18: Vulnerable Superiority
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In a large conference room in the Capitol Building, four people watched the human news play on a television. Taira and Madame looked calm; Holland, picked up by Madame’s people as he was leaving the gate after being refused entry into Lakeview, looked furious. Lissa hoped that she herself didn’t look as confused and wary as she felt.
“Well then,” Madame said as a vampire on the screen with a broken jaw fled into some bushes, “I’d say that this is all pretty neatly wrapped up. Does anybody have some last minute threats they’d like to get out of their system, or should we all just assume that each other are too well protected by friends and plans to be safely made into a patsy, and all go home?”
“What do you mean, all wrapped up?” Lissa asked. “It’s on the news! Even the humans know what you just tried to do! Other vampires can see this, and even if they couldn’t, talking to humans in the future would tell them – ”
“Nothing useful,” Taira said. “It’s fortunate that you didn’t figure out the full aim of the plan before making your call; having Taipays running about suspecting the whole truth would put this city in serious danger.” She glanced at Holland, who looked back at her with a lack of expression that was somehow more threatening than a glare. “But even then, we could handle it.”
“This is a poor time to threaten me, Taira.”
“Indeed it is,” Madame cut in smoothly, “but my dear colleague’s point is that nobody knows anything and that the facts are irrelevant. What information do they have? A bunch of media bluster about some plan to convert an unsustainable number of type A people to vampirism and let them starve, which would sound utterly stupid even if the newscasters weren’t making themselves sound incredibly unreliable with trying to overdramatise everything. And what actually happened, what do people actually see? A higher-than-average proportion of Taipays in the human city, some of whom were stubborn when they were supposed to retreat for a sudden unplanned lockdown. Not even a higher number; just a higher proportion. You got the gate closed before all that many could get in, Lissa; even our dear Holland here, despite his importance, didn’t get into the city before the gates closed. So what actually happened here, as any vampire can plainly see, is that a corrupt politician was bribed by a shady businessman and they worked together to increase the population and therefore influence of the businessman’s caste. And then on one night when a lot of Taipays were going out to prepare for this increase that everyone already knows about, an anonymous false tip was called in that barred them from Lakeview, and now the Taipay increase plan will simply vanish and everyone will assume that it was someone in my party that closed the gates, and that we have something on Taira and forced her people to abandon the increase. And everyone will feel very clever for understanding this very normal political event and will go on with their lives.” Her gaze settled pointedly on Holland. “And anybody trying to make something more extreme out of this would, frankly, be dismissed as a potentially dangerous charlatan and destroy his own reputation… or much worse.”
Holland looked back at her with his scary blank expression. “I understand the potential danger of something like this getting out, don’t worry. I’m not the one who’s trying to start a civil war.”
“And now that the specific civil war that we wanted is impossible, we’re all in agreement about how undesirable one would be,” Madame said brightly. “So let’s all go home and get some rest.” She stood up. “We’ll be in touch.”
Once they were ushered out of the building as quickly as politeness allowed, Lissa and Holland headed for home. Their homes were, awkwardly, in the same direction, and once they were a reasonable distance from the capitol building, Holland glanced around the near-empty streets before saying awkwardly, “I cannot begin to thank you enough for what you did for us today. I – much as I daresay every Taipay who has the privilege of understanding much of what happened here tonight – consider myself deeply in your debt.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he offered his hand for a handshake, holding it like an inferior. After a few awkward seconds, she accepted it like an equal, curling her fingers around his.
“You would’ve done the same for us,” she said.
“I certainly hope I would, but that has no bearing on the situation. You saved us from extinction within the Scarlet City today.”
“From death, but not necessarily extinction,” Lissa said. “I don’t think the Abbies’ plan would have worked.”
“What, you think your kind would’ve stood with ours instead of the Abbies? If you’d both ganged up on us – and the way this was all set up, most Bees would have felt very justified in doing so – they could have done it.”
“That’s irrelevant. They might’ve succeeded in killing every Taipay in the city, though I like to think it wouldn’t have gotten that far; but even if it did, it wouldn’t have worked in the long run. Their whole plan for a lovely simple three-type system with a perfect hierarchy failed to account for a fairly fundamental piece of Abby psychology.”
“Oh?”
“Abbies,” Lissa said, “seem chronically incapable of accepting that they can experience the consequences of their actions.”
“A pretty serious weakness to have in the blood, that.”
“I don’t think it is in the blood. I’ve been thinking lately that we blame the blood for a lot of things that are simply comfortable habits. Maybe a better way to eliminate the problems caused by apparent inherent rivalry between our two kinds is to stop assuming the rivalry is inherent and actually get off our arses and work to get along, for instance. In the case of the Abbies, I think they think of themselves as immune to negative consequences because their experience so often proves them right. I mean, Madame’s people just tried to commit a fucking genocide. They bullied my sister into it, manipulated both of us, tried to kill your entire – ”
“Your sister is as guilty as the Madame, so far as I’m concerned.”
“Agree to disagree, but my point is that there should be real, serious consequences for that, career-ending consequences at the very least, and they’ll likely experience no more than embarrassment and inconvenience. Because there’s nobody powerful enough to hold them to account quietly, so what are we going to do, start a civil war? They think they can do this bullshit and suffer no problems because they almost always can. And that’s why the plan wouldn’t have worked. Sure, only Abbies and Taipays can make new Taipays, and the Abbies can control immigration if they put their weight behind it, so you’d think that wiping out all the Taipays would be permanent, but I guarantee that Madame would keep around a few of her favourites, as would at least thirty other elders, Taipays who they can control and therefore don’t think could be a threat, Taipays who don’t really count. And even if the human population above adapted to better feed the population down here, there’d be some type A humans above still; their blood would simply go to Abbies if there weren’t many Taipays to feed. And some Abby hanging out in a bar in a century or two after the horror of the civil war is an old memory would be enchanted by some type A human, and think one more type A convert wouldn’t hurt, and then a couple of years later it would happen again… and soon enough there’d be a new population of Taipays innocent of the civil war, campaigning for a population expansion, and practicality would be on their side and we’ll all be back here again within three centuries or so and the whole think would’ve been absolutely pointless, just with a whole lot of unnecessary death.”
“We could start a civil war,” Holland said thoughtfully.
Lissa stumbled, and took a few seconds to regain her footing. “What?”
“What you said about how the Abbies will experience no consequences for this because we won’t start a civil war. Do you think they’re scared of us? Are they terrified? Do they know that we actually could?”
“Holland, I understand how furious you must be, but you cannot plunge us into war and get a good portion of the city slaughtered in revenge.”
“Incorrect. I absolutely could do that. I think what you mean is that I wouldn’t, which is true; I’m not going to try to start a war, Lissa, don’t worry. But think about it. Think about the potential avenues if we did. Think about what they’re scared of.” There was an unsettling glint of revelation in his eye. “They ran the numbers on wiping us out. Do you think they realise how weak and vulnerable they are, compared to us?”
“Because they’re outnumbered, you mean? With their power and experience, I don’t – ”
“No, no; I mean on a practical, blood level. Like you said, there’s no way to wipe out the Taipays, or the Bees for that matter, and guarantee that the new system can remain long term. The risk of repopulation is permanent. But that’s not true of the Abbies, is it? If it was their heads on the chopping block, the change in the social order would be permanent, because only Abbies can make new Abbies. You kill them off and they’re gone forever. The only way for new ones to get in would be immigration, which would be very easily controlled; you don’t have to police everyone’s human conversion habits on the lookout for wrong blood types, you just have to keep out outsiders, and frankly I don’t think all that many Abbies would be looking to move to a city that slaughtered all of theirs. Their numbers are so low, there’s no way to make more when they’re gone; they could be permanently removed, and a new order with the city ruled by Taipays and Bees in equal and opposite partnership would be permanent. The mere possibility changes the dynamics somewhat, doesn’t it? Like negotiating with a rival where only one of you is carrying a gun. They were the ones to raise the possibility of wiping out an entire blood caste; I wonder if they’ve figured out yet that they’re by far the most vulnerable to that.”
“You can’t,” Lissa reiterated.
“I already said that I won’t. It’d kill the city, if we succeeded. Think about what it would mean, if the Abbies were all gone.”
“Representatives from the Bees and Taipays would run the city,” Lissa said. “We’d have to learn how to get along.”
“If we were ever likely to learn that, we would’ve learned it long ago. And it would be much, much harder without the Abbies. Outright war between our kinds would be so tempting as to be practically inevitable. Eliminating the Abbies would put us in their position.”
He didn’t mean just in terms of power, Lissa knew. He meant in terms of blood. If there were no Abbies, then new ’Pays could be made only by ’Pays, and new Bees only by Bees. In a situation where ’Pays and Bees fought for control of the city with no superior caste above them to moderate the situation, constant violent conflicts would already be likely; in a situation where more of each blood caste could only be made by their own kind, where killing all of one in the city meant that there would be nobody left in the city that could make more, civil war would be practically inevitable. It didn’t matter how many people would want peace and unity; if the handful ruthless and hungry enough to control half the city realised that they could permanently control the whole city by wiping out their opposite caste, make a city of just them and Zeroes…
“I suppose that that keeps the Abbies safe then,” she said. “Knowing that while they could probably be wiped out, doing so would doom the city between the fangs of the most ruthless among the Bees and ’Pays.”
“It certainly means that we can’t afford to wipe them out or destroy the system,” Holland said, “but the question is whether they believe that we think that.” He grinned a grin that looked more like the threat of a bite. “I can’t have my revenge, but I’m certainly looking forward to every scheming high-ranking duplicitous Abby elder I speak to from now on being scared that I just might.”
“You’re going to get yourself assassinated,” Lissa said.
He laughed. “If I was going to be worried about things like that, I never would’ve taken over Herron Industries. Have a good night, Lissa.”
“You, too,” she said. “Though it’s probably morning by now.”
They parted ways, and as Lissa headed towards her own apartment, she couldn’t stop shaking. It was only just beginning to sink in, the sheer gravity of what they’d so narrowly avoided. One phone call had avoided mass death and a war that would become the most brutal and bloody part of Scarlet City history. One phone call. And now they were here in a world where a mildly inconvenient lockdown had taken place for a single night, and most people in the city would never know that anything had happened beyond a failed power grab by an ambitious businessman and an overly impertinent politician. And now life would go on as normal.
How often did this happen? Was the city constantly teetering on the brink of war, and she never noticed, because this was the first time she’d been involved? Surely not. If the city was so unstable, it would’ve fallen long ago.
Everything was resolved now. Now that the Abbies couldn’t have their simplified system, nobody wanted a civil war, and the status quo would remain, and with it its blessed stability.
Lissa was being watched. She spun around to see two men in a doorway. It looked like they’d been having a conversation and paused in it to watch her.
Zeroes, both of them. This wasn’t obvious from their manner, for they moved with a strange confidence for Zeroes, but she recognised them. It was Sila, Madame’s Zero spy, talking to the police officer who’d interrogated her over the serial murders. They were watching her with looks that, had they been Abbies or Bees, Lissa would’ve called calculating.
But as Zeroes, they were probably just sensing her tension, and frightened that she might decide to pick on them. She gave them a nonthreatening smile and went on her way. Behind her, their low conversation started up again, chatting about whatever nonsense Zeroes chatted to each other about.
Above her, the unchanging neon lights of the Scarlet City glittered in a tapestry of false stars. The city safe, all mysteries solved, Lissa put the Zeroes out of her mind and turned away from home and towards the Hive. She needed – she had earned – a drink.
Derin Edala 