Civil Blood_The Vampire Rights Trial that Changed a Nation

by Chris Hepler

  "Its genome is short. You encode a couple of proteins, and the feedback loop does a spectacular dance. Say you eliminate the drawbacks. No dependence on blood, no saliva vector communicability. What do you have? You have a virus that grants bone ossification, proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation, rerouting of neural pathways—"

  "Slow down," says Infinity. "Or speak English."

  "Healing!" I spit. "Healing goddamn everything and an immune system that would kick the ass of a sewer alligator's. That's not a curse. That's a product."

  Neither of the pair moves. Ranath tries to be stone-faced, but I'm getting through.

  "All this to make super soldiers—" starts Infinity.

  "Soldiers? You think that's a market? Tell you what, you sell to every special ops outfit on the planet while I work on a VIHPS-delivered immune booster." I focus on getting one word out at a time, beating my way through the pain. "And when you're done… making some guy who can lift a rucksack better… I will kill more diseases than penicillin. Replacements for vaccines, from malaria to TB to mumps to… fuck knows what." My brain feels like someone is pressing down on it. It's the blood loss. "This is ten times… the qi healing revolution. We dissected vipes who partially repaired… muscular dystrophy. We had a stroke… victim… walk again."

  "I don't care if it makes millions—"

  "Girl, add eight zeroes. When we… put this in a syringe… it'll be ten years before the rest of the health care industry goes out of business. That's the endgame. Change the world, and own the rights. Monopoly. There will be us… and no one else."

  The man and woman watching me just stare. In the distance, I hear many sirens, blurring together.

  "You kidnapped my friend," says Infinity. I wish she'd shut up. I'm dizzy, which isn't a good sign when I'm already on the floor.

  I close my eyes, but everything is still drifting. "We needed conscious minds. They were going to die anyway. It's not like I planned to exterminate them from the beginning."

  Infinity looks like I slapped her. "Are we sparing him?"

  "I used two rounds on Olsen," he says. "I'm out of ammo. Do what you want, but grab the mice."

  Infinity walks toward me. Worried, I check for the look on her face. She could kick a hole in my head. I have to stay awake because if I can't talk, I can't stay alive.

  "You—you two want to cooperate," I say, my breathing labored. "They're surrounding the building. You're both dead without me."

  Infinity doesn't say a word but kneels next to me. I look at her eyes, and they are in shadow. I'm going to die.

  "You want to put me in that fire, don't you?" I think maybe if I say it, she won't—

  She spits in my face.

  Strangely, her defiance prompts mine. Being an enemy is easy. "That's… original."

  "That’s half," she says and puts her fingers in the hole in my pants. She tears, revealing the angry entrance wound slathered in blood. Then, she touches the wetness on my face. I hold still, only realizing what she's doing when it's too late. Infinity wipes her sticky fingers in the wound and then stands, snatching up the box of mice.

  "I'm ready," she says.

  69 - RANATH

  They are everywhere; that is clear.

  I hobble as fast as I can. My injury has stopped bleeding, but the nearby tissue is tender, which is not what I want. Running involves core muscles just as much as my legs. Infinity easily sprints ahead of me. We get near windows but turn back when we see red-and-blue lights.

  "Any ideas?" she says, after the second exit we try fails us.

  "Can you hold a gun to my head, keep your face shield down and act convincing?"

  "Probably not with a box of mice," Infinity says. I agree. If she doesn't have the confidence, it's a last-ditch gambit.

  "How'd you get to me just now?"

  "I came with cops who weren't cleared for the morgue. I changed our exit to avoid them. Where's Deborah?"

  "You didn't see her on the way in?" Infinity shakes her head. "Hiding, I guess. You can't call her?" She winces, and I know she's kicking herself for not having a phone.

  I triage. "I saw a glass walkway to the other building," I say. "Third floor, I think. Maybe they haven't surrounded the other one yet."

  "Elevators are back there," she says, starting to go, but I grip her hand.

  "Stairs." Soon we are pounding up the concrete flights to the third floor. I'll be in misery tomorrow morning, but for now, the adrenaline dulls the pain. We tear down hallways, deserted as far as I can tell—this is a lab, not a true hospital. Anyone still working here has bunkered down. Infinity runs past the skyway, confused in the twists of the building.

  "This way!"

  We dash across, and I get my first good look at the police cars. There are black-and-whites choking the street, unmarked cars from plainclothes officers, three ambulances disgorging paramedics and a green fire truck. Clearly, no cop in Prince George’s County is about to let another cop die for lack of backup. Will fifty cops be enough? A hundred?

  Then, it's all behind me, and we are into the heart of the next building. It's folly to think we're getting out of here by running one block over. We need another plan. Infinity is obviously thinking the same thing.

  "That is some Bonnie and Clyde shit out there."

  "Stairs," I say. "They'll be coming in from below." We go up three more flights, and my abdominal wound threatens permanent residence. I stop for breath in the stairwell, holding on to my injury like I'm holding my guts in.

  "Tell me this is going somewhere," Infinity says. "You got magic the cops don't?"

  "No other biomancer will have my locator function," I pant out. "They might have something similar, but I took out BRHI's magicians. That's the good news."

  "If you want to pause between thoughts, now ain't the time."

  "The bad news: they will search for us and cover every inch of the buildings, and they won't be gone 'til tomorrow. With us on security camera—"

  "Now," she interrupts, "would be a great time for you to learn how to fly."

  "I have one function I could use to conceal myself," I say.

  "No, you don't. Its range sucks now. I could see you from the booth."

  That's disturbing. I must adapt. "To extend it, I need a ring of living qi."

  Her face falls. Then, she brightens. "Like human blood?"

  "Blood, yogurt, plant matter—"

  "Roof access." She points to the sign behind me. "Haven't seen a stairwell camera yet."

  "They'll search there—"

  "Yeah, but not more than once," she says and gets her shoulder under mine to lift me up. It doesn't help my injury to be half-pulled up the steps, but it keeps her from running out and inadvertently giving away our position. At the top landing, Infinity tries the door. It's locked. I bring out the burner phone.

  "Are you authorized for this place?" Infinity asks.

  "Disposable lockpick," I answer. The app fires its passcodes, then gives a warning burp.

  "Just how disposable are we talking?" she asks. I shush her with a gesture, which she doesn't appreciate, but the cause is soon clear. We hear the blaring rotors of a helicopter outside.

  "Ghetto bird," I say. "I like your plan less and less."

  "It's far off, still," she protests.

  I gauge the sound based on what I recall from Okinawa. I think she's right. "We still need blood. Are you planning a trip to the freezer?"

  "Better," she says. Just then the phone chirps, and she opens the door into the night. The chopper's noise envelops us. The roof is covered in pebbles—probably for some insulation reason—and they crunch underfoot as we put the stairwell between us and the searchlight beam.

  "We have no exit strategy," I say.

  "Sit down," she shouts above the din. "I'm going to be your ring."

  I kneel, tucking my legs under me Japanese-style. I puzzle out if what she's proposing could work. Her aura would be more complex than bacteria but not vastly different from blood. I've f
elt for it before, when trying to track her, so acquisition of her flow signature won't be new.

  "I need skin-to-skin contact," I yell. "Circle me with your arms. Close the circuit with your palms. More surface area."

  She peels off her armor and boots. She's doing her shirt when I stop her.

  "We need as much skin as possible, right?" she asks.

  I'm not sure. I usually don't touch the living ring for fear of breaking the circle. The danger is in how stable her signature will be with power coursing through it.

  There's no time to dither. The helicopter is circling, its spotlight exposing all kinds of corners in the night. I take off my coat, then, hating it, my ballistic vest and my shirt. I put them on top of the mouse box to weigh it down. The useless, empty pistol goes on top of the coat.

  Infinity scoots over to me. She wraps her bare legs around my torso, hooking her feet together, and does the same with her hands. I'm aware of how it looks. Will the helicopter spot us, only to pass it off as two thrill-seekers getting laid in the worst possible place? Unlikely. Kern is no doubt giving our descriptions to everyone with ears. We have one chance.

  I dial the stimweb down. It's running full-bore stimulating healing points. Now, I need it to catch the proper signal before focusing outward. A subtle pain in my back reasserts itself.

  I touch the two points beneath my eyes and straighten my spine. My torso muscles strain in protest. They've been hard at work trying to keep me upright, and some have locked up. But I retain enough control to align myself properly, and when I do, I can feel the start of the function I need. I adjust the stimweb's pulse, a gentle tap in rhythm with my heartbeat.

  I begin with myself, the fewest number of variables. Inside each of us is a transmitter, a martial arts partner told me once. It broadcasts exactly what we are thinking, what we are about to do.

  He meant it as a metaphor to describe the altered state of perception that allowed him to respond to opponents quickly, but in my case, it is far more literal. I begin to broadcast one signal, ignore, in an insinuating fashion that cuts right through human defenses.

  I can tell it's working when Infinity's arms and legs relax. She's getting a headful being so close, and ardently, I work to incorporate her before she gives up entirely and breaks her circles.

  I take her head in my hands and push the points beneath her eyes. Her qi is strong and panicked, like when I first laid hands on her. And here, now that I'm specifically looking for it, I sense the yin energy that never stops thirsting, the hungry heart of a vipe.

  It's from there that I draw her signal, pure and easy to grasp. She has not fed in more than a week. It's wrapped around me, but though it occupies the same space as my own biological system, something is wrong. The two signals need to spin like wheels; instead, they grind against each other like a screeching brake pad.

  She feels it and interrupts. "Are we good?"

  "I haven't done this before," I say. "We need to be in lockstep."

  "You need me to think about Bible verses again, just say so."

  I wish. I try linking my signal with Infinity's. Impossible. I breathe in, breaking my concentration, and it's like throwing a grass stem in a river.

  Infinity's qi is powerful, based in an urge somewhere to be ignored, to be lost. It's completely unlike the public face that she shows, and I can't help but wonder at this drive to hide and run, which is understandable—

  Then, it hits me. She isn't the problem. I have a drive to hide and run, too, but hers whirls like a cyclone she has mastered, while I—

  "Are you afraid of me?" I ask.

  "No," she says flatly. "You?"

  "A little bit."

  "Come on, you're good at minds. Do it." Her disappointment pulls her energy away.

  "It's slowing me down," I confess. "Not sure how to make the leap."

  A strange thing happens. Her signal warms me, flowing around me more gently than before. "Here's a thought," she says. "Tell me your real name."

  I tell her.

  Infinity responds by squeezing me. Her skin is warm in the chilly blast churned up by the roaring helicopter. It's impossible not to think of its baleful eye searching the alleys and rooftops. But there is nothing to do but concentrate on the problem directly in front of me.

  A bit of grit hits my left eye. I close both and rely on my nerves to feel my way through. I pull Infinity's signal into shape, from a cloak to a circle, radiating outward. It will have a weakened effect after about ten meters, and if she lets go, everything will skew off in unpredictable directions.

  I hold my breath and draw the epicenter of my function out of my body, placing it between our chests. I lay Infinity’s function over my own. My yang, her yin. No—there is no me, no her. She is no longer an other. The static was fear, and now I have none.

  I can't see with my eyes closed, but my eyelids go red, and I know the searchlight is on us. Everything goes dark. Then, it all comes back in force. We've been spotted. My cybernetics trigger in reflex.

  The two functions pulse in sync, washing through Infinity's arms and legs. There, they bend like light through a prism, shining out in waves that go on and on. The function screams ignore so hard, I'm surprised the chopper pilot doesn't fly into a chimney.

  The light is off us once more. I open my right eye. The rotors keep beating the air, but the machine disappears from view.

  "Are we a good team?" Infinity asks.

  "The best."

  "Is this going to work if they come up here to search?"

  "It should. They will be turned away as well, provided we stay in position, until they leave in a few hours."

  "I'm stuck here holding on to you?"

  "It could be worse," I say. "You only have to talk to me for five minutes."

  She leans in and brushes her lips against mine. Just as I'm starting to believe she means it, she squeezes me tighter, cheek to cheek, and her breath warms my ear. "You've got a lot of stories to tell," she says, "and I want to hear them all."

  70 - BREUNIG

  They find the mousy girl in the door-to-door sweep, not long after the police surround the area. The central command of BRHI is getting in their faces, simultaneously needing the police's help to clear the buildings but trying to keep the classified basement areas a secret. I don't give a damn about what happens—my job is to exact vengeance on the vipes for devastating my team.

  I'm with three white-uniforms when we find the girl running for a back exit. If she gets to the end of the hall, the cruisers outside will cover her, but I'm not letting anyone get past me unchallenged.

  "Freeze!" I shout.

  "Don't shoot!" is the first thing she says, skidding to a stop. Her hands go up. One of them is clutching a phone.

  "On the ground," I say.

  "I just want to get out of here," she says, but something is off. She's calculating.

  "We can't let anyone go without a check, ma'am. Now, get on the ground."

  She sinks to one knee, then two, and looks over her shoulder. Her face is flushed, eyes puffy. The woman is easily winded, easily overlooked. I'm not in the mood to overlook anyone. And I just realized what's wrong.

  "Ma'am, put the phone on the ground next to you." My voice carries the threat.

  "Then I can't record you," she says and turns to face me.

  All our weapons go up.

  "There isn't anything to record." Maybe we can defuse this still.

  "I've got a live streaming signal," she says, aiming it at me. "And now, you get to show the world what you do to vipes like me."

  "Take her phone," I bark to Briar Team. "I don't know what you think you're d—"

  She pulls a dull, black pistol. The security sees the movement. They know what it is, but in the video, it will be out of frame—

  "No—" I shout, but they aren't my F-prots. Shotguns boom, and she rocks back. Her chest darkens with blood. Still, she stays up, but her pistol isn't aimed at us. The barrel lodges just above her own ear. She knows what awa
its vipes when captured. I have a twisting, sick certainty that I can't argue the decision. Her other hand stops the video.

  "You lose," the woman gasps and pulls the trigger.

  71 - MORGAN

  December 9th

  I can't take care of Jess immediately. I stumble into the new rental house while Ferrero swaps the vehicles. We luck out: Infinity left her key to the Atlantis here, so the blood-spattered truck gets stored in the garage before anyone sees. I feed off Ferrero, and then we both pass out.

  I wake first. With the feeling of starvation gone, I shower, dress, and shave, too beat to care about sculpting some new look. Only after I'm done do I think I'll need to blend again. I want to call Cho, but the police will be all over him and his voicemail. Bad idea. I watch the news, and there's Cass and Deborah. I will never see them again, in anything other than those damn security camera videos. Like they say in Hollywood, pix are forever.

  I check the TV for messages and find there's one on the secure app. I stab at the icon and hear Infinity’s voice:

  "It's me. Just wanted to say I'm alive. Roland and I send our love. Give me a call when you've recovered. Interesting news."

  I close my wet eyes. She made it. I don't know how. She is an invincible goddess.

  That leaves Jess and what she'd want done with her body. By the time Ferrero gets up, I've found her phone, but I can't get at any of her contacts. He slips his fingers into a crack under a cabinet and pulls out a dusty slip of paper with numbers on it.

  "We all wrote our passwords down," he explains. "They're hidden throughout the place." In an hour, he's talked with six vipes in New York who knew Jessica. In three hours, we've locked the place up, cleaned the vehicles and switched to the Atlantis.

  We talk for the first hour, trying to keep it upbeat. I'm free. I can catch up on news, on sports, on the stupid bullshit that makes loss go away for a few seconds. Then, we listen to Deborah's playlist, which is still stuck in the dash. There's Freddie Mercury and Lady Pang and half a dozen other soulful songs about regrets. I'm a wreck, but Ferrero soldiers on, driving through the tears because he can't hook us up to the grid and go autopilot. Even now, they're waiting for us to slip up.