by A K Blake
“I’ll be back in three minutes. You’d better have found something halfway practical in those suitcases of yours by then, or you’re going naked for the night.”
As Citra’s tone implied, finding something that was not silken, gauzy, or studded with glittering stones was no small feat. It was hard to imagine a purpose for any of it. Nevertheless, by the time she returned, Iona was doggedly shrugging on the plainest outfit she could find. Kaius was with her this time, and neither of them looked happy.
“Kaius, get her bags.”
He turned his head sharply, as if he would argue, then sullenly glinted past the door. Iona felt a rush of air, and then he was once again outside, the handle to a suitcase in each hand. She noticed a shiny new scar on his arm and realized with a start that it was the cut from the night before. At that rate, it would be healed without a trace in a matter of days. So, here was a gem of truth in all the tall tales. Remembering Jedrick, remembering the way he fell apart at the end, she couldn’t help a sudden stab of fury.
“This way.”
Citra marched her along like a prisoner, constantly prodding from behind as they wound through the white halls. Iona much preferred Kaius’ method of leading. Eventually, they reached a massive room, filled with sleek aircrafts. Citra began shoving more insistently as Iona slowed to admire their construction. They stopped in front of one of the smaller planes, and Kaius joined the throng of passengers waiting to deposit their bags into the cargo bay as Iona and Citra boarded the plane. The air inside the cabin was muggy and had a stale quality to it. If Citra felt any awkwardness or compulsion to make small talk, it didn’t show. She stared straight ahead; Iona might as well not have existed.
The longer they sat, the more Iona began to consider that in several minutes she would be high above the earth in a two-ton metal ship. Best case scenario, she would arrive in an unknown place to be dropped off with even stranger strangers. There had been so much going on the night before, with all the stops and the outburst in the shower, that she’d had little time to analyze her decision. Now she began to feel she was being afforded too much downtime. Doubt began to creep in. For all she knew, the Queen would suck her dry in an instant, shove her dry husk of a body into the garbage like an empty bottle. What if she were expected to perform sexual services as well? Or, perhaps most frightening, what if she was deemed unfit and turned back over to her “benefactors”? What would the Progressives do with her then?
She felt something warm and wet slide down the side of her face. Was it really hot enough to be sweating? Her mind began to cycle on its own, flashing between countless future possibilities, each worse than the one before it, until she felt light-headed. Closing her eyes, Iona leaned back against the cushioned seat.
“You alright there? You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
She would not have thought Kaius' voice soothing, but as she opened her eyes to see his face, she felt an unexpected rush of relief.
“No, I’m not...afraid of heights.”
His smile deepened, and she noticed it was a little crooked beneath his bright, black eyes. Despite his toothy canines, it struck her that his face was pleasant, in a pointy, feline sort of way.
“Don’t worry, you’ll love Callidus. It’s a great city. Wait until you see the skyline, all the buildings and everything. The palace is massive, up on this big hill. And at night, when it’s all lit up...well, it’s pretty incredible. It’s got grit, that’s what I always say.”
She felt suddenly as if she could picture it, delicate spires and hulking monuments reaching toward the sky. The watchdog castle upon the mount, majestic and ancient in its authority. Then the captain made an announcement, and Kaius turned back toward the front, putting on his seatbelt. He settled back against the chair, calling over his shoulder, “Sit tight. We’ll be there before you know it.”
Part II
Chapter 4
It was the early twilight when they came for Luca’s master.
Luca watched his father open the door, servile and unsuspecting, even when a group of them fanned throughout the house in a clearly practiced manner. The vampires wore dark, loose suits that hung strangely on them, bulky shapes rippling to the surface as they walked. They wore no badges or pins, but something about their manner and the authority with which they carried themselves left no doubt they were from the Queen.
Seeing their dark pupils and grim faces, Luca had the sudden urge to crawl into the antique bureau in the side parlor and hide until they’d left. Yet, he knew better. Mother said he was getting too old for such things. It was only a few years now until his first serving apprenticeship, and then one it day it might be him opening the door.
One of the vampires approached his father.
“Is the Architect in?”
“No, sir. What is it I can help you with, sir?”
“Just want to take a look around, that’s all.”
Luca’s father was never a particularly brave man. Usually the The Chief of House would have handled such a situation, but she was bedridden. Luca was sure she would not have let the strange vampires walk about like this, picking things up with their gloved hands, running their scanners over everything.
Luca’s master, Tarquinnius Prodite VII, was proud of the house, which had been passed down by his grandmother, and whose great-grandfather had commissioned it to be built. It was not large, at least when compared with the new money mansions of New Gamen, but it was well situated on a ridge overlooking Callidus and lovingly kept up to date. The rising moon could be seen from the front veranda, illuminating rolling hills and wisps of fog that clung to the sharp grass. The skyline of Callidus was visible through the great bay windows in the rear, and the foundations were said to be as old as the capital itself.
One of the intruders stooped to examine the toy Luca was holding. Her fangs were mostly retracted, but the tips of her canines were still visible. She had a slightly crooked nose, though her eyes, even with their hugely dilated pupils, were surprisingly warm.
“What’s that you’ve got there?”
Luca stopped playing with it. It was a creation of his master’s, a metal ball indented with intricate grooves and runes. When he threw it, the ball hurtled toward the wall or the floor but stopped just before hitting the surface, bouncing in the air until it came to rest at a hover. Some of the shapes formed by the carvings could be depressed, like buttons, and he could turn pieces of it to and fro, as if it were a puzzle. Ever since he had seen it, he had been obsessed.
Although it was not for him, Tarquinnius sometimes let him play with it, though always under his supervision. Luca had not been able to ask him for permission that twilight, but he had thought surely he would not mind. Now, however, he had the nagging feeling he should have left it where it belonged, resting in the air atop the little podium on his master’s work bench.
“Give us a look.”
Reluctantly Luca demonstrated its special properties, throwing it at the ancient marble floor. She took it from where it skidded and came to hover above the plush runner rug, turning it over in her fingers. As she did so, her elbow tugged at the cloth on one side of her body, and Luca caught a glimpse of a the kinetic-powered handgun at her hip, its bulbous tip swollen and deadly. He received the ball back into his hands limply, eyes still on the gun. The female vampire rose and walked away.
They didn’t have to wait long. Tarquinnius seemed unsurprised, upon returning from his early twilight run, to find a squadron of heavily armed royal police surrounding his front door, their guns and shocksticks drawn. He was calm, picking up the towel Luca’s father had laid out for him in the foyer and drying his hair, the roots of his tightly wound curls like steel springs against his skin. When he smiled, though, Luca could see that his fangs were extended.
Luca shrunk back into the corner, clutching the ball behind his back where it would not be seen, his grasp so tight the grooves bit into his palms. The only time he had seen his master this angry was when the new boy spill
ed wine in his study, narrowly missing the tower of one of his newest computers. He had leapt to his feet, pinning the boy to the wall by his throat, before throwing him out of the room one-handed. The boy hid in the kitchen for several months after.
The police, however, seemed less impressed.
“Face the door and kneel. Place your hands behind your back.”
“What’s this now?”
“Tarquinnius Prodite the VII, you are charged with treason for your intentional revelation of highly confidential information at great detriment to the health of the nation and personal offense to Her Majesty. You are hereby—"
“Traitor?” Tarquinnius removed the towel from around his neck, flinging it to the ground with such force that it sounded like a gunshot. “I had expected a witch hunt, but you call me traitor? Who else could have built even a pale shadow of what I have created for this country? I have taken it from the dark ages into the future, and now Basilla presumes to tell me what I can and cannot do with my work? She oversteps herself. This is not the olden days, she is not absolute in her power.”
He raised a hand from his side in a gesture that was never completed. The female who had spoken with Luca earlier twitched slightly from the recoil as a shot of pure energy left her gun, sending Luca’s master into a set of swift convulsions before he collapsed on the ground. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body went limp. The police did not hesitate, turning him over expertly, like packers handling a supply sack. They shackled his hands and placed him on a stretcher, his spare frame barely making an indent in the fabric as they pushed it out the door.
The female officer was the last to leave, turning back toward Luca’s father briefly.
“Your employer is going to jail for a sentence that will no doubt last several times your lifespan. If it were me in your position, I’d recoup my last few paychecks by whatever means are at hand. Then I would see to it that I am nowhere near this place when we return.”
Pausing a moment to let her words sink in, she nodded once to Luca in a grave way, as if he were grown, and disappeared, the ornamental door slamming behind her. Luca’s father rushed to lock it, as if that would stop them should they choose to re-enter. He left the room at a hurried shuffle. Luca wondered if he was going to hide or if he would tell the others right away.
Looking down at his hands, he realized he had been nervously twisting and pressing on the ball. With one final twist, however, something was unlocked, and the sphere broke in two. Each hemisphere extended outward on little metal struts. Inside was a tiny bundle of chips and wires. It spoke.
“Password.”
The voice had a tinny, automated quality to it. Luca thought hard for a few seconds.
“Amiana.”
It was a name he had heard only in whispered conversations, always out of range of his master’s hearing. It belonged to the woman in the painting above the mantel in the side parlour that no one used, the one that was only entered once a month when the servants went in to dust.
“Does not match records. Nightly attempts exceeded.”
The sphere drew itself together again, whirring as it made itself whole and turning the slices on the outside in newly randomized directions. When it stilled, it appeared as solid and unassuming as before.
Luca panicked, turning it every which way, trying to crack the puzzle again and force it to reveal its secret, but even his best efforts made no visible impression. Eventually he gave up, hearing his father calling him from the room over. Luca stuffed the sphere back into his pocket, though he couldn’t help reaching down to trace the ridges and whorls as he walked, already thinking of his next attempt.
***
“Password.”
In Luca’s dreams each night, he unlocked the sphere and something incredible, cataclysmic even, occurred. It turned into a giant robot he controlled from the inside, and he stomped throughout the city. It revealed a bank account with billions of cc’s that made him the richest being in the country. It gave him special powers. It revealed to him powerful secrets. It made him the King, and he ruled alone.
It had been nearly ten years since the night they’d fled his master’s house, belongings slung haphazardly into any bags they could find, valuables that wouldn’t be too noticeable, tucked away for selling on the black market. Over the years much had changed, yet the sphere had remained the same, ever alluring, ever impenetrable.
Today his dreams were invaded by a crisp, authoritative voice as the news began playing automatically, an alarm set to wake him up.
“At the Civic Council meeting last night, Representative Oija urged the Queen to restrict the number of fireworks used in the quincentennial jubilee festivities in order to prevent possible harm to bats. Representative Adamus agreed that the fireworks should be kept to a minimum, in a surprising show of solidarity with the Munificent Party Rep. However, he cited a focus on more conservative spending as his reasoning, saying, quote, ‘If things turn nasty with the Ithscans, it won’t be me you cry to when there isn’t money for more exosuits.’ In other news, the rails in New Gamen have been temporarily shut down for security measures in sectors...”
Luca lay in bed with his eyes closed, willing himself out of bed. Moonlight from the single window in his tiny apartment played like a shadow scene across his eyelids. The Civic Council was a joke. Queen Basilla never listened to them anyway. Not that he blamed her, they were a bunch of grandstanding prima donnas. All they cared about was staying in the news.
He groaned dramatically, rolling to one side of the mattress and taking all the covers with him as the news continued playing.
“Tonight may be a long one for the country’s human residents, as it is the last night to pay the new blood tax levied after the surprise failure of the synthetic blood compound previously dispensed by the ARGAS system. Human citizens may fulfil the levy up to a month after tonight but will face a stiff late fine of 250 cc’s.”
Luca was immediately out of bed, fumbling with his spore to rewind what the female vampire anchor just said. He thought he had at least another week.
“..fine of 250 cc’s.”
That was money he didn’t have. Cursing, Luca dropped his spore onto the bed, rushing through a shower and deadly quick shave.
He stopped on his way out the door out of habit, taking the sphere from its biolocked safe beside his bed. The safe was one of the most expensive things he had ever invested in, built into the wall completely flush, so that it was invisible until he touched the hidden digipad. Taking the sphere out, he twisted it in a complicated combination with the practiced ease of muscle memory. It opened to reveal the now familiar bundle of chips and wires as a tinny voice chirped from inside.
“Password.”
“Synthetic.”
“Does not match records. Nightly attempts exceeded.”
But Luca was already placing it back into the safe as it drew itself back together. He had long since ceased to hold his breath. He added “synthetic” to the list of attempted words on his spore as he half-jogged to catch the rail to the Department of Blood Dispensary.
It was not until several months after that fateful night when Tarquinnius was arrested that Luca again stumbled across the correct sequence of motions to unlock the sphere. He had guessed “Lucaris” that time, foolishly hoping his own name would be the password. But this had been incorrect, and the sphere had once again reset.
After much trial and error, he was eventually able to commit to memory the complex pattern of movements required to unlock the sphere at will. He learned at this point that it would not open more than once in a night, no matter how sure he was that he had entered the pattern correctly.
During that time, he and his parents relocated. His mother—a compact, surprisingly strong woman of few words—had found work as a maid for another well-off vampire family, this time in a gated suburb outside New Gamen. His father picked up odd jobs for a while before finally achieving his life-long dream of becoming a doorman. Luca tried various
types of words during their first year there, sometimes things that seemed personal to his master, other times more general knowledge. Nothing worked. It was always the same: his word failed to match the password, and the sphere withdrew itself until the next night.
As the months wore on, he began to worry that he was retracing old ground, using words he had already tried. He started a list, handwritten in a notebook and then later transferred it to his spore, a list which grew and grew.
As he got older, he began to wonder whether it was smart to keep the sphere. Knowing it was not his, he had always instinctively hidden it from his parents. However, it had not occurred to him that it might be evidence, that by keeping it from the police he might be doing something illegal. His master had seemed unsurprised to find armed vampires at his door that night, and his arrest has been kept quiet in the news. Luca had never found out what prompted his incarceration. Was it possible the police had not found what they were looking for? What if this thing that he had thought was simply a puzzle, a fun toy to test the mind, could in fact be what they had been searching for? Shortly after his fifteenth birthday, Luca seriously considered burying the sphere under the hedge maze that was being erected near the big house, but couldn’t bring himself to give up on the mystery.
The next year he had moved to the city, because the space he shared with his parents suddenly seemed small and constricting. His father yelled for a week when he told him, incensed that Luca would refuse to join the noble family tradition of licking the boots of his betters. But city life suited him, or rather, he managed. Living out of a home for boys, he’d taken odd jobs and kitchen work to scrape out a living and avoid the utter humiliation of giving up and returning home. Yet it was far from a complete triumph, and in the moments when despair threatened to swallow him under, the sphere became a sort of token of another life, a potential gateway to something better.
Finally he saved up enough to rent his own apartment, a small affair with a distinct lack of decorations, but it was his. There were few people invited over, and he mostly kept to himself, slavishly saving all his money. For what purpose, he wasn’t sure. Luca just had a feeling, as he had his entire life, that whatever was in the sphere was somehow connected to his destiny. He wanted to be ready, able to pick up and go at a moments notice if it came to that, whenever he found out what it was.