Beating Heart Cadavers (3 page)

Ch. 4

It was mid-spring in East Oneris; perhaps the nicest time of year, most would agree, when the sky finally turned from grayish-white to a pale, almost saturated sort of blue. In the residential parts, the grass turned green and transplanted trees could be seen in bloom, and the stepping stones leading up to the university were littered with pink and white tepals from the magnolias. Halfway down the path, the sunlight spread a warm touch over the top of Mason's head, and he paused to look up at the sky. After a lengthy winter, it was finally partly sunny. No, he decided, giving the sky another look – partly cloudy.

He continued to his department and descended the steps in the lecture hall to reach the metal desk at the front. Placing his briefcase atop it, he snapped open the locks and shuffled through the papers that he had graded over the weekend. Fifty-two students had failed the exam, which was hardly a surprise considering that half of his class never showed up for lectures. Everyone had shown up today, of course, because everyone had heard the news.

“So they're going to kill the Mare-folk, Doctor Mason?”

The question rang out through the lecture hall a mere second after Mason had inclined his head towards the student with a raised hand. As a collective murmur of agreement went through the rows of students from the floor to the back wall, Mason heaved a sigh and ran his hand over his shaved head, cringing ever so slightly at the term
doctor.
He had been asking the university to change his nameplate to read 'Professor' for the last decade or so, but his request had been denied. As the title that he had earned from his previous profession ranked higher than that of his new one, by Onerian law he was forced to keep it. Regardless, he always asked his students to call him
Professor.
He wasn't a doctor anymore.

“The government is pushing a bill to shut off the charging facilities,” Mason replied in his neutral way, leaning back against the desk in a pseudo-sitting position as he addressed the class. “We don't know if or when it will happen yet, of course.”

“It'll happen – it's about time.”

Mason held his gaze on the student while doing his best not to let his expression give him away. The boy couldn't have been older than twenty, though he had clearly been ingrained with Onerian beliefs for the good part of his life. He wasn't even certain that his students knew what the Mare-folk were: there seemed to be more and more fantastical stories about them as the years went on, and Mason simply didn't have the patience to keep up with them anymore.

“There's no telling what will happen,” Mason said, trying to ensure that his wording was both factually and politically correct. “A new ambassador has only just been appointed. What he does – and what the government allows – will only become apparent in the coming months.”

He moved to the podium and turned on the projector, but no sooner had he clicked to the first slide of his intended lecture than the student called out another protest.

“So you're just not going to tell us anything about it, then?”

“This is a history class, not a current events one.”

“You always say history's intertwined with the present, though,” said a girl in the first row.

Mason gave her a look. His students only ever seemed to recall information when he didn't want them to.

“In that case, I'm simply afraid that there's nothing to discuss,” Mason said, ignoring the muttered protests heard all around him. “Decisions are being made about the Mare-folk. That's all there is to know, I think.”

Or all that he was supposed to say, rather. He had never been very good at abiding to rules that he didn't agree with, though he had been trying wholeheartedly in recent years, and he certainly wasn't good at keeping his opinions to himself. Perhaps if he had been a bit wiser, he would have become a literature professor years ago when he had been forced to leave his old profession: history was getting him into too much trouble.

The door at the back of the room reopened and someone slipped inside, catching Mason's eye. She looked disheveled as she made her way to an empty seat, slipping past a few other students on her way, and her dark hair fell in a braid down her spine. Her face was hidden by the person in front of her, and Mason looked away. It was just another student who had overslept, he knew. Like always.

“So you're not going to tell us anything?”

As the boy who had made the initial inquiry spoke again, Mason shook himself back to the present. Though he would have rather discussed the Mare-folk than the textbook any day, he wasn't supposed to: that sort of thing would only get him into trouble. But, he considered, his eyes wandering back to where the girl sat hidden from his view, he wasn't supposed to be thinking of ghosts, either, and he always made room for them despite the trouble they caused.

Breaking from his thoughts, Mason looked back at his class, which was for once gazing back at him intently, and suddenly he changed his mind. He could talk about the Mare-folk, he decided. He was professional; he could give an unbiased opinion on the matter.

“No, you're right,” he said. “This is a history class, so I ought to give you the history of the Mare-folk – starting with that term.” He abandoned his slide projector and returned to the desk, leaning back against it to sit upon the surface. “
Mare-folk
is, essentially, a derogatory term that we use for people with metal hearts. The previous term – metal people – wasn't much better.”

“What would you call them, then?”

“I would call them people,” Mason said straightforwardly. “People who were born with metal hearts that need to be charged in order for them to survive.”

There was a shift in the crowd of students and another wave of muttering went through the rows.

“But they don't actually need the chargers to survive, do they?” someone asked. “It's more like a drug, right? And some of them are more addicted than others and get them charged every day.”

“That's not true,” Mason said, though he shifted in his spot as he debated how to proceed. Being unbiased on the matter was proving to be rather more difficult than he had thought. “The hearts operate by receiving a charge from Hilitum. Some hearts – it's true – need to be charged more frequently. Others can go for months – years even – without receiving a charge.”

“Like cars.”

“No, they are not like cars,” Mason said in frustration. “It's the same as any impairment that might affect one of our organs –”

“Except that it poisons their blood, plus anyone who touches them,” called out another student.

“It does not
poison
anyone,” Mason said. “The metal leaches into the bloodstream, causing infertility. But the Mare-folk aren't a risk to us –”

“I heard that the reason they're sterile is nature's way of weeding them out. They weren't supposed to be here in the first place, so evolution's making sure that they don't stick around.”

“That is absurd,” Mason replied. “There are people without metal hearts who are infertile, and it's not because they're genetically inferior to anyone else.”

“The Mare-folk are, though.”

“That's an opinion, not a fact,” Mason said. “If this were a test, you would be failing, Mr. MacCarrick.”

“But they're useless to our society,” the girl in the first row chimed in. “They're weak and sluggish – some of them don't even get out of bed –”

“Many of you don't get out of bed to come to my class most mornings,” Mason said. “The belief that the Mare-folk are weak stems from the fact that many of them don't receive the charges to their hearts as frequently as they should. Many of them are perfectly capable of performing the activities of daily living, just like anyone else.”

“But they're all like animals,” said another girl. “They don't have feelings like us. They're empty inside. They're mindless, moral-less creatures who're just parading as humans.”

“That's not true,” Mason said. “They're simply – there's evidence that they might have more difficulty feeling, or that maybe they feel too much, but those disturbances in their minds are nothing to fear –”

“Disturbances? So you admit that they're deranged?”

“No, I meant 'disturbed' as in 'upset,'” Mason said, running his hand across his shaved head in annoyance. He should have known better than to have tried to get his point across to the students: they had already been forcefed another for twenty-odd years. “These are people in need of our help, and shutting off the charging facilities instead of curing the metal leaching is not the answer –”

“They can't find the cure, though,” the government official's son cut in. “So this is the only way to deal with them before they infect all of us. That's what my father said: they're planning on sterilizing everyone to get back at us all –”

Mason made a movement with his hand, cutting it across the thick air.

“That is absolutely not true,” he said firmly. “There is no truth to that, and no factual basis. The Mare-people are not vindictive, and they're not planning to sterilize us.”

There was a brief silence following his words in the shock at seeing his usually calm demeanor broken by anger. As he dropped his head and composed himself, he was aware that he should have taken the day off work that day. Trying to regulate around his views of the Mare-folk was simply too difficult for him anymore.

He looked up as someone caught his eye. The room had shifted during the debate, and many of the students were leaning forward in their seats as though eagerly observing a ruthless sporting event. The young woman who had come in late was still sitting poised in her chair, though, her arms folded and expression neutral, and her flickering eyes were recognizable even from such a distance.

“I think that's enough discussion for today,” Mason said. “We'll continue with the lecture that's on the syllabus on Wednesday ...”

He trailed off, seemingly deciding that in the clattering of books and footsteps, no one was paying attention to what he was saying. He waited until all of the students had filed out of the room before walking up the steps to where the remaining occupant sat. She had slid down a bit further in her chair as the students moved from the room, perhaps doing her best to pass as a student herself, but her lack of an Onerian uniform had surely given her away. When Mason approached, she kept her head bowed for a moment as though she was reading, but looked up when his shadow overtook her.

“I thought that that was you, Ladeline.”

“Did you?”

She looked up at him vaguely, though he smiled at her in return as he leaned over the chairs to speak to her. The exasperation he had felt only moments before had edged away when the last student left the room.

“I recognized your apparel,” he said. “And your tardiness.”

He took the seat in the row in front of her, sitting sideways on it so that they could speak.

“Well, some things don't change,” Fields said, ignoring the way the corners of her mouth twitched in an almost smile. She had always had a bit of trouble getting to his class on time. “Except for your class, that is. New curriculum?”

“No, just losing my patience,” he replied. “Don't report me. The government seems to be unhappy with me enough as it is.”

He looked her over carefully, trying to see if he could decide anything about what had gone on in her life by her appearance alone, but found that he could not. Her hair was still the same dark brown, pulled off of her face and braided in a long line that fell down her back, and her gray eyes were just as mistrustful as ever.

“Where've you been, Ladeline?” he asked after a moment. “You look like a ghost.”

“Hardly,” Fields replied. “I am looking for one, though.”

Mason frowned, though whether it was her statement or her indifference to his habitual worry that bothered him more, he wasn't sure.

“Matt's not a ghost,” he said. “Not yet, anyhow.”

Fields' brow rose very slightly.

“I wasn't referring to him,” she said, though she looked disturbed even so. “Though I can see how you'd think I was.”

“You heard that he's the new ambassador, then?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I thought you'd be pleased,” Mason said.

“Are you?”

“I think it will be good for him. Good for the Mare-folk, too, especially given that the government has been pushing to shut down the charging facilities. He won't let that happen.”

“I think you'd be surprised what he'd let happen,” Fields said dismissively, turning her head to the side to block out his gaze, yet there was little that she could do to account for her sudden disregard for the person that she had been friends with for nearly twenty years. “Though he'd probably say differently.”

“He didn't say anything – not to me, at least. Though it was inferred that you two had had a falling out, considering that you weren't at the funeral.”

“I didn't think I was invited.”

“I didn't think you needed to be,” Mason said, somehow ridiculing her without altering his tone. “He needed you, Ladeline.”

“He doesn't need anything from me. Believe me.” She paused and clicked her teeth. “But Jasper does.”

Mason made an involuntary movement with his arm, but tried to cover it by scratching the back of his neck. Fields was hardly fooled.