A Covenant of Justice (6 page)

She motioned to her attendants and they hurried over to tap the vein in Finn's arm. The dark blood flowed steadily into the goblet.

“A toast,” said the Lady, raising the cup to her lips. Again, she smiled at them, mocking their fierce determination with her liquid laugh. They couldn't take their eyes off her. Their expressions burned with intensity. “A toast—to those who serve the Regency. You should all feel honored. Just as the flavor of Finn Markham has brought pleasure to this sophisticated palate, so in turn will each of you provide that same service in turn. I give you my sincerest thanks for your selfless sacrifices.”

She drank deeply from the bowl, cradling it with both hands as she tilted the dark fluid across her lips, over her delicate forked tongue, and down her pulsing throat. The blood burned with a flavor she had never tasted before—peculiar, but tantalizing. It lingered in her mouth and left her with a haunting purple feeling. She licked her lips and wondered if she might allow herself another cup; this close to the bottom of the bottle, the flavor would almost certainly have overtones of death. She preferred her meals vigorous, not weak. And besides, a second cup, might seem like shameless indulgence. Regretfully, she decided against it and handed the goblet to a faceless insect attendant.

She gestured for a settee and sank down onto it as it glided over to her. As the warmth of Finn's blood spread throughout her body, she cast a languorous, almost affectionate gaze across her guests. “You really don't appreciate the honor that this represents, do you? If only you knew your history better. Even you, Three-Dollar, have no idea of the high regard that the Phaestor have for their food species. You have always thought of us as cruel and uncaring, haven't you?”

Zillabar stretched herself luxuriously across the couch. “But we do care. More than you know. You become part of us. We cherish you. We want to see you healthy and happy in your lives, not just because it affects the flavor, but because you will serve us more efficiently.”

Three-Dollar inclined his head in a nod of polite deference. “I do know something of history. I would not presume to argue with your interpretation, but some of us have experienced the same events in a different light.”

The Lady waved away his comment with a dainty gesture of irrelevance. “I grant you that some abuses have occurred, especially among the young and the reckless members of my species. But for the most part, you will find that we have only the highest regard for your people. You have accepted a holy burden on your shoulders.” To the others' puzzled looks, she explained. “The Phaestor do not exist in an ecological vacuum. When we began, those who created us also created several bioform species for us to feed upon. Those species did not have the sentience to experience fear. Indeed, they felt only awe and reverence for us, their protectors. They bent their necks to us proudly and willingly; they gave their lives with such pleasure that the flavor of their blood sparkled in our mouths and invigorated our spirits. Or so I have heard,” she added uncomfortably. It would not do to demonstrate too much familiarity with the flavors of bioform blood. Not even here.

“Unfortunately,” she continued, “the war against the predators lasted for many centuries, much longer than it should have. The logistics of interstellar war required many many Phaestor. The predators kept coming and coming, sometimes as many as two or three a decade. We had to stop them before they found and englobed the populated worlds, so we had to meet them in the deep between the Cluster and the great wheel of the Eye of God. We had to wait in the darkness and challenge the predators there.

Do you know what that required—the ships, the crews, the long, almost suicidal watches? Can you even conceive of the courage of our brave Phaestor children? The ships stayed on station for decades, the eggs thawed as needed; the children hatched in the most precarious conditions. They trained under the most rigorous of rules, no margins for error existed aboard the ships. But they served—without complaint. They served proudly. And we have all enjoyed the benefits of their sacrifices in the dark between the stars.

Lady Zillabar softened her tone. She brushed something away from her forehead, looked momentarily puzzled, then continued her discourse on the history of her species. “But for many years, the predators came almost faster than we could meet them. We had to breed many young Phaestor for the battle, and regretfully, the needs of our defense outgrew our ability to maintain ourselves. We reproduced faster than our bioform cattle, and although we worked as hard as we could to build up our feedstocks, we realized early on that we would have to find alternate food supplies to sustain our health and our ability to breed.

“Courageously, your species—you humans and your uplifted companions, the dogs, the apes, and the others—your species volunteered to make up the difference in the bloodfall. You gave us your partnership so that we could fight the predators together. You shared our victories. You still do.”

The men looked unconvinced, and Lady Zillabar knew automatically what they thought. She answered it without their having to ask. “That we have not seen a predator in centuries, doesn't mean that we have vanquished them. Perhaps they still swarm across the distant Milky Way, breeding and spreading and smothering all the worlds they encounter. Perhaps one day, they will again leap across the years toward the beckoning Cluster. Do we dare relax our defenses? Do we dare become complacent? I think not. The Phaestor still stand watch against the predators, and those who benefit from our labors must pay us for our service. The transaction has no shame; we ask only life for life.

“We ask only your continued partnership.”

William Three-Dollar bowed politely. The tall, red-skinned man had an angular grace that rivaled that of the Vampires themselves. He said, “My Lady, with no disrespect, your version of history differs significantly from mine. Perhaps the error lies with your perspective. Perhaps it lies with mine. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in-between, and perhaps indeed, the truth exists in neither of our respective tellings. Nevertheless, it seems to me that your version of history contains a measure of self-serving inaccuracy that allows you to continue this fiction that we humans exist in partnership and that we should enjoy this relationship. In point of fact, we most emphatically do not.”

Zillabar looked momentarily confused, but she recovered quickly and waved Three-Dollar's words away with one bejeweled hand. “Look out there. See the storms that sweep across Burihatin? You swim like a balloon-fish in the current. You have no idea of the forces that move you. You have no idea what lies beyond your ability to perceive. Your language doesn't even have the distinctions which would allow me to explain. You can't hear what I say, you can only hear what your perceptions allow you to hear.”

Behind Three-Dollar, Sawyer and Lee exchanged a wary glance. Three-Dollar inclined his head curiously, as if listening to something else, then bowed politely. “Enlighten us, then. Show us what we do not understand.”

Zillabar thought about standing up to face the impudent man, decided not to; she still felt the delicious warmth of Finn Markham's blood coursing through her veins; she didn't want to spoil the moment. She stretched out comfortably across the couch.

“I'll tell you part of what you don't know,” she said. “We have found the taste of human blood and human flesh to have an invigorating effect upon our palates. Humans provide a very sweet addition to our diets, much more delicious than our original bioform prey. Humans breed faster and taste better. Many vampires prefer the taste of humans, and correspondingly we feel much less pressure to restore and maintain our bioform herds as before. We would rather lessen the number of humans first. We do not enjoy your competition for resources.

“The matter of your sentience does not carry the same importance to us as it does to you; because from our vantage point, you really do not have anywhere near as much sentience as you think you do. You have just enough rationality to understand the concept, but certainly not enough to achieve it.

“We plan to have a Phaestor governor on every Regency world before the beginning of the next cycle. All of the lesser species will soon serve our needs, and we will complete the process of restructuring the Dominion. Despite the untimely death of Lord Drydel—an event in which your participation will not go unpunished—our plans will go forward. I will lay many eggs—more than any other queen in history. And you humans will play an important part in that drama as well.

“Our experiments have proven that Phaestor boys grow faster and healthier when hatched in human hosts. So your species will provide another service to the Phaestoric Dominion. You will not only feed us, you will help us breed, and all the while you will help us reduce your numbers.

“From your feeble perspective, of course, this must appear as a terrible violation of your desperate urge to survive; but, when viewed from the larger frame of reference that we Vampires enjoy, when viewed from the greater historical perspective, this moment represents an extraordinary threshold of evolutionary opportunity. We approach critical mass. When it occurs, then . . . in one great leap, we shall cast off the past and reinvent the ruling intelligence of the Palethetic Cluster. Your feeble sentience will enhance that process, expressing itself ultimately in the joyous recognition of a self-designed, self-created godhood of Phaestoric consciousness. Gods
need
worshippers.

“The participation of humanity in this transformation of sentience exists as an evolutionary privilege never before granted to any intelligent species. I sometimes wonder how any intelligent creature would not eagerly wish to have such a partnership with the future. And equally, I sometimes wonder why you poor, pitiful things continue to demonstrate so much resistance to the inevitable course of life. As much as I try to understand the workings of your lesser minds, I remain appalled at the paucity of your imaginations, at your inability to accept that another species has earned its right to rule over you.”

As if exhausted by this speech, the Lady sank back on her couch, again succumbing to the intoxicating glow of Finn's fresh blood. She had not realized how much she had needed this draught; she felt its effects much more profoundly than she expected. Perhaps the treatment in his blood had ripened much faster than she realized, or perhaps she had deprived herself too long of her own sweet red dreams. No matter. She would enjoy this one to the utmost. It would take a while before her ship could slip into orbit around Burihatin-14, and she had nothing better to do anyway. She felt woozy.

She lifted one hand to dismiss William Three-Dollar and the others, but before she could complete the gesture, the tall man began speaking to her. Both his words and his tone carried an ominous sense of danger. But she couldn't see how this pitiful man could possibly harm her. She listened in amusement as he began. “What you describe, Lady Zillabar, represents the most heinous violation of the Regency Charter since the original founders first drafted that sacred document. You have described a Vampire plan for racial war.”

Zillabar struggled to sit up. “Ho!” she grunted. “Other races have abused the Vampires for centuries—this represents justice. We see it as a fair retribution.”

Lee-1169 snorted then. “What else can we expect from a Vampire? You can't tell the difference between justice and revenge.”

Zillabar shook her head. “You foolish man. In our language, we distinguish no difference between the two concepts. Why should we?”

William Three-Dollar answered her. “If the Vampires have truly chosen to discard the charter and pursue this course, then the Regency truly has collapsed. The Gathering of TimeBinders represents the Cluster's only hope for true justice.”

Zillabar laughed. “You pitiful little men. You think your demonstrations of bravado will make a difference? All of you will feed the holy transformation. I will mate and lay my eggs, and your veins will provide the wine of celebration.” She tried to stagger to her feet, she wobbled as if drunk—she flushed with confusion, and a look of sudden understanding appeared on her face.

“What have you done?” she gasped. One delicate hand leapt upward, clutched at her throat. “You've tried to poison me—” She staggered to her feet. She had to support herself by holding onto the armrest of her couch. She tried to scream. “Guards—” but her voice came out as a pitiful croak.

She stumbled then, collapsing forward into Three-Dollar's waiting arms. Behind him, Lee-1169 shouted, “Seize the moment!” He and Sawyer leapt. Three-Dollar turned Zillabar sideways in his grasp, pulled the dagger from her belt, and held it up to her throat, touching the silvery tip of the blade to the soft hollow at the root of her neck.

Lee grabbed the end of one of the hanging draperies framing the double doors of the main access, pulling it across and through the golden handles, tying it securely. Tuan pushed a couch in front of the servants' access door. Sawyer leapt sideways just in time to meet the Elite Guard of Vampires. A secret panel had slid open and a squad of pale boys in shining black armor came pouring through the opening.

Sawyer knew the truth of these children—selected for decoration more than for skill; he whirled on one leg, drop-kicking the first one into the room. He heard the fragile bones cracking as he slammed against the wall. Lee-1169 pulled the second one down with a vicious chop to the neck. Tuan scooped up a needle-gun that rattled across the floor and shot the third guard in the chest, the fourth one in the face. The fifth guard ducked to one side, looking for an opening. The sixth guard stumbled into the crossfire and fell to the floor, writhing with a double set of wounds. By then, Lee had a needle-gun too, and the two of them dashed back to flank Three-Dollar and Zillabar just in time before six Dragon Guards came bursting through the double doors like an avalanche of hardened flesh. Sawyer still scrambled for a weapon of his own.