Meridian Six

Hard metal slammed into my soft temple. Ripples of pain pulsed through my head, but fear was strangely absent. Shock, probably. Or just resignation. It wasn’t the first time a man had pressed a gun to my head. Castor loved a little gun play before he f**ked my vein. More times than I could count, I’d taunt him into rages hoping he’d just pull the trigger.

But Icarus wasn’t Castor and I hadn’t escaped only to die less than forty-eight hours later. I gritted my teeth against the pain and glared into his eyes. "Fine, you want information?" I’d give them something they couldn’t refuse. Then they’d have to let me go. "I can tell you how to destroy the Troika."

Dare snorted. "Bullshit."

The gun’s pressure didn’t ease up, but Icarus’s eyes narrowed. "Explain."

I licked my dry lips. Time to talk fast. "Rebels have been fighting minor skirmishes with the Troika for years, but not making any major headway, right?" He nodded reluctantly. "Well, what if you could deal a major blow to the vamps’ infrastructure?"

"I’m listening."

"Do you know who Pontius Morordes is?"

"He’s a murderer," Icarus spat.

I glanced at him but the hatred in his eyes made me look away quickly. Good thing then that I didn’t mention that I knew Morordes by more than just name. He’d attended several of the Troika parties where I’d been paraded out like a show pony. Unlike the other vampires who pawed me and looked me over like an objet d’art, he’d had a kindly smile and seemed to look down on the others who treated humans like toys. I’d even visited him at his lab a few times. Sure, he’d taken my blood and done a few tests, but he’d always had a ready smile and a gentle manner. Still, I didn’t object to Icarus’s characterization because I figured it wouldn’t be very good for my health.

"In the camps they call him Doctor Death," Icarus said. "For years he’s been collecting human specimens and conducting experiments. Many of which have left the test subjects mutilated or dead. What of him?"

I stretched my neck a little, trying to get some room between me and the bullet-spitter, but it followed me. "A few months ago he figured out a prototype for synthetic blood."

The Scribe and Icarus exchanged a dubious look. "Synthetic?"

I nodded. "They’ve been having trouble in the blood camps. The stress of constant bleeding is killing off a lot of the humans, and the breeding program isn’t producing enough people to replace them fast enough." Because blood type is determined by genetics, the Troika had to have enough humans of the right blood types to procreate a new generation of sacrificial lambs. Since children couldn’t survive long in the bloodletting wards, the Troika had logistical problems. Along the way, one of their scientists proposed the idea of creating a synthetic alternative to human blood as insurance against a blood shortage.

"The Troika would never give up High Bloods," Saga said. High Blood was the name for humans with the most desirable blood types. Like me.

I swallowed as I quickly decided how much to share, which was as little as possible. "Before I escaped, I overheard that they were starting a program to try to breed more AB types."

"The camps are filled with mostly Os," Icarus said. "If they’re trying to make more ABs, they’ll keep those offspring for the Troika’s officials and give the synthetic blood to the lower level vampires."

Instead of blood type, vampires were judged based on the purity of their genetic line. The Troika’s officials all came from the most pure vampire lines, while the rest of the vampire population came from lineages soiled by human blood.

"So the synthetic is for the plebs? Why make it at all?"

I nodded. "I heard Castor talking to his cabinet about some riots in the city over blood rationing. They’re hoping the synthetic blood will mollify the plebeian vamps."

The Scribe scrubbed his hand over his face. "Which means they won’t need the blood camps anymore."

"Right. The officials will still have their stables of High Bloods and the Troika will always need labor camps, but the humans in the blood camps will become … obsolete."

"Shit," Dare breathed.

"It gets worse," I began. Now that I was knee-deep in this story, I realized how horrible the news I brought them actually was. It was one thing for me to hear the Troika discussing their plans in the plush rooms of the compound. It was something else entirely to share the information with humans who for all I knew might have relatives or friends in those camps. But considering one of the people I was telling the story to had a gun pointed at my head, I was pretty sure I couldn’t just change my mind. "Once they had a synthetic blood, they had another problem to solve. Humans are dying rapidly in the camps, but there are still millions of people hooked up to bleeding machines that will be obsolete once they roll out the blood."

Dare cursed under her breath. The Scribe went white. And the mouth of Icarus’s gun bit harder into my skin. Grimacing, I soldiered on. "That’s when Castor had what he’s calling his most brilliant plan to date. He called it ‘The Factory.’"

As soon as the words left my mouth, the room fell dead silent. Even Polonius had frozen, like he sensed danger on the air.

"Where is it?" Icarus asked, his tone grave.

The Scribe twitched like he’d just been zapped by a thought. "So that’s what it is," he breathed, almost to himself.

"What do you mean?" Dare demanded of the old man.

He shuffled away, his lips moving as he muttered to himself. "It’s here somewhere." With gnarled hands, he began shuffling through stacks of paper on the large table. Icarus looked at Dare and she shrugged. Since he had the gun on me, she went to investigate.

"What are you looking for, Saga?" she asked in a patient, kind tone that told me she was well-used to the old man wandering off and speaking to people who weren’t there.

"It was here." More shuffling. "I didn’t know what it was. But then she– Yes, hmm. Perhaps over here." He moved to the other end of the table and started going through another sheaf of papers. Whatever he was looking for, it was clear our conversation wouldn’t continue until he’d completed his search. Awkward for me, considering the gun.

"Is the gun still necessary?" I asked conversationally.

Icarus’s lips tightened into a frown. "Quiet."

Before I could react to that, The Scribe bellowed, "Aha! I knew it was here."

"What is it?" Dare asked, moving closer to inspect the paper in his hand.

"A few weeks ago, one of the patrols in sector four reported some building activity near the river. They brought me that drawing."