Deadwire

by A K Blake

  “It seems you’re both settling in well. Lux, you have some experience with dignitaries if I remember correctly. Aren’t you related to Vika Uyte? Sisters or something.”

  “Cousins, yes. When she was companioned to Representative Cawvas, she sometimes let me tag along with her.”

  “That’s great, always good to have a firsthand look. Then you know what to shoot for. And Iona, everything starting off right?”

  “It’s fine. Do you know when the Queen will arrive?”

  “Oh, she probably won’t come tonight. She rarely attends these sorts of events, saves her appearances for the really splashy parties. They usually send around a notice beforehand. PR always wants us at our most photoready. Don’t worry, the Queen’s assistant will likely message when she wants to see you.”

  “Should I offer services to other customers then?”

  “Dieda, no! You’re a companion, that means exclusive. It’s all part of the mystique, being untouchable. Just relax, enjoy the party.”

  Obrax clapped her on the arm and nodded at Lux before moving on. Unsurprisingly, Lux was quite popular that night, even turning away guests toward the end when her veinguard limit was reached. Several vampires approached Iona as well, but when they saw the crown on her guard they turned away at the last second. She felt an illogical sort of pride begin to well up. She was not to be drank from. She was the Queen’s.

  The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and her single customer never showed.

  ***

  After a few nights, the parties began to fall into a sort of routine. Iona and Lux managed to find a workable beauty regimen for her, and the act of mingling with a sea of vampires and human strangers became slightly less difficult. But the parties quickly became secondary, a sometimes pleasant distraction that filled time when she could otherwise be hacking.

  Iona had sent few versions of her baited messages out to family members and known friends of Eris, but so far whoever cleaned up the Representative’s messes did a damn good job. She’d also messaged a few lower tier members of his office and campaign staff, but still hadn’t heard anything. That had been more than two nights previous, and she was getting frustrated, refreshing her messages at every opportunity. Luckily, there was always Hann, ready to pick a fight and provide a more or less welcome distraction.

  “So I hear you’re working for the Progressives. That why you got this cushy job?”

  “One of the reasons.”

  “Hmph. Well then does that mean you support their politics?”

  “I’m not really familiar with them.”

  This wasn’t exactly true, but she saw no reason to relay her daytime explorations to Hann.

  “What? Not familiar—"

  Lux butted in, drifting over in a gauzy, clinging dress that left little to the imagination.

  “The Progressives are what we like to affectionately refer to as ‘the crazies.’ Hyper religious, conservative nut jobs. Isn’t that right, Hann?”

  “Oh, and I suppose you think the Munificents are so much better? Too bad they’re all talk and no action.”

  “Well at least they want to better human rights instead of turning us into some kind of mutant monsters. Maybe they could get something done if they got a little more support.”

  Hann rolled his eyes. “Sure, if only more humans supported them, that would change everybody’s minds.”

  Privately, Iona thought he had a point, not that she would admit it aloud. Besides, it was fun watching him and Lux go at it. They were normally so in control.

  “Well at least the Munificents aren’t profiting off of fear mongering! The only reason the Progressives are gaining ground is because they’ve got everybody scared to death about the war.”

  Iona had read about this. Recently the Ithscans had demanded the return of a patch of Laemian land west of the Vemelock River. Considered an insignificant casualty of war millennia ago, it had since become commercially important as a trade route to other countries, and they wanted it back.

  “The Progressives love this sort of thing. They couldn’t care less if they cause unnecessary violence, because it plays right into their rhetoric.”

  “Oh, so you think the fact that a war is coming isn’t a good reason to consider all options?”

  “All options? Doing experiments on innocent humans for no reason is not an ‘option.’ It’s insane. It’s back to the Dark Times.”

  “Not if it works. Can you imagine the social upheaval it would cause if humans could just, poof, turn into vampires and move all the way up the social ladder?”

  “Don’t be thick. Even if that idea wasn’t completely crazy, you think the vamps are would just welcome us with open arms if we were ‘just like them’? There’s a brand new batch of vampires now, and they’re just going to magically start treating us like equals? No way. All that would do is make a middle class of freakshow vamp-humans in an even worse spot than they were in before.”

  “No, think about it! Right now, they treat us as inferiors, but why shouldn’t they? We’re weak, we’re slow, we don’t have the memories they have, and we live a tenth of the time. What would you call something like that, no matter how much you liked it? A pet. That’s what you’d call it. I’ll bet you have a dog at home. You love it, you think it’s cute, but you’re not about to go campaigning for its rights to equal wages.”

  “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you know what I’m saying. But if we could live as long as them, be their equals in every way, why wouldn’t they embrace us? Especially if we started out as heros, winning the war for them? We’d be a brand new batch of soldiers. They wouldn’t have to send their sons and daughters. We’d save their asses, and they’d be grateful to us.”

  Hann looked angry, but for the first time since Iona had met him, he also looked excited about something. His eyes shone, and his entire body was drawn taut. Lux was the opposite, struggling to maintain a nonchalant expression, even as her cheeks grew pink.

  “So you’re saying this isn’t all just posturing so that deManthus can get a spot in the Privy Council?”

  “Who cares about the Privy Council? They’re just Basilla’s lackeys anyway, yes men who tell her whatever she wants to hear. Nobody cares what they think. He’s already on the Civic Council, you know, the one that’s actually elected, the one where everything that’s said actually gets reported to the public.”

  Hann looked from face to face, as if searching for something, but apparently he didn’t find it. In an instant, everything changed. The energy fled out of him, and he slumped down against the bar again with his characteristic scowl. He flicked his hand dismissively in Lux’s direction.

  “Whatever, I don’t know why I bother. Obviously you’re a Munificent, through and through. Sure, all that talk about human rights is great, except that they never actually do anything about it.”

  “Like I said, maybe if they got a little more support.”

  Again he rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  After that they both made a show of getting lost in their work, Lux deep in conversation with the honey-haired vampire from the first night, Hann chatting up a rich duchess who seemed to have taken an interest. Realizing her presence was not needed and would not be missed, Iona snuck away to an empty corridor for a moment to breathe. The other givers certainly seemed to thrive off the spotlight. But for Iona, all the people, the vampires, the lights, the talk, it grew overwhelming. Leaning back against one of the marble walls in the calm of the darkened corridor, she closed her eyes.

  Unbidden, Jedrick’s face swam into view. It felt like years since she’d thought of him, and the realization left a misplaced feeling of guilt in her chest. It was his concerned face, the one he got when he thought she was doing something stupid, his green eyes wide beneath that shock of red hair, his forehead scrunched into premature wrinkles. She opened her eyes, trying to clear him from her mind. Walking down the hall, she moved defiantly further from the banquet rather th
an back toward it, until she found something else to occupy her mind. It was a picture of the Queen.

  Iona had passed several in her time in the palace, but none quite so striking. The Prince and his father were characteristically absent from the photo. It had not escaped Iona’s notice that they were left out of nearly all of the royal portrait, and she’d quickly gathered that Basilla’s husband in particular was not well liked. People always found politically correct reasons for it, but polite semantics couldn’t hide the common racism underneath.

  I have no issue with his being Hanishite, I just think he ought to adapt better to our culture.

  It’s ridiculous that he still has an accent after almost two hundred years in our country.

  What a shame he’s so difficult to photograph well with his complexion.

  The Prince was not often discussed, which seemed strange, considering she would have thought him the most eligible bachelor in the country.

  The picture was a broad, panoramic composition of a richly decorated office that spanned the wall from floor to ceiling. In it, the Queen leaned back in a half seated position against the top of a heavy wooden desk, the kind with clawed feet and brass handles. She wore a navy suit over a cream blouse and looked up toward the glow of an expansive skylight, the edge of which was just visible in the top of the photo.

  It was a romantic setup, and Basilla’s face should have been soft and pensive, bathed in moonlight as it was. But far from appearing lost in her thoughts, there was an intensity and purpose to her expression that could not be missed, a tense, controlled musculature of the eyes and lips. Her face was framed by the signature gray bob she had worn for almost four centuries, blunt strands slicing down her cheeks and across her collarbones like a metal helm. It was a portrait, not of longing, but of mastery, of hungry ambition and assurance that it would be met. This was the woman she belonged to, and Iona realized suddenly that perhaps she should not be in such a great hurry to meet up.

  Shaking off a chill— it was cool in the darkened hall—she made her way back to the banquet.

  ***

  As dawn began to break, Iona and Lux walked drowsily back to their quarters. Now almost like a vampire herself, Iona cringed against the morning light, as the automatic blinds began to slowly draw over the skylights. Lux had worn her staggering heels the entire night but now walked barefoot, carrying them in one hand.

  “Lux, do you ever get tired of the parties?”

  “Everyone gets tired of the parties. It’s a job, you get used to it. Some nights are great, they make up for the other ones.”

  They reached the main giver hall, and Lux turned off toward her room.

  “Goodmorning, Io. Sleep well.”

  “Morning, Lux.”

  Iona made it into her own dorm and collapsed onto the bed. Checking her spore again, she saw a single, glowing notification. She opened the new message with baited breath.

  Your presence is required by Her Majesty Queen Basilla Sarton Forbaris deCarthe in the Lesser Hall tomorrow night (12-13-6051). Present yourself punctually at midnight in business casual attire. Contact your immediate supervisor with any questions.

  So, the time had come. Her audience with the Queen had arrived. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, but it was not entirely unwelcome. At least it would be over with. Despite the morning glow and the warmth of her balled up comforter, Iona found she had trouble getting warm.

  Chapter 9

  Iona woke to a hand behind her head, cradling the nape of her neck. Another arm curled around her stomach. In her confusion she thought for a moment it was Jedrick and leaned into the embrace. Then she felt the incredible heat coming off his skin, the adamantine strength in his grip. The smell of him was not right either. Jedrick smelled of oil and pine, but what she smelled now was something hot, a sickly artificial scent underneath. This was not Jedrick, it was not even human. Her head was turned away, so she that couldn’t see the intruder’s face, but still she knew. The thing that had crept through her door and snuck into her bed like a lover was a vampire.

  Opening her mouth, she sucked in air to scream, but his hand was over her lips in an instant. He was not rough, but the gentleness, the almost caressing nature of it frightened her more.

  “Shh, we don’t want to wake your neighbors.”

  He giggled softly, the motion shaking the bed as he pulled her tighter, and suddenly everything in Iona revolted.

  Turning as hard as she could toward the intruder, Iona saw his face even as she shoved him sideways all her strength. He moved a bit across the bed, but clearly more from surprise than her effort. Even in the dark of her daytime room she recognized him, the vampire Lux had been serving, the one with the honey curls.

  He stared into her eyes with a sort of wonder for a split second, before he flickered away to stand by the door. He staggered once, clearly drunk, before regaining the filter of disinterested courtesy she’d seen him previously employ.

  “I do apologize, fair...lady.” His eyes wandered over her as if realizing “fair” might be the wrong adjective for someone with skin like her’s, before ploughing ahead. “I appear to have entered the wrong room. My sincerest regret for,” here he hiccuped, “disturbing your slumber and or hiccup otherwise inconveniencing you.”

  He laughed abruptly again, half covering his mouth with his hand, before stifling the rest and giving her a quick, almost mocking bow. And then he was gone, the door sliding shut behind him, so swiftly he might have been just another nightmarish figment of her imagination. But Iona could still feel the weight of him against her back, the chill where there had momentarily been heat. It remained on her body like an imprint. Her heart beat loud belatedly. He had been there, and were it not for his own capricious decency, she didn’t want to think what might have happened.

  ***

  Sleep escaped her after that. She moved the desk, the only mobile piece of furniture in her room, in front of her door. She would have to be more vigilant about locking it from now on. Old habits died hard, and there had rarely been a need for locks in Aequus. Yet she knew that even the desk and the lock would do nothing if the vampire were to return with a purpose. The knowledge of her own helplessness in the face of creatures with such strength and speed, creatures that might harm her by pure accident and hardly think anything of it, set her whole body on edge. She tried turning the light back on, but this seemed to make it worse, throwing suspicious shadows across every corner.

  Eventually, she gave up. Leaving the light on, she dug out the pulsor knife from the desk drawer she had thrown it back into her first night and placed it on the bed, along with a mini repair kit she’d picked up from the jumbled mess of items lying around the giver quarters. While she appreciated that the former occupant of her room appeared to have had at least a rudimentary interest in hardware repair, Iona wished acutely that she had been able to bring her tools from the village with her. Over a lifetime, she had scavenged an impressive collection of tiny screwdrivers, some with magnetized tips, a large and small soldering iron, soldering wire, pliers, magnifying glasses, meter readers, and chips, cords, and boards of all sizes. What she had now was exactly three screwdrivers, a few mismatched screws, and a voltage reader. There was an indentation for pliers and a few other things in the kit, but they seemed to have disappeared.

  Remembering that Lux had used tweezers from the makeup bag provided by the Progressive’s in order to torture her by plucking out her eyebrow hairs, Iona rummaged through the bag to find them. They could work in place of pliers. There was also a horrifying mirror that had a light on it and blew up her flaws to monster-like magnification, which she decided would have to do in place of a real magnifying glass. She thought longingly of the all the junk strewn about the hallways outside and the further treasures they might hold, but she couldn’t bring herself leave the relative safety of her room. Putting her head down, she got to work.

  ***

  She reached a stopping point just as darkness began to fall. It was imp
ossible to tell from within her windowless room, but she knew it was night, because the background of her spore softened into a replication of a night sky. She had lost track of time, but the relief of being lost in her work was welcome. The knife was far from being finished. All she’d really accomplished was to get its guts out and get an understanding of what would be needed for the repair, but she was now confident it could be salvaged with the right equipment.

  She’d learned on the FreeNet that a pulsor knife was so named, because when in working order it encased the blade in what was basically a portable reflexor field, the field expanding outward in a sphere of energy around the blade to roughly one foot in diameter. The effect, were the blade inside a body cavity during activation, would be similar to that of a bomb going off, frying everything inside the range of the energy bubble.

  Iona did not have to use much imagination to picture it. She had seen the damage reflexor fields could do. Once, a boy from a neighboring village had been out hunting and had accidentally chased a six-point stag directly into the reflexor field they’d set up around Aequus. It had a physical fence as well, made of wood, that surrounded the inside and outside in order to prevent people from falling into the wall of energy it emitted. However, the stag was running full speed, several hundred pounds of muscle and flesh careening toward the village. When it encountered the wooden fence, it lept over it it stride, but then it hit the reflexor field, and it just stopped.

  It froze mid-gallop, back legs still off the ground. A shower of tiny sparks flickered near its head, as if it were wearing a veil of light. After a moment it fell backward, not like its legs had given out but like it was made of some solid material, like a statue being toppled.

  After some discussion with the other villagers, she had temporarily powered down the reflexor field, and the boy and some others from the village climbed in to dismantle and remove the body. The stag looked surprisingly normal on the outside, but when they skinned it, the tissue underneath was black like a piece of charred wood. They dumped it back into the woods, useless even for the vultures to eat.