost black, flecked with the luminous silver common to many immortals. A brilliant diamond pendant dangled in the widows modest cleavage, and a large, sparkling solitare flashed on her left ring finger. He knew the lady was extremely rich, so didn’t think the jewelry an attempt at being ostentatious.

As much as possible, Brad tried to observe Angelique De Joliette-Castille all afternoon. Unfortunately, she always kept a couple metres distance between them. Still, he did manage glimpse a little of features that seemed oddly familiar.

Almost everything in the mansions huge dining room had been little more than a blur, so resigned to the limitations of technology, Brad mostly used his reliable hearing skills. Sometimes, they gave him an advantage. The woman opposite actually conversed with him, demonstrating a lovely, curiously inflected contralto voice. The hint of a smile in her words kept sending pleasant shivers down his spine. On rare occasions, certain female voices had that effect. At some visceral level he found Angelique De Joliette- Castille’s voice extremely attractive. Now and then, he closed his eyes, shutting out the artificial sight, sinking into their conversation, forming a much more fanciful impression of the cultured widow. Something about her voice resonated, stirring up feelings that had lain dormant for decades.

The butler, or at least, he assumed that is what the hulking male was, had pulled the cork from a bottle and poured. That too he was able to follow. He watched as a pale, bare arm and blurry hand-not the one with a diamond ring-lifted the glass to examine the colour. She delicately sniffed the bouquet, even tasted a sip. That done, she gave a nod of approval. An attractive little maid then filled Brad’s cut crystal stemware. Shortly after, a starchy, uniformed footman began serving the meal. One thing surprised him. All through several courses of dinner, the woman ate, enjoying and commenting about each dish.

“Didn’t think the real old immortals bothered eating,’ he mused, recalling details given to him by his boss. Over years of employment with Argeneau Enterprises, he accumulated several facts about immortals. He knew they could eat solid food, but old ones didn’t enjoy the chore. Angelique had definitely enjoyed each serving. Whatever her age, the nanos in her system would be keeping their host at peak condition, preventing weight gain while repairing any degredation. He also knew that aside from eternally looking in her mid twenties, she would have physical and psychic abilities far exceeding those of mortal humans.

Lost in thought, no longer aware of the blurry view outside his room, Brad found his mind pleasantly recalling the widow’s voice.

Shortly after arriving, Brad couldn’t help but know that the mansion was staffed by immortals. He was greeted at the main entrance by an enormous, powerfully built man. Though he introduced himself as Montcrief, the lady’s butler, Brad thought he seemed more like a bodyguard, his intense, dark brown eyes showing flecks of luminescent gold. Close up, Brad could determine that much detail. More telling, Brad knew that the butler had quickly sifted his mind. Sensitive to mental invasions, Brad detected the slight telepathic ruffling inside his head. Once in the foyer, a tall, curvy maid with swirling, silver flecks in sapphire blue eyes escorted him to a comfortable suite. Even Linda, the petite brunette maid pouring his wine and serving desserts from a cart was exceptional. Not only trim and attractive, the glowing silver in her eyes contrasted sharply with beautiful, moss-green irises.

Brad’s decades of computer work for Argeneau Enterprises resulted in his ferriting out a few secrets. Though they preferred being called immortals, one unnerving fact was their vampiric need for whole blood. After giving his employer several years of dependable service, performming a lot of ‘white hat’ hacking, followed by development and perfection of totally illegal procedures, Bradley McWilliam gained trust and, as he proved himself, much deeper access to corporate activities. His phenomenal computer skills enhanced programs that specifically created new identities, false birth records and social security numbers, slipping them into Canadian government and provincial computer systems without detection. Early conclusions that he was working for the CIA, NSA or the RCMP CSIS branch proved incorrect. When he saw data invoicing large shippments of refrigerated blood from an associated corporation, he began to wonder.

Finally, with suspicions crystallizing, he asked his immediate supervisor pointed questions. Instead of attempting a memory wipe, his Toronto boss let him know the truth, introducing him to many aspects of the immortals, their powers and origin. He confirmmed their vampiric existence, along with a history dating back before the destruction of Atlantis, and the scientific, bioengineered reason for their needing extra human blood. After that, senior management stopped wearing contact lenses when Brad was in conference with them. At close range, his artificial eyes could resolve the unusual gold or silver flecks swimming in their irises. He quickly learned that the glowing motes revealed their mood, along with the fact that their bodies were saturated with bioengineered nanomolecular bots called nanos.

A few days before, and with little warning, Brad had been hustled to an airport and flown to British Columbia in an executive Gulf Stream. At the Abbotsford airport, he was quickly transferred to a Dash 8 turboprop which took him to Victoria. A fast Bell helicopter picked him up there, taking him over the Saanich Inlet, north to the Cowichan Valley vinyards. While airborn, he reviewed text files on his lap-top. He was tasked with tracing attempted hacks. Twice, a hacker managed to crash vineyard computers and corrupt data.

Packed in with his luggage were familiar devices to upgrade server encryption and estate security. Before leaving the office in Toronto, he had been briefed, and already knew that Mrs. De Joliette-Castille, ‘just call me Angelique dear’, was a wealthy immortal with powerful connections both in North America and Europe.