Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1)

by Laura Diamond

  I folded my arm, pinching my finger in the crook of my elbow to keep the gauze in place. “Say hi to Sammie for me.”

  The smirk returned. His favorite expression, no doubt. “I wonder.”

  He uncapped one of the vials and drank it. Then he downed another two. If he kept it up, he’d have nothing left to work with at the lab. The vials slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. Much like Scarface, he stared at his hands, jaw slack and eyes wide.

  “Yes, I see it. They’re aging.”

  I stared at his hands. They hadn’t changed. “No, man, they haven’t.”

  Maybe he saw something I couldn’t with his enhanced Vie sight?

  “Of course they have. You just can’t see because of your inferior vision.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He gathered the remaining tubes, stared at them for a while, eyebrows low and mouth thin, as if warring with himself whether or not to keep drinking. Finally, he stuffed them in his pocket.

  He scruffed my hair like he would a dog. “Stay here until I return.”

  Like I had a choice.

  Soon after Alex left, a slave entered, her honey-colored hair reflecting in the low lighting.

  I recognized her immediately. It was the same girl who had alerted the guards. I’d call her a traitor except tattling on me was her job. Slaves always obeyed, whether they wanted to or not.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

  “Where’s your hair clip?” I stared at her openly, memorizing every freckle, every flick of her eyelashes, every bounce of her curls.

  Her skin glowed with… life. Corny as it sounded, it was true. A lifetime being surrounded by homeless anemic people had brainwashed me into believing sunken-cheeked ashiness and dirt stains were normal.

  She fiddled with the handle of her bucket, jiggling the brushes and bottles within. “I thought they executed you.”

  “You watch the vidscreen?”

  “Sometimes. Plus, it’s kind of all over. You’re all the news is talking about.”

  I rose, slowly. Her gaze never left me. “Then you know I’m Justin. What’s your name?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Cara. Aren’t you mad at me?”

  I took a few steps toward her. “You did what you were supposed to do. The one I’m mad at is Alex.”

  Lifting her chin, she said, “That’s stupid.”

  Well, she didn’t hold any punches.

  “Why?” I asked.

  She crooked an eyebrow at me. “You’re wasting your time being mad at a Vie.”

  “He kidnapped my sister, nearly got me killed, and he’s keeping me prisoner here. Why wouldn’t I be angry, pissed off, enraged?”

  A small sound emanated from her throat. “You sound like a thesaurus.”

  “A what?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “Never mind. If you didn’t die at the trial it’s because he saved you.”

  My breath caught in my windpipe. “You’re tranced to say that, aren’t you?”

  Her jaw worked back and forth for a moment. “What do you want to eat?” Without waiting for an answer, she twirled away and strode down a short hallway off the front entrance.

  I rushed after her, past a gleaming bathroom and into the kitchen: the biggest, shiniest, ritziest kitchen I’d seen. Granted, the only kitchens I’d seen were advertisements on vidscreen, but most Vie would be jealous of this one.

  “You don’t have to make me food. I can—”

  She spun toward me. “Of course I have to. Alex gave me an order.”

  Was every movement orchestrated by him? How did it work? Lists? Recordings? Hand gestures? Ear implants? I tried to peer into her ear canal. “I won’t tell him.”

  She frowned at me and dipped away. “It’s not that simple.” She yanked opened the pantry door, her movements quick and stiff.

  Dry staples like pasta, cereal, flour, freeze-dried vegetables and fruits filled the shelves. Vie didn’t need all this. The only thing they ate—drank—was blood. Had he prepared for me or was this left over from his last, what’d he say, guest?

  “How often do you have to feed people here?”

  “I can heat up some soup.” She ignored my question, opened a can, poured it into a bowl, and then microwaved it. All of this involved more banging and slamming.

  “Really, you don’t have to.”

  She huffed at me, setting in to wipe the counter clean.

  “Sorry I messed up your day.”

  “You didn’t.”

  I didn’t bother replying to that one.

  Giving her some space while the soup heated, I checked the fridge. Cartons of blood filled the entire thing, stacked in rows, lining the door, and stuffed in the crisper. The freezer held dozens of pints, each dated, timed, and signed. The thought of drinking blood curdled my stomach, but imagining chewing on frozen blood or sucking on it like a popsicle made all my teeth ache. I gagged.

  “Where’s his Red Springs or Crimson Crush?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t like them.” She pushed the door shut with her hip. “You shouldn’t go snooping around. Besides, you’re getting fingerprints everywhere. I’ll get in trouble.”

  She sprayed the fridge with cleaner and wiped away my prints with her rag.

  “That’s not what I want.” I hovered near the microwave, hands in my pockets to keep them from wandering, watching the soup bubble. It was the best smelling stuff ever. Go figure. My stomach growled.

  “Whatever. Just stay out of my way, okay?” Cara whipped around and left the room.

  I found her in the hallway fumbling with cleaning supplies. “Tell me something.”

  She gripped a brush, fingers rubbing the bristles. “What?”

  “That day, on the street, I asked you if you’d seen my sister, Sammie. Have you?”

  The corner of her eye twitched. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice softened.

  “Are you sure?” I stepped close enough to catch her scent, clean like a spring rain.

  “My dad, he’s getting older. Every year I think, humans don’t last long. Is this his last one? Look, I know what it’s like to worry about someone you love. I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about your sister.”

  I fumbled for anything. Anything. “Did he trance you not to tell me about her?”

  Her gaze faltered.

  “You have seen her.” My chest felt hollow.

  “I-I forgot something. I have to go.” She practically ran to the door and keyed in the code.

  I went after her. “Wait.”

  Her eyes widened, sparking with energy. And fear. She smacked the cancel button. “You can’t leave. He’ll kill me.”

  “We can leave together,” I said, dizzy with the hope that she’d go for it.

  She gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I can’t help it.” I smirked.

  “Please let me go.” Her eyes searched mine. No matter how much I wanted out, leaving, escaping, whatever, meant I’d condemn yet another person to death.

  “All right, you can go. I won’t try to escape.”

  She hesitated, hand floating over the keypad.

  “I promise,” I retreated several steps to make good.

  She sucked on her bottom lip. Time passed between us, bare and raw. We had the same enemy—Vie—yet we stood on opposite sides.

  As if reading my mind, she said, “We can’t hurt them. It’s impossible.”

  “I’ve done a lot of impossible things.”

  She lowered her hand. “Like what?”

  “Survived an execution for one.” I moved closer. “Survived a Vie bite. Twice.”

  She backed up. The wall stopped her from going farther.

  “Vie can’t trance me.” I placed a hand on either side of her, caught up in my confessions, and her emerald eyes.

  “Be careful.”

  “Why?”

  “Vie are better at playing games than you.”

  Slowly, I tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
“Cara, you can help me. We can help each other.”

  She closed her eyes, scrunching them tight. “Let me go,” she whispered.

  “They can die. I’ve seen it.”

  “Let. Me. Go.” Her voice was stronger. More forceful.

  “Cara—”

  She bashed my skull with her bucket.

  “Oi!” I staggered, clutching my head.

  “Don’t touch me again. Ever.” She slammed her booted foot against my shin.

  “Ouch, hey,” I protested.

  Cara rushed out. The lock engaged.

  Discussion over.

  Year 75, Month 5, Day 28, evening

  he shutters—which had automatically descended at sunrise—rose shortly after sunset. My attempts at escape—after blowing my chance at convincing Cara to help me—amounted to me trying to pull a grille off the heating duct vent (nope) and searching for a laundry chute (ha!). All lame. All fruitless. Alex hadn’t returned yet. His red-headed bitch of a girlfriend hadn’t shown up either. I doubted she’d leave me alone, and by alone I meant in one piece, without Alex nearby.

  The worst part: Cara didn’t come back. I replayed our conversation over and over, pacing the living room like a caged animal. I supposed that’s what I was to Alex. How brave of him to leave me indoors without knowing if I was housebroken or not.

  I ran a hand through my hair. Blazes. I’ve messed up. Messed up big. Sure, I’d made it to the Elite District, closer to Sammie than ever, yet it almost cost me my life and it definitely cost Martin and Zack’s theirs.

  They died because of me.

  I paused at the windows. Took in the view. Abarron’s skyscrapers dominated the skyline, much taller and sleeker than the human-made ones. They were better than us. In every possible way. But did that give them the right to enslave us and treat us like garbage? Not to me, it didn’t.

  To them it did. So unfair.

  My one consolation: I’d rocked the city’s alien foundation with my brief fame, at least according to Cara.

  I swiped wetness from my cheeks. More tears. Amazing I had any left. The Arrival came without warning. Revolution swept the planet. Humans neglected to fight back, not because they couldn’t but because they didn’t know how. By the time they had a chance to consider it, Vie had tranced everyone.

  Dad had explained everything to me. Vie tranced the world leaders to ensure minimal lives lost from war. They cut off lines of communication, exterminated resistance movements, walled off cities—for New City quite literally with the biodome—and prevented human travel.

  Dad had made the takeover sound so easy, like we’d never had a chance. Vie knew exactly what they were doing. It made me wonder how many times they’d done it before. How many worlds had they invaded? How many species had they enslaved?

  I retreated to the couch and smiled at my lame retaliation attempt. A defiled glass covered in saliva and oils from my skin sat on the coffee table. Without a coaster. Condensation had trickled down its side and pooled at the bottom, leeching into the freshly polished wood. With any luck, it would leave a stain. A mark on Vie perfection. A reminder of me, a filthy Anemie, occupying Vie space.

  The door’s lock disengaged. Alex came in. “You’re awake.”

  My heart dropped. I’d hoped Cara returned. Another human, a native to this planet, a mortal like me.

  “I can smell your fear. What have I done to warrant that?”

  I tilted my head toward him. “You’re kidding, right?” Anger seeped into my tone.

  “I suppose you’ll never forgive me for poor Samantha.” He slipped into the same chair he sat in last night. So still, almost a statue. An extremely well-dressed, but at the same time disheveled, statue. A Vie who didn’t care about his looks. What a paradox.

  “Why should I?”

  “You know, I’ve never spoken at such length with an Anemie before. This is quite unique, our situation.” His eyes darted to the glass, but he did nothing about it.

  “I’m not here to chat with you,” I said.

  “No, I suppose not.” He crossed his leg. “Your diction is quite advanced for someone of your… heritage.”

  “My dad taught me.” I chewed on a fingernail until it ripped below the quick.

  “Father?”

  “Well, I didn’t spontaneously pop up out of the ground.” A drop of blood welled up on my finger.

  Alex honed in on it. “Be careful with that.”

  I sucked off the blood and stuffed my hand in my pocket.

  Alex chuckled. “Waste not, want not.” After a sigh, he said, “Tell me about your father.”

  My leg jittered up and down. “What’s to tell?”

  “He has some intelligence and passed it down to you.”

  “Had.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry.” His voice was soft like he meant it.

  “For what?”

  “Your lives are so tenuous. Fraught with danger at every step. Loss is an integral part of such an existence, but that doesn’t make it any less tragic or difficult to deal with.” He uncrossed his leg slid to the end of the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. “I am sorry that you suffer.”

  My throat tightened. “You kill us all the time. Are you sorry for that?”

  He reclined, gaze dropping to the floor. “Yes, I am sorry for that.”

  “Then why do it?” My question rose to the coffered ceiling, pressed against the windows, and pushed him deeper into the cushion.

  “My life is complicated, much more than yours. Your singular purpose is survival.” He shrugged. “Not an easy task, I know, yet my actions carry far more consequences.”

  I snorted. “Bullshit.”

  “Like what I’m doing now, keeping you here. I haven’t begun to realize the impact of such a decision.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “The situation will not allow it.”

  I sat up. “What situation? You can’t keep me here forever like a little house pet.”

  “A pet? Now that’s an interesting idea.” He scratched his jaw as if pondering the suggestion. “A collar would suit you, doggie.”

  “You’re the beast,” I spit.

  Alex twirled his signet ring around his finger. “Enough. This is not how I wanted our talk to go.”

  “What exactly do you want?” I slumped against the sofa cushion.

  “As I said, I am not unaware of the tragedy that is your life. The loss of your dear sister… and your father. Being treated like refuse by your own kind. Getting rejected by slaves.” His eyebrow twitched, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Cara is pretty.”

  I rubbed my skull. My head still ached where she bludgeoned me. “How did you know…?”

  “She told me, of course.”

  We settled into silence for a long while. He didn’t talk, and I had no reason to.

  Margaret arrived well after midnight and settled into the chair to my right. Her hair brought the only meaningful color to the space. Otherwise, a crypt had more aesthetic appeal than Alex’s apartment. I avoided looking at her—last time went so well—and stared at the city lights. In a high rise across the street, Vie wandered in their stark apartments or settled in front of the blue glow of a vidscreen. Their lives seemed benign from here. If I were outside, I’d be searching for refuge in some broken down building. I’d be hungry. I’d be cold. I’d be praying for sunlight.

  “I see your guest is still here.” Margaret emphasized guest with a snarl.

  I had to admit the term burned less than pet, dog, or captive.

  “Go out with your friends, Margaret. I have business to attend to.” Alex flicked his hand in dismissal.

  “You’re such an asshole. I don’t know why I stay with you.” She shot out of the chair, heading further into the apartment.

  A moment later, a door slammed so hard, I thought my ears would pop.

  “You pissed her off,” I said, picking up where Zack left off in the Captain Obvious department.

  “Indeed. But there are mor
e pressing matters than her fury.”

  “I thought you said emotions didn’t affect you.”

  “Anger, it seems, burns bright even in us immortals.”

  “Tell me something. Why do you all pretend to be vampires? You don’t think it’s less weird than aliens, because it’s not.”

  “We’re as close to the legends as anybody can get, don’t you think? Makes us easier to understand than aliens, and it fits nicely with your blood-drinker myths since we consume blood.” Alex stood and walked to the windows, this time taking slow, deliberate steps.

  “Fitting what you do into legends doesn’t matter. You tranced everyone. Took over. You won. Unless you don’t like being called what you are. Unless you hate yourselves.”

  His usual ramrod-straight spine curved as he rolled his shoulders. “Some of us do hate ourselves. Some of us wish things were different.”

  “Then change them.”

  He spun. “Should I give up my very nature? Renounce what it is that makes me, me? That would be like me telling you to stop being anemic.”

  “Then what’s the point of all this?”

  “Is talking a waste of time?”

  “Yeah, if it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

  He rubbed his cheek. “Yes, I suppose in your position, action is the best course. You must be crawling out of your skin cooped up in here all day.”

  “Without any idea what’s happening, yeah.”

  “Patience, then, is not a virtue for your kind.”

  “Just like mercy isn’t one of yours.”

  He laughed. “For your lack of interest in talking you certainly are quick… and rather eloquent. If I had my way, we’d do this indefinitely.”

  “Are you so lonely that you need an Anemie for conversation?”

  He worked a fang with his tongue. Bet he was thinking about biting me again.

  “I’ve had enough of this. If you’re going to kill me, then kill me. You want to torture me? Let’s get to it. But I have one request. Two, actually.” I rose.

  “And what’s that?”

  “I want Sammie released… and I wouldn’t mind one more chance at staking you.” I jutted my chin.

  “I wonder what would you do if I said yes?”

  “Wha—?” Was he serious?

  “You heard me.”

  “Give me my stake, then,” I hedged.