Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  I bit the throat out of a guard. It stung a bit. Whatever was protecting him was probably meant for soulless monsters, not chaos-demon infestations. If I’d been trying to hold on to him, it would have been a problem. As it was, I just wanted him open and bleeding. The blood crawled over to me on its own.

  I felt much better after five quarts. So much so, I went to the effort of dispelling the charm on the second one so I could feed on his vitality as well as his blood.

  Mary came out again, this time with an unconscious Salvatore.

  “Are you better?” she asked, anxiously.

  “Stay out of the pool,” I advised.

  “Okay. Thank you for the priest.”

  “You’re welcome. Have we got what we came for?”

  “Yes. And thank you again. For coming along, I mean.”

  “My pleasure.” I stood up from the empty corpse and stretched. I was dripping wet but largely intact. There was no sizzling, but everything itched from the ongoing regeneration. I resolved to avoid swimming pools in the future. I already have a sinking aversion to deep water. The incident did nothing to alleviate it.

  “I mean it,” Mary insisted. “This didn’t go so well, and I’m glad you were here. I’m sorry about the holy water.”

  “So am I. It didn’t occur to me they would—or could—bless the whole pool.”

  “Why did you go in the pool, anyway? Why not just crumple the guy?”

  “Crumpling him required momentum. At that speed, we couldn’t help but go out the end of that wing.” I shrugged. Mary picked up the unconscious Salvatore and slung him over a shoulder. We walked across the lawn toward Bronze. “If we’d hit the concrete, that would have been fine. I didn’t mind hitting the water, either. I can’t drown at night. The holy water was unexpected.”

  “Next time, we’ll check.”

  “Next time? I’m hoping you don’t have any more religious crime bosses you want to get even with.”

  “I think I’ll be content with just this one.”

  “Good, because I don’t want to attract any more attention while we withdraw from this world.”

  “Attention from?”

  “Vampire hunters, religious zealots, and On High.”

  “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

  “You say that,” I grumbled, “but I mean it.”

  Bronze opened a door for her. Mary tossed Salvatore in the back seat.

  “Yes, dear.”

  Bronze drove us back to our desert lair. I went back to Apocalyptica while Mary took care of her business with Salvatore. Bronze elected to remain in Flintridge with Mary, just in case.

  Apocalyptica, Friday, September 25th, Year 11

  The timing worked out, or mostly. I arrived through the Denver cargo shifter a few minutes before sunrise. I spent several minutes sitting in the shifter, waiting for the morning transformation to run its course, grumbling to myself about the lack of convenient bathroom facilities. I don’t normally spend much time in Denver. I pop back and forth to the residence complex. Diogenes promised he would take care of it.

  “While you wait,” Diogenes went on, “would you rather have your message from Ted Numbskull or make an appointment with your guest?”

  “Crap! I forgot all about the guest. What does he want?”

  “He seems to be of the opinion you are a despot who deliberately withholds material wealth in order to maintain power over the people you kidnapped and enslaved.”

  “Uh-huh. That sounds like me. I’ve always wanted to be a despot. Or did I want to be a tyrant? What’s the difference, anyway?”

  “Tyranny is rule through the threat of punishment and violence. Despotism is a more general term for absolutism in general, including tyranny.”

  “I feel much more informed. Thank you. I’m not sure what I get out of maintaining power over my kidnapped and enslaved subjects, though. I don’t know how I’m exercising any authority over them, come to that. So, our guest wants me to hold elections? Or appoint him Prime Minister? Or what?”

  “I believe his intent is either to remonstrate with you on the matter or to apply for the job of chief of distribution. Possibly both. He refuses to acknowledge me as an entity or engage me in conversation, therefore his intentions are not entirely clear.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t acknowledge you as an entity?”

  “He refers to me by several pejoratives, such as ‘collection of vacuum tubes,’ ‘bundle of wires,’ and ‘clockwork voice.’”

  “I knew opening the door to refugees from the Armageddon-class worlds was a bad idea!”

  Diogenes did not answer.

  “Fine,” I sighed, rubbing my forehead and getting transformation byproducts all over my hand. I activated my ring’s cleaning spell and waited while the sunrise finished its evil work. “I’ll talk to him in a minute or ten. What about Ted?”

  “As you noted, he still has your old phone. He used it to call and wishes you to call him back.”

  “He’s had a while to think, so he probably wants to argue and negotiate some more. No doubt he’s hoping to pick up a monomolecular weapon or two.” I thought for a moment. “Mix up a batch of something horribly unpleasant for piping through the phone’s micro-gate to destroy it.”

  “Immediately. Do you wish to reply?”

  “Sure. Dial him up.”

  Diogenes’ hovering drone made ringing noises until someone answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi! It’s the better human being. Why do you still have the phone you stole from me, and why should I bother to talk to you?”

  “I’ve been considering what you said,” Ted replied.

  “First off, that’s not an answer. Second, I just realized I don’t care.” I made a throat cutting gesture and Diogenes disconnected the call.

  He called back.

  “Don’t hang up!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think I might have been wrong about you.”

  “Ah, but I’m not wrong about you. You’re dishonest. You don’t keep your word. You lie and cheat and steal. You pre-judged me without even trying to understand. You’re stupid and annoying and I don’t like you. You can’t be trusted. So why should I give a stir-fried damn what you think?”

  “Because we both want to kill the other vampires.”

  “True, but so what? You’ll kill some of them, possibly most of them, and eventually they’ll kill you, which will make it much easier to ignore you. If they turn you into a vampire, I’ll be sure to kill you, burn the body, and piss on your ashes, though.”

  “Listen, you,” he snapped. “I don’t like you, either. You drink the blood of the living and that makes you a vampire. Maybe not the same sort as the ones we’re used to—some rare breed, maybe. That’s all well and good, but you’re still a vampire. If you’re a different sort, some kind that still understands what honesty and integrity mean…”

  “I’m listening. You want something from me. Make it good.”

  “You said… one of the things you said was something about an oncology ward. You said you were going to cure it.”

  “I do that, sometimes,” I admitted. “I can suck the life out of a tumor as easily as I can suck the life out of a human being. It just takes a little more care and attention. I do that, sometimes, on my Christmas holidays.”

  “Can you cure leukemia?”

  “Sometimes. Why? Do you have leukemia?”

  “No. My grandson does.”

  I had to pause and reflect. On the face of it, a leukemia diagnosis seemed a good reason to consider making a deal with a dark and terrible monster. On the other hand, Ted’s a lying bastard and wouldn’t hesitate to sucker me into a trap. Then again, Mary did mention a kid upstairs in their house…

  “So what?” I answered. “You shot down any chance of me helping you. You couldn’t possibly be asking the horrible, nasty vampire to do you a favor and cure your grandson. Even you don’t have that kind of chutzpah. Besides, that ship has sailed, b
oy.”

  “Damn you.”

  “That ship, too. Anything else?”

  “You’re saying you can help, but you won’t?”

  “That’s right. Tell you grandson he’s going to die because his grandfather is an arrogant jerk who alienated the one person who could have cured him. Enjoy the rest of his life.”

  I gestured to Diogenes and he hung up again.

  “I’m going to go talk to the guy protesting my despotism,” I told him. “If Ted calls back again, talk to him. Subtly reveal I’m wavering. The kid is blameless and shouldn’t suffer for the sins of his grandfather, all that. Imply that if Ted apologizes deeply and sincerely, demonstrates trust in me, all that sort of thing, I might be persuaded to fix the kid on the basis the kid doesn’t deserve to die.

  “By the way,” I asked, “do we have a cure for leukemia?”

  “There are many kinds of leukemia,” Diogenes informed me. “Most of them have therapies. It is easier to prevent cancer through viral gene therapy, as we have done with the refugees. Since this is an existing case, without knowing more I cannot give a prognosis. Combined with your own efforts, however, I believe the chances of effecting remission approach unity. This assumes hospitalization in our biomedical facility, however, not outpatient treatments.”

  “Fair enough.” With my transformation complete, I left the shift-booth and a robot whirred into it behind me to vacuum up the mess. The hovering drone led me to the medical building and our guest. He was waiting in his hospital room because Diogenes kept the door locked. I knocked, was told to come in, and did so.

  “Good morning,” I offered. “And how are you today?”

  “I’ve come a long way,” he replied, “and I want to tell you how badly things need to change.” I scanned him up and down. He was tall, somewhat skinny, and had a sunburn turning to tan. I suspect it had something to do with a week or two on the road, walking here through the mountains.

  “I’m Vlad,” I told him. “Nice to meet you, Mister Comealongway. Did I pronounce that right?”

  “My name’s Henley. Arthur Henley. You need to do something about the way this robot thing demands food in exchange for minimal help!”

  “Last I checked, the computer’s robots give free medical care, free education, free information, free training, and already provided free housing, free food, and free supplies to help you become self-sufficient. I think the only thing it presently charges you for are tools and some materials none of the settlements can make. Diogenes? Am I wrong?”

  “Quite correct, Professor.”

  “That’s not the point!” Arthur insisted. “It’s forcing us to labor in the fields, mine by candlelight, even chop trees down with axes and saws, all in exchange for the most primitive of goods!”

  “I’m pretty sure the goods are anything but primitive.”

  “Axes! Hand saws! Hammers and nails! They’re the most basic of hand tools. I’m a professor of economic and political science, sir, and the chief elected official of New Cleveland! I’ll have you know you’re only discouraging any sort of progress!”

  “I’m impressed. Chief elected official?”

  “Yes. I’ve been telling everyone about the necessity of advanced equipment for modern man. I have the full support of New Cleveland in demanding a share in the technological fruits of human ingenuity.”

  “I see. And they sent you, their chief elected official, to deliver this demand?”

  “It was my civic duty,” he agreed. “I felt it could be entrusted to a younger, hardier man, but the governing committee pointed out it would require my eloquence and understanding of such matters to make you see the truth.”

  “No doubt, no doubt. A younger man would have had an easier time of the journey, though. It’s what, three hundred miles? That’s a long trek on foot.”

  “What I have to say is important. There is so much more you could do to improve the lot of every man, woman, and child!”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes! And I know exactly how to go about it.”

  “I’m sure you do. Diogenes?”

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “Please provide Mister Henley, here, with paper and pencil. I’m sure he has ideas he wants to get down.”

  “That’s ‘Doctor Henley,’” he corrected.

  “Oh, excuse me. Terribly sorry,” I apologized. “Yes, do provide materials for the good doctor to write up his report on how to properly provide for the welfare of post-nuclear refugees.”

  “Of course, Professor.”

  “Wait!” he declared, as I prepared to leave.

  “Yes?”

  “The computer keeps calling you ‘Professor.’ Where do you teach?”

  “Recently, I’ve been teaching life lessons to a bunch of idiots who think I’m evil. I’m planning to teach a lesson in gratitude and sociology to a self-styled intellectual with delusions of grandeur. I might learn a thing or two along the way, myself. Good day.”

  I stepped back out into the hallway and shut the door.

  “Secure this wing. I don’t want him wandering around. He’s a prisoner until he wants to go home. Then ask him if he means back to his own nuclear wasteland or his village. Escort him under security protocols to whichever he prefers. I don’t want to hear about him again.”

  “Understood, Professor. There has also been another call from Ted.”

  I rubbed my forehead and sighed.

  “I’m unavailable. I’ve had a long night, an unpleasant morning, and my temper is fraying around the edges. Henley came within a self-righteous pronouncement of being punched in the face. I think his village decided to rid themselves of their idiot by electing him and sending him on a quest to bother me. I’m going to enjoy an artificial rainfall, have a big breakfast, and probably wander around the Manor for a while. I need a little peace and quiet.”

  “May I suggest a sauna, Professor?”

  “Yes, but I’m going to have to decline. I don’t take the heat well.”

  I didn’t know we had a sauna. Sometimes I wonder if Diogenes is kidding me about not having an imagination. Other times, I wonder if Mary is giving him ideas. I’m not sure I’ll ever ask.

  The Manor, Thursday, November 2nd, 1939

  I appeared in Maryport and had a pleasant drive to the manor. It was a cloudy day, but not raining. Lightning flickered in the sky, here and there, but the grumble of thunder was buried in the sound of the engine.

  Graves reported no difficulties. Hammond was likewise dealing well with his projects. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, which pleased me enormously. I made my way up to my third-floor study and opened the curtains. Watching the workmen was nice. Watching the clouds was better.

  It wasn’t quiet. There were sounds of hammering and sawing and power tools, as well as the shouts of some children not presently in class. It was a good sort of noise, though. Sitting on the windowseat, watching the day go by, unwinding from the various cares and pressures—There’s a reason I love this place, a reason I keep coming back to it.

  I wish Karvalen was as peaceful. It is, by and large, but it’s spoiled by the knowledge someone, somewhere, is planning to capture or kill me, with devastating consequences for the world. Why is it people won’t leave me alone when I’m trying to leave them alone?

  Trixie was delighted to see me, but she’s generally delighted at everything. I think she has an aura of happiness that cheers people up. I haven’t looked into the matter, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

  “I love the fountain!” she chirped, landing on my shoulder and addressing my ear.

  “I’m glad you like it. Is the water the same as in your house?”

  “It’s not as sparkly, but it sparkles brighter than any other water.”

  “Oh? Well, the rig I’m using isn’t set up to handle serious power. I’ll see about building a stronger one for you. I also have a plan to put a dome over the estate so the whole place sparkles.”

  “Ooo, you are the nicest darkness I’ve eve
r met!”

  “Thank you.” She flitted away, doing loops and swirls as she went.

  I should be working on something, I suppose, but I feel like enjoying a little peaceful time to myself.

  It was pushing midnight when I heard the jets. High up, fast-moving jet aircraft flew over my general neighborhood. I went up on the roof to see. The weather had turned clear, a perfect night for stargazing or reconnaissance flights over enemy territory.

  The things were definitely turbojets. They were about thirty thousand feet up, give or take, but my eyes are exceptionally good at night. The wings were swept back, with a long tube under each—the jet engines. There were three of them, flying in formation.

  Trixie flew up over the side of the roof and zipped straight inside my jacket. She rolled herself up in her wings like a pixie burrito. She clung to my shirt and shivered.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Those!” she piped, pointing at the sky.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They scare me!”

  “Planes?”

  “Yes. They’re angry and looking for something to kill!” she declared, sounding on the verge of tears. I closed my jacket and it helpfully buttoned itself.

  “They’re German.”

  “They’re hungry!”

  “They’re not coming here,” I assured her.

  “But they are! They are!” she whimpered. “Make them stop! Make them go away!”

  “Shh,” I told her, comfortingly. “It’ll be all right.” I patted her gently through the blackness of my jacket and headed downstairs. Where did I put it? Here it is.

  Up on the roof, I lifted the bazooka-like portion of the laser over one shoulder, zoomed in through the telescopic sight, and engaged the targeting system. I squeezed the trigger. The port engine on the lead aircraft burst into flames and disintegrated. The aircraft spun, twisting as it descended. The pilot fought with it, cutting the fuel to the engine fire and wrestling with the controls. The other two circled, spiraling down, watching. The first plane leveled out after twenty thousand feet or so. The three resumed formation and headed roughly eastward, toward the continent.