Metal Angels - Part One: (A Supernatural Thriller Serial)

by D K Girl

  ‘Leave the crazy bitch with her tin soldiers and ETs, and go get me a life.’ Forget the android on the floor. And the silver-haired alien with the sweetest orgasm face she’d ever seen. ‘Shit, where did that come from? Right, definitely time to get the hell out of here. I think I’ve got cabin fever.’ She tugged at one of the fern fronds, and it came free of its stem.

  ‘No wonder you’re not saying much.’ Kira flicked the dying green tendril onto the floor.

  Her apartment door opened, and three people filed into the room. The first wore a grey jacket with the hood drawn up and face hidden, but behind them was the unmistakable bulk of Rossiter.

  Then, shock of all fucking shocks, Blake followed in close behind him. Heading straight to the grey-hoodie person, guiding them to sit on the couch. Which they did, the way a hundred-year-old grandad might do it. Slow and not very steady.

  ‘Okay.’ Kira stood up, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore her favourite T-shirt, She-Ra Princess of Power faded across its front, and so threadbare her nipples threatened to poke heads to freedom. Safe bet her sister didn’t want to see that. ‘Blake, I gotta draw the line at an orgy with my own sister.’

  Blake pushed the hood free from the mystery man’s head and Kira’s mouth dropped. Azrael. With a shirt on. And his hair bunched into a ponytail, one loose strand cupping the curve of his cheek. Looking like Kira often did. Half-baked.

  ‘Hey, cupcake,’ Kira said. ‘Long time no see.’

  Azrael’s stare-fest moved to her lips as it often did, as if he couldn’t work out why they were moving. But he wasn’t alone in the staring competition today. Blake locked on to her like a hawk targeting a mouse.

  ‘Your robot is in my lounge room.’ Kira gestured to Azrael. ‘Something you want to tell me, Blake?’

  Hawkeye Beckworth shook her head. ‘There’s something I want you to do.’

  Blake - 9

  Blake crouched beside Azrael, and Rossiter loomed over them both. The overprotective bodyguard had failed to heed her repeated requests to leave. She’d said it politely enough to begin with, but her patience was running thin. She was acutely aware that there was only so long before someone realised she was looping the surveillance footage of Azrael’s cell.

  ‘Rossiter, I want you to leave –’

  ‘I don’t think this is a good idea, leaving you two alone with –’ Rossiter’s hand fluttered uselessly as he sought the word.

  Blake considered standing, but just the thought of the energy that would take kept her on her knees.

  ‘You are not required to think about my requests,’ she said.

  Harsh, without doubt, but since the death of their father – and Rossiter’s former military colleague – the massively structured man had taken his job to a new level of commitment, acting as though Blake required not only security but guidance as well. An incorrect, and mildly irritating, assumption. She neither needed nor desired an alternate father figure. She’d make her own mistakes and clean them up without assistance.

  ‘You can go now,’ Blake said.

  Muscles in Rossiter’s thick neck danced with the indecision tightening his body. ‘I’ll wait on your call to return Azrael to level eleven.’

  His gaze darted to Kira. The look on her face was discernible enough. Confusion. And Kira did not like to be confused. Blake had best get to the point, or her sister’s irritation would make conversation laborious; sarcasm, innuendo, and crass language were always Kira’s go-to when she became uncomfortable.

  The door closed behind Rossiter with a gentle click. Kira stood behind the black leather couch, tapping her fingernails against her prosthetic, creating a dull sound. Despite the work Blake had put in to creating a perfect faux skin for the arm—in hope of drawing less attention to the advanced properties of the design and material—Kira refused to wear it, and Blake’s inability to view the bare prosthetic without feeling ill had not reduced over the years. She focused back on Azrael. The apartment smelled of pizza. A deep, rich scent that turned Blake’s empty stomach. Two empty beer bottles, and an open champagne bottle sat beside the pizza box.

  ‘I’ve just got to put it out there, B,’ Kira said. ‘I’m not sure I’m into the robot sex thing. I mean he’s cute and everything, but this just isn’t oiling my engine.’

  She waved her hands over Azrael, who sat oblivious, maintaining his trance-like observance of the television. All at once doubt edged its way into Blake’s mind. Earlier today she’d been so certain of what should occur. Gwen had informed her of Kira’s visits to the containment cell. They’d both observed Azrael’s favourable reaction to her presence, and had ensured it was not a one-off by allowing Kira to sit with him a second time this morning. For reasons Blake struggled to comprehend, the gallu appeared to find Kira’s juvenile, trivial chatter soothing.

  Blake shifted her shoulders, shrugging off her own discontent at allowing the term into her vocabulary. Gallu. A mythological Sumerian entity. A demon or devil. It both stupefied and intrigued her that the Syranians used a term derived from an ancient Earth religion, but it was hardly evidence that the energy contained in the carapace was anything remotely divine. Evidence of a superior intellectual race once having been on Earth? Perhaps. And if the Syranians were prepared to simply destroy that evidence, then what harm in keeping it for herself and attempting to understand both the gallu and the mea stone welded into the carapace. Captain Nex declared both disposable. Of the five carapaces, Azrael was the one she was most proud of. The Syranians treated him as little more than a crash-test dummy, a model that would be discontinued the moment the Four arrived to fill the empty shells awaiting them.

  Taking a deep breath, Blake quietened the nagging doubt. Her hands were steady today, her thoughts clear. A suppressant Cym had given her the day before appeared to be blocking the hallucinatory and physical effects of the Waters. No mental impairment hindered her thought process today. No ache behind her eyes. Her usefulness to the Syranians was drawing to a close; she understood that. But it did not mean she had to go quietly. And she was fast running out of days. What little control she still held was about to be removed.

  Blake forced herself to her feet. Despite the success of Cym’s latest concoction, her limbs were leaden.

  ‘Take him out,’ she said.

  Kira’s eyes widened, and a choked laugh escaped her. ‘Whoa. Okay. Well my gun’s in the shop right now –’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Kira. Listen to me. Take him out of the Facility. Like you did with Eron.’

  Now Kira’s laughter was not choked. It was loud and free and full of incredulity. ‘Oh, just like that? The thing that ended with him being banished to his room for months, and to this day makes the captain and Tamas look at me like I’m shit they just stepped in? Sure. No worries.’

  ‘I don’t have time –’

  Kira’s laughter evaporated. ‘For my shit? No one fucking does. Especially you –’

  ‘This is not the time.’ Heat flushed Blake’s face.

  ‘Nah. Never is. Hasn’t been for years.’ Kira poured herself another golden, bubbling champagne. ‘Just say it. You’ll feel better.’

  Blake frowned. ‘What?’

  Kira threw back the champagne before the froth had a chance to settle. ‘Say it. You hate me. Hated me since the day I slammed Dad into a tree.’ A crack infiltrated her tone.

  Now it was Blake’s turn for incredulity. Of all the moments for this mammoth conversation to burst free of the carefully packed box both she and Kira had shoved it into, this was truly the most inopportune. ‘Kira . . . I don’t . . .’ Reality was too complex for a hurried discussion. And the death of their father had created a rich tapestry, as difficult to look at as Kira’s arm. Did she blame Kira for the accident? Blake had not stopped long enough to allow herself to give it consideration. But hate her sister? No. Blake loathed herself. For not pulling Kira out of the pit she’d descended into since that day. While Kira drowned, Blake submerged herself, and her grief, in the alien w
orld, with all the advanced technology and artificial life she could gorge on.

  ‘Kira, listen to me.’ Blake grabbed the bottle before Kira could pour another glass. ‘I need you to focus. On this. Right now. This moment. The past will have to wait.’

  ‘What’s another three years, right?’

  The waft of Kira’s alcohol-and-garlic-scented breath pushed Blake back a step. ‘You went out in public more than once with an extraterrestrial. Somehow you managed to integrate Eron into everyday situations –’

  ‘Trust me, the Ballers Club is so far from an everyday –’

  ‘My point, Kira, if you will allow me to make it, is that you have a talent for manipulation –’

  ‘You’re just laying on the fucking compliments, aren’t you? Give me the bottle.’

  ‘No.’ Blake scanned the room. The layout was identical to her own townhouse one block down. She strode into the kitchen and tipped the near-full bottle over the sink.

  ‘Jesus, that’s a four-hundred-dollar bottle,’ Kira cried. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

  She reached for the bottle, her hands getting in the way of the fleeing liquid, sending sugar-brown specks over Blake’s white linen blouse. The simmering anger rose up again, and before Blake realised what she’d done, she slammed an open palm against Kira’s flesh shoulder, sending her sister stumbling against the sink.

  ‘What the fuck was that for, you crazy bitch?’ Kira rubbed at the small of her back. ‘Christ almighty, go back to ignoring me. I’m good with that.’

  They stood close in the narrow kitchen. Reason suggested now may be a good time to reach for Kira, tend to her, ensure she was not injured. Blake folded her arms across her unstable stomach and moved away.

  ‘Kira, I’ve not behaved in the way I should have. Not just now, and perhaps not in the past. For that, I apologise. But any further discussion must wait. This is too important. I need one thing from you. Take Azrael out of here. You have to make him blend in, the same way you managed with Eron. He must be made invisible.’ She paused, and decided on frankness. ‘I believe you may be the only one who can.’

  ‘You mean I’m the freak with special clearance at the gate.’ Kira brandished her metal prosthetic, waving her fingers in Blake’s face. She was not incorrect. Blake had taken into account that the extraterrestrial properties of Kira’s limb meant the Lucentshield surrounding the Facility required momentary shut-off at any entranceway Kira used, allowing her entry and exit without setting off alarms. A force field for all intents and purposes, the Lucentshield was originally designed to conceal the energy readings emanating from the Waters.

  Frowning, Blake pushed her sister’s hand away. ‘That is part of it, yes. But you also understand human behaviour –’

  ‘In a way that you don’t.’

  Blake ground her teeth, refusing to be baited. There wasn’t time for an argument. If she was to secure Kira’s assistance in removing Azrael from the Facility, the personal slights her sister was so fond of must be allowed to slide. Blake removed a device from her pocket: a wristband, finger-width wide, with several coloured panels on its matte silver surface. ‘Azrael is mildly sedated and will remain that way as a precaution. But if required, this will allow you to completely incapacitate him.’

  The inhibitor bracelet dangled from Blake’s fingers. Kira hauled herself up onto the kitchen bench, bare feet swinging against the cupboard doors. ‘I know this isn’t a joke, ’cause you are physically incapable of humour,’ Kira said. ‘But, B, what the hell is going on?’

  Blake rubbed at a damp fleck of alcohol on her chin, staring down at a crack in the tiled floor. The ultimate question. One she’d blinded herself to for far too long. ‘I need him out there for just a couple of hours. Enough time to assess reactions, both from Azrael and from the people he interacts with. The data will be useful when completing the others.’

  The lie fell with greater ease than she’d anticipated. Perhaps because its roots were in truth. But she did not want to merely observe Azrael. She wanted to conceal him. The heightened sense of urgency, the near-manic energy that had gripped Captain Nex and the Syranians the past couple of days, and Tamas’s sudden desire to distance himself from her, had dissolved Blake’s focus on the technology. On the marvel of creation.

  As the side-effects of the Waters running through her body heightened, so did her paranoia. The terrible grip of doubt was suffocating.

  ‘Others?’ Kira frowned. ‘You’re building more robo-boys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Are they building an army down there? Are Captain Asshat and his merry band about to take over the world?’ Kira smirked, setting off a dimple high in her left cheek.

  Until that moment Blake had been satisfied with her ready answers, her self-assured half truths. Yet now the single word required to answer stuck to the back of her throat.

  ‘No.’ Blake forced it free, but her uncertainty cracked her voice. Four hunters, searching for a sole target. That was what Tamas had told her. In the beginning. When she cared little for whatever games the aliens wished to play. In a world populated with billions, what were four hunters and one singular goal?

  Kira was silent, her focus on the inhibitor bracelet. She lifted it from where it swayed on Blake’s fingertips and slipped it over her wrist.

  ‘Are they done?’ An uneasy note clung to her words.

  Blake watched her sister. ‘Done?’

  ‘Going? Adios? Sayonara, goodbye. Leaving.’

  ‘Why are you raising your voice?’

  ‘Why aren’t you answering the fucking question. Are the aliens leaving?’

  ‘No. Why would that –’ Blake’s confusion made her pause. Then all at once it dawned on her. Eron. ‘No. They are not leaving.’

  Rossiter had insisted Kira still nursed an emotional connection to the disgraced alien, despite the chaos the interlude had caused and Kira’s flippant dismissal of events. Blake had witnessed a hint of it herself when she took them both to see Azrael, but she did not realise quite how deep the connection ran until now. ‘Kira, we do not have time to further this discussion. Gwen is waiting. You need to meet her, now. And this must stay classified.’

  She grasped Azrael’s shoulder, intending to assist him to his feet, but the gallu jerked at her touch. Blake released her hold.

  ‘I’ve got him,’ Kira said. ‘Just calm your tits. I can’t go out on your stupid mission looking like this.’

  She shrugged off her nightshirt, standing bare-breasted while choosing a shirt from a pile of laundered clothes sitting in a basket on the far side of the dining table. A marking between her small breasts caught Blake’s eye.

  ‘When did you get that?’ The sight of the surgical wound gave Blake the usual turn of stomach, but the artwork that had been worked over it was actually quite beautiful: an intricate kaleidoscope of blue butterflies, running half the length of her considerable scar.

  ‘It’s called a tat, Grandma B. And I got it ages ago.’ Kira pulled on a bra, then a long-sleeved black top, covering the tattoo. ‘Blame Eron. He was being a pussy and wouldn’t get one. So I went first.’

  She slid a white skull-print cardigan over the shirt.

  ‘The Syranian got a tattoo?’ Blake’s concern eased. Kira may be careless, and irresponsible, but her ability to influence those around her was unsurpassed. And Eron had come to no harm in her care. Had remained undiscovered despite both Kira’s and his own severe intoxication.

  ‘He did. A dog’s paw.’ Kira zipped up a pair of black leather pants and tugged on sneakers. A skull-print pattern adorned the well-worn shoes as well. Rossiter, noting Kira’s preoccupation with skulls, had purchased them on Blake’s behalf when her work prevented her from allocating time to birthdays. ‘So where am I supposed to go with Mr Chatty?’

  ‘The Wheel and Barrow. It is quiet on a Tuesday evening, I believe. Gwen is waiting with a vehicle at the East Exit. She has already cleared your exit.’

  One advantage of her status was t
he effect it had on those around her. The requests of the woman deemed responsible for the economic success of the Facility were usually met with hurried, breathless compliance.

  ‘You know the name of my pub? You’re full of surprises tonight.’ Kira crouched beside Azrael, whose concentration had not wavered from the TV during the entire conversation. She looped her sound arm through his. ‘Come on, big guy, we’ve got a hot date.’

  He did not look at her as he allowed her to help him to his feet, all the while still mesmerised by a car commercial. A dance of nerves erupted beneath Blake’s skin at the thought of discovering exactly what Azrael was, what her carapace contained. She opened the front door, standing behind it to stay out of view of anyone passing by outside. ‘You have your cell phone, I assume?’

  Kira nodded, black curls bobbing. ‘Sure do, Secret Squirrel. Ready to complete the mission. Wait, hang on a second, how the fuck do you know the Wheel and Barrow is quiet on a Tuesday night? Tell me it’s not the same way you knew I was in Greece last year.’

  ‘Just go, Kira.’ This had taken too long. Her absence from the lower levels could not be hidden forever by Rossiter.

  ‘Not going to fucking happen.’

  Kira stood just inside the threshold with Azrael on her arm. He twisted his head, trying to keep a view of the TV. And Kira made no attempt to move, her expression defiant.

  Blake gave in. ‘I have access to the surveillance equipment in the Wheel and Barrow. I understand you think that’s wrong, but it’s a security measure to protect the Facility. A precaution. Alcohol loosens tongues, and we can ascertain what, if any, classified information is leaking out into the public arena.’