Full Frontal Cybertank

by Timothy Gawne

  “Have fun with the rogue AI,” said the sword. “And don’t sign any long-term contracts without my advice.” Olga laughed and continued on.

  The corridor floor was covered with an industrial gray carpet. The walls were painted beige, the anonymous doors that lined the walls were a slightly different shade of beige, and square light fixtures recessed in the ceiling lit the space with a sharp sterile light.

  She tried some of the doors, but they were locked. She continued on, and the corridor bent several times, but did not fork, so Olga didn’t have to worry about getting lost. There were ventilation grills set high on the walls, and their soft whooshing was the only sound.

  Olga rounded yet another bend in the corridor, and saw that this section ended with an open door. “This looks promising,” said Olga to herself. She walked into a room that was… it took her a while to remember. It was an antique optometrist’s office. There was a chart on the far wall with letters of progressively smaller sizes. A padded brown leather examination chair was at the other end of the room, in front of which was an archaic black-and-chrome optical instrument.

  She had heard that this Dichoptic Maculatron was an advanced AI medical instrument, but the device in the room was an antique, pre-computer; heck, pre-electronics! Pre-vacuum tubes! A bulky array of lenses and dials and verniers, all mechanical, with small precise numbers engraved on every surface.

  There was a feeling – a feeling like she had had back in the shuttle. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She heard… she heard nothing but the whooshing of the ventilation ducts, and the sound of her own breathing, but it seemed like something was talking to her. Telling her to sit in the chair and look at the letters on the far wall.

  A compulsion? She moved to leave the room, and felt nothing. She could go at any time. But something wanted to talk to her, somehow, someway…

  She sat down in the chair, and looked through the eyepieces of the complicated optical instrument. Through the lenses she could see the letters on the far wall perfectly clearly, although slightly dimmed as from the thickness of the glass. The dials spun, and a different set of lenses clicked in place.

  She could still read the letters, but they seemed… off. Slanted, though not in a way she could describe.

  The dials spun again, new lenses came into position… and this was worse. The letters were clear, but the angles were all wrong. A part of her wanted to pull back from the machine, but irrationally she worried: what if I pull back and the world keeps looking like this? She stayed in position, and the dials spun…

  It was 21st century Earth. She was rich, and lived in a large mansion on the outskirts of Boston. Modern society, with its electric lights and all-night bars and clubs and buried subways and walkways, and UV-filtering glass, and sunscreen, suited a vampire just fine.

  She had adopted a dog from the shelter. She didn’t know why, just a whim. She was rich and could indulge her whims. She could always pay someone to get rid of it tomorrow. To her surprise, she had grown to love it. It was a hybrid breed known as a ‘lurcher.’ Half greyhound, half border collie (she thought), half something else (if not more than half). It had the long skinny spine and long legs of a greyhound, but was more muscular and a lot smarter. It was quiet and gentle, but fierce: it would sleep on the sofa while she was watching TV with its head on her lap, at peace with the world, but woe betide any squirrel that dared to trespass in the gated yard! Her gentle dog was then transformed into a single-minded Engine of Rodent Armageddon, arrowing across the lawn, dodging and cutting with a speed that would have hard-pressed even a vampire.

  Regular dogs chased squirrels. Her lurcher killed them. Sadly, with no more squirrels, her dog was reduced to routine patrols and sudden bursts of energy in the hopes that maybe that single moving blade of grass betrayed a skulking rodent… She knew that fishermen sometimes stocked ponds with trout. She wondered if she could stock her yard with squirrels? After all, she was rich. And what’s the point of having money, if your dog can’t chase squirrels?

  Then one night she had come home and her dog was lying in the kitchen gasping for breath. She had rushed it to the vet, and waited in the waiting room (with the neurotic lady with the even more neurotic dachshund, and the old man with the fat annoying grandchild and an elderly bulldog named Elvis that needed a bath. That badly needed a bath.) A few hours later, and the veterinarian came out, looking sad. We’re sorry, did all we could, put up a good fight, but gone now. Probably rat poison. You have to be careful with that stuff you know. Keep it away from pets and children.

  Olga was surprised at how badly she was affected. It was just a dog. There were countless surplus dogs on death row waiting for adoption. She’d get another one tomorrow. Maybe an Alsatian.

  But her sorrow did not abate. She was sure that it was her neighbor. An old man living alone, leathery and wrinkled, rich like her but not a vampire. He’d complained about her dog killing his cat – not that her dog would ever stoop so low, and anyhow, if a cat was so stupid as to trespass onto her property surely it was fair game? – and then he had made a snide comment about how calm things were in the neighborhood since her dog was gone. She just knew that he’d killed her dog.

  Vampires didn’t hunt people, at least not for a long time. But, dammit, it was still the law that predators have the right to hunt prey. She waited for darkness, and slipped out around back. She hopped over the two-meter fence separating their yards. She scaled the rear of his house with the ease of a lizard, and forced open a window. She slipped inside, her cold body not registering on the laughably primitive thermal alarm system (he really, really should have upgraded). She found him in bed, alone, snoring roughly. She grabbed him, and hauled him to his feet as if he were little more than rag doll. His eyes opened wide in terror, and he tried to struggle, but a chipmunk would have stood more chance against her old dog.

  She bent him backward, and stretched his neck back, and bit deep. She was wearing vampire fang dentures, but still, the blood leaked all over the place. He shit himself, and it stunk. His blood tasted of disease, and Olga almost gagged, but she forced herself to continue feeding. He struggled, but his stick-thin old bones were no match for a vampire in her prime, and gradually his struggles lessened. Eventually he went limp, and Olga’s acute vampire senses could hear his heart stop beating. Then she got sick and puked all the blood back up, spraying it all over the dead body of the old man and the bed and the floor.

  She ran back home, shaking. She showered in her clothes, stripping them off and leaving them on the drain. She dried herself off, threw on a white bathrobe, and drank two shots of grain alcohol. She should be fine. She poured herself another shot. This was her right. She was rich, and had powerful friends. Although she supposed she should do something about cleaning this up...

  It was three hours later when she noticed that Edward Rickens was standing in her room, watching her. He was the senior member of the vampire coven. He spoke precise English, but with a trace of accent that nobody could place. Rumor had it that he was so old that his parent civilization was not listed in recorded history. Edward never said anything to dispel this rumor.

  “I am disappointed in you, Olga Razon,” said Edward. “I thought you beyond this.”

  “Edward?” said Olga. “How did you? – oh never mind. I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

  Edward waved a hand carelessly. “Oh, don’t worry about the clean up. I’ve already arranged it. It was your right. Technically. But still, such a mess. Such a bother. I had such high hopes for you.”

  “But… I got sick!” said Olga. “How did that happen? I’m a vampire! Isn’t that what we do? What I used to do?”

  Edward sighed, and pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. “It’s what we did, long ago. There is a reason we no longer do this, though you seem to have forgotten it over the last couple of centuries (from the records I see that you last fed from a living human 231 years ago. We do keep records, you know?). The baseline humans,
their ancestors ate raw rat and days-old rotten goat and bark and vomit and Hostess Twinkies and anything else when they were hungry enough, but only of necessity. Biological humans are messy and smelly and disease-ridden and blood substitute is so, so much better. What were you thinking, Olga?”

  “I… I don’t know, I was just so angry. I thought, I’m a vampire and he’s just prey, I’ll just suck him dry…”

  Edward shook his head. “I had considered nominating you for council, but I see that you are still immature. Even with our money and connections and power, we can’t play like this too often without attracting the wrong kind of attention. But no matter – you will learn. I’ll get back to you in a few centuries, and see if you’ve mellowed out enough by then.”

  With that the elder vampire prince left. Olga never saw him again: he died in an automobile accident a couple of years later. Automobiles ended up killing far more vampires than all the peasants with flaming torches and wooden stakes in all of history – she supposed there was a moral there.

  The replacement leader of the vampire coven was named Stephan Rapovich. Surprisingly young for the position – he was scarcely older than Olga. He was smooth and charming, but Olga never liked him.

  Then Olga was back in the room with the optical instrument. Had she been dreaming? It had seemed so real. For a time it was like she was back then… but the scene through the instrument was even worse. The letters were clear, but ran like paint. The lines on the chart were straight, but also bent and angled in ways that hurt her head. Was this just her, or had the entire world twisted out of shape?

  Her memories took her to a time a few centuries later, after she had moved to the Alpha Centauri system. She had been out partying. It was nearly dawn, and Olga had decided to leave the club. The atmosphere on Alpha Centauri Prime was toxic, so everything was indoors – even better for a vampire than Old Earth. Thus daybreak was a non-issue, but getting home before sunrise had been a habit for so long, and it was kind of traditional.

  The club was trendy and expensive. There were a lot of good-looking guys around, the music was fresh, and the drinks weren’t watered, but Olga just wasn’t in the mood. She said goodbye to a couple of friends, and ducked out the back way.

  The alley was quiet. The air had a touch of chill in it, but that didn’t bother Olga. She walked down towards where her chauffeured limousine was parked, when a tall slender figure stepped out in front of her from behind a corner.

  “Leaving so soon?” said the figure.

  It took Olga a moment to place him - he was a vampire, like her, tall and pale and wearing a tight-fitting black leather outfit that she had thought terribly tacky. “Oh, Frank. Yes, I’ve had it for now. If you don’t mind, I’m going home.”

  Olga moved to bypass the tall vampire, but he blocked her. “Oh I don’t think you need to be going just yet.”

  “I’m tired,” said Olga. She tried to push him away – Olga was stronger than a baseline human male, but Frank was also a vampire, and the male/female strength imbalance still applied. It was like pushing on a steel lamppost.

  He grabbed her, and made to kiss her. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he easily evaded her. “That wasn’t very friendly,” he said. “You’ll have to pay me back for that.”

  “Hey, we were wondering where you went!” said a cheery voice from back down the alley. “The rest of us are waiting! Come on, let’s go!”

  Frank turned to look at the stranger. He appeared to be a normal human, ethnic European, wearing a loose off-white linen suit, brown hair tied up in a short ponytail. “Fuck off,” said Frank.

  “Hey, stay cool,” said the stranger. “No worries. It’s just that she’s expected back. People are waiting.”

  “Can’t you take a hint?” said Frank. “Scram!”

  The stranger beamed. “Take a hint? Not generally, no, can’t say as I do.”

  With inhuman vampire speed, Frank lashed out with his right fist, smashing the stranger across the jaw, then he spun a roundhouse kick to the chest. The stranger flew across the alley, hit the wall, and then slumped to the ground. Frank walked over to the prostrate form. “You really should have taken the hint.” Frank made to stomp the stranger’s head with his foot… and then Olga pushed Frank off balance, his foot stomping down on empty ground.

  Frank was only off-balance for a moment, and then he grabbed Olga and spun her around. “You will regret this,” he said.

  Olga tried to hit him in the face, but Frank easily swatted her arm away. Frank punched Olga in the stomach, and she doubled up in pain. Then Frank was smashed in the side of the head, and fell over. Olga managed to lift her head up, and saw that it was the stranger. The entire left side of his head was a solid bruise, with blood leaking out of his eyes and nostrils and mouth, and she could see blood staining the shirt around his stomach, but otherwise he appeared chipper and unharmed. “He caught me by surprise. Thanks for the assist.”

  Olga stared at him. “But how… you’re not a vampire?”

  The stranger nodded. “Ah… yes. Indeed I am not a vampire… suggesting that you, and this Frank person, are. Now I get it. That's really interesting.”

  Frank was struggling to his feet. “You will regret this more than you can imagine, cattle.”

  “Oh, cattle am I?” said the stranger. “Then show me what you’ve got, Count Chocula.”

  Frank struck with the flicker-fast speed of a serpent, but the stranger slid past the blow and hit the vampire on the chest with a heel-strike the rocked him backwards. Frank rallied and pummeled the stranger with lighting jabs whose impacts sounded like beaten drums, but the stranger absorbed the punishment still smiling and executed a rapid take-down and pinned Frank in a judo hold. “You’re fast,” said the stranger, “and strong, but not as strong as I am. You really should pick your fights more wisely.” Frank tried to escape the hold, but was caught fast and, with the inevitability of a python killing a rabbit, the stranger choked Frank unconscious. Towards the end, Olga heard the bones in Frank’s body start to snap under the pressure. Who was this guy? What was this guy?

  The stranger stood up, letting Frank’s unconscious body lie on the pavement. “Well, that was fun. I haven’t had a decent work out in weeks.”

  Olga managed to straighten up, and stared at the stranger. Frank was a male vampire in his prime, and this human – whatever he was, he wasn’t a vampire, the bone structure was all wrong for that. “What are you?” said Olga, though she instantly regretted it – it sounded lame.

  The stranger smiled. “What, not who? Hardly polite for someone who just saved your – maybe not life, but certainly dignity. But then you saved mine, many thanks, kudos, you are more than even. Who I am is Giuseppe Vargas. What I am is a human being with a little biological engineering. It’s the latest thing, all the rage. Soon everyone will have designer genes. And you are a vampire? – I can see it now, it shows in your bones, your posture, and the tone of your skin - a transforming virus I suspect. Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me, if it even is a secret with the people who matter around here. Least I can do after your help. Say, do you want a beer? Ah no, that wouldn’t work with what I guess your metabolism would be – how about a vodka neat?”

  “You’re not worried about there being vampires?”

  “Worried? Let’s see. There are (possibly several) ancient and powerful alien civilizations that want to kill us all. There are the neoliberal oligarchs for whom no insult is too rank. Mere vampires? Sounds like fun. Could I be invited to one of your decadent undead parties? As a kind of honored guest? Please?”

  Olga pointed at Frank. “Is he dead?”

  “You dodged the question. I do honored guest really well. Anyway, is your Frank, dead? Not hardly. Can’t you hear his heartbeat and his breathing? Although I did break several bones in his right shoulder so he’s going to need a good surgeon and then several months of physical therapy. Did you want him dead? I could do that for you, but the paperwork for that sort of thing is a b
itch.”

  Olga listened carefully, and her sensitive vampire senses did indeed hear the breathing and heartbeat of the unconscious Frank. But that would mean that this stranger’s senses were as acute as hers. “You’re bleeding!”

  Vargas touched the side of his face with his right hand, and pulled it back and looked at it – it was covered with blood. “Why so I am. This Frank may have been an asshole but he did pack a punch. Never fear, I have advanced healing powers. Although I guess I must not look terribly bar-friendly right now. Want to help me clean up? Your place or mine?”

  Olga’s jaw dropped. “You are a piece of work.”

  Vargas beamed. “That’s the nicest thing that anyone has said to me all week! So, your place then?”

  Again Olga was returned to the room with the antique optical instrument. These memories – were they even memories? She hadn’t thought about them in a long time – maybe ever? Where they real memories or fantasies?

  The view through the lenses was even worse – as if someone had smeared vaseline on her corneas, all twisted and blurred. The wheels and verniers spun and clicked into a new setting…

  She was back on Alpha Centauri Prime. There had been a war against some aliens, and things were falling apart. The vampires had a ship. They were going to evacuate to a planet of their own, but Olga had waited perhaps too long to join them, and getting to the ship in time was looking dicey.

  She was racing down a corridor, carrying all her most important possessions in a small backpack. Her mansion, her estates, her financial wealth… all of that was gone, evaporated. It was only her, and what she clutched to herself in her pack, and the hope of getting to the transport in time.

  Her security detail had been taken down. Olga could have armed herself with serious firepower, but in the present circumstances a lone female with a big gun could attract more trouble than she could handle. She had – reluctantly – decided on a slim concealed automatic in a shoulder holster, and a backup pistol strapped to an ankle. She felt nearly naked with such paltry weaponry, and could only hope that she could slip past the more serious threats, but she only had to make it to the dockyards.