Crawl, boy, crawl! Attagen added immediately into Vesper’s mind. You wanted to get out of banality, to not take orders from any asshole who bullied you? And you got it! You’re a nighter...
You have nothing better to offer! Vesper parried. At least I don’t lick anyone’s hands on my knees like you just did!
Just wait! the renegade thoughts raged. Soon they will kneel by our hands! We’ll drug them all, we’ll give the enhanced blood to every vampire! They’ll all fall for it like curious children... and then, they will all beg for it, all of them! And the time will come for nighters too! Like me now, then Ultor will squirm at Aranea’s feet!
“Had enough? You gonna talk?” Ultor asked quietly, letting the attack down.
Attagen laid on the ground, panting.
“Why did you give me this blood?” He asked, barely moving his tongue in his wounded mouth. “You could’ve just as well leave me here on the ground... Why?”
“You wouldn’t notice the difference” the lord replied calmly. “I would just add pain, which you wouldn’t feel alongside of what already held you. But now...” He pushed him with all his strength, and the renegade flew across the cell, hit the wall, and fell limply.
Ultor approached him, and both nighters immediately followed him.
“Listen, you stoned filth!” Lord hissed, grabbing the renegade by the hair and lifting his face toward his. “If there is a need, I will slice you, and in a way that won’t kill you. You would suffer for hundreds of years, if I want to, alternating with pain and hunger. Do you understand that?”
The prisoner blinked, unable to move his head.
Now! Vesper heard a desperate call. He’s busy, he doesn’t expect it, he won’t notice. You’ll have time to kill me. Don’t worry, ours will do what’s needed... everything is ready. Factories of real, whole blood just waiting for Aranea’s signal. This was the last branch, I checked. We’ll be victorious! Just help me now...
“Am I supposed to take it as a ‘yes’,” Ultor asked.
Attagen tried to nod, wincing in pain.
I’m begging you... he whispered in his mind. I can’t take it much longer...
“You don’t have to,” the lord said suddenly. “I listened through the young kid. Actually, I already know everything I need. Let him go, Nidor, it’s enough.” He opened his fingers, and the victim's head dropped.
Lord Ultor straightened up, took a step back and looked down at the prisoner. The nighters also retreated, standing behind their lord.
The renegade leaned his forehead against the cool concrete. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. A shiver ran through his body, and rapidly turned into uncontrollable seizures.
“You created several illegal blood factories,” Ultor said. “And you took care of the business start-up, I assume. Aranea’s Plan, to distribute the drug as widely as possible, handing it out almost for free. I recognize her genius... and stupidity, at the same time.”
Attagen raised his head, looked up at him. He realized that he’d lost this battle too. Tears slowly welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
“She could never understand that” Ultor continued calmly. “That if something is free, it’s not worth much, and little appreciated at that. If this blood was expensive, and I mean really expensive, the vampire who bought it would lock himself in the house, before he tried it. He’d draw the curtains, turn off the TV, throw his cell out of the window. But now... some asshole got the goods as a promo, and stuck himself as quickly as he could.” He shook his head in disbelief. “At the bar, in front of people, imagine that. Very careless.”
The renegade closed his eyes.
“So that’s what happened,” he whispered with resignation. “That’s how you found out...”
“Captain Nidor noticed the delinquent immediately,” Ultor said casually. “He gave the drug case to ISO’s machinery, and they went their way. You know how it is with institutions like that. Insert a card with a question on the one end, and the machine will mince it up, and spit the answer out at the other end. I’m thrilled to have my nighters set up here. Thanks to that, people do for us what we ask them to. I really don’t understand why you don’t like our cooperation with them.”
I don’t feel sorry for him at all... Vesper thought, looking at Attagen’s deathly pale face, frozen in pain. Not at all. That renegade is the enemy. But somehow, he felt like crying.
“What are your future plans?” the lord asked. “Or no, wait.” He raised his hand. “Gentlemen, work your gray cells. I wonder what you will suggest. Nidor, you only report in thoughts. Vesper?” He looked carefully at the one he addressed.
He swallowed. How was he supposed to know what the renegades were up to? He wasn’t one of them, damn it!
“Easy, nighter,” Ultor said gently. “You did a great job a moment ago. You must be able to recognize the enemy, anticipate his steps, and think like him. Feel the renegade for a moment more, remember, and listen to him. What would you do in his place?”
Vesper closed his eyes. He recalled all the hate and contempt for traitors who degrade themselves by working with people, unworthy of the noble Child of the Night’s name...
“Infect as many as possible with hunger,” he began to shoot out, as if from a rifle. “Cut them off from the neutral blood supply: blow up the factory, destroy the storages. Leave part of the supplies, let them think it’s neutral, drug it up secretly. Create their own militia, eliminate the nighters. It’s war, not a game!” he broke off, panting.
“Yes,” Ultor said. “That's right. I read the renegade while you were speaking... Those are their exact plans.”
“Nooo!” Attagen suddenly screamed in agony. “No!” He grabbed his head with both hands, sobbing aloud.
“Do you have anything else to add?” Ultor asked him calmly. “I’m listening... Because, you know, we have to hurry to the Capitol. Me, you, the dealer, and the feeler. The other lords should know all about it, and as soon as possible. We’re at war, after all.”
The renegade got up, barely standing on shaky legs. He looked at him desperately.
“You won, Ultor, you won completely,” he said in breaking voice. “You already know everything you wanted to. So kill me here and now, please. Don’t throw me at the other lords’ feet. The dealer didn’t drink that blood; he’ll get off somehow. The feeler... You probably will want to use him, and he will work with whoever pays him the most anyway. But me...” He took a deep breath, his voice still trembling, “I can imagine what they’ll want to do to me. What happened here was only the prelude, I know that.” He swallowed. “You've got the right to field executions. Have mercy, Ultor... Warrior... Lord...” he paused, shaking all over. Lord Ultor looked at him thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded.
“Kneel,” he said. “I know, renegades don’t kneel before anyone, just like my warriors... but do it. Kneel before me, Attagen.”
The man looked him in the eye with tension, and finally understanding flashed across his face. He calmed himself down, focused. He sank to his knees, leaning his head forward. He closed his eyes.
Ultor stepped forward and across, so that he was on the renegade’s side. He pushed his black coat to the side, and pulled his sword from the sheath. He lifted it. He looked for a moment at the renegade’s whitened face, his lips moving silently... then let the katana down with all his strength. The blade whistled through the air, sharp steel breaking through the skin, muscles, tendons... gritted at the vertebrae. It sped further, throwing down the severed head, which rolled across the concrete. The renegade’s limp body fell to the ground, blood sprayed around, painting the concrete scarlet and climbed the lord’s coat.
“Don’t wake up no more, brother,” Ultor whispered, shaking the red drops from his sword in a quick motion.
He put the katana back into the sheath, and looked at the motionless—as if carved from the stone—nighters. His eyes were painted with enormous fatigue.
He gave Nidor a silent order. The nighter shook off, bent do
wn, and lifted renegade’s head off the floor by the hair. He swung it a bit further, so that it was at the foot of the convict. “Don’t wake no more, brother,” he said, just like the lord.
They both looked at Vesper.
Young nighter nodded, staring at the renegade’s dead body.
“Don’t wake up no more,” he choked with difficulty through a narrowed throat, “brother.”
You really have no reason to anyway, he added in his mind.
Blood was spilling into a growing puddle. Lord Ultor still stood in place, staring at Attagen’s body. Finally, he turned to his warriors and nodded. He patted a pale Vesper’s shoulder in a short, heartwarming gesture.
He walked over to the bars. It rose with a hiss, even though he didn’t touch the blue screen. He went out of his cell, and the nighters followed him.
Darkness spilled on the walls, lighted only by blue flashes of ultraviolet lasers. The warriors walked along the Bunker’s corridor in slow, weary steps.
Their shoes left a bloody trail.
§3.
1. Before the use of firearms, Police officers are required to:
1) After shouting POLICE, bring the person to lawful behavior, and in particularly to immediately drop the weapon or dangerous tool, give up escape, withdrawal from illegal activities or violence;
2) In case of disobedience of referenced point 1, threaten the use of firearms by calling: FREEZE — OR I’LL SHOOT;
3) Give a warning shot in a safe direction, if points 1 and 2 prove to be ineffective.
2. Paragraph 1 shall not apply in situations referred to in Art. 17 paragraph 1, points 1, 3, 5 and 8 of the Act, as well as in other cases where the behavior of a person holding a weapon or dangerous tool where any delay would risk an immediate danger to human life or health.
3. The use of firearms in the situation referred to in paragraph. 2, must be preceded by a shout POLICE.
REGULATION OF THE COUNCIL OF MINISTERS from 19th of July 2005.
On the detailed conditions and manner of the use of firearms
by police officers and the rules of use of firearms by
branches and units of the Police
(Dz. U. from 22nd of July 2005)
Asymmetric war
A black BMW rolled slowly down Fleming Street, stopping right in front of the CV High School named after Zbigniew Herbert, in Warsaw. Two men, dressed in jeans and sweaters, got out of the car. They looked thirty, maybe a bit more, so it was doubtful that they had come here to pick up their children. Anyway, the time was quite late to pick students up from school. The sun had set already, and at beginning of May this meant at least nine in the evening.
The newcomers gave the school a long, careful look. However, they didn’t enter. They walked further, all the way to the crossing with Katyski Street, and then turned right. They strolled slowly along metal chain link set on a concrete at-least-20-inch wall. After a while, the chain-link was replaced by a metal fifteen-foot-tall barrier.
“We can exclude force from this side,” one of the men muttered. “A tank would get in, yes. But before it got here, across the city...” He shook his head. “It’s not bad.”
“No truck can be taken into account,” his companion agreed. “It would lose the whole suspension on this wall. Well, let’s check the rest of it.” He sped up slightly.
“Look, Nidor,” the first man said with a frown. “Now that’s security.” He pointed to the place where the chain-link was cut or ripped, and reconnected with hasty wire loops. “I could pull it apart myself.”
“What do you expect, that’s just this country” the other man sighed.
They walked farther along the fence, and turned right again. Across the muddy street were small houses, hiding among the newly greened trees. A dog barked somewhere among the buildings.
The men had come to the end of the alleyway and approached the chain-link. They looked at the sprawling buildings of the Polfa Tarchomin pharmaceutical factory behind it.
“Well, kid, report,” Nidor said. “How do you like the target’s security?”
The younger man looked around for a moment longer. He pointed to the muddy puddles visible on the other side of the fence.
“Undeniable bullshittism,” he said with a disapproving sigh. “They don’t do any perimeter patrols. Not a trace of a shoe prints anywhere. No dog prints.” He raised his head, looking up. “I wonder how often they actually watch this fence.” He pointed to one of the barbed-wire bundles hanging haphazardly. “It doesn’t look like it tore a just a moment ago.”
“And this ivy here has overgrown the chain-link across twelve feet, at least,” Nidor added. “We wouldn’t even have to throw a blanket over the wire to get across. You know what, Vesper, this will be tough one, a tough one.”
The man nodded. He stared back at the factory buildings connected by a network of relays and pipes. Large tankers peeped from between, here and there.
“Come on, let’s check the front out,” Nidor suggested.
They turned back, and walked along the fence. They glanced at the lanterns; some of them were broken. Whole patches of land disappeared in the twilight.
“Polnische Wirtschaft,” Nidor growled in German, for some reason.
They walked back to the school and marched on further, to the main entrance. They noted in their mind: a vehicle on the grounds, a tall Board building on the left, a check-in booth straight ahead, with steel gates on both sides of it.
The guard was quite alert; he left the gatehouse as soon as they approached. Vesper walked up to the ATM on the outside wall. With slow, non-hurried movements, he slid his card into the machine. He typed his PIN in. He winced involuntarily, looking at his account balance.
Oh, it was tragic, Mr. Malinowski, he thought. Motherland, it would seem, didn’t quite appreciate your dedication.
He smiled briefly with a hint of bitterness. Fortunately, a nighter’s actual salary was deposited in a Swiss bank. Which is why he rarely had a chance to check ISA Lieutenant Jurek Malinowski’s scanty account.
The bodyguard stepped back, losing interest in the strangers. Maybe he still watched them using cameras installed outside of the building. If he felt like it, of course.
“A truck could drive through any of these two gates,” Nidor muttered. “Or even through the one in the corner by the parking on the right. Can you see?”
Vesper nodded briefly. He took out a hundred Z’s from the ATM, and waited until the machine finished printing the receipt. Lieutenant Malinowski’s account had just been drastically depleted.
“Come, we’ll check the area out from Plochocinska Street’s side,” Nidor said, and turned around and marched toward the car.
“I don’t expect it to look any better,” Vesper replied, following him. “You think that security is garbage on one side, but top notch on the other?” He shook his head.
“Not at all,” Nidor said. “But it needs to be checked. Lord Ultor will want to have all the information before making a decision.”
They walked to the car briskly, spilling mud from their shoes. Finally, they got into the BMW and slammed the door.
“We can’t take care of it alone,” Nidor said and turned the ignition on.
The engine started up, filling the air with a dull, almost feline growl. The car backed up slightly, and then slid onto the road, moving in a narrow semicircle. It rolled slowly down the street.
“There’s no way. No way we can overtake this target,” Vesper agreed, looking out the window at the factory buildings. “We’d have to talk to A-Ts, I think...”
“Ultor will decide that,” the captain said seriously. “But I think you're right.” He paused, as if he didn’t dare to comment on the lord’s possible decisions.
The car rolled slowly along the buildings, and they were silent, watching the target carefully. It would be very easy to attack it and very difficult to defend, were the unhappy thoughts that stumbled around in their heads.
***
�
��The situation is as follows,” the major said at the briefing a few hours later. “We have every reason to suspect that the renegades will attack us in the near future, perhaps within a week. You know what that means.”
The nighters looked at each other, exchanging understanding glances. So it’s true, there was a war.
So far, in the secret facility in Emów, disguised as Section III of the Office of the White Intelligence, only speculation and rumors circulated on this subject. The only certain thing was that during one of recent missions, a renegade was taken in, and on top of that, he was flanked by a feeler. A local minnow, an illegal blood dealer, got caught too. The matter, however, was so serious that Lord Ultor himself visited them, though for one night only. He interrogated the prisoners, field-executed the renegade, and then immediately flew away in his helicopter, taking the feeler with him, without leaving an explanation. The two officers who took part in the capture of the renegade, and then helped during his interrogation, were as silent as the grave. Neither Captain Nidor nor Vesper said a word about the events they’d witnessed. They also didn’t fall for any trick questions or ambiguous allusions. But something was brewing, and this certainly was one of those bigger cases. They all sensed it, with the infallible instincts of predators.
And now, finally, the major himself had decided to unveil the mystery. Renegades. War. But actually, what else could be expected? Did they need to know anything else? The time of confrontation had to come sooner or later.
Most likely sooner, if another of the rumors turned out to be true. Apparently the Renegade Lord was now General Aranea, Lord Ultor’s close associate... There were even rumors that she had been a particularly close one, on a personal level, too. Aranea had betrayed him, for whatever reason. Maybe Ultor had betrayed her first? In any case, the general had crossed over to the renegades and quickly finished off the local lord, taking his place. And now she was panting with a desire of revenge on Ultor and his whole Family. The nighters had a serious opponent.
If all that was true, of course.
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