“I should not have displayed affection so soon, my love,” he said.
“It is alright, husband,” she replied. “It is a good place to begin the journey back to our former happiness.”
Little by little, things improved. Soueti laughed more and became at ease in Iroto’s presence. When he had kissed her hand the previous night, she responded by doing the same to his.
All will be well, in time.
Teodor had revealed to Iroto disturbing accounts of Dracula’s exploits so he would not be surprised about what he would surely witness in the near future. The most important thing, Teodor had warned, was that Iroto never betray any disgust at the smell of exposed bowels and gore oozing down the stakes of the condemned. After noticing a swooning soldier, Dracula had ordered him to be impaled on an extra high stake so that the stench would no longer offend him.
Dracula’s brutal torture was not confined to the battlefield, and his prudishness concerning women did not mean they were exempt from such treatment. On the contrary, Dracula’s concern for female chastity could be deadly. Maidens who willingly lost their virginity, adulterous wives, or unchaste widows were all targets of his cruelty. Such unfortunates often had their sexual organs and breasts cut out before being skinned and impaled on red-hot stakes. Most disturbing to Iroto was the tale of how Dracula had dipped his bread in the blood of one of the condemned so he could savor the taste of life.
Iroto was grateful to Teodor for being forewarned and had fervently prayed he would not have to witness the demise of any poor souls that did not live up to Dracula’s moral standards. Happy to kill Ottomans in the service of Dracula, Iroto kept his mind firmly on that task. Dracula’s balance of morality was a shaky one, and Iroto remained constantly alert for any indication that he and Soueti should flee.
*******
Word reached Castle Dracula of Radu’s reaction when Mehmed sent him to investigate why the envoys had not returned. A great stench had greeted Radu’s troops before the “Forest Army” came into view, headed by the rotting corpses of Ekrem and Hassan. Radu and his army fled back home in terror, to the delight of Dracula.
“I’m sure Mehmed will comfort his traumatized lap-dog,” he sneered.
Mehmed recalled his vast armies in preparation for a jihad to be waged on such an infidel, and Dracula had deployed scouts to detect any signs of Mehmed’s advancing forces.
None of the scouts had reported activity, and Iroto shared Dracula’s suspicion that things were disturbingly quiet. If an attack was going to be launched, it would be coming soon. There were two months at most remaining of warm weather and once the cold set in, all troops would withdraw and the fighting would cease as each side sat out the winter.
*******
That evening in their chamber, Soueti presented Iroto with a shirt she had sewn for him. Reminded of something that had happened in their village, Iroto chuckled.
“Remember how Omoro strutted about in his new cloak?” he asked.
Soueti smiled. Spontaneously, they both broke into laughter, and it took nearly a minute before Soueti could catch her breath to speak. Omoro’s wife had stitched the word “idiot” into the back of his cloak in retaliation for a public dressing down he had given her.
“I remember the puzzled look on his face as he heard the snickers of those he walked past,” she said, still trying to suppress her laughter.
“Should I check the stitching on the back of this shirt?” asked Iroto as he pretended to inspect it closely.
“Husband,” she said happily, “if I were to stitch anything on the back of your shirt, it would be “beloved”.
She moved slowly toward him and pressed her lips against his. Iroto could feel the warmth of her kiss and gently took her in his arms.
“Soueti,” he whispered, “my beloved wife.”
ADDICTION
Cloaked Lifeboat, Outskirts of Bazna
Kevak stared pensively at the unconscious life form in restraints on the specimen table.
The resemblance to us is uncanny. Yet the ichor of the Vambir circulatory system is viscous, whereas theirs is liquid-based.
“Get your UV shields in place,” he said to the other technicians. “I’m going to expose it to a small dose.”
All watched in amazement as the ultraviolet light had no effect on the “Primitive.”
“There’s enough there to deliver third-degree burns to a Vambir,” remarked one of the technicians.
“Increase it twofold,” said Kevak.
“No response,” said the technician.
“Tenfold,” ordered Kevak.
A slight reddening of the skin could be detected.
“That’s enough,” said Kevak, rubbing his head in confusion. “That amount surpasses what the star of this system radiates. A fraction of that would have vaporized one of us. These Primitives appear to have the ability to venture out into daylight.”
Kevak was thankful for the training he had received in the months before evacuating Vambiri. Anticipating that at best only a precious few would arrive safely on a new planet, the Council had wisely taken measures to ensure the colonists could perform at a functional level across a wide range of fields.
“Perform a DNA test,” said Kevak to the technician.
The technician approached the Primitive and roughly inserted a needle into its arm to collect the mysterious red substance. Although the being was unconscious, the needle induced a pain response in the Primitive’s brain, and its arm jerked in a reflex action. The red substance began to flow, and the technician sensed the aroma in spite of his surgical mask.
“Hemo-nectar!” he exclaimed.
“That’s impossible,” said Kevak.
The technician tore away his mask and sniffed deeply.
“It’s hemo-nectar! These Primitives produce it naturally!” he insisted.
“Technician, we have all been reduced to starvation rations. Your hunger has created unnatural cravings,” said Kevak. “The substance may very well be as you say, but a number of tests must first be conducted—”
Turning away from Kevak, the technician crouched over the Primitive. Viscous drool could be seen flowing from his mouth as he hovered near the arm wound.
“Technician, stand down,” ordered Kevak.
Ignoring Kevak, he dipped a gloved finger into the substance.
“Technician, you’re risking contamination!” shouted Kevak, moving in to restrain him.
As Kevak grabbed his arm, he was struck by a blow that sent him to the floor. The technician turned his attention back to the Primitive as Kevak scrambled away.
“Evacuate the lab!” ordered Kevak.
Upon reaching the outer hatch, Kevak entered the emergency code to seal it off. Alarms began to sound, and Enforcers arrived on the scene.
Chaluxi came running from the agricultural lab. “Navigator, what has happened?”
“The technician attempted to extract a sample of the red liquid from the Primitive and was overtaken by the smell,” explained Kevak. “He believes it is hemo-nectar. His hunger has affected his mind.”
“I know him,” said Chaluxi. “His name is Urit.”
The Vambir looked on is disbelief as Urit grabbed the Primitive’s arm and sank his fangs into it. His head shook violently, and sucking sounds could be heard as he began to feed off the life form. Temporarily sated, Urit threw back his head and moaned in ecstasy.
Chaluxi pressed the speaker pad. “Urit, this is Chaluxi. Stand down!”
Urit abruptly stopped and looked at Chaluxi with a wide-eyed stare. The red substance dripped from his mouth and was splattered across his lab coat. He stood frozen as if in a trance.
Urit’s behavior was instantly recognized by the onlookers.
“Hemostim madness!” exclaimed one of them.
Hemostim: the scourge of Vambiri. Generations ago it had brought the Vambir to the brink of extinction from its psychotic effects. The highly addictive drug had been created by nutritionists trying to produce
a concentrated form of hemo-nectar. The first trial subjects exhibited identical symptoms: a cycle of intense cravings leading to ravenous consumption, followed quickly by euphoria. The euphoria gave way to violence and then dissipated into stupor as the body struggled to metabolize the substance. With each cycle, the violence escalated, and the time in stupor decreased. The trials were terminated and all supplies were believed to have been incinerated.
But in a matter of days, new cases in the Lowcaste Sector were reported. Those affected had had nothing to do with the trials and were incapable of being interrogated. It was surmised that a laboratory worker had seen that a quick profit could be made by peddling the euphoric effects of the drug to Lowcastes seeking a mental escape from the drudgery of their existence.
The Council was forced to impose draconian measures to bring its illicit use under control. Those infected were held in quarantine, while distributors were summarily executed without trial. Nearly all in quarantine died from violent withdrawal effects, and the few who survived were mental vegetables. The situation was so dire that the barbaric penalties were readily accepted by the public.
Kevak turned to the Enforcers. “You’ll need to subdue him, but don’t go in there without Hazmat suits.” He then addressed the technicians. “Henceforth, I want Level 4 protocols in place.”
*******
One hour before sunrise, the Vambir carried the bodies of Behot and their other comrades who were killed by the Primitives to a distant field.
“We are assembled here in the Vambir tradition of honoring the dead,” said Mazja in a strong, clear voice. “We commit their bodies to the sun and their ashes to New Vambiri. Vambir death is reborn in Vambir life. Behold, the Eternal Cycle!”
“The Eternal Cycle!” cried the Vambir in unison.
Those present respectfully filed passed the bodies and gave the Vambir salute. As Kevak saluted Behot, he felt empathy for what Mazja had endured when she witnessed his demise.
At least Vrin and J’Vor were not conscious when their stasis pod failed.
After the Vambir returned to the lifeboat, they stood behind the safety of the solar shielded view ports and watched as daylight broke on the horizon.
“Look,” said one, “they are making the transition.”
The Vambir stood in silent awe as bursting flames could be seen rising from the direction of their fallen comrades.
*******
“I’ve called this meeting to find out if it is true that the Primitive substance is a source of hemo-nectar and determine our options,” said Mazja.
“Not hemo-nectar, Commander,” said Kevak, “but hemostim. We need to avoid contact with the Primitives at all costs.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Navigator,” said Mazja, “but wasn’t hemostim a concentrated form of hemo-syrup?”
“It was, Commander,” answered Kevak.
“And the knee-jerk reaction of the Council was to ban it entirely. Why weren’t attempts made to synthesize a diluted form?” she asked.
“Commander,” said Chaluxi, “we have all seen the archival footage of how the hemostim plague nearly destroyed our ancestors.”
“What is Urit’s status?” asked Mazja.
“The same as all who went through hemostim withdrawal,” answered Kevak. “Violent convulsions have rendered him speechless. His brain is beginning to show signs of swelling.”
“Administer a diluted amount of the Primitive substance to him and record his reactions,” she ordered. “I leave it to you to determine the proper dosages.”
“Commander, please,” pleaded Kevak, “we are dealing with something that could kill Urit and terminally infect us all.”
“We all know what awaits Urit if we do nothing,” said Mazja.
“If just one molecule of it escapes from the lab,” began Kevak, “the—”
“Navigator, we are facing imminent starvation,” countered Mazja. “Even if the soil of New Vambiri is capable of producing hemo-crops, our rations will be depleted long before harvest time. Am I right, Helmsman?”
Chaluxi sighed. “You are correct, Commander. None of the hemo-ration containers onboard the Isla survived re-entry. We would have detected beacon signals by now. The rations in the lifeboat won’t last until the harvest.”
“Maybe some containers are intact, but the beacons burned out,” said Kevak.
“Possible, but unlikely,” said Chaluxi. “The storage containers were never meant to be jettisoned and were not equipped with navigation. They could be anywhere. It would be a waste of precious time and energy to launch a search. We need to get through this crisis by dealing with what is known, rather than chasing false hope.”
“What is the progress with hemoplant cultivation?” asked Mazja.
“Hemo-seeds have been planted in the agricultural lab, Commander,” said Chaluxi. “Half in Vambiri soil and half in the soil of this planet. If all goes according to plan, sprouts will appear in a few weeks, at which point they can be transplanted outside.”
“Should we attempt to raise an indoor crop?” asked Mazja. “Outdoor crops will be vulnerable if Primitives discover them during daylight hours.”
“Too risky, Commander,” said Chaluxi. “Sprouts have never survived in artificial light after a month. If our first outdoor crop is successful, we will have a surplus to use for indoor experiments later. We could extend the lifeboat cloak to include the hemo-crops.”
“Very well,” said Mazja. “We will proceed on two fronts. Navigator, you will oversee the experiments on Urit. Helmsman, you will continue your agricultural work. If the Primitive substance can be synthesized into a safe nutrient, we can subsist on that until crops are harvested. Once hemoplant supplies are at sustainable levels, our reliance on the Primitive substance will be at an end.”
Chaluxi looked at Kevak. “There is no alternative, Navigator. Extreme situations call for extreme solutions.”
“I will comply, Commander,” said Kevak.
Mazja smiled. “The deaths of our comrades at the hands of the Primitives will not have been in vain. Generations from now, our descendants will remember how paramount this action was to our survival.”
*******
Mazja slipped into a Hazmat suit and purposely did not tape the sleeve ends to her wrists. She put on a bulky pair of gloves that hid the breach in protocol and entered the code to the outer laboratory hatch. The Vambir were taking their daytime rest, and only one technician, Yeoman Fryhi, was on duty. She appeared to be speaking to Urit, but Mazja could not make out her words. Fryhi was startled when the inner hatch opened.
“Commander,” she said, “is there anything you require?”
“Daytime patrol duty was my very first assignment in Lun,” said Mazja. “Some things stay with you forever. I came to enjoy the solitude of walking alone while everyone else was resting. You were talking to Urit. Was he your friend on Vambiri?”
“We attended a slide analysis class together before the evacuation, Commander,” she said. “I was hoping that recalling stories from the old world would help bring him out of his stupor.”
“He’s no longer having convulsions?” asked Mazja.
Fryhi shook her head. “Thankfully, no. But it also means that the end is not far away.”
Mazja looked around the lab and walked to a small refrigeration unit holding five sealed flasks of the liquid taken from the Primitive. Opening the unit, she removed a flask and inspected it.
“Was this all that was harvested?” she asked.
“For the time being, Commander,” answered Fryhi. “The Navigator said the Primitive would not survive if we extracted more.”
Smiling, Mazja turned to face Fryhi. “Well let’s hope that—” The oxygen tank of her suit bumped against the open unit, and two of the flasks fell to the ground.
“Damn this bulky suit! I’ve broken some,” said Mazja.
As Mazja bent down and pretended to inspect the damage, she removed one of her gloves and pushed the sealed flask she had been
holding into the arm of her suit. After quickly replacing the glove, she stood up and further crushed the broken flasks underfoot.
“It looks like three are broken,” said Mazja as Fryhi walked over to her.
“I’ll need permission before extracting more substance from the Primitive, Commander,” said Fryhi.
“Of course, Yeoman,” said Mazja. “And allow me clean this up.”
“Begging your pardon, Commander, but I was specifically trained in proper disposal protocols, and…well…” stuttered Fryhi.
“You don’t want someone inexperienced risking contamination,” said Mazja. “I understand completely.”
“Thank you, Commander,” said Fryhi.
After Fryhi had decontaminated Mazja’s suit, she told her it was safe for her to leave the lab. Mazja removed her suit in the outer hatch and paused to watch Fryhi spraying the broken flasks and their spilled contents with a bleach compound. Upon reaching the privacy of her quarters, viscous drool emerged from the corners of her mouth as she stared at the stolen flask in anticipation.
ADVENTURE
Village of Cribyn, Wales
Jasper Pryce used the tongs to remove the glowing hot iron from the forge. After securing it in a clamp, he placed it on an anvil and hammered it into the shape pictured in his mind.
“Put it in the water, boyo,” he said to one of his apprentices.
As he heard the familiar hiss of the hot iron meeting the cold water, Jasper removed his leather apron and hung it on the wall peg one last time. Picking up the sack of clothes and his other few belongings, he turned to his two apprentices.
“That’s the last of the horseshoes,” he said. “If Owen were here, he would be hard pressed to find a difference between the ones produced by all of us. You have both performed admirably. Continue to work hard, and you will make a good living for yourselves.”
The Nosferatu Chronicles: Origins Page 5