The following Monday, I walked around the corner from the nearest Metro stop to that FX Studio outside Manchester. They poured me into a target-tagged body sock, laser-scanned me sitting and standing, walking, bending, turning and jumping. They took unpleasant alginate casts of my head and neck, hands, feet and inside my mouth.
After one week, they had the 'vanilla' latex head-over mask and other prostheses ready to try. They trimmed, adjusted, tweaked and twiddled, then took alginate casts of me wearing them.
After two weeks, the first Goretex 'SecondSkin(TM)' faux-leather mask was ready. I looked in the small mirror, a passable HomoVamp looked back. Even with my green eyes, it was good enough to make my skin crawl. The big mirror still showed a skinny HomoSap in a scary mask, but the FX crew seemed satisfied with progress. After reclaiming the mask, they gave me 'training' dental prostheses and a speech-training booklet, waved me off.
After three weeks, my first body-glove was ready to try. Like the mask, thickness varied from vellum to steak --probably moulded-- but that did not explain the muscle groups, tendons, bony outcrops and veins visible beneath the skin.
"Okay, I've a pair of hiking boots in this stuff: How did you vary the texture and heft ?"
"You have expensive tastes !" Bill the Boss Modeller chuckled, "Sorry, Commercial Secret."
"Hmm..." I'd had a week to wonder, looked closer, picked out a curious speckling on the inner surface, denser near any features. These tiny dimples resembled tattoo damage, or anti-wrinkle lipid injection micro-scars. I smiled, wondered if they had 3D software to plan and predict density changes...
"Put it on." Bill offered a big pot of baby cream, "You'll need lots of this..."
It helped. The suit fitted like a ski-glove, had just enough elasticity to slide over my joints. At first, it sat oddly. Given a minute, air escaped from the myriad micro-pores and it settled. True to its 'SecondSkin' tag, it seemed to vanish. I've no nudity taboo but, wearing it, I felt naked. Head-over mask, hand and feet gloves went on, were marked for detail and seams...
Next time would be the finale so, back at SOTM, I worked through my pre-HotZone check-list. Home-minder, aye. Conditional Power of Attorney, aye. Bank(s) warned, aye. PC archived, aye. E-mail redirected, aye. Bequest changes, nay. Pendings listed, aye. ETA (Return), nu.
Friday, I wrote polite letters to my brother, sisters and Favourite Aunt. I enclosed the usual cheques for nieces' and nephews' forthcoming birthdays. I wrote a cheerful letter to my Civil Servant cousin, thanking him for his wonderful --if unattributable-- tales of Byzantine inter- and intra-departmental squabbles. I pre-paid my share of the Department's Lottery entry for twelve weeks, hung the 'Okay To Clean' sign on my office door and left early...
Monday, both sets of contact lenses had arrived. The 'second stage' was ready. My luggage and 'legend' had arrived. Decision time: I gulped, signed the consent form, undressed.
I've often worn a catheter in HotZone suits, so I knew to r_e_l_a_x and NOT squirm. The difference was this ended in a neat valve instead of a catch-bag. The FX crew bonded finger and toe talon nubs to my nails. While those set, they slathered me with baby cream. Still, it took three of them to ease me into my Vampire body-glove and connect the pipe. Mask on, close up, wait. The glove settled. I moved, it moved with me. A crew-member moved a screen. The corner--
I glimsed a Vampire, spun to a fighting stance despite the glove. The crew scattered. It matched my moves. I looked again--
The room corner was mirrored. I'd seen me. I'd seen me as others would. I forced myself to relax...
"Ruddy Hell !!" Bill allowed, "You move like a Velociraptor !"
"Thank you, I think..." Talking was difficult, even without fake fangs, "Stage Two ?"
Special, near-opaque, brown contact lenses were next. The outer face had a graded photo-chromic layer to mimic pupil dilation. With them in, I was blind until my own pupils dilated and gave me night-vision. That still left me partially-sighted and somewhat colour-blind.
The bulky 'Human' body-glove came next. It made me look chubby and sallow. Its finger and toe-nails engaged with my talon nubs, oddly lengthened my fingers and feet. Its plumbing engaged with mine. When I moved, I waddled, flat-footed. I slipped in my 'Human' dental prostheses, tongued them to place.
"Mum, Um, Bleagh! Ooh, 'hot 'hoo 'halk ah 'hifferent 'hay..." I'd practised with those Mk#1 dentures every night, but not wearing one mask, never mind two !
I tried again, "Ah ham hso ghlad Ah dho hnot hwear dhentutheth..."
"You're doing well !" Bill grinned, "How do you feel ?"
Should I quote Spock, or tell the truth ? The stink of my sweat was already bleeding through...
"Thanity Theck Thailth !" I wheezed, "Thantheth, Thill Thobhinthon !!"
"You'll do !!" Bill chuckled, "We've had hardened SF actors freak out with half your FX..."
"Thank-k-k thu, Ah thinhk-k-k..."
"We've done enough Vampire / Human conversions: You've taken it better than most..."
"Oh?"
"You would be astonished how many 'Straight To Video' projects quietly fold. Just so long as we're paid..." He chuckled, " But why SOTM ?"
"Thtrrrainingh --Ghotcha-a-a ! Trrraining-g-g. E-e-exerrcis-s-se" I allowed, panted, "I. Pulled. Short. Straw....They. Must. Find. Me. And. Take. Me. Alive... D'uh... This. Is. Hard. Work."
"All down-hill from here, Chris ! Where do you want your case ?"
"T-t-table, p-p-please."
I checked the security seal's code, broke the tie, unlocked the cheap, new case with the key I'd been sent, examined the contents. Cotton socks, large, baggy shorts and large vests, aye. Very large, loose cotton pants and braces, aye. Long, large, loose shirts, aye. Two baggy safari-cut jackets, aye. Foreign slip-on shoes, aye. Cheap expanding-strap watch in sock in shoe, aye. Generic wash-bag with disposable hotel toiletries, aye. Minimum dipotre reading glasses, aye. Zipped waist-pouch with 'valuables', aye.
I tipped this out. A little black note-book had cryptic notes, directions and illegible addresses in several 'hands'. A wallet held assorted Euros, a Metro DayRider ticket, airport shop receipts for the clothes and case, a smudged 'lost baggage' claim-stub and my borrowed ID.
I peered at the card. Though I was no expert and my sight was now impaired, it looked and felt genuine. I'd become 'Brendan Smith', but I'd kept my age, blood-group and such. Curiously, it claimed I was sub-clinically haemophiliac. Why ? No-one would want a blood-sample-- A memory surfaced. I nodded. That comment would bypass most iris recognition checks. Cunning, and a revelation...
There was also a much-folded sheet of paper in the pouch's inner pocket. I opened it out, found a large-print fax from Network Rail telling me to collect my prepaid ticket from Victoria station before 18:35 this day, quoting reference....
I'd have several hours to kill, but I could not delay. I turned to Bill, "You. Have. A. Strict. NDA?"
"Of course." He nodded, "SOTM's is civilized compared to a studio lawyer's contract."
"Could I. Have. Some help. Getting dressed ?"
"No problem--"
"And a lift. To. A. Different. Metro stop ?"
"Sure ! Which way are you going ?"
"Piccadilly. Perhaps.... Then. Wing. It."
"Sounds good ! Pete, give this crazy guy a hand with his pants..."
After one week, they had the 'vanilla' latex head-over mask and other prostheses ready to try. They trimmed, adjusted, tweaked and twiddled, then took alginate casts of me wearing them.
After two weeks, the first Goretex 'SecondSkin(TM)' faux-leather mask was ready. I looked in the small mirror, a passable HomoVamp looked back. Even with my green eyes, it was good enough to make my skin crawl. The big mirror still showed a skinny HomoSap in a scary mask, but the FX crew seemed satisfied with progress. After reclaiming the mask, they gave me 'training' dental prostheses and a speech-training booklet, waved me off.
After three weeks, my first body-glove was ready to try. Like the mask, thickness varied from vellum to steak --probably moulded-- but that did not explain the muscle groups, tendons, bony outcrops and veins visible beneath the skin.
"Okay, I've a pair of hiking boots in this stuff: How did you vary the texture and heft ?"
"You have expensive tastes !" Bill the Boss Modeller chuckled, "Sorry, Commercial Secret."
"Hmm..." I'd had a week to wonder, looked closer, picked out a curious speckling on the inner surface, denser near any features. These tiny dimples resembled tattoo damage, or anti-wrinkle lipid injection micro-scars. I smiled, wondered if they had 3D software to plan and predict density changes...
"Put it on." Bill offered a big pot of baby cream, "You'll need lots of this..."
It helped. The suit fitted like a ski-glove, had just enough elasticity to slide over my joints. At first, it sat oddly. Given a minute, air escaped from the myriad micro-pores and it settled. True to its 'SecondSkin' tag, it seemed to vanish. I've no nudity taboo but, wearing it, I felt naked. Head-over mask, hand and feet gloves went on, were marked for detail and seams...
Next time would be the finale so, back at SOTM, I worked through my pre-HotZone check-list. Home-minder, aye. Conditional Power of Attorney, aye. Bank(s) warned, aye. PC archived, aye. E-mail redirected, aye. Bequest changes, nay. Pendings listed, aye. ETA (Return), nu.
Friday, I wrote polite letters to my brother, sisters and Favourite Aunt. I enclosed the usual cheques for nieces' and nephews' forthcoming birthdays. I wrote a cheerful letter to my Civil Servant cousin, thanking him for his wonderful --if unattributable-- tales of Byzantine inter- and intra-departmental squabbles. I pre-paid my share of the Department's Lottery entry for twelve weeks, hung the 'Okay To Clean' sign on my office door and left early...
Monday, both sets of contact lenses had arrived. The 'second stage' was ready. My luggage and 'legend' had arrived. Decision time: I gulped, signed the consent form, undressed.
I've often worn a catheter in HotZone suits, so I knew to r_e_l_a_x and NOT squirm. The difference was this ended in a neat valve instead of a catch-bag. The FX crew bonded finger and toe talon nubs to my nails. While those set, they slathered me with baby cream. Still, it took three of them to ease me into my Vampire body-glove and connect the pipe. Mask on, close up, wait. The glove settled. I moved, it moved with me. A crew-member moved a screen. The corner--
I glimsed a Vampire, spun to a fighting stance despite the glove. The crew scattered. It matched my moves. I looked again--
The room corner was mirrored. I'd seen me. I'd seen me as others would. I forced myself to relax...
"Ruddy Hell !!" Bill allowed, "You move like a Velociraptor !"
"Thank you, I think..." Talking was difficult, even without fake fangs, "Stage Two ?"
Special, near-opaque, brown contact lenses were next. The outer face had a graded photo-chromic layer to mimic pupil dilation. With them in, I was blind until my own pupils dilated and gave me night-vision. That still left me partially-sighted and somewhat colour-blind.
The bulky 'Human' body-glove came next. It made me look chubby and sallow. Its finger and toe-nails engaged with my talon nubs, oddly lengthened my fingers and feet. Its plumbing engaged with mine. When I moved, I waddled, flat-footed. I slipped in my 'Human' dental prostheses, tongued them to place.
"Mum, Um, Bleagh! Ooh, 'hot 'hoo 'halk ah 'hifferent 'hay..." I'd practised with those Mk#1 dentures every night, but not wearing one mask, never mind two !
I tried again, "Ah ham hso ghlad Ah dho hnot hwear dhentutheth..."
"You're doing well !" Bill grinned, "How do you feel ?"
Should I quote Spock, or tell the truth ? The stink of my sweat was already bleeding through...
"Thanity Theck Thailth !" I wheezed, "Thantheth, Thill Thobhinthon !!"
"You'll do !!" Bill chuckled, "We've had hardened SF actors freak out with half your FX..."
"Thank-k-k thu, Ah thinhk-k-k..."
"We've done enough Vampire / Human conversions: You've taken it better than most..."
"Oh?"
"You would be astonished how many 'Straight To Video' projects quietly fold. Just so long as we're paid..." He chuckled, " But why SOTM ?"
"Thtrrrainingh --Ghotcha-a-a ! Trrraining-g-g. E-e-exerrcis-s-se" I allowed, panted, "I. Pulled. Short. Straw....They. Must. Find. Me. And. Take. Me. Alive... D'uh... This. Is. Hard. Work."
"All down-hill from here, Chris ! Where do you want your case ?"
"T-t-table, p-p-please."
I checked the security seal's code, broke the tie, unlocked the cheap, new case with the key I'd been sent, examined the contents. Cotton socks, large, baggy shorts and large vests, aye. Very large, loose cotton pants and braces, aye. Long, large, loose shirts, aye. Two baggy safari-cut jackets, aye. Foreign slip-on shoes, aye. Cheap expanding-strap watch in sock in shoe, aye. Generic wash-bag with disposable hotel toiletries, aye. Minimum dipotre reading glasses, aye. Zipped waist-pouch with 'valuables', aye.
I tipped this out. A little black note-book had cryptic notes, directions and illegible addresses in several 'hands'. A wallet held assorted Euros, a Metro DayRider ticket, airport shop receipts for the clothes and case, a smudged 'lost baggage' claim-stub and my borrowed ID.
I peered at the card. Though I was no expert and my sight was now impaired, it looked and felt genuine. I'd become 'Brendan Smith', but I'd kept my age, blood-group and such. Curiously, it claimed I was sub-clinically haemophiliac. Why ? No-one would want a blood-sample-- A memory surfaced. I nodded. That comment would bypass most iris recognition checks. Cunning, and a revelation...
There was also a much-folded sheet of paper in the pouch's inner pocket. I opened it out, found a large-print fax from Network Rail telling me to collect my prepaid ticket from Victoria station before 18:35 this day, quoting reference....
I'd have several hours to kill, but I could not delay. I turned to Bill, "You. Have. A. Strict. NDA?"
"Of course." He nodded, "SOTM's is civilized compared to a studio lawyer's contract."
"Could I. Have. Some help. Getting dressed ?"
"No problem--"
"And a lift. To. A. Different. Metro stop ?"
"Sure ! Which way are you going ?"
"Piccadilly. Perhaps.... Then. Wing. It."
"Sounds good ! Pete, give this crazy guy a hand with his pants..."
