Beating Heart Cadavers

Beating Heart Cadavers

by Laura Giebfried

Also by
Laura Giebfried:

Damnatio Memoriae

In Absentia

Memento Mori

Beating Heart Cadavers

Text Copyright © 2016 by Laura Giebfried

Image Copyright © 2016 by Laura Giebfried

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

First Edition, 2016

For Brian McDonald,

who taught me that we are all the same.

Ch. 1

The medical examiner's shoes reverberated on the metal floors of the operating room as he walked back to the gurney and stood over the patient. A body block was situated beneath her back, pushing her chest upwards and causing the rest of her body to arch backwards as though she was reclining elegantly. She would have almost looked attractive, Jasper thought to himself, had it not been for the pale, grayish tint that had overtaken her skin and the deep Y-shaped incision that the surgeon was cutting into her chest. She had long since died, and the white medical sheets covered her face and legs to hide her from view.

“The prostitutes are the worst kind – when you consider how many people they’ve infected.”

Ratsel was frowning through the glass walls. He stood next to Jasper in the observation room just outside the operating room, watching as the surgeon sawed through the woman's rib cage. Though their silver uniforms were nearly identical except for the insignia indicating that Ratsel was the senior officer, with the matching jacket and trousers shimmering beneath the artificial lights, they couldn't have appeared more different. While Ratsel was sharp-faced and decisive, Jasper seemed to cower no matter how hard he tried to straighten his back. His albinism was especially pronounced against the silver material of the Spöken uniform, and though he was still wearing his greatcoat, it did little to hide his hollow, colorless cheeks or disguise his brittle white hair.

“So we get rid of the prostitutes and decrease the chance of it spreading, sir,” Jasper replied.

“For every one we catch, there are bound to be five more that go at it. That’s what the Mare-folk want, Sawyer. They want to spread it. They won’t stop until all of East Oneris is infected.”

He made a face as though something had soured beneath his thin, crooked nose, and smoothed his black hair back against his skull. On the other side of the glass, the surgeon was setting aside the woman's chest plate. As he looked down at her heart, his eyebrows twitched slightly and he raised his chin to regard the head of the Spöken. Ratsel nodded accordingly.

“And there it is,” Ratsel murmured, watching as the surgeon plucked out the metal heart from the woman's chest. The surgeon turned the device over in his hands for a moment, and then promptly dropped it into the hazardous waste disposal.

Ratsel crossed his arms and stared through the opposite glass wall where the other observer of the autopsy was standing. Matthias Mason, still dressed in his deep green teaching uniform, was frowning at where the woman lay. His broad shoulders were tense, and a vein was visible running along the side of his shaved head. Ratsel pressed the intercom button and spoke over to him.

“Are you seeing this, Doctor Mason?”

Mason's eyes moved away from the operating table to rest on the Spöke.

“I am.”

“We caught her with an Onerian man – too late for him, of course: he’ll be sterile from this point on – but early enough. She’d only had a few clients since beginning her work. Disgusting.” Ratsel waited, perhaps thinking that the professor would respond, but continued when he did nothing of the sort. “But of course, you would have had her carry on, wouldn’t you, Doctor? Going about infecting people?”

“The Mare-folk have been driven into hiding. That’s why so many have turned to prostitution. If we could just find the cure –”

“
This
is the cure, Doctor Mason.”

Ratsel nodded to the dead woman lying between them. Mason remained silent.

“A waste,” Ratsel said under his breath, clicking off the intercom. He turned back to the albino. “And to think that this is the man teaching our youth history.”

“He was always unbiased in his views at university, High Officer. At least when he taught me.”

“I’d forgotten. Mason is a ... family friend of yours, isn’t he?”

Jasper's head jerked to the side.

“He was just my professor, High Officer. And his class was mandatory.”

“Really? I seem to remember him being close with your sister.”

Jasper stood back in his position of attention, but his nostrils were flared in clear offense.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had contact with her in years. Nor do I intend to.”

“Your father would have been happy to know that. It’s a shame he never got to see you join the Spöken, after all the work he did to help create it. And the progression that we've made as an organization as well.”

“Are relations with the Mare-folk due to change, sir? Now that the ambassador is dead?”

Ratsel brushed some stray lint off of his shoulder. It flicked to the ground between him and Jasper. The albino waited, cautious, before continuing.

“Only that there's been some talk among the other Spökes. They seem to think that his death might … have an impact on us.”

“Ambassador Caine's death came at a disadvantageous time. I will say that.”

“There are rumors that his position has been handed down to his son,” Jasper said. He hesitated momentarily. “I grew up with Matthew Caine. It's difficult to picture him in such a position of power.”

“I had advised the ambassador to give the job to someone else. A Spöke. But you know how things work in Oneris, Sawyer. The Caines are one of the oldest Onerian families.”

“So you're pleased with the choice, High Officer?”

Ratsel gave a smile. It twisted the corners of his mouth unnaturally, curling his lips back to show his teeth.

“I'm sure that young Matthew can be … groomed. Leaders need advisers, after all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Across the operating room, Mason was staring at where the surgeon was zipping the woman into a body bag. His mouth was drawn into a thin line as though he was suppressing the urge to be sick.

Ratsel smiled.

“Sawyer, show the good Doctor Mason out, will you?”

The albino nodded and left the room. He led Mason down the hallway of the Spöken headquarters, which were flanked on either side by metal walls. As Jasper's boots clicked against the ground, Mason's soles didn't make a sound.

They reached the lift in silence. It was only once they were tucked away behind the tightly closed doors that Jasper consented to speak.

“You’d do better not to voice your opinions on the Mare-folk so loudly, Doctor.”

“You can call me Professor, Jasper. That’s what my title is now.”

“I’ll call you what my superiors call you.”

Mason glanced over at the younger man. They were only fifteen years apart in age, and yet, at twenty-seven, Jasper seemed perpetually young.

“What they call me behind my back, as well?” Mason asked neutrally.

Jasper straightened his back further, choosing to look ahead rather than at the professor. Mason offered him an unseen smile.

“I never pictured you as a Spöke, Jasper,” he said after a moment. “You were always such a gentle boy.”

“You didn’t know me as a boy, Mason.”

“No, but that’s what Ladeline always said.”

“You’d do best not to believe much of what my sister says – or be around her at all – if you know what’s good for you.”

The lift paused and opened to let another silver-uniformed officer on. Jasper kept his mouth and hands clamped tightly until the man got off at the next floor.

“The government doesn’t take kindly to people who aren’t on their side.”

“So I've seen,” Mason replied darkly, his brow returning to the frown he had adopted when watching the autopsy. “But someone has to say it. We need a cure – a real cure – for the Mare-folk. If we can stop the metal from leaching into their bloodstream, there would be no need for this barbarism.”

“You can't really expect the government to protect the Mare-folk at the cost of sacrificing their own people, can you, Mason?” Jasper said. “It might be different if they were any benefit to our country, but all they do is use up our resources and sterilize our citizens. The faster we get them out, the better.”

“How do the Spöken plan on getting rid of people who look and act just like everyone else?”

“We have our ways.”

“Do your ways include guesswork?” the professor asked. “I saw the look of relief on the surgeon's face when that woman's heart was metal. Tell me, Jasper, how many autopsies have the Spöken performed only to realize that they killed an Onerian instead of a Mare-folk?”

“Our job is to protect our citizens, Mason. That woman was a prostitute: she would have sterilized hundreds over her career if we hadn't stopped her.”

“But you weren't certain of that. You can't be certain until they're lying on that operating table with their chests ripped open, and it's only bound to get worse once the Mare-folk begin to hide out of fear for what you'll do to them.”

The lift reached the ground floor and the doors opened to a corridor filled with Spöken guards. Jasper stepped out ahead of Mason and nodded to his colleagues, his hands behind his back and his white fingers laced together in a knot. He led Mason to the vaulted front doors.

“No one can hide from the Spöken, Mason.”

Mason looked at him carefully, his eyes traveling over the albino's white features and then down over the silver buttons of his neatly-pressed uniform.

“Can't they?” he replied, his voice just innocent enough to warrant belief.

The professor removed his visitor's badge and tossed it into the container that a gray-haired Spöke offered to him and then collected the loose coins that had been taken from him upon his arrival at the headquarters. He turned back to Jasper when he was done.

“Is there anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Jasper replied. He pulled up his silver sleeve to reveal a hardened, grayish patch of skin on his forearm. “I seem to have some sort of rash. It's not infectious, is it, do you think?”

Mason surveyed him warily.

“I'm not that type of doctor,” he said.

“No, I rather thought not.”

Mason blinked, hardly disconcerted, and peered back at the albino with the utmost intrigue.

“What are you hiding from, Jasper – sheltered away and protected in here?” he asked. “Ladeline? Or someone else?”

Jasper took a long step backwards and nodded to his colleagues. The guards opened the doors for Mason to leave.

“Goodbye,
Doctor
Mason.”

Ch. 2

Ladeline Fields was headed east on West Boulevard, the outline of her tatterdemalion form only apparent when the headlights from passing cars sent her shadow raking upwards on the wall of the underpass; the thick wall lining the footpath on the left-hand side was just tall enough to shield her from view when she hunched her shoulders and bowed her head to the ground, and even though it was doubtful that anyone passing in their cars knew her or cared, she would have rather liked to go unnoticed all the same. She wasn't entirely welcome in East Oneris anymore.

She wasn't entirely unwelcome, either, though, and the blurriness of the line was what had allowed her across the border from the northern regions back into the heart of Oneris. Well, Fields backtracked, the blurriness
and
the fact that her papers still stated that she was Onerian. The government should have revoked them if they hadn't wanted her to return.

She hadn't wanted to return, of course: she preferred Hasenkamp, or the Wastelands, as Onerians were so quick to call it, to Oneris any day. The trouble was that she felt obligated to. Obligations were the worst sort of thing to Fields. If it was a matter of choice, she could make one that suited her easily; and if it was a matter of needs, she could put hers first without a thought. But obligations … She flicked her hood up over her head so that it dropped down over her eyes. Obligations were like cats caught in pitfall traps: she had no desire to help them, but she had even less to hear them whining. And the particular cat that she was looking to get out presently most assuredly had a whine that would keep her awake for years, and Fields rather liked her sleep undisturbed.

She paused when she reached the center of the state. So early in the morning, when the sky was still dark and the majority of East Oneris was still asleep, the lights on the skyline lit up the navy blue in a mimicry of bright starlight. It almost looked like home, Fields thought. It almost would have been home, too, if it hadn't been filled with such deadened, lifeless people.

Fields took a left from the tunnel and made her way down into the center of East Oneris, which was thick with tall buildings that were all crammed together and comprised of wide streets with uncracked pavement. Had she taken a right, she would have reached the suburbs where proper Onerian families lived, and straight would have led to the countryside in few dozen miles. But she wasn't looking for anything of that sort: she was looking for the albino, and he didn't have a little house in the countryside. Not unless someone had taken him in from the cold again, Fields thought, and that would make things all the more difficult.

Halfway into the city, Fields descended the stairs into the underground and walked alongside the dormant train. The place was just as she remembered it and yet entirely foreign, as well, and as she walked past the black windows, she kept expecting her reflection to show her eighteen-year-old self rather than the one a decade older. There were few highlights to getting older, Fields found: less patience, the same tiresome responsibilities, and more difficulty following through with them. Not to mention that the older she got, the less time she had to fix things. And Fields didn't like when things were broken.

Especially when it involved Jasper.

It shouldn't have been difficult to find an albino in East Oneris: the state was teeming with people who had made it their missions to appear normal. Anyone who displayed any sort of abnormality – flat affects, poor processing, decreased reaction times – were feared to be Mare-people. The worst were women who couldn't bear children, which was a telltale sign of having a metal heart. Fields' adopted mother had faced such criticism, and though she and her husband had gone to great lengths to adopt their children privately and secret them home to raise them as their own, the truth got out eventually. Despite the fact that her husband had created the Spöken, Mrs. Sawyer had been accused of being a Mare-person for years without relief, and it was only after she had died – of a heart-attack, no less – that the performed autopsy declared that she did, in fact, have a normal heart, and the government lifted its watch on her. Which was surely a comfort to her now that she was dead, Fields thought bitterly.

The fact that Mare-people couldn't reproduce was such common knowledge that many people chose to have children simply to prove that they could, which was probably why Fields' generation was comprised of so many worthless, emotionally-stunted people. It was a concept that she felt rather strongly about, as the type of people who bore young simply to prove that they could were not, most likely, the ones who should be doing so. Fields was quite certain that she would have rather been accused of being a Mare-person than have to care for a needy, parasitic child.

Which was exactly what it felt like she was doing momentarily. She had had a pet dog once that she had found in the gutter and taken pity on, but the creature had been vile and impossible to discipline. The amount of time that she had spent trying to train it had been a complete waste, which was rather the same way that she felt about Jasper. The dog had ended up buried beneath her mother's peonies, courtesy of Raban Merdow; and that's where the albino would end up too if she didn't find him quickly enough.

Fields hopped down onto the tracks and crossed to the other side of the station, pulling herself up on the opposite platform. She hadn't heard from him in years, but she knew that he was still in East Oneris. Onerians tended to be overly proud of their heritage, and East Onerians were the worst. The only people who seemed to leave the state were those who were running, and the only ones who got out were those who ran fast enough. If she had run when she was seventeen instead of twenty-seven, then she wouldn't have been in so much trouble presently – and neither would Jasper.

Despite knowing that it wouldn't be there, Fields entered a phone booth and flipped through the directory to check for his name, shutting off the moment of disappointment that she felt at not finding it. Jasper had never had much common sense, but he had been a smart boy, and it seemed that he had been listening when Fields had taught him how to keep out of sight. She wished that he had listened to anything else that she had had to say, of course, but he had taken a liking to his more powerful friends somewhere down the line and allowed himself to be brainwashed into thinking that they would actually keep him around.

It was still early in the morning, and Fields wouldn't be able to do a proper sweep of the city until its citizens were up and running. Returning to the main street, she walked along the light-less buildings and tried to pick out how many were different. The baker's shop where she and Caine used to take advantage of free refills on coffee had been taken over by a shoe store. Perhaps Oneris had new rules on its inhabitants' sugar consumption, as well as everything else.

As Fields took a seat beneath a shop window to roll a cigarette, shielding the paper with her hand to ensure that the blend didn't get blown away by the wind, the headline on a stray page of newspaper caught her attention.
Oneris Scrambles to Replace Ambassador Caine
. Fields frowned as she scanned the first few lines, wondering what could have possibly persuaded Caine Sr. to give up his position as ambassador, when the reason became clear: he had died.

“Ding dong, the ambassador's dead,” Fields said to herself, raising the freshly rolled cigarette to her mouth as she brought the paper closer to read. The click of her lighter sounded sharply in the crisp air, and she held the flame to the tip as she inhaled deeply. There were few things better than a perfect cigarette, but Ambassador Caine's death was certainly one of them.

Fields pulled the cigarette away and let out a breath, watching as the thick stream of smoke fell away into the air. She should watch herself, she thought vaguely; there was no need to be bitter. Ambassador Caine hadn't been the first or only person to show her blatant disregard, after all, though he was certainly the most prominent, and that had made things all the more difficult for Fields. But, to be fair, he was also the only person whose son she had befriended – and possibly engaged in a few less-than-politically-appealing situations with – and so his disapproval wasn't unfounded. Fields took another drag from her cigarette and squinted her eyes. But she
didn't
want to be fair, she realized, and Ambassador Caine had been self-involved and heartless. The world was better off without him, though possibly worse off depending on who would replace him. She had to get out of East Oneris.

And she would, just as soon as she found Jasper.

Scraping her boots against the pavement, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms about them as she finished reading the rest of the previous day's news, and her mood dropped further. The high-cost and risk of mining Hilitum to charge the Mare-folks hearts was growing into another heated debate among the government again, and the purpose of doing so was growing wearier. Fields dropped her chin to her knees and observed the empty streets. Oneris was even less welcoming at nighttime, and it would only grow worse now that trouble with the Mare-folk was starting again. It would also mean that her time to find Jasper was severely shortened: Oneris would potentially be closing its borders, and she wanted to be on the other side of the boundaries when it happened.

“Come on, Jasper, where are you?” she said to the streets, running her eyes along the gray as though he might appear in a blur of white against it as he made a brisk walk to his car. East Oneris was too large, though, and Fields couldn't afford to systematically scour the area as she had previously planned. There had to be a better way to find him, and a more preferable one than her second and third options. She could walk into Raban Merdow's office and ask him, she supposed after a moment or so, as he undoubtedly had the answer. But if she was going to do that, then she would need to buy more bullets for her gun.