by Sam Hall
“But she’s…”
“She’s what, Fletch? Soft, willing, wet? They all are you stupid fuck. It’s why we keep them in all the drugs and sex they can take and then some. Are you seriously going to do this?” Rohan gestured to Fletcher, then the van. “You’re going to contradict your king, the leader of the mother fucking Horde, for that?”
Rohan watched as Fletcher seemed to come to himself. Some developed feelings for the little white beasts, it was an occupational hazard when people got naked regularly, but it certainly wasn’t something the Horde supported. Fletcher’s eyes began to dart as if he saw the other black-clad vampires around him for the first time, then his king.
“Fuck, Rohan…” he said.
“Your Majesty,” Rohan said with a snap. Spines stiffened across the group as they heard the ring of command. He was mildly gratified that all of them fell to their knees then, even the amoral dickbags he was forced to deal with when moving this kind of shipment.
Now it’s time to reaffirm those bonds, he thought.
“The girls go to Hesse when they fall pregnant. That’s what needs to happen. The Horde is no place to raise a kid. We can’t offer…” What was her damn name? “…Annie, the kind of care she needs to get through her pregnancy. Kids grow up in the Crèche and Annie will be back in your arms before you know it.”
She wouldn’t, he’d make a note of that to Hesse. He needed his people loyal to him, not the fucking albinos. At least the vampire women never troubled him with this shit. The symbiote rendered them sterile, like any useful woman.
He waited until he saw the nod of Fletcher’s head before helping him to his feet, pulling the man into a rough hug. “You want my advice? Stick to fucking the boys for a while. Some of them are just as sweetly rounded and soft and even hungrier for cock, if that’s possible. Get a couple of whores, a gram or two of yellow and some rum on me. Tell the quartermaster I sent you.”
He patted Fletcher on the shoulder, waiting until he walked slowly back to his car where his mates waited for him, and then they all drove away.
“Right!” he said, jerking the rest of them to attention. “We need to get on the road. The gateway into the Crèche is only opened at certain times and Hesse hates to wait. You want those thick fucking bonuses; you need to start earning them. Get in the back of the truck.”
He didn’t wait to see if he was obeyed, leaders didn’t. Instead, he climbed into the cab where Janice, his faithful driver, sat behind the wheel, motor idling. He waited until he heard the slam of the truck’s back doors and then nodded to her.
The truck rumbled through the streets, the border patrol waving as they crossed over into the hybrid sector. His eyes glazed over as they passed shabby shops and dingy front yards. It never ceased to amaze him, this prosaic need to emulate the humans. He blamed the giant TV screens that played human propaganda. Just as Hesse wanted, it indoctrinated the leaderless hybrids into thinking this small, scrabbling existence was the proper one. He flicked his cigarette out the open window. He was an apex predator, kept locked in a cage. He didn’t need a garden or to eke out a living selling third grade shit the humans sold them through the Wall. He needed to live his life red in tooth and claw.
The truck rolled up to the Crèche, Janice leaning over to speak into the intercom to announce who they were. It gleamed, shining perfectly unmarred against the grungy exterior of the Crèche outer wall. What Hesse did not want destroyed remained impervious. Janice was given the go-ahead and the great gates swung open.
“You’re late.”
Rohan rolled his eyes as he got out of the truck but had a smooth expression of polite solicitude in place by the time he faced the hero of the Revolution. Hesse stood there, well outside the reach of his no doubt impressively armed guards, tapping his well-made leather shoes.
“Apologies, we had some difficulties with one of our ‘charges’, but we have almost twenty girls for that little baby mill of yours.” Rohan took the clipboard from Janice and handed it over. “You’ve got the serial numbers and details of each girl and that of the suspected father.”
“Suspected?” Rohan watched the man’s famous brown eyes narrow.
“Sorry, Charles, but I stop short of telling the men where their dicks need to go. Probably shouldn’t look the baby gift horse in the mouth,” the king jerked his head in the direction of the now groggy women being unloaded and pushed towards Hesse’s security team. He smirked when he saw the heavily armed humans shuffle away from them.
Hesse ripped the clipboard from his hands and then motioned for one of his men to come forward. He did, placing a briefcase right next to Hesse’s leg but not coming any closer. Hesse sighed and then held out the bag for the king. “Let’s not pretend this little arrangement isn’t mutually beneficial. You get new recruits from the human children born of these women and then compliant bed partners and food sources from the albino ones.” Hesse reached inside his double-breasted jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “These are the next crosses we want to trial.”
Rohan flicked through the papers, unsurprised to see some of his top men on the roster. “This one will be a problem. She doesn’t play at the Palace.”
Hesse glanced at the name on the list, more focussed on the stats beside the name. “And when has the wants or needs of an albino ever stood in your way? Are you getting soft in your old age, Rohan?”
“No more than you are, Charles. Two of my lieutenants have been sniffing around her since the Crèche days. I’ll see if I can give them a shove in the right direction.”
“Do that. I’ll see you again next month.”
Rohan waited until they were back in the shed to divvy up the money. He knew he had to pay them promptly, unlike his better employees. That which allowed them to manhandle drugged pregnant women also made them unreliable when rewards weren’t immediate and generous. He made it clear he kept none of the money himself. Despite Fletcher’s theatrics, he was a benevolent ruler. He gave the biggest wad to Janice, who accepted it without a word, tucking it into her jacket before driving him back to the Palace.
5
Lethe
Lethe’s flat
Hybrid Sector
The Quarter
“Morning, did you sleep well?” I emerged out of my room to see a tidy flat and Marley dressed in clean clothes, his hair slicked back from his face. He’d even showered. I looked him over warily, looking for signs of how he’d done it. If he was gaunt last night, now he was positively cadaverous. The bones stabbed through his skin, all too clear in their shapes.
“You persuaded yourself,” I said, a sinking feeling settling in my gut.
“Have to be neat and tidy for Outreach. Have to look respectable.”
“Marley, they’re going to take one look at you and see you’re in a bad way...”
“Yes, they will, because I am.” He looked at me and despite the horror of his face, for a moment in those pale blue eyes, I could see the shadow of my brother looking back at me. “Perhaps they’ll give me the palliative dosage.” I bit back my reply. They gave higher doses to those whites who were in the process of dying. The drug tended to burn us up and when we started to flicker, they gave us the final tool to snuff us out. He seemed calm about the idea, his hands loosely sitting in his lap. “You have to let me go, love someone more deserving. I know I nearly cost you this place, I jeopardise your life. You should be free.”
I spent most of my days envying the freedoms of others. I wanted to be able to roam the Quarter unmolested like the boys, be able to fight my way out of anything like wolves, be able to conjure the fantastic like the witches. Every time I went to HQ, I imagined the freedom of living on the other side, of being able to get in a car and leave the city. But this, the potential of finally being alone, hung over me like a dense cloud that had me struggling to breathe. From my very first memory, Marley was there. The boys confided later that they thought Marley had coerced me from a young age to love him. It didn't matter. I knew from books an
d TV that most humans had a bunch of people obligated to love and care for them that were called family and Marley was mine. When I considered the reality of it, the world seemed like a very big empty space without him.
“We should go,” he said. “We should arrive right on time. I don't have that much to burn to get through this. I’ll need your help walking there as it is.” I was saved from answering by a knock on the door and when I opened it, the boys were there.
“We’ll take you,” Bennett said. “He won’t make it without a ride.” I just nodded. Watching his shaky attempt to get to his feet, I could see the truth in it.
“I’ll just get my jacket,” I said. Gavin shrugged off his and passed it to me. I pulled it on, the toasty absorbed body heat welcome on my cold skin. I hooked my thumbs in the long sleeves of my shirt, I always made sure I was covered up for Outreach and grabbed my keys. We made our way down the stairs, Bennett carrying Marley. He was deposited gingerly into the car and then off we went.
Outreach was a program they’d never run with other anomalous. We were the only ones weak enough for them to consider bringing into a huge room built inside the Wall. In theory, if you could fight your way past the lines of blooded soldiers, you’d be free and clear and in Meridian City. “Retinal identification,” the soldier asked as we walked towards the door. His opaque green LED visor peered at us, the ticking of his blood pump a little background music for the process. “Lethe Quinn, identified, you can go in. Marley Quinn, identified, you can go in.”
The boys sat leaning on the car, I looked back at them until the spiral entrance closed back up again. A blast of air let us know the inspection process was starting. “Weapons, nil,” an electric voice said. I’d left my pocket knife back in the car, and Marley had never bothered with physical weapons.
The next airlock opened. We went in and were scanned again, “No altered states detected.” I chuckled at that. I think that scan was more for show, Marley had used persuasion in the airlock more than once. “Proceed to Outreach. You have been assigned O’Reilly and Miles. Proceed to table 5.”
“O’Reilly? He’s always good for a touch,” my brother said with a wolfish grin. “Let’s go, it’s score time.”
I let him steer me towards table 5, his hand curiously steady now. The bright electric lights momentarily blinded me as we walked, but sure enough, there was one of the orderlies we’d seen since we were kids. “A rookie too! You take the old man, I’ll take the newbie,” Marley said.
“A newbie will be primed to the gills with repellent…” I warned but he didn’t care. He looked down at me for a moment, that burning grin even brighter than the incandescent light glaring down at us from the ceiling. There he was, my beautiful brother. It pained me to see the fierce smile on his skull-like face, but it’d been so long since I’d seen it. I’d take it in whatever form I could get it.
When we were young he’d been irrepressible, unable to be contained by anything but the fucking Wall. He’d careened through the Quarter like a whirlwind, never buying into the bullshit roles we were supposed to observe as whites.
“I love that you think that is enough to stop me,” he said and strode across the floor, dragging me behind him.
We arrived abruptly in front of O’Reilly and his colleague’s tables. Marley gave me a little shove when I didn’t immediately take a seat. I stumbled into the back of it, managing to stop myself from falling over as he let me go by pulling it out and sitting down hard on the chair. O’Reilly barely noticed. He had my file out, flicking through the pages with a cursory glance before grabbing a new report form, always in triplicate, and looking up at me expectantly.
“You reported to Outreach a week ago?” he said, peering over the top of his glasses.
“Yes, to you,” I replied, leaning back and crossing my arms across my chest.
“So you did.” He gave my file a perfunctory glance which would have told him nothing. He didn’t need to; he didn’t give a shit enough to actually read it. “So, what’s been happening for the last few days?” He flicked the report form pages over until he got to the checklist, “Any headaches, nose bleeds, visual disturbances or nausea…”
“None.”
He ticked off several of the boxes on the sheet, barely looking at them, “How’s the skin pigmentation thing?” I jerked my sleeves down over my hands which caught his eyes. He looked down at my fingers, “Any pretty lights happening?”
“No.”
“Pretty lights?” his colleague said, peering over at me.
“Luminous pigmentation, all over her skin. Quite lovely when she was a little thing.” He grabbed my hand and jerked my sleeve back. “You see the flat spots? Each one flares brightly as a candle. We had some hopes there for a while, but it turned out to be nothing.”
The new orderly didn’t look reassured at all, his eyes shifting from me to Marley with a familiar expression. My brother’s smile broadened a little, wide with just a touch of sheepishness. That would be deliberate, all of it would be. To lull the guy with his button-down shirt and neatly combed hair, a nice counterpoint to O’Reilly’s grey shabbiness. Lull him into thinking we were just naughty kids who needed their medication, lots of their medication, to stop us becoming some sort of freaky, walking, talking light show. I’m not sure if it worked, he bent his head over the form so it was hard to tell what he was thinking. I pulled my sleeve back down over my hand and refocussed on O’Reilly.
He was ticking off most of the checklist for me. He knew what I manifested and what I didn’t. Well, he knew what I kept telling him. I fiddled with the cuff of my sleeve as he ticked away, filling in one side of the form and flicking over to the next as I listened to Marley’s orderly painstakingly go through each question. I looked down the row and around the hall as O’Reilly worked. He’d let me know when he wanted my input, I just had to sit here until he got to it.
I looked at all the other albinos, sitting down, diligently answering questions before being dismissed with different sized bags of yellow powder in tow. There was a lot more now that the doors had opened. Others waited in neat lines in front of their usual orderly despite the fact there were others sitting at tables with no one to deal with. We liked repetition, familiarity, relationships we were used to, even if they weren’t particularly helpful ones. New was scary, dangerous. Or just tedious dealing with someone who wanted to review our case just to make sure no one has missed anything, to make sure our dosage was right, our symptoms weren’t relapsing.
“Your dosage seems very high,” the new orderly said, peering at Marley with a suspicious squint.
His smile didn’t falter, well, not to the average person’s perspective. I’d known Marley a long time, I knew where the small signs where. He usually had a lot of success with new orderlies, they were fresh and still susceptible to impression, they hadn’t degenerated into a protective apathy like O’Reilly here.
“I’ve been on it for a long time,” Marley replied, voice a perfect pitched calm. “I’ve built up a tolerance.”
“Tolerance? Perhaps we should be looking at an amplifier, rather than higher doses. If we give you much more, we run the risk of a fatality.”
“Do you think avoiding a fatality is really an issue right now?” he said. The orderly seemed to see Marley for the first time, his eyes taking in the ragged hair and skeletal face, the red-tipped fingers with broken skin on the knuckles, the steady jerk of his knee. “You’re thinking palliative right now. End of life, a humane death.”
“Marley,” I said as the echo crept back into his voice.
O’Reilly looked up finally and over at the two of them with a frown. “Don’t fuck about with amplifiers with these little pricks. They’re likely to metabolise it completely differently and mutate or something.” He jerked Marley’s file away from the orderly and scanned the pages within until he found his dosage record. He punched the latest number with a thick finger, “Says here 700 grams---“
“That’s insanely high!”
“And they need to be insanely high, after what we did to them,” O’Reilly dug through the other orderly’s dispensary bag, pulling out one fat yellow packet and dropping it with a thud onto the table before looking for another. “You’ve only got 500-gram bags. You need to divvy them up into smaller doses before you get to Outreach.” O’Reilly tossed the second 500-gram bag in his palm, looking from the orderly to Marley and back again. “Just give him the kilo—” The orderly spluttered but O’Reilly ignored him. “Give him the kilo and write it up on his dosage record. If he’s stupid enough to shoot the lot up in one go, no one’s going to complain. Another dead white. Look at him, he’s one foot in the grave as it is. You won’t see him next week, mark my words.”
The orderly was going to argue, I could see it, his chest was puffing out, his face starting to redden as he worked himself up to anger. “You don’t get it; the little fuck could probably ‘persuade’ you to give him your whole dispensary if he was in the mood. And that’s when he’s stoned out of his mind on a regular basis.” O’Reilly shot Marley a look and his smile widened, this time with a glitter that was much more genuine. “Take the path of least resistance,” O’Reilly said in disgust as he shoved the second bag across the table at Marley, “You won’t stay long in this job if you don’t. Now you.” He looked up as Marley got to his feet, “Don’t just piss off with your haul. Have a seat at the front, there’s a talk you need to hear before you leave.”
“On more ways to be a constructive member of society? Seriously, I’ve heard them all,” Marley tucked the bags into his jacket pockets with a smirk.
“No, this one’s from our lord and master. Non-attendance could find you in much bigger trouble than someone experimenting with amplifiers on you.”
The social mask that both of us, that all of us maintained in the outside world, dropped for a moment. Marley’s smile didn’t falter, it evaporated. I looked at him and he looked at me. “Hesse…” I don’t know which of us said it, but the name came out as it always did, in a hiss.