Chapter 1
I lie inside a cage. It is bitingly cold here, and no respite from the chill will be offered. With bars all around me, there is no privacy. No place to hide. It has been thus for centuries and my captors will not change it, no matter how much I beg or the benefits I offer them in exchange. They merely laugh, as I am their prisoner and subject to their whims anyway.
Have I tried to better my conditions? Many times. At first they made promises, to placate me. But no promise was ever fulfilled. My mistake, I know. They have only taken from me of late—of my flesh and what remains of my sanity. They have asked no questions. That is their mistake. The time is coming. Soon. I look forward to the ending of my misery.
* * *
"I didn't do it!" Davan shouted as he was dragged by two guards past rows of prison cells. His trial was a sham; without proper representation, he'd been sentenced (as so many others before him), to death by vampirism. Accused of stealing from the state, the sentence was the same for anyone convicted of that crime. And everyone was employed by the state; everything was owned by the state. Oh, there were managers and supervisors who thrived and prospered; nearly all of whom were corrupt upon the world of Beliphar.
Once, Beliphar had been a mighty world and a member of the Reth Alliance. No longer—a new regime had come to power, eliminating elected officials quickly. They claimed it was to reduce the amount of government in the Belepharans' lives, but it had come to mean the opposite. Those who'd risen to power had stayed in power and the world of Beliphar labored under their harsh authority.
The Reth Alliance had withdrawn membership quickly, leaving Beliphar to fend for itself. The Belipharans suffered and the small vampire population was quickly captured and condemned for trumped up crimes against the state. Vampires, like everyone else living on Beliphar, were now controlled by those in power.
Vampirism was dealt as a punishment for most crimes and vampires were held in check with special cuffs and chains. They worked in street crews at night or in the mines, did labor on state run farms or processed fuel, chemicals and pharmaceuticals. Anything that might be done at night that could prove harmful to humanoids was ultimately done with vampire labor, as environmental controls on Beliphar were all but abandoned.
Still, Davan proclaimed his innocence and his cries were truth, but he'd been sentenced anyway and was now being hauled down a long, sterile hallway toward a small, windowless room. A vampire waited there—a vampire controlled by the courts and its officers. Davan would be turned unless he died in the attempt. As a male, his chances of surviving the turn were very good. Any female convicted knew her punishment was a death sentence—perhaps one in twenty-five thousand females would turn. Every vampire on Beliphar was male.
Davan stepped up his struggles as he reached the small, sterile cube of a room. A cuffed and controlled vampire waited inside, accompanied by a supervisor with a controlling wand. "No! In the name of the light, no!" Davan shouted. A blazer stick was pressed against his neck and current shot through his body. The resulting pain forced him to his knees as he howled in agony. Davan wept and cursed as the guards jerked him to his feet.
"Name?" The supervisor demanded coldly.
"Davan Falthis," one of Davan's guards replied; Davan was still weeping and unable to answer.
"Davan Falthis, you have been sentenced by the state. Your punishment is vampirism, after which you will serve the state that you conspired against," the supervisor droned in a detached voice. "Load him onto the table." Davan could only moan and whimper as he was hefted onto the stainless-steel table and strapped down; body, arms, legs and neck. The two guards retreated to the corners of the room.
"Do your duty, vampire," the supervisor snapped at the cuffed vampire. He nodded and pulled a steel bowl from beneath the table. It would catch the excess blood when the prisoner's wrists were opened.
Tears ran down Davan's cheeks—he had no idea how his life had come to this—he'd trained as an accountant and had done his duty for the state for thirty years. Now he was in his mid-fifties and someone, a supervisor somewhere, had taken money, laying the blame on him. Davan had been sentenced for someone else's crime.
"You will not speak or cry out," the vampire laid compulsion. Davan was still frightened—the vampire had no control over that. Davan watched in terror as a sharp claw appeared on the vampire's finger, and then the claw slit his left wrist, three times—lengthwise. More tears fell as Davan heard his blood dripping into the bowl.
Can you hear me? A voice sounded inside Davan's mind as his right wrist was opened.
Hear who? Davan was terrified, thinking he was hallucinating during his final moments.
I am the vampire, the voice came again. Do not be afraid. I will do my best to keep you alive. My blood is oldest upon Beliphar.
Keep me alive for what? Davan still thought he was hallucinating.
We still have hope, the vampire replied. Close your eyes, it is almost time.
* * *