Nighter

by Magdalena Kozak

  “He didn’t say anything?” the captain asked seriously. “He didn’t try anything? Anything at all?”

  Both nighters looked at each other and shook their heads. They didn’t say anything more. They just walked to the door, bothered with the code a bit, and left.

  Vesper stared at Nidor questioningly. He turned around and sat in a chair, sprawling comfortably.

  “This is the Bunker” he said calmly. “Have a seat, kid. I’ll tell you about it.”

  The youngster rushed to the other chair. He sat and spun it a few times, using only mind-force. He stopped in place when he caught his colleague’s disapproving look. He looked down a bit, and assumed a serious, focused expression.

  “You’re such a puppy,” Nidor laughed slightly pretentiously. “You still can’t get enough, eh, Tiger?” He got serious again. “Now look. Bunker. What do you think of this place?”

  Vesper glanced over the screens on the walls.

  “Gloomy, strict,” he stated after a moment.

  “We keep prisoners here.”

  “I recognize those bastards we caught at the last mission.”

  A fleeting memory passed before his eyes again. First shot, first corpse. Predator’s christening, nighter’s communion. Acceptance in brotherhood.

  “We can’t put them in regular prison,” the captain said. “A renegade like that would shred the guards in a moment.”

  “And what is worse, they would have undeniable proof of our existence,” Vesper added immediately. “And we’re trying to avoid that at all costs. We don’t come out until the right time comes. And the Capitol will let us know when that happens.”

  “All right, all right, save yourself the propaganda, kiddo,” Nidor grimaced slightly. “Umens is brainwashing you in his lessons, I see... But whatever, he’s right. We don’t make ourselves known. Which is why, among other reasons, we keep special prisoners here at the Bunker.” He stood up suddenly. “Anyway, I won’t just tell you. Come, we’ll do a walk-around, you’ll see yourself.”

  Vesper got up instantly.

  “Oh, by the way...” The older nighter still stood in his spot, looking over the screens. “When we get to the renegade, be very careful. Create the best mirror you can around yourself. Remember that they are really good, mind-wise. The blood helps them. I mean that illegal blood...” he finished, observing his colleague carefully.

  The real blood, Vesper thought fleetingly. Not the artificial blood, farmed, like the food we get daily. That real, human blood.

  He didn’t say that out loud. He kept censoring himself. Nidor was with him nearly all the time, observing him carefully. Technically, everything was fine; he was his training officer after all. A young nighter was always assigned to an older colleague, who walked him through all the secrets and oversaw his progress. But the captain still took care of him personally, he hadn’t handed him over to one of the lieutenants right after the first mission. He kept Vesper with himself longer, under very careful control. Yes, a genial and friendly one, but very careful nonetheless.

  Vesper knew exactly why it was like that. He didn’t have a shred of doubt that the other nighters were whispering about him in the corners. His mission christening went according to procedure—a debutante shooting elegantly from a distance... and then the matters took an unexpected turn. Instead of decreasing the distance slowly, the young one entered into direct contact with the victims. The smell and taste of real blood came up too quickly, when he wasn’t quite ready for it. He could desire a real hunt now, he could become a renegade... and no nighter has ever crossed that line. No one, never.

  Nidor observed him with worry and undoubted concern, so he could stop him and prevent a tragedy if that’s what was needed. Vesper realized that, and he didn’t protest, and didn’t ask unnecessary questions. He tried to act calm, and he tried not to admit to some eerie dreams and risky thoughts tumbling around his mind sometimes. He tried to prove really hard that he wasn’t any different than other nighters. He was so happy with them, after all. He’d found himself in life, and he’d found his place, his herd, his destiny. He didn’t want to lose it for anything... not for anything.

  And he was deeply convinced that if he ever felt capable of betrayal, he would go to Lord Ultor on his own, and put his neck under his sword. He wouldn’t become a renegade. Never.

  He glanced at Nidor calmly, not showing even a shadow of hesitation.

  “Okay, come on!” the captain said, not taking his eyes off him for a moment. “I can’t keep you in a bubble forever. I’ll introduce you to that renegade. I wonder how you will like each other.” He winked mischievously.

  They both knew it wasn’t a joke.

  ***

  The renegade’s cell wasn’t any different than the other ones. Three bare concrete walls set the borders of the rectangle cubicle. The fourth side was completely see-through, and only two thick metal crates, set a few inches apart, separated the cell from the corridor. Light blue, shiny mesh hung between them. Vesper glanced at Nidor, puzzled.

  “Ultraviolet laser,” he muttered. “Even if the bastard touched the crate, he wouldn’t get further. It would burn him to ash. Like all of us, anyway.”

  The prisoner, who had been cowering in the corner, finally moved. He lifted his head. Led by an unmistakable instinct, he stared at the weaker newcomer.

  Vesper suddenly became dizzy, he felt weak. Mirror, he thought with fear. He began to create a reflective surface hastily around himself... only to see it break and shatter into pieces, nearly hearing the sound of glass breaking. Hands and feet became lead. Slowly, softly, he began to fall, under the shattering pressure. He couldn’t breathe.

  “Enough!” Nidor yelled in the prisoner’s direction. “Unless you want to get acquainted with our bio-renewal salon...” he broke off the unhidden threat.

  The pressure lifted instantly.

  Vesper breathed in greedily, straightening as quickly as possible. Mirror, he thought, and he began to slowly put it up again.

  “Who did you bring to me, nighter?” The renegade hissed in disdain. “A puppy to play with? Come little one, I’ll scratch your belly,” he laughed, staring at Vesper jeeringly. “Because you’re not good for anything else,” he became serious. “You received the Gift of Blood, and you don’t do shit with it, boy. Ultor already made you a good doggy, right?”

  Vesper jerked his head in heated denial. He took a deep breath, wanting to answer the vampire...

  “It’s better to be Ultor’s doggy than Atroks’,” Nidor said calmly. “How’s Lord Renegade? Is he sober sometimes?”

  The prisoner stood up. He walked to the crate in a slow, wobbly step. He looked into Nidor’s eyes, then glanced over his captain’s stripes.

  “So they finally sent someone I can talk to on a decent level,” he paused for a moment, then chanted, “Renegade Lord Aranea sends her heartfelt greetings to Lord Ultor.” He smiled with unhidden satisfaction. “You’re screwed, fuckers.”

  He paused, looking intently at Nidor. Then laughed loudly, mockingly.

  “Stay here, Vesper,” the captain said in a strange voice. “Watch the bastard. Remember the mirror. And you...” he turned to the prisoner, “don’t try to torment the kid, or I’ll put you in a tanning bed. For fifteen minutes, at least.”

  He turned and walked away to the center hurriedly. Vesper didn’t have a shred of doubt: Nidor was very agitated.

  The renegade stopped laughing. He curled his feet up, sitting cross-legged in mid- air. His face stayed at Vesper’s eye level.

  “Wow, that’s quite a mess now,” he hissed with visible pleasure. “I barely said a few words... and Mr. Nighter already fucking runs to give his report, like he was chased with an aspen wood rocket. And the other one stands here paled, like a frightened schoolgirl. I was left alone with a real vampire... oh mommy, what will happen to me now? The mean renegade will eat me in a sandwich and won’t even wipe his mouth!”

  Vesper instinctively reached for his holster, felt t
he soothing coolness of the gun.

  “Easy, pup,” the other one said through clenched teeth. “You won’t shoot me just like that, without a verdict, without an order. They must have train you that much, no?”

  “I'm nobody's puppy,” Vesper said firmly. “I’m an officer of the Internal Security Agency in the service of the Republic of Poland. I am a member of the Special Operations Unit...”

  “You think you're a tiger, but you're only Pavlov's dog,” the other vampire interrupted him brutally. “You live, eat, sleep, and kill on a sign, or for a slogan your masters invent for you. What does it matter what slogans they use this time? What do they wipe their mouths with: God, honor or the Motherland? You don’t ask unnecessary questions when they show you the target. It’s an order, you move, now!”

  The other vampire pushed him suddenly from a distance, by sheer force of his will. Vesper flew up against the wall, bounced off it, and then fell limp.

  The blow stunned him, so he quickly shook his head, bringing the spinning world back into its place. He hadn’t expected such power, that suddenly emerged from nowhere and tossed him like a lame puppet. His right side stung—probably a broken rib—but it was no matter, he’d check later.

  He got up as quickly as possible, and returned to his spot in front of the crate. He wiped the blood oozing from his split eyebrow with his sleeve. The renegade was still, staring at him mockingly. Vesper responded with a challenging look.

  “Say what you want,” he growled straight in his face. “I know what I know. You’re strong... with power of your own illusions. In reality, you're a slave to bloodlust, which you can’t resist. The only thing you have left is to attach some kind of ideology to it... as if you were the free one, and didn’t have a master, of course. Lord Atroks can have a heavy hand too, or so I've heard.”

  The prisoner was silent for a moment, smiling nonchalantly.

  “Lord Atroks is dead,” he finally said with satisfaction. “Didn’t you hear what I told your captain? Lord Renegade Aranea took over. General Nex helped organize the coup, and now stands at her side. Neither of them will rest until the real Children of the Night regain their rightful place in this world.” He spoke faster and faster, his eyes burning with unfeigned excitement. “And traitors like you, dogs in human’s service, will bite the dust, with your cut-off heads at your feet.”

  “Riiigght, same old story,” Vesper yawned ostentatiously. “Finally free, you’ll get rid of nighters and will be free to hunt. Until pissed-off people will come and stick you with wooden stakes, and then burn the corpses. In the confusion, two or three will escape, and again they will establish another Family. And so on and so on, for thousands of years. How long can this go on?” He shook his head. “Don’t you think it’s time for changes?”

  “Changes? This peaceful coexistence of yours is nonsense!” the renegade snorted disdainfully. “You came up with idea of a paradise where a lamb lays down beside a lion, who’ll be munching on a carrot. I'm not going to be such a castrated lion, raised on carrots... that artificial blood of yours.”

  “Wait a few more days,” Vesper parried perfidiously. “When your hunger grows enough for you to understand who your master really is. Your own weakness is only that. And even artificial blood won’t satisfy your insanity. It won’t bring you relief, will not satisfy your lust for killing. You will understand then, what your pride and carelessness got you into.”

  The vampire looked at him sharply.

  “You know a lot about hunger,” he said suddenly. “Interestingly... a lot, for a puppy.” He thought for a moment, then shot out, “Did they screwed up your education and let you close to real blood too soon?”

  The nighter paled, staring at the renegade. He wanted to deny it, shout it wasn’t true, that he didn’t feel hunger, that he’d never felt it, and that he’d only repeated what he had heard in training. But he couldn’t get a word out. The familiar itch in his upper gums made itself known, and he tried to stop his fangs from extending with a desperate effort. He was silent, while fright grew within his soul.

  “You feel it, Vesper,” the man whispered, staring intently into his eyes. “You feel the hunger. It’s still with you, like your own shadow, watching at your back. Sometimes it’s stronger, sometimes weaker, but it never disappears. And you still have the feeling that you are not quite real; faded, and not quite full. As if you observe life from the side, and can’t fully plunge into it.” He paused, frowned thoughtfully, then continued, “And you know very well that you will fully live only when you have tasted real blood, once you have fulfilled that hunger. And when you do, you’ll never want to go back to the gray, bland, meaningless vegetation.”

  This was like an echo, Vesper thought, trembling. That’s how Jerzy Arlecki’s life had looked before that wonderful transformation... Was another stage awaiting him? Would another change be as overwhelming?

  Suddenly he was filled with a strange feeling, like he’d been filled with unprecedented omnipotence. He savored the power over life and death; he remained beyond good and evil, beyond any judgement... He was a perfect predator.

  He closed his eyes, sinking into that blissful state... Then he shook himself off in horror. Don’t be fooled, he yelled in his soul. This vision is the work of the renegade. The vampire probably read him however he wanted to. That’s how the dark side of Night tempts. He couldn’t go over there, for any reason.

  “I'm not interested in...” he choked out with difficulty. “I have no intention of...”

  “But you are,” the renegade interrupted him immediately. “Or you soon will be. Because you’ve only walked half of the road. You got away from a very banal human existence, and it seems to you that you are happy beyond measure. But this is only the beginning.” He smiled gently. “Sooner or later you will come to us. You’ll get home, brother.”

  “I'm not your brother!” Vesper snapped. “You...” He paused, not wanting the other vampire to see that his fangs were halfway out.

  “My name is Attagen,” the renegade said quietly. “And you're my brother, whether you want it or not. The same blood, given to the lords by The Hidden One flows in all of us. It's still the same symbiont, the same strain.”

  He leaned back, lying back comfortably in the air as if an invisible soft mattress was suspended under his body.

  “Do you want to know who you really are?” he said thoughtfully. “Just wait. Sooner or later, you will have to find out, you will have to face yourself. Remember that from that moment, there will be no turning back. You will never be able to be a lap dog again, if you were a tiger even for a moment.”

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Vesper turned his head. Nidor was approaching them hastily, accompanied by a few other nighters.

  “They’ll probably call Ultor for help,” the renegade said quietly, following Vesper’s gaze. “Undoubtedly, Lord Warrior will be very moved once he finds out his former lover is now his worst enemy. He will fly over here as soon as possible and interrogate me for everything I know. I don’t doubt that he will do so effectively; the undead can be tortured indefinitely.” His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “And then he will cut my head off with his beloved Japanese toy. Do you want to know if I'm afraid, brother?”

  Vesper nodded slowly, looking back at the renegade stretched out casually in mid-air.

  “Yes, of course I am. I'm afraid,” the prisoner said seriously, sitting up. “But I know one thing. I have lived as it befits a predator, in accordance with my intended purpose. I didn’t let myself become a dog in the service of humans. But you won’t last long either,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “That’s why I give you this advice: run away. Before they realize who you really are. Before Ultor decides to kill you a second time. Run to your people, and Nex will welcome you with open arms. We need predators like you...”

  Vesper swallowed. And then he focused, calling all his will for help. He calmed down, and withdrew his fangs, almost forcing them to their sockets.

  �
��If Lord Ultor decides he was wrong in offering me the Gift,” he said in a trembling, broken voice, “I will put my head under his sword myself. I am a nighter. None of us has betrayed him. Ever.”

  He turned to Nidor, who was already close, a few steps away. The other nighters followed him, flashing anxious glances. Vesper clicked his heels, standing at attention.

  “The prisoner’s alive and well,” he reported to the officer. “Nothing special happened. He just got hyperactive, and emotionally unstable.”

  His colleagues looked at his split eyebrow, but no one offered any comments.

  “Thank you,” the captain said. “At ease.”

  Vesper clicked his heels again. Nidor nodded at him, then turned to the renegade, still sitting cross-legged half a yard above the floor.

  “You can probably imagine what’s waiting for you,” he said calmly. “Lord Warrior Ultor will interrogate you personally. Now, start remembering everything you know. Lord Ultor may feel disappointed if it turns out that he came all this way only to get shreds of worthless information. And we don’t like it when our master doesn’t feel good. So try your best, I ask you personally.”

  “I would be ashamed if I were you,” Attagen said slowly. “Admitting just like that, that you’re a dog on a chain, without embarrassment... especially for such asshole, like Ultor. Aranea told us some funny stories about your owner. Do you want to hear some, doggies? You’ll listen anyway. We have to while away these long waiting hours, somehow.”

  “One word on that subject and you will remember what a tanning bed looks like,” Nidor said coolly through clenched teeth. “Believe me, I can choose an ultraviolet dose that won’t be dangerous, but extremely painful.”

  “Dear, doggy,” the renegade laughed in response. “Don’t bark too much, because your collar might get loose, and then you won’t know what to do with yourself. As for me, I know my fate, and I’m prepared. You have to kill me in the end, one way or another.” He shrugged. “You won’t give me a life sentence. That would take a looong time, longer than your budget could take. Taxpayers could begin to ask questions about where that cash is going. And you wouldn’t want that, after all. Because then there wouldn’t be enough for the super-refined extra blood for your owners.” He snorted contemptuously, then soared up to the ceiling and settled down there, turning his back to them.