by Susan Harris
Jeremiah Vicktor was a younger Vampire, but one who had been in the space program already at the time of the Revelation. He had decided to step out of the airlock of one of the early space stations, figuring he wanted to feel Space and vacuum on his skin. Vampires don’t need air, so the assumption had been that he would be fine. After he exploded, leaving a very messy window on the station, the realization that while Vampires don’t need air to breathe, they do need pressure to keep themselves together. The run of jokes on late night vid shows, while humiliating for the pride of the Vampire community, made them seem more approachable. The tone of exclusionary activism began to lessen, and acceptance came faster as a result.
“Now, while this delightful traipse through history has been all well and good…?”
“You are wondering what the purpose is?” Priang responded, “Well, Mr. Calvino, it is to set the stage for the information I am about to impart to you…we believe that Cruore Astrum has returned.”
“What? Are you sure? How do you know?”
“Tyche Station recorded what has appeared to be a ramscoop signature entering the edge of the Solar System. It was barely perceptible to the sensors out there, since that is not what they usually look for, and if one of my people had not been on the boards at the time, it might very well have gone unnoticed. She was old enough to remember the unique signature of the vessel, and recognized it for what it was, rather than a burst of emissions from a star or anything natural.
“Whoa…” My fear was gone pretty much entirely in the fascination with the idea that one of the deep space probes had returned. Three ships, all vampire crewed, had been sent out to look for habitable planets heading towards the nearest star systems that appeared to have Earth capable planets. Cruore Astrum had been the last to go, and had the furthest to travel. Within fifty years, the other two ships had sent their “last gasp” buoys out, signifying that their vessels, or their crew, had a catastrophic failure. Cruore Astrum had been off the scan for well over a hundred and fifty years. Her estimated return wasn’t for another fifty years, so for her to have come back now was not only early, it begged the question, if she hadn’t made it to her designated star, where had she been, and why was she back?
Only then it occurred to me to ask, “So…why are we talking about this? I am just a supply captain; Alban is neither a search and rescue ship, nor are we a military vessel. Why are you talking to me?”
Tahmon Priang sat up straight in his chair, and pressed his long fingers together in a steeple. “Because, my dear Captain Calvino, we own you. We must use the tools we are given.”
“Own me? What do you mean you own me?!” I could feel a bit of temper growing in me, fueled by the adrenaline that was still in my system from earlier.
“I misspoke,” Priang waved his comment away like an errant fly, “I did not mean you personally, Captain, rather the Alban. She is our vessel, and we own her, and we intend to use her to achieve our aims.”
I was confused; I didn’t recall seeing Priang’s name on the list of the owner’s group that hired me. I certainly didn’t see him in any of interviews, or during orientation, or at any point in my career.
Seeing my puzzled expression, the vampire across the table from me elaborated. “Your ship, the Saint Alban, is owned by Ragnarok Group, yes?” I nodded in response. “Ragnarok is owned by Filimon Investments, which is made up of a body of venture capitalist companies, all of whom own a stake in Filimon. The largest amount of capital comes from a company called Sanguina Limited. Sanguina Limited grew out of another company years ago known as Jackson-Hyatt Industries. I believe you may be aware one of the original founders of Jackson-Hyatt. Gia Jackson, mother of Silas Jackson, who became the main shareholder after his mother’s passing, and grandmother of…?”
“Lucius Jackson. So you are telling me the Alban is owned by Lucius Jackson? And you are…?” I gave Priang my best inquisitive eyebrow, the one that worked well on new crew members to make them give me straight answers.
Priang smiled at my slight attempt at intimidation. Hard to mess with a vampire, but he seemed to be amused rather than irritated. “I am a significant investor. My family from my life before was the other half of the Jackson-Hyatt equation. My many greats grandmother was the mistress of one of the original Hyatts, and she was given control of the company in a lawsuit over denial of paternity. Suffice to say, I have both a familial as well as a financial interest in Ragnarok Group and so may be considered one of the owners of your vessel as well.”
“Ah. So, again I return to the question, why us? Surely you guys have other things at your disposal that are capable of whatever it is that you want done. I mean, all Lucius would have to do is whisper in the right ear and there would be a half dozen patrol frigates out there parading the ship into Io Station, or even to tow her into lunar orbit. Why use a supply freighter?”
“To be blunt, Captain, because we hold the lien to your ship, and to your contracts, we know we can count on you to be discreet…”
I saw where this was going, “Or I will be out of a job?”
“You see the situation well, Captain. As to the reasons to be discreet, those are multitudinous and complex, not the least of which is a resumption of the anti-sanguine behavior that accompanied the launching of the Deep Probes.”
I looked at him quizzically. There had been very little of that in recent years, given how integrated that vampires had become, I wondered that his concern over that matter might be over stated a bit. “Really? What leads you to believe that?”
“There is a fringe element, small, but very loud, who believes that part of the strategy in taking only vampire crew had little to do with their survivability and their long life, and more to do with looking for both a new home, and in the extreme possibility, allies for the vampire community to help us take over the world, and possibly the Solar System”
“Huh?” Now I was truly confused.
Priang’s head cocked like bird, and his eyes got a distant look. I knew he didn’t have an implant; vampires’ bodies rejected them, by spitting them out. So he must just be relying on his own natural senses for whatever had him distracted.
“Captain, I fear our time has run out. There are, from the sound of it, four, maybe five, men approaching from the stair well. Quickly, let me have your deck...” I handed it over out of my pocket, listening behind me for the approach of the unknown personages. Priang tapped something into his own deck, bumped our decks together to transfer the information and then handed it back to me. “My contact links are downloaded into your unit now. Once you return to Reagan Station, let me know, and we will give further information as to your objectives. Now, it is time to go, I fear your chance for breakfast has passed. I do not have to tell you, speak to no one about what we have discussed here.” And with an elegant movement he stood from the chair and was out the door so rapidly I barely had time to blink before he was gone.
How You See The World
Caitlin McColl
How You See The World
Caitlin McColl
He had walked past the place a million times and had never noticed it before. He pulled his thick wool coat tighter around himself, turning the collar up over his ears as another strong autumn wind blew past. His coat was black, and the low grey clouds made his white-blond hair seem even whiter than normal.
He guessed he had just never walked as close to the wall of the ruined Abbey before as he did today, pressing himself almost up against it to escape the cold air. Mounds of sodden old leaves had piled themselves up against the wall from the harsh winds at this time of year. He bent his head low and kicked the piles of leaves absentmindedly, as a distraction from his thoughts. Ever since his father had sat him down the night before and told him over large, seemingly never ending cups of coffee that he was a direct descendant of a powerful mage – a magician and warrior – his mind had been reeling.
“That’s just fantasy!” Jared nearly shouted at his father, spilling some of his drink. �
��Have you had too much to drink again?” he said pushing his chair away from the table and moving to stand in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth take the chill out of him from sitting next to the large kitchen windows that seemed to let in a draft no matter what the time of year. The pale yellow flames of the gas fireplace flickered lazily above the fake logs. “There’s no such thing as magic and wizards! You’ve been watching too much Harry Potter or something. I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. I’m almost twenty. Maybe when I was little I liked to read about wizards and big heroes with swords, but not now.”
His father looked at him; his large blue eyes were hard and cold and filled with some emotion that Jared couldn’t read. “The dreams,” he said simply.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Have you been having the dreams?” his father repeated rising from his chair.
“What-”
“You know what I’m talking about. The girl. The woman in black. Sometimes she’s wearing a cloak. A bright red hooded cloak.”
“What, now you’re talking about Little Red Riding Hood?” yelled Jared moving back around the table putting more distance between the two of them. “What have you put in your coffee?”
“Calm down. You’re being irrational. Think,” said the older man. “You’ve dreamt about her. I know you have. I did, when I was about your age. That’s when my father first told me about our gift. That’s when we first start coming into it; realizing who we are, remembering who we are, who our ancestors were.’
Jared shook his head, his white blond hair falling across his eyes. “No,” he said quietly, disbelieving. But as he said it, the woman with long blond hair and long black dress fluttering in the breeze rose up in his mind. He closed his eyes, as if doing so would erase her from his mind, but instead she became more real, more solid and he could remember her from his dreams. He could see her, standing on the bare jagged rock jutting from the ocean, holding a sword, etched with strange symbols as it glinted in the setting sun. The woman looked straight at him, as if he were standing on the shore and she was cut off by the choppy waters on her cold stone island.
“Who is she?” Jared asked, slowly lowering himself back into one of the chairs at the dining room table.
“She’s a wisp,” his father said, taking his seat again and pouring some fresh coffee into his mug.
Jared didn’t know what to say, and could only think of one thing to say, even though it sounded ridiculous, he said it anyway. “What’s a wisp?”
His father sighed long and loud. “A will ‘o the wisp.”
“But aren’t those, those light things? Those things that people are supposed to see in swamps and stuff?”
“Yes. That’s what she is. That’s her natural form. But she can take human form when she needs to tell us something: to warn us. She’s a protector, of sorts. You remember the tales about the wisps? The stories I used to tell you as a child?” his father asked, looking across the table at this son, and clutching his mug tightly.
“Yes,” said Jared simply.
“So you remember that will ‘o wisps lead people away, get them lost and confused,” his father continued taking a long slow sip of his drink.
“Yes. People who are foolish enough to follow a will ‘o the wisp, end up disappearing and usually aren’t ever found.”
“Foolish is right. That’s another name for them, the foolish fire. That’s how they help us. They can distract our enemies. Lead them away, get them turned around so they can’t find their way back.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” said Jared draining his cup and standing up. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to bed,” he said pushing himself away from the table, turning to go upstairs to his room.
His father shrugged. “Suit yourself. But when you see her tonight, say hi to her for me. I haven’t seen her in years. They disappear when you no longer need them. When the next generation are ready to take over and protect others, continue the fight. And that’s you,” his father said.
But Jared was already halfway up the stairs, trying to block out the nonsense his father was spouting. He closed the door to his room, threw his clothes in a jumbled heap on the chair next to his computer desk and crawled into bed, pulling the duvet up around him like a cocoon.
The cold watery light of an early October morning filtered through the thin curtains of his bedroom. In the reality of a new, fresh morning the conversation he had with his father seemed far away, indistinct and unreal. “Ridiculous,” he said slipping out of the warmth of his covers and stepping onto the cool hardwood floor.
He managed not to think of their conversation again, and the dreams of the night before until he found himself walking alongside the crumbling wall of the Abbey, the one corner of which remained standing; the rest was just hunks of granite covered in weeds and moss.
And that was when he saw it. At first he thought it was a piece of broken glass that was catching the sun, but when his foot kicked up the leaves his foot struck something hard. And big.
He knew he would be late for work if he stopped, but something under the red brown mass made him stop. It was silver, with grooves and notches. He crouched down and brushed the leaves away, revealing a long slim sword, etched deeply with strange swirling symbols. He ran his fingers tentatively down the blade until his hand hit the hilt – which was dark, heavy iron.
The coffee shop could wait. He glanced down the street and over his shoulder. The sidewalks were empty, most people choosing the warmth of their cars and driving to work. He picked up the sword as quickly as he dared, unbuttoning his coat, thankful that it was long and reached his ankles. He carefully put it underneath his coat and held it tightly against his side with his arm, ignoring the chill that ran through him when the cold metal pressed against his thin work clothes before turning on his heel and heading back in the direction he had just come.
“What the hell is this!” he said, almost flinging the sword onto the island in the middle of the large kitchen.
“Ah, so you believe me,” said his father, shuffling slowly into the room still wearing his housecoat and slippers.
“What do you mean I believe you?” asked Jared incredulously.
His father didn’t answer but instead moved towards the fireplace and felt along the wall next to the left side of the stone hearth. “It’s here somewhere,” his father mumbled, his knotted, arthritic fingers prying at the seams between the wooden panels of the wall. “Ah! Here it is,” he said triumphantly, and one of the pieces of wood slid aside and his father reached into the dark recess in the wall. His father withdrew a long slim sword, almost identical to the one that was currently lying on the kitchen counter.
“It comes to you when you believe,” his father raised the sword in the air. It wavered slightly in his hand. “I’m afraid I’m not as strong as I used to be,” he said embarrassed, lowering it. “You might not think you believe what I’ve told you, but deep down you do. You believe in magic. You believe in your ancestry.”
“I believe in floating balls of light that protect me?” said Jared sarcastically.
“Yes,” his father said with a chuckle. “You might not think so, but it’s why the sword has revealed itself to you now. Because you are a mage and a warrior.”
“If I’m a mage, a wizard, as you say, then why do I need a stupid sword?”
“Wizards in children’s fairy tales have staffs, giant walking sticks. In reality, we have swords. They’re a lot more practical. Useful,” his father said placing his sword carefully back within its slot in the wall.
“Well why don’t you use yours? And what do we need to use them against?”
“When the next in line comes of age, that’s you,” the older man said, gesturing limply with a shaking hand, “we lose the ability to use it effectively. I’ve known that you were ready to learn who you are for a while now. Since I haven’t been able to barely lift the sword, let alone use it to any effect.”
Jared walked b
ack to where the sword lay on the fake granite countertop and lifted it up, balancing it deftly in his hand. “It feels as light as a feather,” he whispered. He swung his arm and was amazed that the sword sliced effortlessly through the air, as if some master swordsman was wielding it, not himself.
His father followed him slowly into the kitchen, running his hand lovingly along the hilt and blade of Jared’s sword. “And you want to know who we use them against?”
Jared nodded, holding his breath, wondering what his father would say next.
“We use them against the evil of the world,” his father said. “With the help of magic, which we all have inside of ourselves, and with the help of our wisps, we rid the world of evil – the parasites on this world who drain the goodness from the planet and from everyone living on it. The world is full of it. You just have to learn how to see the world, how to see what’s really there.”
