Deadwire

by A K Blake

  “Mr. Ailbhe? I’m here with your shower!” The man didn’t move. There was a fog horn sort of noise, and Luca realized he was snoring. “Mr. Ailbhe! Zaan!” Still nothing. “Prisoner 1382...92!”

  The man jolted awake, so quickly Luca worried he’d had some kind of attack. Blinking, he sat up and began to shuffle toward the door. As he drew nearer, Luca recoiled, taking a step back to steady himself.

  “Here you go.”

  He shoved the end of the hose through the bars and hooked the caddy around the lip of the window before stepping all the way back. The man looked up, straight into his eyes, and Luca fought the urge to flee. After a moment, the man broke his gaze. He spoke in a low mumble.

  “Not gonna hurt you. Never did like hurting people, just one mistake is all.”

  He looked angry, angry but mostly tired. Luca didn’t say anything, couldn’t think what there was to say. I’m sorry didn’t seem to quite do it. His cheeks were hot, and he felt the heat creeping up his neck as well. He knew by now he would be visibly red. Like a coward, he stared at the floor and wished for it to be over.

  ***

  Seventy prisoners later, his clothes doused down the front and his psyche battered and bruised, showers were finally finished. It was just in time for lunch, not his lunch, of course, but that of the convicts. Returning the caddy with a sigh, he drug out the cart and wheeled it down toward the kitchen.

  He was halfway down the line of cells again when he reached the first vampire prisoner, 138974 (he had already ceased attempting to use the prisoner’s names, as they seemed confused by this gesture and were far more responsive to their new, system-defined identities). There was a slot in the lower part of each door that he slid the trays through. Half the tray wound up in the cell, while the other half, essentially a handle, remained fixed outside. This prevented the prisoners from removing the tray and made it simple for Luca to come back and collect them. Lining up the edges, he sent the tray through 138974’s door.

  “Lunch!”

  The vampire flickered to the door. Luca began to push the cart to the next cell.

  “Where’s my blood?”

  Luca turned back to see the vampire holding onto the bars with a white-knuckled grip. “Oh, right. I’ll finish bringing the food around and come back with the blood.”

  “I’d like it now. Please.”

  The amount of blood allotted to arena convicts matched exactly the government-mandated requirement, meaning that it was far less than most would like. It kept them weak, made them both easier to control and less likely to succeed in a fight, in case they were to go up against a paid professional. Luca could tell by look on 138974’s face that he was struggling to stay calm. His breathing was quick and shallow, his pupils wide. He looked like he might lose control at any minute and fly into an animal-like fit.

  “Alright. Ok, I’ll get it now.”

  Luca began walking back toward the kitchen when he realized Phek had forgotten to show him where the blood was dispensed. When he asked the guards, they shrugged and pointed in the general direction of the way he’d come. Phek was working up top with management today and didn’t respond to his call. The food would be getting cold soon, not that there was any kind of quality control for convicts to complain to. Sighing, Luca jogged down the nearest unexplored hallway in search of anything that looked like it might produce bags of human blood.

  ***

  Several plain, white plaster halls later, he came to a stop, panting. Through a plexiglas door he could see that in the hallway beyond there was a box set into the wall with digital displays that matched the prisoner numbers and an empty bay below, each one awaiting blood bag dispensal. It was at the beginning of a corridor off the prisoner quarters, so close Luca could have gotten there within seconds if he had only known where it was from the beginning.

  He tried his palm against the digipad on the wall next to the door and was pleasantly surprised when it slide sideways with a hiss. Who knew the arena office staff were so efficient? Reaching the box, he depressed all of the buttons at once and watched as bags of blood began dropping into the bays below, heated to body temperature and topped with twistable caps for easy drinking.

  Loading the bags onto his cart, he turned to go, but he got turned around, pushing the cart the wrong direction. Sighing again as he reached a corner that was clearly unfamiliar, he turned to head back the other way, which is when he saw it. Directly across from him, nestled out of view of the door by the bend of the hall, was more construction, presumably adding more blood dispenser bays. However, rising like some kind of alien ship from the dust and debris was something he had only seen in a handful of holovids and might not even have recognized, had he not been trying to find one. It was a GroundCom terminal, the physical barriers and access systems that normally hid and restricted it peeled away by the construction crew, showing only the terminal itself. It was slender and white, similar to an ARGAS machine, except that a large ring encircled it at roughly waist height. He realized, drawing closer, it was a keyboard, though most of the keys were blank.

  Luca raised a finger to touch one of them, but just then he heard a sort of shuffling noise, like a shoe might make against a dusty cement floor. He froze, snapping his head toward the sound. Craning his head around the terminal, he suddenly came face to face with a worker crouched down on the backside of the machine. The man had on the same paint-flecked coveralls as the others and heavy work boots, with a hat pulled low over his face. He was holding something in his hand that had a series of wires coming out the top, wires which flowed into the terminal through an open panel and disappeared from view. Something about the look he gave Luca, cold and unwelcoming, made him feel as if he had wandered across someplace he was not supposed to be.

  “This area is restricted.”

  “Oh, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to...I was just curious.”

  Luca backed away quickly and began to wheel the cart toward the pen. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he could feel the man’s eyes following him. He had come so close, only for the terminal to remain still out of reach. It’s for the best. He tried to repeat this mantra in his head. Yet there was another voice pounding duly behind it, saying something else, a voice like an itch he wanted to scratch but couldn’t quite reach.

  Chapter 11

  “Let’s go on a real date.”

  Mykal lifted his head from the pillow lazily in response, a sheet wrapped around him that hid everything but his shoulders. Ivy implants rippled across his chest seductively, like leaves in a breeze.

  “You know, like to the aquarium or a holovid or something.”

  “Are there any good hv’s out?”

  “I don’t know...no. It doesn’t matter, we could just catch an old one. A classic.”

  “I’ve been to the aquarium like two hundred times. It’s not that interesting, just a bunch of big fish.”

  “Well I haven’t been. But fine, then let’s see a movie.”

  “You just said there aren’t any good ones. Plus we can watch a classic here, on your spore.”

  Lately, ever since learning about his father’s illness if he really wanted to pinpoint it, which he didn’t, Luca had found he couldn’t bear the idea of staying put. Whereas before he had enjoyed spending a lazy night with Mykal in the apartment, only leaving the bed to answer the door for food delivery, now suddenly his place felt cramped and squalid. The dishes hadn’t been done in more than a week, and every surface reeked of matra. He was filled with a restless need to get out. Unfortunately, this anxiety did not seem to have spread to Mykal.

  “What about going up in the New Gamen tower? I’ve never seen it during the day, and I hear the restaurant is really good.”

  “Yeah? I mean, I’ve been. It’s not that great really.”

  Luca felt irritation bubbling up, as he tried manfully not to make the tight-lipped, angry face he knew he was making.

  “Look, I just want to get out of the house, ok? Can we just go somewhere? Ple
ase?”

  Mykal fell back against the bed in a throwing up of the hands, as if being asked to anything other than smoke up was highly unreasonable.

  “Alright, I guess if that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you. It is.”

  ***

  The movie wasn’t good. Even in his current, adventure-seeking state, Luca had to admit that it was money wasted. Worse still, it wasn’t the distraction he’d hoped it would be. He’d thought a holovid was the perfect fix, something with a story for him to focus on, a welcome diversion from the heavy feeling in his chest and the relentless worry cycle in his brain. But instead the plot was action-heavy, the explosions and chase scenes running together into the perfect blank backdrop for all the thoughts he was trying to avoid. He felt uneasy, the same restless energy from his apartment manifesting itself here. He only realized when Mykal told him to “Stop” that he was tapping his foot repeatedly again against the concrete floor.

  Though he knew it was unfair, Luca found himself blaming Mykal for the terrible date. Even if he had been dragged there, he could have put on a brave face. He didn’t have to sulk, refusing to eat any of the snacks and reacting to nearly all of Luca’s attempts at conversations with a clipped, “Cool.” This was the side of him Luca liked less, the superior, world-weary side.

  Mykal came back home with him to get his bags, though he didn’t stay.

  “I’ve got work early.”

  He’d found another job as a cook, and he sometimes stayed with a friend across town who lived closer to the restaurant if he had an early shift the next night.

  “Right. See you...later.”

  “Later.”

  Mykal gave him what felt like an obligatory kiss, their lips barely touching.

  “Hey, before you leave, I’m probably going to go home soon to see my dad.”

  “Alright. Just let me know when it is, and I can get off work.”

  “Oh, actually I was planning to go by myself.”

  “Don’t tell me they don’t want you bringing a man home. I know they’re conservative, but they can’t be that backwards.”

  “No, no, it’s just...you know, this is family stuff. They’re pretty private. They wouldn’t want a stranger around for this.”

  Luca did not mention that they also wouldn’t want him bringing home a vampire. In his parents’ world, there was a place for vampires and a place for humans, and the two did not mix.

  “Ok, well, just tell me when you’ll be gone then I guess.”

  “I will.”

  “Bye.”

  Then he was out the door, one blink and he was gone. The truth was it was a relief. Luca was reaching for the sphere before the door had fully closed shut, twisting the pieces until it sprung open, itching for a fix.

  “Jubilee. Dimmer.”

  Instantly the soft glow enveloped him. When he closed his eyes, Lucca could feel the outline of a character, “compile” he thought, burning through the lids. For a moment, he felt mindlessly, blissfully at peace. Then, from the emptiness, swam an image of his father, his back bent as he swept dust from a gleaming table, his brow furrowed in concentration. This was the picture of him that Luca always retained, his father ever the worker, ever stoic and humble to a fault. He needed to go, needed for once to be the good son. Opening his eyes, Luca closed the sphere, instead opening up his spore to book a train home.

  ***

  The high-speed rail was more pleasant than he remembered, the striated lines of the city lights giving way to a soft, velvety country night sky. It was only an hour ride to the secluded suburb on the outskirts of New Gamen where his parents lived, something that always managed to take him by surprise. He felt somehow much farther away when he was home.

  It was a few minutes walk from the train station up the hill to the sprawling gated complex that housed, in addition to several other moneyed families, the ancient and refined Amicus line. Even among their opulent neighbors, the Amicus mansion loomed victorious, all marble columns and arched entryways. Across the graceful swoops were fantastic shapes and mythical creatures, hand carved by workers long since dead. Though he was still down the hill, he could clearly see the familiar outline of it, its windows and hollows lit cheerily from within like a candle cover.

  Though he stopped a moment to admire the view, Luca did not approach. Instead, winding his way around the boundary line, where an artfully trimmed hedge gave way to rugged forest, he picked his way through the trees until he arrived at a gathering of low dwellings with plaster walls and tile roofs. Here were the servants’ quarters, conveniently nestled at the far end of the estate, with several gnarled, timeworn trees hovering over them. From the big house and carefully plotted garden, they were all but invisible.

  ***

  His mother didn’t bother to say hello upon opening the door.

  “We were expecting you half an hour ago.”

  “Sorry, I got stuck behind some slow people getting off the train.”

  The truth was he’d gotten a bit turned around, not that he would admit it after her earlier comments. She grunted in what he suspected was disbelief.

  “Come in then.”

  Some of the servants had obviously gone to great lengths to make their homes feel lived-in, with lights on strings along their doorways and potted plants sprouting from the windows. However, all Luca could say for his parents was that their living space felt practical. Decorations were sparse, and the furniture appeared to have been chosen for its durability rather than its charm. Everything was immaculately clean and scrubbed, the scent of rubbing alcohol still lingering like a perfume in his mother’s hair when he leaned in awkwardly for a kiss on the cheek. Maris Vorbith did not, as a rule, enjoy hugs. “When I want to be suffocated and manhandled, I’ll tell you.”

  “So...how’s Dad?”

  “See for yourself, he’s in the shed. That’s out back.”

  Luca knew where it was.

  He heard the sound of metal against wood as he neared the tin shed. His father enjoyed carpentry, though they never kept the fancier things. Sometimes he sold them or gave them to coworkers on special occasions, such as weddings or the birth of a child. Birthdays were usually left off the list, as Auezal Vorbith did not have many particular friends.

  “Dad?”

  His father was hunched over a block of fine, reddish wood as he entered, his back bent, hands curled around the handle of a sander. He must have been using a fine grit, because Luca could see the shine in the parts he had already passed. Pink sawdust gathered in his graying hair and fell in snow-like piles at his feet. His father didn’t seem to hear him over the whine of the tool.

  “Dad!”

  Auezal looked behind him and jumped, turning off the machine. “Luca? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? I must look a mess, I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known.”

  His father looked at his hands, brushing them against each other and rubbing them through his hair in a vain attempt at removing the dust.

  “I guess Mom wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “This is just so embarrassing, I-I must be a sight.”

  “That’s ok, I don’t care how you look.”

  Still, his father brushed at his sleeves and grabbed a broom from the against the wall to start sweeping. Luca made an attempt to take the broom, but his father insisted. Luca felt his heart break at the bald dismay written across his father’s face. It was a painful realization to know he was no longer truly family. He had become a visitor, someone his parents wanted to hide their true lives from, polish over and conceal the rougher details for, someone to whom they wanted to present a rosy facade. He was no longer allowed to see the dirt and the fuss, dirt that a few years ago they would have expected him to clean up, gratitude be damned. He had never recognized what a privilege that had been until tonight.

  “I’ll just go and grab a quick shower.”

  His father held the door for him as Luca stepped outside, locking it behind him. They walked back to the house
, foliage crunching loudly beneath their feet.

  ***

  Dinner was bland and hearty, not to mention strained.

  “It’s good, Mom, thanks.”

  “Eat up. You’re thinner than last time, and that’s saying something.”

  Looking at the food, he thought he wouldn’t be for long. Everything was heavy, the kind of high fat, high salt fare that was becoming increasingly unpopular in the cities. People wanted salads and liquid food, the promise of looking forever young. Luca could practically feel the blood clogging in his arteries as he ate.

  “How’s your new job?”

  Without the sawdust coating, his father looked pale, his skin glowing with an unhealthy sheen. He was thin too, thinner than Luca remembered.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Must be pretty exciting to see those fighters up close.”

  “Yeah, it’s neat.”

  “I wish I could’ve seen Maxion back in the day, seen him in person in his prime.”

  Luca’s father had always been an avid gladiator fan, Maxion his all-time favorite. Maxion was a blond, heavily muscled vampire who was famous for his stoicism, rarely speaking a word as he mowed through upstart after upstart. Luca’s father hated to miss a match, his face mere inches from the screen, the veins in his neck strained as he hurled insults at Maxion’s opponents. It seemed to be the only thing, including his woodworking, about which he was truly passionate. Maxion was long retired now, his back badly injured in his final match.

  Luca felt it was his turn to pick up the conversation, but he found he couldn’t think of a good way to begin. How’s the malignancy? What are your last thoughts about your life, now that you’re dying? All he could think about were the big, looming topics, the unmentionables. Again, his father saved him.

  “Did you know your mother’s Chief of House now?”

  “No, that’s great. When did that happen?”

  “It was a few months back.”

  “Shouldn’t you have moved by now?”

  Chief of House was the highest rank in the domestic servant hierarchy. Normally the position was accompanied by a raise and keys to the nicest house in the servant’s quarters.