Out of the Dark (63 page)

“You see?”

Dvorak looked at the cross, then reached out and touched it gently. The hand across which it lay was cool. Not cold, he thought—simply cool. The skin was neither shriveled nor leathery. It felt just like any hand’s skin . . . except that there was no warmth.

“Hollywood got most of it wrong, Dave,” Buchevsky said. “Vampires are still . . . human. We’ve changed, and I’m not going to tell you the change is a pleasant process, because, trust me, it isn’t. And I’m not going to tell you there aren’t things I’m going to miss—a lot—now that I’m no longer what Vlad calls ‘a breather.’ But we’re not automatically monsters.”

“Not
automatically,
” Dvorak repeated, and Buchevsky nodded.

“That’s a choice we all make, isn’t it? Monster, angel, or maybe just . . . man, do you think?” He looked levelly into Dvorak’s eyes. “Anybody can choose to become a murderer. Anybody can choose to become a doctor. One of them requires more discipline and more study, but they’re both
choices
. I chose to be a Marine, and I killed quite a few people in the service of my country. So did your brother-in-law. So have you, assuming you want to consider Shongairi ‘people.’ Did that make me a murderer or just a Marine?”

“So you’re saying that even
Vlad Drakulya
is just misunderstood?”

“Of course I’m not.” For the first time what might have been a trace of anger flickered around the edges of Buchevsky’s voice. “In fact, he’d be the first to tell you that wasn’t what happened. The truth is, Vlad
was
a monster . . . but that was true even before he stopped breathing. Becoming a vampire didn’t
make
him a monster; it only meant he could do even more monstrous things, and for a while, that’s exactly what he did. Ask him about it.”

“No thanks.”

Dvorak shivered. He’d met Drakulya twice now, and while he suspected that he felt less uncomfortable around him than many might have, there
was a vast difference between “less uncomfortable” and anything remotely like “
comfortable.
”

“That man—and whatever else he may be, he is a
man,
Dave, trust me—has spent five centuries learning
not
to be a monster. He thinks he hasn’t pulled it off yet, but
I
think he’s wrong. I’ve seen him, I’ve watched him. You know, we
can
enter churches. We can pray—I still do that fairly regularly. And I’ve seen him in a church, seen how he stares at that cross, seen how he still thinks of himself as unclean. I’m not going to tell you he’s a ‘nice’ man, because he was born in the flipping
fifteenth century,
and he’s still got more than a few fifteenth-century attitudes in him. I don’t think he’s ever likely to care much for ‘Turks,’ for example. Had what you might call an unpleasant boyhood experience with them, which doesn’t even consider the way they treated Romania while he was still a breather. Or the way his own brother, Radu, converted to Islam and invaded Wallachia under Mehmed II. And you might want to take a look at what the boyars did to his father and his older brother, too. He’s been in some really
bad
places—inside his head, as well as physically—in the last six hundred years or so, and he’s never going to be what you might call a very forgiving sort. But whatever he may once have been, he’s not a monster anymore. And I won’t let him be one again.”

Dvorak’s eyebrow rose.

“That’s why I can’t stay and work this out with Dad and Mom,” Buchevsky said, putting the cross gently back inside his shirt and buttoning it once more. “Vlad needs me. I promised to keep him sane, and I’m going to. But I know what we’re going to be doing to the Shongairi, too, and that’s why I have to be with him. He needs me, I think, as the proof that he can make another vampire who
isn’t
a monster. Because, maybe, if there’s
one
vampire in the universe who isn’t a monster,
he
can not be a monster, too. And as long as he needs me for that, I’ll be there. Because I owe him that. Because
every surviving human being
owes him that. And because he damned well deserves it.”

•  •  •  •  •

Now Dave Dvorak’s attention returned to the present, looking into the lantern-lit eyes of yet another vampire.

No, he told himself. Into the eyes of another good
man
who simply happened to be a vampire, as well. One of the two or three dozen vampires—no one knew exactly how many, and the vampires weren’t telling—who’d been left behind as Vlad Drakulya’s deputies. Not to rule the planet in his
name, not to terrorize the living, but simply to be there. To be sure that in the turmoil and upheavals certain to accompany the world’s rebuilding and the adjustments to all the new technology and capabilities about to pour down over humanity, the “breather” monsters were held in check.

You know,
he reflected now,
if I’m a corrupt strongman somewhere, or a warlord who hates to let a good crisis go to waste and thinks it would be really cool to build a new little empire all my own, and somebody like Pieter Ushakov pours himself through my keyhole in a column of smoke and suggests I really ought to think about changing my ways, I’d probably do it. I mean, I don’t know for
sure,
but . . . probably
.

He chuckled at the thought, then gave himself a shake.

We’re going to have to get used to the notion of a galaxy with other intelligent species in it. I don’t think we’re going to like all of them very much, either. But maybe what we really need to do is get into the habit of recognizing that our lowly little planet is actually home to
two
intelligent species all its own. One that breathes, and one that doesn’t. If we’re going to avoid the Shongair pattern—or the Hegemony’s, for that matter—and learn to really
coexist
with other folks, maybe we should start practicing right here at home
.

“Well,” he said out loud, “now that ‘Sparky’s’ stopped blowing himself up, I suppose I should go see whether or not the charcoal’s ready.” He smiled at his wife. “It’s been—what? Six
months
since I grilled a steak? God, that really brings it home somehow.”

“So does the fact that Mr. Steak Nazi Dvorak is about to grill steaks that he actually
froze,
” she retorted.

“Hey, if I hadn’t stuck them in the freezer before all this started, we wouldn’t have them today. I mean, sure,
freezing
a steak comes under the heading of an unnatural act, but sometimes you just don’t have a choice. And as far as grilling them today—or, rather, tonight, now that Pieter’s been able to join us—I’ll simply point out that today is the girls’ birthday, and Tuesday is my birthday, and next Friday will be the first day of the new school year. The
schools
are going to be open again, Sharon! If all of that isn’t grounds enough to thaw out some of the world’s few remaining sirloins, I don’t know what is!”

“You’re right,” she said much more gently. “You’re right. Of course, school’s never going to be quite the same again, is it?”

“Nothing is, and we’re just damned lucky Howell managed to hold so much of North Carolina together. I was talking to Sam about it yesterday, you know. They’re talking about going ahead and merging North Carolina
and South Carolina into one state, at least for a while.” Dvorak shook his head. “Hard to believe we’re about to become the wealthiest, most stable, best educated state—or states—in the entire Union. They’re even talking about putting the new national capital in Raleigh! Somewhere down to the cemetery John C. Calhoun and Daniel Webster must be spinning up a storm. And don’t even get me
started
on William Tecumseh Sherman!”

“I know little about this Calhoun or Webster,” Ushakov said, “but Sherman I have heard of. And from what I have seen and heard so far, I would not be at all surprised if your Governor Howell does not become even more famous than he, when the history books are finally written. For that matter, I suspect he will become
President
Howell as soon as your nation can organize new elections. It would seem to me that he truly deserves it.”

“Well, maybe he does,” Dvorak agreed, “but I’ll tell you right now, Sam and Longbow and Howell are out of their damned minds if they think
I’m
going to agree to run for the Senate.” He shuddered. “Oh, no, you’re not getting
me
into Washington—or Raleigh, or wherever the hell
else
we put the capital when we get around to rebuilding it! I’ve got me a cabin up in the hills with a bunker, by God, and I’m a-stayin’ in it!”

“Amen, Lord!
Amen,
” his wife said fervently. Then whacked him on his good shoulder. “Now get your lazy nonsenatorial butt over there to the kitchen and start cooking!”

“Yes, Ma’am. To hear is to obey,” he said, and the two of them and Ushakov started across towards the bonfire, followed by Zinaida and their own children.

“You know, Pieter,” Dvorak said, looking over his shoulder at the Ukrainian, “before he left, Stephen said there were things he was going to miss about breathing. I have to say, one of the things I’d hate to give up is eating. Especially”—he grinned at Morgana—“steak.”

“Yeah,
steak
!” Morgana agreed with a huge grin.

“I want mine well done, Daddy,” Malachai said, and Dvorak shook his head.

“Such sacrilege,” he murmured.

“Well,” Pieter said, running one finger down the muzzle ridge of the sleepy puppy still stretched out along his right forearm, “I may not partake of your meal myself, but I always enjoy the conversation. And perhaps if I cut the pieces up small enough, Renfield here might enjoy a nibble.”

Dvorak and his wife stopped dead, turning to look at him in disbelief.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“
What
did you just call that puppy?” Sharon Dvorak demanded. “I don’t know if the records are still around anywhere, but Merlin and Nimue are both AKC-registered, and I’m not sure
that
name is going to fly, you should pardon the expression, for one of their offspring!”

“What are you talking about?” Ushakov asked, his expression puzzled.

“You just called that puppy ‘
Renfield
,’” she said, reaching up to jab a finger under his nose, deadly creature of the undead or not. “Don’t pretend you didn’t, Pieter Stefanovich Ushakov!”

“Of course not!” he said, cradling the puppy protectively closer to his chest. “That is his name—Milo Renfield!”

“No!”
Sharon cried. “
Don’t
tell me you named one of
my
dog’s puppies
Milo Renfield
! What did you think you were
doing?
”

“I thought it was a fine name,” Ushakov protested.

“Funny, you don’t look depraved,” Dvorak observed, then cocked his head thoughtfully. “Tell me, just how did you come up with that particular name, Pieter? Did someone, oh,
suggest
it to you, by any chance?”

“Perhaps.” Ushakov tilted his own head to one side, narrowed eyes speculative.

“Well, I was just wondering. Was it Stephen . . . or Vlad?”

“Vlad,” Ushakov replied. “Why? He said it was the name of a character in a film he saw once. A character he felt rather close to.”

Dave Dvorak covered his eyes with his good hand and shook his head.

“I should’ve guessed,” he said.

“Guessed what?” Ushakov demanded.

“Who suggested it.” Dvorak shook his head again, then lowered his hand and put it on Ushakov’s shoulder, urging him on towards the waiting charcoal grill and the steaks. “Don’t worry, we’ll explain.” He shook his head again. “And you know, that suggestion just goes to prove Stephen was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?” his wife asked, still clearly torn between outrage and amusement by the name which had been bestowed upon her four-footed grandson.

“Well, I hope Pieter here won’t take me up wrongly on this, but if Vlad Drakulya, of all people, could bestow
that
name on a puppy that’s busy adopting a vampire, then deep down inside, he
is
still a monster.”