Deadwire

by A K Blake

  Just as he was drafting a message to Luca, his mother arranged herself in the chair next to his, breaking his concentration..

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the help—you know I hate how free you are with them—but Auezal is on leave, because he’s developed a malignancy. He only has a year or so I’m afraid. It really is a bit of a nuisance, Vhed is not taking to doorman as well as I’d hoped.”

  Kaius stopped typing.

  “Auezal is dying? If it’s just a malignancy, he should have another couple centuries—well I guess decades—at least, shouldn’t he?”

  His mother made that face again, the one that meant she disliked the topic, her hands fussing over something on an end table that didn’t need to be straightened.

  “Well you know how these things are for humans. There’s no point insuring them with the best medication when it only gets them a few extra years. That’s no time at all for the cost.”

  “So you’re saying you won’t pay for it?”

  “I’m saying that I have generously given him paid leave to spend his last moments with his family! Don’t try to turn this around on me the way you always do, I’ve only just gotten back from a banquet to raise money for humans in the south that don't have shoes. You know very well I have always given to the humans, and I don’t at all appreciate that tone! There is a bigger picture here, I’d hoped your moving up in the Party meant you could see that.”

  And that was when it clicked. Kaius opened his mouth to say something sarcastic about his magnificent mother, the saint, when he realized he had all the leverage he needed. The best part too was that there was no guilty conscience required. Really, when he thought about it, he was doing Luca and his father a huge favor.

  Turning back to his spore, he updated his drafted message, changing the recipient from “Lucaris Vorbith” to “Cleric Ascara.”

  ***

  Luca found that things were a bit better after a day’s sleep. Something about waking up under the same roof with his parents made it feel a bit like home again, made them feel a bit like a family. This wasn’t to say he’d slept much, though. He’d been up most of the night researching his father’s condition. The outlook wasn’t good, even with the treatment they could now barely afford. Six months seemed like no time at all.

  His mother was up and cooking when he came into the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time she had made breakfast, and he wondered if it was for his benefit or his father’s. He sat down at the table, where Auezal was tilting his spore back and forth and looking down his nose through his glasses in order to make out what it said.

  “Did you see the news this morning?”

  “No, what happened?”

  “The Pallatons are making a move. Trying to get valgilso sauces banned by the neighborhood council.”

  “Well it does have some kind of endangered fish in it, right?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it! They know the Amicus family throws a winter banquet every year, and the featured dish is always a valgilso. They know it’s better than that over-salted minestrone they serve their at their winter banquet, so they’re trying to elbow out the competition!”

  He ought to have known it was local news. His father rarely bothered with the important things. It was all in-fighting and petty, rich people squabbles that got his blood boiling.

  “I guess things haven’t changed.”

  After pouring himself a fresh cup of vis, Luca picked up his spore to check the real news and was surprised to see a notification. He had a message. Mykal wasn’t normally awake this early in the night, but perhaps he’d stayed up late and sent it after Luca went to bed. Opening it, however, he saw that it wasn’t from Mykal. Instead, like the mysterious message he’d received a few weeks ago, it was from a temporary address.

  You need money. I need information.

  Character + translation = 250 cc’s per

  Terminal access logins + translation = 350,000 cc’s

  Leave word with the workman when you have something.

  The spore fell from Luca’s limp hands back onto the table. There was a funny sort of noise in his ears, like a ringing. He stared down at the message. 350,000 cc’s. That would pay for his father’s medical expenses and then some. The message was vague, but it was clear what they wanted. They wanted the programming language from his sphere, or from Tarquinnius’ sphere to be more accurate.

  The characters themselves would be easy enough to give up, assuming he was willing to break the law and help some unknown, shadowy entity gain access to the entire country’s computerized backbone. But even if he turned over all the characters he had, it would probably only get his father enough of the good stuff for a few extra months. No, if he really wanted to help get his father what he needed, Luca had to do something stupid. He had to hack the terminal at the arena.

  He was distracted all through the rest of breakfast and upset his parents by leaving earlier than he’d planned. Auezal broke into another fit on his way out, a twinge of pain crossing his face as he bent slightly at the waist, hand pressed against the inside of his hip. Luca’s heart convulsed at the sight, but witnessing his father’s distress only strengthened his resolve.

  He didn’t say anything to his parents about the message. He didn’t want to get their hopes up, and, anyway, he didn’t know how to explain himself. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to face their judgement, at least until he had something to show for his actions. Luca told himself his father was why he was doing something so foolish and risky, but he knew deep down that it was only a small part of the truth. The reality was that he’d been looking for an excuse to go back ever since he found the terminal, that it had always been only a matter of time.

  ***

  Luca passed along the outskirts of the Amicus garden on his way back to the train, a storm gathering in the dark sky. There was a cool, moist breeze that set him at ease, soothing his mental churning. The grass was soft beneath his feet, the leaves green, the air fresh. He should make it out to the country more.

  Like someone surfacing from underwater, his reverie was broken in waves by the sound of his own name, coming as if from a long way away. Luca stopped short and peered through the bushes. He heard it again, this time much closer, just on the other side of the leaves. There was a break in the hedge a few meters further, a sort of side door to the garden, and the speaker flickered into view. The garden was lit from within by lanterns that put out retractable solar panels during the day. Young Master Kaius stood with half his face in the light, his shadow dark and stretching long into the forest.

  “Master Kaius!”

  “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

  Luca was struck by how little he had changed. It was something that before would not have fazed him. It was, after all, the nature of vampires to stay forever as you left them. But now, with Mykal in the back of his mind, it niggled at him. He remember Kaius as a sort of older brother figure, immensely cool and irreverent, with a kind of class that could never be taught. Luca had looked up to him, wanted to grow up to be just like him.

  Yet now Luca himself was, in appearance and stage of life at least, nearly the same age. It felt strange to come face to face with him, still so much younger, so inexperienced, but wearing an older face like a mask. Stranger still was the realization that he desired him, couldn’t help but notice the fine breadth of his shoulders, the smooth planes of his chest. Something about it felt perverted, like a student lusting after his teacher. Were there humans who felt the same about Mykal? Did Mykal see him as Luca now saw himself?

  “You alright?”

  “What? Yes. Yeah, I’m just...it’s great to see you. When did you get back?”

  “Just passing through actually. On to better things, palace life!”

  “That’s great.”

  “What about you? Anything new in your life? I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

  “Oh yeah, that. It’s...there’s not much we can do I guess.”
/>
  “I’m sorry my family can’t help more, but, well, my mother is a real compassionless bitch when it comes right down to it.”

  “No, that’s ok. Actually, it’s all going to work out I think. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

  “Oh yeah? Well that’s great to hear.”

  “It is. Yeah, I think so.”

  ***

  The train ride home was less romantic, perhaps because the view leading up to the city was not as nice, or perhaps because when Luca had told Kaius he had a good feeling he had lied. There was hope now, it was true, but the feelings he had about his so-called plan were far from good.

  He was anxious the entire next night upon his return to work. Things were really gearing up for the jubilee, which was in little more than a week, and there was activity everywhere. He was paranoid, hearing his name in every snippet of conversation, feeling as if people were watching him when they couldn’t care about him less if they tried.

  Mykal, at least, seemed happy to see him, all traces of the irritation and resentment from their last night wiped from his face.

  “I brought you something.”

  “You did?”

  Luca felt suddenly guilt stricken. Technically he was the one who had recently been on a trip, shouldn’t it be him who had gotten Mykal a souvenir?

  “We had this special event tonight at work, and they hired a couple pastry chefs to make all kinds of fancy cakes and cookies and stuff. Well, not that many people showed up, and there were a ton of things leftover, so I sneaked us some!”

  Grinning like a child displaying a lopsided masterpiece, Mykal pulled a stack of dishware from where it had been hidden conspicuously behind his back. Inside, a bit squashed but not too much worse for wear, were an assortment of colorful baked goods, decked out in bright icings and metallic toppers. Luca’s guilt relaxed, giving way to a kind of warm appreciation that spread over him, momentarily erasing all worries about the sphere and the future. It was the little things, small gestures that added up. Taking the plastic mountain, he gingerly set it aside, so he could kiss Mykal on his eager, self-satisfied lips.

  ***

  They ate the cakes in bed later, not caring about the rainbow crumbs littering the sheets as they curled up together, bodies quiet and thrumming after an ardent welcome back. They were looking through Mykal’s spore, laughing at his fashion from previous decades as he regaled Luca with stories from his even more rebellious nights. Luca swiped across one of him in a particularly dramatic getup, all black clothing and long hair in his eyes, to reach a much older looking photo of Mykal with his arms around another vampire. They were wearing more clean cut clothing, like something he might have worn to service, but he looked happy, his smile wide and easy, his eyes upturned in dark half moons. The other vampire looked about the same age, not that it meant much in vampire years. He was handsome in the same athletic, burly sort of way as Mykal, though taller. Luca found himself suddenly jealous.

  “Who’s this guy? Should I be worried?”

  He poked Mykal playfully in the ribs with his elbow. He had expected joking protestation, but instead Mykal looked pained. His expression was somber and his gaze far away, as if seeing something else in the picture. After a moment, he shook his head softly.

  “Nah, don’t be worried. That’s my brother.”

  “Oh, sorry. Is everything alright between you two? Did you...have a falling out or something?”

  “No, we always got along great. It’s just...he’s actually, um, dead.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...I’m really sorry.”

  He smiled, a sad sort of smile that made Luca’s heart break.

  “It’s alright. He died doing something he believed in. He was a really good guy, a really good brother.”

  There didn’t seem to be words. Taking his hand, Luca rested his head against Mykal's warm shoulder, his heartbeat filling his ear.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  When they fell asleep that morning, it was without even having smoked a bowl.

  ***

  Luca decided to make his attempt on the terminal during the day. On the one hand, he had fewer plausible reasons to be at work, but he thought he could always claim he’d left his spore the night before. Further, the positives to this plan were that the construction workers wouldn’t be around, and neither would Phek. It was unlikely anyone would recognize him if they saw him. He planned to take the long route around the cell pit in order to rule out being seen by any of the prisoners or guards.

  The one thing he dithered over for a good while was whether or not to bring the sphere. He would need it if he actually got access and had to translate something, but it was a significant liability in case he got caught and someone realized what it was. In the end, he decided to just write down some of the symbols and phrases he thought might be useful and leave the sphere at home. Worst case scenario, he reasoned, he could come back with it after he knew what he was doing.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, and he knew it. However, he thought the less sophisticated his attempt appeared perhaps the better. Then he could always feign ignorance. “Curious youngster” was the only real defense he was going to have.

  Being at work during the day felt strange, wrong even, as if he were somewhere he shouldn’t be. He pulled up the collar of his shirt in a futile gesture, as if it would stop someone he knew recognizing him. The feeling of unease only grew as he let himself in, descending quickly to where he was supposed to be. The games often went on long into the sunlight, but he’d come to associate the glare with drunken crowds and raucous cheering. To walk the halls in silence, fully exposed by the pale wash of the wintery daytime light, set him on edge. His steps echoed in the emptiness. He was like a bug under a magnifying glass, obvious and sweaty. This did not feel like a good start.

  It was a relief to reach the lower levels, where the sunlight was forever banished, and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights against the concrete walls enveloped him in a blanketed hum. Skirting the pit, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had reached the terminal without incident. He had seen no one.

  Luca opened the door with a quick swipe of his palm on the digipad and entered the hallway that housed the terminal, looking carefully back the way he’d come and down the other end of the hall, which was a dead end. All ways were clear. He approached the lean white column, blood rushing in his ears as he raised his hands to touch the keys. Their exteriors were blank, white without markings. Only a small cluster had symbols on them, one of which appeared to be a common power symbol.

  Luca pressed the button. Instantly, a screen appeared in the center of the column, which had previously appeared opaque. There were no letters written across the screen, but a symbol appeared in the center. At first his heart sank. It was not one he recognized, nor one he had copied onto the paper he’d brought. He looked closer, however, thinking to take a picture and translate it at home, and realized it was not a symbol at all but the shape of the key that had fallen from his sphere.

  Trying not to drop the key from his trembling fingers, Luca withdrew the it from his pocket, looking around the terminal for a cavity to place it into. Eventually he found one near the other side of the keyboard. Placing the key inside, he turned it until he heard a click. There was a whirring noise, and then a new screen appeared, blank except for a blinking cursor at the bottom of the screen. He panicked, thinking he was expected to type something, but soon lines of code began flashing across the screen, scrolling faster than he could hope to read them. After a few moments, they settled into a block paragraph of deadwire text, ending with an underlined blank. The cursor blinked in the empty space, awaiting his reply. Looking down, he saw the the previously unmarked keys were now awash with light, each one branded with a GroundCom symbol.

  Luca consulted the paper onto which he had written out several symbols. A few of the pieces of code presented on the screen he could make out, but not enough to understand what all of it meant. F
or that he would need the sphere. Reaching into his bag, he was glad he’d come prepared with a cheap digital camera, one that displayed the pictures on the camera screen without requiring him to plug it into any other devices. He didn’t want to take any chances. As he was now painfully aware, anything connected to the FreeNet could be hacked.

  It was a start. The camera would have to go in the safe with the sphere and the key. The message had said they wanted translated startup sequences. To do this, he knew he needed more programming knowledge, but perhaps if he started taking coding classes it would be enough to help him translate what he had. It seemed whoever these people were, they were unaware of the need for a key, so he would likely be safe giving the workman a few characters for cash now and buying himself some time to deliver on the real goods. The translated sequences would be the real jackpot, enough money for his father to start treatment, the expensive, life-extending kind. It was a start.

  Part V

  Chapter 13

  It was a grand party, but somehow Iona was bored.

  She had been in the palace only a few weeks, but already she was growing restless. The great hall no longer felt large but claustrophobic, the same four walls hemming her in night after night, the same food, the same wine. Conversation began to seem catty, the laugher forced. The only people really having a good time were the drunks, and even their high spirits were fleeting.

  The Queen rarely made an appearance, and when she did it was brief. She was inevitably at the far end of the hall from Iona, her back regally rigid and unbending, everything but her profile hidden from view by her swarming retinue of security and assistants. Occasionally, her assistant would come over to procure a cup of blood to take back to the Queen. He always conveyed her “thanks” in a brusque, obligatory way that made it clear Her Majesty had considered nothing of the sort.