Blood State

Chapter 1

Part I

1.

            Heads turned as General Lucian Devereaux crossed the tower’s entry hall, his boots clacking against red-veined marble. His officers in silver and black knew not to stare, but the scientists – those socially inept whitecoats – flicked their gazes between his eyepatch and the heart-shaped parcel in his hand. He didn’t quicken his pace. People knew he sometimes wore the patch, though they didn’t know why, but as for the box… let them think what they wanted. Even some idiotic notion that he was in love was better than the truth.  

            Green flashed through the skylight: another storm brewing. Lucian glanced up, hoping the patter of freezing rain against glass might calm him. Sometimes this skylight, and the unpredictable sounds and sights it offered him, was the only thing keeping him sane. Even through stone walls, he heard the ocean washing up the building with the high tide as if urging him to hurry.

            He tightened his grip around the package. The box's contents slid from one end to the other like a slug crawling across pavement. Again he felt that unfamiliar pressure in his chest, that cutting of breath. Why couldn't he control it? Resorting to the patch was a last attempt at hiding that his left eye had turned blue since the parcel's arrival.

            Lucian took the stairs two at a time, letting the flow of uniforms and lab coats part around him. If they didn't know his face – and they all did – they'd see the service stripes on his sleeve and know him for a general. But even once he'd reached the furnished upper level, people stared. He should have put the blasted box in a bag.

            He rounded a corner and came into a wide corridor lined with conference rooms. The light here was a sickly yellow-white. He paused before the door with the silver-plated plaque reading Braith Council Chambers. Should he remove the patch? It was usually dark inside to accommodate those attending via projection; they might not notice the eye. His hand drifted across the patch, then returned to his side. He scanned his thumb across the sensor at the side of the door and entered.

            The people around the table looked up. All four had answered his summons in person, though more than one seemed displeased for it. Lucian took the only empty seat and set the parcel in the table’s center. A chill emanated from the walls.

            “General, Colonel,” he greeted the man and the woman opposite him, then turned to the other two. “Doctors.”

            Colonel Shvakova eyed the box with a half-smile. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled so tightly back it tugged the skin around her face. “Tell me, General Devereaux,” she said. “Which of us has caught your eye?”

            General Acker chuckled nervously.

            Lucian studied the package. Garishly pink, tied with red ribbon and wrapped in lace, it was the most hideous thing he'd disgraced himself to carry. “Fortunately, Colonel, this is not for you.” He opened the attached tag and read, “To: General L. Devereaux. From: A Secret Admirer.”

            “So it’s not from Kiraz?” Kartal pressed, his moustache twitching with his words. “What is it? Get to the point, Devereaux.”

            His tone made Lucian's lips tighten, but if there was one person he hesitated to criticize in public, it was his father-in-law. He recalled the sight of the package at the bottom of his front steps as he'd prepared to leave for work that morning. It hadn't crossed his mind that the box might be a gift from his wife; he'd perceived the threat at once. But now another thought hit him, one a loving husband would have seen sooner.

            If this terrorist had gotten a parcel past his security, was Kiraz in danger?

            No need to send Kartal into a panic with that. Lucian pulled off the lid and waited for the Braith to lean across the table and absorb the sight. Even from where he sat, he could smell the rot.

            “Heavens!” Acker exclaimed, covering his nose. Shvakova raised a pencilled eyebrow and Kartal cleared his throat.

            “There's a letter,” Min-Ji Song said. She alone hadn't moved, either to study the thing or to recoil. Never distractible, Min-Ji. Lucian lifted the severed fist and pulled the scroll from it. Its fingers had stiffened around the parchment in rigor mortis, and if that wasn't enough, the paper had originally been stapled to flesh so that Lucian had had to dig the metal out carefully, without ripping the paper. Chunks of flesh had come out instead, and now the hand looked diseased. He let it thud wetly back into the box. Blood smeared the cursive on the scroll, but Lucian had already memorized every word.

            “Dear General Devereaux,” he recited. “I must say, I'm a fan of your work. Setting up a curfew, telling us it's for our own safety in case of an ice storm, and then sending your men to kidnap unsuspecting Firsts from their homes. Now I understand why you're doing nothing to stop the disappearances: you're the one commissioning them. And for what? The concentration camp you call a research facility, the Cliffhanger. I don't know why you're experimenting on these people – what you hope to accomplish – and frankly I don't care. I'll get proof of what you're doing. When I do, I'll tell the world.”

            Lucian lowered the parchment.

            “This... terrorist names you specifically,” Acker said. Several of the Braith glared; Acker's talent for stating the obvious was unrivalled. “I understand you value your privacy, General, but you must employ a larger entourage of guards.”

            “You're thinking too small, Roderick,” Lucian said. “How did he link my men back to the disappearances?” The disappearances had started long before his patrols. How else could he have convinced the Firsts make a dent in their isolationist policy and let his men into their neighbourhoods?

            “It could be a she,” Shvakova pointed out.

            “This is ridiculous.” Kartal clenched his fist on the table. “I've said from the start the Cliffhanger is a bad way to spend money. We should be trying to change our environment, not our people.”

            “We need to send out an alert,” said Min-Ji, massaging her temples.

            “Really, General Devereaux, your safety should be the first thing on all of our minds –”

            Lucian held up his hand, and the Braith quieted like scolded children. The Cliffhanger's secrecy, public security, his safety – all of that seemed less important than the question that had been on his mind since receiving the threat. “Whose hand is this?”

            Shvakova leaned forward, unperturbed as she studied the appendage. Now that it had been inside for several hours, it had started bloating, turning green at the fingertips. The other members of the Braith grimaced, but Lucian half-expected Shvakova to take out a pair of lab gloves and start dissecting it as they spoke. He’d never seen anything disgust the woman, save perhaps Acker's high-pitched laughs. “I'll take it to the lab,” she said. “We'll cross-reference the blood with our employees on file.”

            “You'll notice the terrorist has left the individual's ring on,” Lucian said. Shvakova reached for it, but he said, “You needn't, Irina. I've already looked at it. It's engraved with a mountain lion.”

            Acker muttered something unintelligible.

            “So we know that the victim works for House Devereaux,” Lucian continued, “and that the terrorist makes a habit of being out after curfew. Otherwise, how would he have linked the disappearances back to me?”

            The table was quiet. Finally, Min-Ji straightened and pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “He plans to torture your fallen policeman, then – your kidnapper – for information about the Cliffhanger.”

            “Min-Ji, please. I dislike that term.”

            “Is it not kidnapping?” Kartal snapped. “We knew this would happen eventually.”

            “Are you suggesting the terrorist is justified?” Acker demanded. Lucian normally appreciated Acker's support, but this time he couldn't help frowning at the way the older man came to his aid like a defensive parent.

            Kartal reddened. “I'm saying the Firsts have reason to be furious with us if they find out what we're doing at the Cliffhanger.”

            “I don't believe the terrorist is a First,” Lucian said. All eyes shifted to him.

            “The letter targets you, General,” said Acker. “This person holds a personal grudge. Who else but a First would have reason to detest you like this?”

            Many. So many, Lucian thought, but what he said was, “My police are the best-trained on Tählti. I make sure they have enough stamina to take on a crowd, let alone a single renegade. Besides, one of the Firsts would overexert themselves in minutes against a Modernist like us.” The Firsts might have evolved to better handle the cold, but the differences in their physiology meant they expended twice as much energy in cardiac output.

            “I don't see why a Modernist would risk himself for a First by attacking one of your men,” Kartal grumbled.

            It was true: there was no love lost between the two races. Still, the pieces didn't fit. This was somebody who hated Lucian, to be sure, but not necessarily a First from the evidence presented.

            “The hand is fresh,” Shvakova said. “It was severed last night, if not this morning. Whomever you had on patrol, General, I hope they know to keep their tongues.”

            “It could have been preserved if it was stored outside,” Min-Ji added. “We'll have to search the database for all Devereaux soldiers on patrol this week.”

            Lucian made to rub his eyes, then hesitated when he remembered the patch still over his left one. Blue...when was the last time his eye had changed to such a vibrant blue, the colour that betrayed depression and anxiety? If his fellow council members learned his eye changed colour with his emotions, they would read him like an open book. The last thing he wanted was for the world to see his concern – concern that had as much to do with the leaked information as it did his missing soldier. If he couldn’t even protect his own house’s men, how would he protect the Modernists from the coming ice age?

            “Irina,” he said, and pushed the heart-shaped box toward the colonel. “This is for you after all. Please test this and tell me to whom it belongs.”

            “What about the Cliffhanger's secrecy?” Acker insisted. “Finding out who the missing person is won't help us silence him.”

            “The letter admits this terrorist has no proof. Even if he learns what we're trying to accomplish, he still can't verify that we're behind the disappearances.”

            “You are, Devereaux,” Kartal grumbled. “I didn't vote for this.”

            “Unfortunately, Idris, you were overruled,” Lucian snapped. Kartal glowered at him, but he pretended not to notice. Best not strain his already-tenuous relationship with his father-in-law.

            “Our priority should be getting a warning to the public,” said Min-Ji. Her voice sounded measured as usual, but Lucian read fatigue in the way that she slumped. These years of unethical research had taken a more obvious toll on her than on the others. “We have a terrorist on the loose. The public would be willing to help us find him if we offer a reward.”

            “Whoever he is,” Acker said, “he has as much military training as General Devereaux's police force, if not more. We mustn’t underestimate him. He could become a national threat.”

            “The Wanted signs go out in the morning,” Lucian said, and stood.