Deadwire

by A K Blake

  Flailing as the vampire released her, Iona stumbled back. The vampire did not retreat, just hovered behind Iona, breathing loud and heavy. She wasn’t even running. She knew Iona was finished.

  Gray began to creep in at the edges of her vision. Iona blinked, shaking her head to try to clear the blurring. The arena lights, so blinding before, began to dim. Then, as had happened with Sylton—when his fangs were in her neck, and she’d felt the life seeping out of her—she had a singular instant of clarity, a realization that the next few moments would likely be her last on this earth. By Dieda, and all that was holy and unholy, she would make them count.

  Haltingly, Iona lifted her sword as high as it would go, hoisting the blade backward, so that it rested across her opposite shoulder. She paused like that for a moment, gathering strength. Then, just as she had done in her one practice swing, she cut down and diagonally as hard as she could, putting her full weight and momentum into her final blow. At the last second, she turned, arriving at where the vampire stood.

  The vampire should have been gone, should have already flickered away long before a slow, blundering human had time to strike her. But this vampire was not in top form. She was fighting two battles, one already lost to the toxins from Iona’s blood. Iona caught her in the split second that she turned to move away, her body partially immobilized by the electrical burst even as the blade swung down to meet her. The vampire’s shield hung, useless, down by her hip. No doubt she hadn’t thought she would need it. But now Iona’s blade slid across the vampire's exposed upper chest, scraping the para-aramid panel near her collarbone and spraying her face with sparks. It found a weak point at the elastic armpit joint, and Iona felt a sucking sensation as the tip dug in, piercing her through the side of her chest.

  The vampire looked at her in naked confusion. Iona became aware of that the others vampires were standing, screaming their protest at this upending of the natural order, this impertinence that a mere human could do damage to the superiority of vampire kind. It gave her a sudden rush of strength, the power of the knowledge that she alone could pose such a threat to them, that their control was in fact so fragile as to be surmounted by a dark skinned giver from the Rasuk Woods.

  Yanking her sword free, Iona raise it once more, bringing it down with all the force of justice and vengeance, hacking ungracefully across the vampire’s neck. Her head remained intact, but her throat began to spurt red like some horrible facsimile of a fountain, blood gushing out in all directions. The vampire stumbled, dropping her sword and shield with a loud jangling. Her free hand moved, uncoordinated, as she seemed to try to reach for the wound. She walked backward and then fell back on her elbows, stomach exposed. The vampire was soaked in blood now, the elastic lining of the armour across her chest a sticky black. Blood oozed like paint down her shield, coloring it with red. Yet her face still didn’t seem to register anything but bewilderment.

  There was a jarring motion, a strange swooping change in her vision, and Iona realized that she was now lower to the ground herself, having at some point sunk to her knees. There was a funny gurgling sensation in her lungs, breath accompanied by a feeling of...bubbling? She started to laugh, but it turned into a cough, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She could not see the vampire’s face now, only the upturned profile from below her chin. Then the vampire collapsed, all at once, the life going out of her like a marionette cut from its strings.

  After that, the gray creeping invaded Iona’s vision, and everything turned to black.

  Chapter 24

  His Majesty Prince Phiancaris Sarton Legarth dePulchari was not pleased to be watching the climax of the fight on a tiny 2D television screen. One would have thought that as crown prince—soon to be king—of the whole Dieda-forsaken country he would be able to tell his own security detail to stand down. Yet they had insisted on spiriting him away from the crowd just as things had gotten good, blood lust in people’s eyes, everyone screaming and looking for something to bash. He’d considered firing them just for the joy of seeing the confusion written across their faces, but the stern voice of his deceased mother had gotten to him. They serve at the will of Assembly, which means the will of the people. Remove a public servant, show that you think you’re above the will of the people, and you might as well surrender the whole monarchy then and there. And so he had conceded, leaving the glory of the arena for this dimly lit hallway and an inferior view. Even in death, Basilla had the power to nag him in acting like some semblance of a royal. She would be so pleased.

  Yet even with the substandard viewing experience, Phian still found himself riveted until the end. Watching the little human persevere in the face of stacked odds, even with her shield arm hacked away at the elbow, filled him with a sense of indignity. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t since even before Mother died, every inch of him thrumming with energy. It was as if that little human’s arm was an extension of his own, her blade his as they hacked away at their opposition. Of course, his opponents were slightly less visceral, but deadly and powerful nonetheless. Some nights it was all he could do to stop himself fantasizing about slicing the heads of each and every politician in Laemia from their useless bodies.

  This business with the Progressives irked him to no end. His sources—he disliked the term “spies”—claimed they’d made good on their claims. The science wasn’t clear, but somehow the Progressives had managed a human to vampire conversion. It was information with the power to change lives. It could upend the social order and win the fight against the Ithsacans. He envisioned unlimited soldiers, humans falling over themselves to enlist just for the chance to become a vampire. Such information could remake Laemia into something unrecognizable. And it was currently in the hands of his enemies. The last thing Phian needed on the eve of his ascension to the throne was for his political rivals to immediately undermine his authority and establish themselves as the heroes Laemia needed in this time of war.

  He could, of course, have the Progressives thrown in jail. Successful or not, conversion experimentation was still illegal. However, a big, public trial would only hasten the inevitable, make it clear to everyone that the transformation was possible and that it was the Progressives who had had the vision to discover it. No, that would not do. This message needed to come from the Crown.

  The Progressives were likely waiting to unveil their creation until they could pass legislation in Assembly to repeal the laws they’d violated. Then they would swoop in and be the first to make good on the opportunity. Assembly was set to convene in less than a month, providing Phian with a very small window in which to either uncover their methods or figure things out himself. If the Progressives could do it, why not the King?

  Taking a breath, Phian made a decision. Mother wouldn’t have liked it, but in some things he still deferred to her, and in others he was determined to make his own way. He knew he was acting on impulse, something she at times praised or derided...had praised, had derided. He had a good idea what she’d think of this plan. But his mother had not reviewed the ancient texts with the same eye that he had, had not seen the benefit of his fascination with non-canonical religious writings. There was something to this insane theory, and he wanted to be remembered as the king that brought their people into the future.

  Striding down the hall, Phian snapped his fingers at the closest worker he saw, a blond boy whose eyes went wide with shock as he practically banged his head against the ground from bowing so hard. It was a bit endearing. After much stuttering and fawning the boy finally spit out the location of the sick bay, looking vastly relieved when he was sent on his way.

  Following his directions, the Prince halted outside the door to the clinic, his retinue abruptly stopping beside him.

  “I’ll be going inside alone.”

  “Your Majesty, I must advise against such a course of action.”

  “Yes, Beron, I’m sure you must, but I must also insist that I am perfectly capable of handling myself against some wounded patients, a docto
r sworn to do no harm, and an Automated Medical Assistant. Unless you think any of these likely to try to assassinate me, then I would argue that your duties will be more than fulfilled by waiting on the outside of the door.”

  Beron seemed to ponder this, his sharp eyes, so small looking inside that bruiser head of his, darting quickly about. He was new to Phian’s detail, one of the many recent changes in the wake of his mother’s death, and Phian struggled to remind himself that he was likely not quite as stupid as he looked. In the end, however, impatience won out.

  “Captain, I’m going through that door now. If you want to treat the entire country to what will likely wind up as a leaked video of you physically restraining your soon to be king by whatever means necessary, that is your decision. But don’t be surprised if it’s you instead of me that loses his job.”

  Treating him to a meaningful look, Phian passed through the door, unprepared for the blood and gore that confronted him.

  Unconsciously, he raised his arms, as if to shield himself from the assault on his senses, rot and old blood hanging in the air, red smeared across the floor. It was like he had walked into a horror holovid, the long hallway full of dead and dying bodies, most on cots, a few dumped on the floor. He knew these games were meant to represent their fight with the Ithscans, but that didn’t mean the sick bay had to look as if there’d been an actual war. Bile rose quickly, burning his throat as he struggled manfully to push it back down.

  “Who...who is in charge here?”

  “Your Highness, I am so sorry!”

  A balding vampire with an impressive combover and a strangely pristine jacket, came scurrying toward him.

  “Truly, I must apologize for the condition of the ward. We’ve had a record number of patients tonight, and it’s been a bit difficult to keep up. However, all amateur, I can assure you. Please, allow me to direct you to the professional wards, where I’m sure you will be more comfortable. Are you here to see Artemon? Or perhaps Vleg? What a match that was, eh, quite a show of strength!”

  “Where is the human girl from the most recent match?”

  “Human...girl?”

  “Yes, the one who beat the vampire.”

  The doctor’s smile suddenly appeared plastered on, and his eyes widening as his eyebrows closed the gap toward his thinning hairline.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t-we don’t make it a habit of watching the matches while on the floor, Your Grace. As I am sure you understand, we have much more important work to be getting on with. I’m afraid I’m not sure which patient you might be referring to. Do you have a name or UPI perhaps?”

  “She looks like me.”

  “Like…you...”

  “Black.”

  The good doctor blanched. His hands fluttered in the air, and he looked as if he might faint.

  “Ah! Oh, my...yes, hmm. I see, well...I think I may have seen a girl matching that description…just let me check...”

  Bracing himself against the onslaught of sights and smells, Phian followed him further into the ward.

  They found the girl several beds down, her skin ashen, the tips of the fingernails on her remaining arm distinctly blue. The stump of her other arm had been haphazardly bandaged, blood from the amputation already soaking through. Her breathing was uneven, rapid and shallow, and every so often a bubble tinged with pink escaped her lips. Phain realized with a pang that he had seen her before: the giver the Progressives had sent to his mother. He’d never gotten a chance to speak with her after their encounter in Shu-Durul. Now perhaps he never would.

  Her blond opponent’s body lay dead at her feet. He didn’t have to be a doctor to see that the human was soon to follow.

  “As you can see, Your Majesty, her condition has deteriorated quite rapidly, despite the administrations of the onsite medics. I’m afraid, particularly given our current shortage of supplies...well of course we will do our best, but with such loss of blood…”

  “It says on the AMA display that she’s effusus praedulcis. Isn’t that the universal receiver?”

  “Well yes, in fact it is. But that doesn’t change that fact that there is a limited supply of human blood available for transfusions at the moment, and I’m afraid there are several gladiators here with a better opportunity to survive. Is she of some especial relation perhaps?”

  “What about the vampire? If she’s a universal receiver, couldn’t you use vampire blood for the transfusion? It’s not as if this female will be needing it.”

  His question seemed to hang in the air, suspended between them, heavy with possibility. This was not, of course, not the most discreet way to test his theory. Ideally, he would have a willing participant and more qualified doctors, all with signed non disclosure agreements. But that sort of thing would take time to set up, time he didn’t have. This doctor seemed perfectly capable of working under the table. And something about the girl called to him. She was a fighter, despite what he knew from personal experience was not an easy lot in life. Some part of him wanted her to benefit if he were to embark on such a perilous endeavor.

  The doctor opened his mouth and then closed it. He blinked as if taking time to process Phian’s request, scanning his face for a signal on how to proceed. Phian returned his gaze steadily, and soon the doctor’s face settled into a neutral expression.

  “Your Majesty, such a transfer from vampire to human would fall into...extralegal territory. Interspecies transfusions and transplants have been banned since, well, since the founding of civilized society.”

  “Banned, yes. By the government, of course. But am I not the physical manifestation of that government, the rule of law made flesh?”

  The doctor bowed slightly. “As you say, Highness.”

  “And in some cases may not the spirit of the law be followed, even if the word of the law itself is perhaps...circumvented?”

  Another slight bow. “Of course, Highness, it is a greater risk we citizens take in following the—how was it you put it, spirit?—of the law while appearing for all intents and purposes to in fact break it. The benefits must indeed be significant in order to outweigh the substantial risks.”

  “Yes, of course. Whereas in this case the satisfaction of saving a life is not insubstantial, you would also have my gratitude as sovereign and guardian of the law.”

  The doctor waited patiently with his head bowed.

  “...as well a sizeable monetary investment into the future of one so willing to put the spirit of the law above himself.”

  “In that case, Majesty, it would be my honor.”

  The change that came over the other vampire was nearly instantaneous. His obsequious demeanor was erased as if it had never existed. Full of self-importance, he snapped his fingers at the nearest nurse, ordering him to transfer the patient to a private room.

  “If you will follow me, Highness.”

  They proceeded to the outer corridor along the side of the general ward, into a hallway with considerably less carnage and horror. Popular music played, blocking out the groans from the room over, and somehow even the smells seemed to have been blunted. As they passed the private rooms, he recognized the names of several famous pro gladiators on the doors.

  The girl was placed in the suite at the farthest end of the hall. The doctor may have had questionable morals, but he seemed to at least know his way around a body. He began attaching pads and nodes to her, snaking cords every which way around her, the opposite ends of them feeding into various machines. Phian recognized some of them— his royal tutoring had covered quite a variety of topics— and intuited that this step was mainly for reading her reaction, monitoring brain waves, heart rate, body temperature, etc. There was no AMA machine to assist, which was all the better, as the Prince didn’t like the idea of this going on the record, considering the outcome was far from certain.

  The doctor procured a bag of vampire blood—apparently the shortages did not affect the professional ward—attaching it to the girl’s arm via a tube. And then all there was left to
do was wait.

  The doctor eyed him shiftily.

  “It could take several hours to transfuse. Will Your Majesty be waiting here the entire time?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I have other duties to which I must attend. I will return when I can. Ensure her needs are looked after. The finances will of course be handled, as well as a generous sum for your assistance and discretion.”

  “I am honored to have been of help.”

  He took a last look at the patient before he left. Phian was sorely tempted to stay, to see the effects when she woke up. However, he knew he had already tried his guard detail nearly to their breaking point, and the last thing he wanted was for them to get wind of what exactly he was doing here. Let them assume he was raising morale among the wounded. What he was really doing could have much more profound implications for both of their species. Assuming she lived. He had hung his hopes on this human cousin, and he would see her through as best he could.

  ***

  Luca felt as if he might burst. It was easily the longest shift of his life, waiting until he could get off, counting the seconds until he could make a break for the hospital ward. He felt strangely attached to Iona, considering they’d known each other such a short time, and under such strained circumstances. He’d watched the fight from the wings, heart in his throat as he saw her fall. Shucking his apron, he gathered his things from his locker, planning to make straight for the sick ward, when he ran headlong into the workman.

  He was wearing the same innocuous coveralls as always, the same washed out blue as the others, his skin flecked with paint and dust. But there was as always something unnerving about him, a blankness to his expression that gave Luca the creeps. Not saying a word, he nodded in the direction of the terminal, turned on his heels, and walked away without waiting to see whether or not Luca would follow.