by Garon Whited
“Pretending to be?”
“Well, he’s still got all his internal organs. And most mummies don’t use duct tape and steel wire.”
“Are you sure it’ll hold him?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never known you to be wrong about bondage. Okay. If he gets loose, though, we will not recapture him.”
“We won’t?” Mary asked, running fingers through her hair, under the water. I only sterilized the hot water tank. Presumably, Mary finished cleaning it out.
“Nope. We’ll just kill him. I’m not going to have a religious vampire roaming around.”
“That’s fair,” she agreed. “I’ll kill him anyway. Eventually.”
“Which reminds me. If it’s none of my business, say so. Can you tell me why Salvatore is so offensive to you?”
“You really don’t have any idea?”
“You’ve never given me the details and I’ve never asked. At least, until now.”
“You helped me kidnap him without knowing why I wanted to?”
“You were upset with him enough to want to. That was enough reason for me.”
Mary took my arm and kissed my cheek.
“You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. Let’s dry off and I’ll tell you allllll about it.”
So we turned off the water and she told me all about it. The major issue was simple: Salvatore had her tied down without her consent. Mary likes being tied up and restrained, but she’s touchy about who does it. As far as I know, I’m the only one she wants doing it.
Consent is vital. It can keep you from losing other vitals.
Salvatore did other things, of course, but she considered them minor in comparison. He experimented with her a little, using a few crosses, a rosary, some garlic—the usual things you try if you’ve never seen a vampire before and have one on hand to play with. Mary didn’t enjoy any of that, either. And, of course, the whole driving a stake through her heart, filling her mouth with salt, and burying her at a crossroads... those were the metaphorical icing on the cake.
“I’m glad you’ve got the situation well in hand,” I told her, finally. “Can we also proceed with an orderly liquidation of assets and withdrawal from this world?”
“Yes. I’ve handled some mail and some phone calls for Diogenes, but I’m putting off a trip to New York until the evil, burning daystar does its fiery work.”
“There is one more thing, though.”
“There’s always something,” she sighed.
“You know Ted?”
“Of Numbskull and Company?”
“That’s him. He says he’s got a—” I broke off as my phone rang. “Hello?”
“Professor, Firebrand has arrived.”
“Excellent. Run it out to the garage shift-booth, would you?”
“On the way. Please note there is a scroll included in the delivery.”
“Is there? From Bob?”
“I conjecture such to be the case, based on the method of delivery and the wax seal on the scroll.”
“Have you read it?”
“No, Professor. Shall I open and scan it?”
“Go ahead. I’ll read it when I get back.”
“It will be waiting in the media room.”
I hung up and turned my attention to Mary.
“As I was saying, he says his grandson has leukemia and wants to know if I can fix it.”
“How did he say this? Did you drop by his house?”
“No, he still has my old phone. It’ll explode when I’m done talking to him.”
“He should have handed it over.”
“I agree, but I also acknowledge I rushed him. We got everything else, so I don’t feel too badly about it.”
“They wouldn’t have been so rushed if they hadn’t tried to stow napalm or whatever in the goodie bag.”
“Again, I agree. Can we focus on the matter at hand?”
“For you, yes. I’m having a good morning. We can work on your project for a while. Salvatore will keep.”
I paused for a moment, realizing I had projects to work on. Up until recently, I wasn’t interested in doing anything requiring real commitment. It was a lazy sort of life, taking one day at a time, doing whatever caught my interest, going wherever the wind blew, following whatever impulse crossed my mind. Now, I have projects. I have things I’ve committed myself to doing, accomplishing, seeing through to the end. How? Why? When did my pleasant, laissez-faire attitude change?
Outside, the deep-throated bellow of eight cylinders revved suddenly up and quit, as though the car cleared its throat.
Subtle.
“Thing is,” I went on, “the man says he wants his grandson fixed. I don’t know if he’s serious or if he’s just laying a trap.”
“Is that why you sent for Firebrand?”
“It’s better at reading thoughts. All I see is the emotional loading in someone’s spirit, and the charms they wear make even that a little fuzzy.”
“You can do better if you’re sucking the life out of them,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but the objective here is to find out if he wants the kid cured or if he’s trying to trick me—or both, I suppose. I’d rather not get into a fight.”
“A worthy goal. Earning your pacifism badge won’t be easy.”
“You don’t think it’ll go down peacefully?”
“No. Vampire hunters, dear one. They’re known for being unreasonable. You never seem to get that. You always want to assume everyone will see things your way, because you think your viewpoint is the most reasonable of all.”
“Well, it is.”
“Yes, dear. So, what’s the plan?”
“I haven’t got one, yet. I’m thinking we call Ted and find out what arrangements he thinks are appropriate.”
“No, we don’t.”
“We don’t?” I eased myself down on an old, upholstered chair. It creaked alarmingly but held. “Why not?”
“Well, for starters,” Mary said, throwing a hip over the edge of a table, “we don’t ask him jack. If he wants something from you, you set the terms. If he doesn’t like them, he doesn’t want it badly enough. Which, if this is an honest attempt to save the life of his grandson, means he’ll take whatever terms you set. If he’s trying to get you killed, he won’t agree.”
“I like the way you think. Keep going.”
“It depends on what you want. Knowing you, you want to cure a kid. Also knowing you’re not too happy with Ted and his vampire-hunting family, you don’t care if he’s comfortable with the arrangements. Am I on track?”
“Absolutely! My goal is to find out if the kid is actually sick, cure him if he is, and then detonate the Diogephone they’ve captured. If someone winds up losing an eye in the process, that’s their problem.”
“Got it. Let me think about it.”
“Go ahead. I’ll get Firebrand.”
Firebrand was lying on the floor of the garage, complete with scabbard, belt, and baldric.
Boss! Long time no see!
“I agree,” I agreed, picking it up. “How have things been?”
Wonderful!
“What have you been up to?”
Ceremonial stuff, mostly. Every day, I open the games. I also get to light the pyres when they execute criminals.
“They burn criminals to death?”
Only the ones who try to cheat their way out of the games.
“Back up,” I told it, stepping outside. I triggered the shift to bring back Bronze’s statue. “Criminals? Cheating? What is Bob doing up there?” I buckled up while Firebrand explained.
Don’t they tell you these things?
“I’m semi-retired.”
Oh. Well, convicted criminals are sent to Stadius to serve their sentences. They fight in the games. If they survive their sentences, they’re free to go. Those sentenced to death fight in the games until they die. Cheaters sometimes do things to get out of the games. Sometimes they’re wounded and pretend they’ve been
killed. Wizards check the bodies for survivors. If they’re legitimately incapacitated or unconscious or whatever, they’re sent to recover. If they’re fakers, they’re burned to death at the day’s closing ceremony.
“Brutal,” I observed, “but effective. Lissette is okay with this?”
I don’t know how it’s set up. I do know every criminal sent to the fighting pits is guilty of something, though.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, it replied, smugly. I finished belting it on and headed for the house. Is the building made of wood?
“Yes. And very dry. It’s expendable, but annoying to replace.”
Gotcha, Boss. –hold it!
“What?” I asked, freezing in place and looking around. “What? Where?”
The big metal thing! It’s got a powerful spirit in it!
“Oh,” I replied, relaxing. “Look closer.” I walked up to the car, drawing Firebrand. I laid it on the hood. The engine rumbled to life.
Firebrand’s comment mixed the theological and scatological in the traditional manner.
How did you manage to bring back Bronze?
“I didn’t. She reincarnated herself, or started the process. It was something of an Olympic team effort.”
I am impressed, Firebrand said, and sounded sincere. Bronze’s engine rumbled up and down rapidly, making me think of a chuckle.
Inside, Mary was reclining on the sofa, her feet up on one arm, ankles crossed. I avoided the sofa, since it had no feet, only stacks of bricks to keep it off the floor.
“Any thoughts?” I asked. Mary sat up.
“I think so. Hello, Firebrand.”
Hail and well-met, Mary. What’s going on?
“He wants to pull a job. I’m doing the planning.”
I’m liking it already.
Diogenes sent over a pile of pre-packaged meals—his version of an MRE, and a vast improvement over the ones I grew up with. His have flavor. Correction: His have recognizable, even likable flavors. We discussed our plan while eating and got ourselves ready to call Ted.
“It’ll drive him up the wall to have this conversation in the early afternoon,” Mary insisted. “We want him off-balance and on the defensive.”
“Got it.” I unfolded my Diogephone. “Diogenes?”
“Connecting you now, Professor.”
Three rings, a click…
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Ted. I like it when a man answers his own stolen phone.”
“Where are you?”
“Elsewhere. I’ve been considering your request.”
“Please. He’s my youngest grandson.”
“Yes, yes. Prey on my sympathies for children. Good tactic, but too late. I’ve already decided to help, as long as you can assure my safety in doing so.”
“I can’t guarantee no one will try to kill you. You’re a vampire.”
“A type of vampire, yes. There are several species, it seems, most of which you are unaware. I had more in mind your guarantee not to double-cross me while I’m trying to do something for you. You have to admit, you and your family aren’t exactly the most trustworthy individuals.”
“When we deal with monsters, it’s not usually to make a deal.”
“I imagine not. Here’s how this works. You bring the kid to a place of my choosing. You wear shorts and a light shirt—not even shoes. You pick him up and carry him from the car and I’ll arrange for you to be picked up. I fix the kid while you wait patiently. I then return you to a place close to your car so you can walk to it and drive away. You go wherever you want, but you never bother me again.”
“Now hold on a minute—”
“Shut up. I set the terms because you want something from me. If I wanted you dead, your animated skeleton would be scrubbing floors. We do this my way, for my safety, or you can explain to your grandson why you chose to let him die. Do you understand me?”
He paused. I could hear the grinding of teeth.
“I understand,” he said, finally.
“Good. Follow every instruction to the letter. Failure to comply with anything—anything at all—will result in consequences. I will plaster your picture and the pictures of your sons all over the newspapers as heavily-armed, dangerous criminals. You’ll be wanted for questioning by every mortal authority in Western civilization. Every vampire of every type, all around the globe, will know your names and faces. You and your family will be hunted to destruction, and if you live long enough, you will get to see your grandson die from his disease because you couldn’t follow instructions. Cross me in this and I will not permit contact between us again, not even for you to apologize and offer to self-immolate to save his life.
“Do you understand the deal and the consequences of breaking it?”
There was a long silence. I waited, wondering. Mary smiled with all her teeth, giving me a big double thumbs-up. When he finally spoke, it was a growl of hate and frustration.
And desperation.
“Deal.”
We handled the transportation as simply as possible. We prepared an old shed in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t enchant it, just put a shift-spell on it. Ted drove out, as per his instructions, parked the car next to the shed, and carried his grandson inside. When he closed the door, the shift went off, and Diogenes’ robots took over.
Diogenes’ new people-handling robots aren’t fooling around. They have six legs, a flat top, and they’re armed with a pair of built-in sonic weapons and one variable-focus laser. Two arms project from the sides, terminating in cable-fingered hands. They weigh more than I do, have more armor, can electrify their hulls, and have a top speed of slightly over thirty miles an hour.
They’re intimidating. At least, they intimidate me.
They were extremely gentle with the kid, Edgar. He was only about seven or eight. They were less gentle with Ted. Both of them were scanned thoroughly, because I don’t trust Ted. No bombs, no weapons, no surprises. I began to think Ted was honestly more concerned with the health of his grandson than with hunting a high-tech vampire.
Edgar went for treatment in a growth tank and Ted went into a cell. Ted didn’t want to go, but again, Diogenes was not instructed to be gentle with Ted.
Diogenes and I both reviewed Edgar’s problem. Leukemia isn’t like most tumor-based cancers. There are different types and only a few of them grow tumors. I’m quite capable of killing cancers growing in lumps. Leukemia, on the other hand—in Edgar’s case, anyway—didn’t have lumps as the real problem.
I’m a vampire and useless against blood cancers. On the other hand, I’m a vampire that prefers to help people, rather than simply eat them indiscriminately. Ah, hemoglobin, full of irony!
On yet another hand, I’m also a wizard. Diogenes is far more capable than I am at just about everything, but I can help in ways he can’t duplicate. Diogenes did the heavy lifting on Edgar. He unzipped the kid’s genetic code, found the bits for congenital diseases, tailored a gene-therapy virus for him, and let it do its work. The kid will get his leukemia cured and get an edited set of healthy DNA. Completely healthy. We’re removing the segments for bad eyesight, hemophilia, albinism, epilepsy—you name it, he won’t have it. He can still get cancer from exposure to cancer-causing things. He can go blind from damage to his eyes. What he won’t do is develop any sort of health problem spontaneously. He might also live to be over a hundred without any help.
It’s the same health package all the refugees got. Partly because they needed it—radioactive fallout is bad for you—and partly because we’re dealing with a very small gene pool on Apocalyptica. It also saves time and effort if Diogenes only has to handle trauma cases.
Apocalyptica, Monday, September 28th, Year 11
Edgar floated in his tank while Diogenes filtered his blood, did things to his lymphatic system, replaced his bone marrow, and kept a steady stream of tailored viruses coursing through him. For my part, I cast a few healing spells, targeted metastatic cancer cells, and was pr
etty much done. I left them to it. Diogenes and his expert systems did the real work.
All in all, Diogenes worked on the kid for about thirty hours. Ted stewed in his cell for about the same amount of time. I spent most of the time in another building, working on my ceramic disks for a magical containment shield around Applewood.
When Edgar was decanted that evening, I dismissed the robot and delivered dinner to Ted.
“Where’s my grandson?” he demanded, instantly.
“He’s remarkably healthy,” I replied, closing the door and putting down a tray of food. “I’d explain the course of treatment, but it wouldn’t mean anything to you. His leukemia is cured and the underlying genetic predisposition toward it has been treated. Think of it as the gene for leukemia being replaced with the gene for healthy bone marrow. He’s not only cured, he won’t get it again. Happy?”
“Yes. Mostly. Why have I been kept in this cell the whole time?”
“It’s a hospital ward, not a cell.”
“If I’m locked up in it, it’s a cell.”
“You would rather go home to wait?”
“No.”
“Then stop complaining. He’s in the recovery room until his anesthesia wears off. Say thanks, say grace, and eat your dinner.”
Ted regarded me with a frown, but sat down to eat. As he forked his way through the meal, he occasionally pointed the knife at me.
“You,” he said, around a mouthful of mixed vegetables, “are the strangest creature I’ve ever met.”
“I’m complicated.”
“I’ll say. What’s this going to cost me?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Curing my grandson. What’s your price? I’ve had time to think about it in my oh-so-comfortable cell. You’re not doing this because you like me.”
“You’ve got that right. I said I wouldn’t help you in any way. Instead, I’ve helped you in this one instance. After this, you won’t get so much as a kind word. It’s your punishment for being a self-righteous bastard.”
“You think I’m the—”
“No,” I cut him off, “don’t even start. We’ve had this discussion and it ended with you being held at arm’s length over my head. I’m tired of you and your provincial attitude. Go back to your happy little life with your happy little grandson and happily kill every vampire you ever meet, because you’ll never see me again.”