Engines of Desire: Tales of Love and Other Horrors

by Livia Llewellyn

  I straighten from my hunched position over the railing, and open my cramped hand. The folded paper is wet, and threads of blue ink stain the brown surface like spider veins. I unfold the squares. The writing is smeared and blurry, but I can still read my father’s name in neat block letters: ESSAM OBERAAN. Larger letters bleed through the surface, from writing on other side. I turn the paper over.

  Someone has drawn an eye, large and almond-shaped. It’s filled in completely with deep blue ink, no pupil or lid to be seen. It stares up at me, unblinking. I hold my breath and wait.

  Nothing happens, of course. A gust of wind throws more rain against me, and the eye dissolves into indigo oblivion. I ball the paper up and throw it high into the air. It disappears. I feel powerless, stupid. The daughter of a soldier, and I’m useless.

  I speak to my armed guardians, silent and surrounding me.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  If they answer me, I can’t hear them. All I hear is rain.

  The last two days burn as fast as rocket fuel, and taste much the same. I say my goodbyes to Thabit and Badra. We pay a kid to stand at the bath door and chase people to the other floors, while we spend several hours alone. I tell them the truth, the thing they don’t want to hear. There will be no egg left behind, no spliced-gene daughter for the three of us. It’s Thabit who cries, but I expected that. Badra tells me they’ll wait for me, that we’ll talk about it again when I come home, but none of us believe what she says. “Are you with me?” I ask, and they say yes. Yet Badra’s voice is ozone cool, and so are Thabit’s lips. Already, they’ve moved on.

  The escort guard lets Mom and Dad come with me, when they come. It’s their right, as I’m technically a minor, even though I’m now in the army. People gather around my door, but I don’t see Thabit and Badra. I didn’t expect to. I recite the loyalty pledge to my city and planet in front of everyone, and there’s polite applause, and then I’m whisked down the long hall. People stand in their doorways, whispering and watching. Someone’s been making curry again, the smell of it seeps through the walls. One of the officers activates the supposedly-dead elevator, which causes a small riot. Dad helps me past the surge of people, but he won’t look at me. I assume that somewhere in his unisuit, the little syringes wait. I don’t want to know. The elevator rushes past the basement level, and I’ll admit I get a thrill when I realize where we’re going. I’ve heard there are underground transports, but no one gets to use them anymore. Well, except for military. That’s me, now. Private Jet Oberaan and her four hundred thousand. The sirens sound, faint and mournful, as we stand on the sub-level platform. In a year, they’ll sound for my children.

  More papers. I sign until I think my hand will fall off. The train rushes through tunnels so fast, I can’t see what’s outside. Mom wants to know when we’ll get the credits for the eggs, and almost passes out when they tell her they’ll cut an advance against conception right at the hospital. I try to get Dad’s attention, but he stares out the windows, ignoring us both. My gun and blade are gone, they disarmed me back at the apartment. I feel light-headed and off-balance. I think of Thabit and Badra. I sit up suddenly, knocking the papers to the floor. I’m hungry; no, I’m thirsty. I don’t ask the woman in uniform if they’ll freeze an egg for me. I do ask if the soldiers will have faces. I don’t remember anyone’s answer. I can’t stop thinking, I can’t stop asking questions, I can’t stop pacing back and forth, I can’t oh god I can’t I can’t oh daddy don’t do this don’t do this don’t make me choose—

  White.

  The color is beautiful. Pure white. No dirt, no grime. I never thought any wall could look so clean. The woman sticks an inhaler against my nose, and I take another breath as she pats my back. I’m calm now, I don’t even remember when we got here. Drugged to the gills. Panic attack’s over. I feel good.

  We’re escorted through the hospital corridors, on our way to meet the man who’ll be the father of my twenty-six divisions. Not man, the doctor said. Male. The male who’ll contribute the second half of my little army. He’s not human, that much info they gave me. I’m so high. I smile at my father, a loopy grin that he doesn’t return. Mom stayed behind the waiting room. She wore makeup today. There’ll be booze and black market food, and lots of handsome men congratulating her on her daughter’s plentiful ovaries. “I bet the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”, one will probably say, and she’ll blush and laugh, not knowing what he means. Dad never took her to the parks. She’s never seen an apple, or a tree.

  We pass through weapons sensors and wide walls of x-ray machines, past doors four feet thick and twenty feet high that take ten minutes to swing out. We’re sprayed for stray bacteria, and little badges with foreign symbols are placed on our chests. “I hope that’s not a target,” I joke as a woman fastens it to me, but she doesn’t smile. She looks pretty damn scared. She makes me take one more hit of the anti-panic gas before she runs back down the hall.

  Behind the last door is a room, bigger than all the rooms I’ve been in, put together. All along the walls, stories above us, men and women in white coats peer down from observation windows. The walls are dotted with lasers and cameras. Hundreds of soldiers—half-human, bristling with machinery in their ugly faces—surround us, weaponry sweating in the heat. The air stinks of oil and cement dust and chemicals. At the center stands a cube of two-foot thick glass, and in the center of the cube stands the male. The officers draw their weapons and escort me to one side of the cube, to the metallic round of a speaking window, then back away.

  The creature’s eyes are long, almond-shaped pools of mercury. They widen as I step forward, and his lips pull back, revealing a dog-like set of fangs in a jutting muzzle. That’s what he is, he’s a dog with the thick body of an over-muscled soldier, coated in bristling black fur. Except, he’s not a dog, or a man. My father stands beside me, disappointment washing over his face. He can’t get to the creature behind all that glass. He can’t use the syringe on it. Of course, there’s no glass surrounding me. Guess I know who gets the poison now. Under the haze of the drug, I giggle.

  “What is he?” Dad asks.

  “This is the future of the military.” Behind me, one of the officers steps forward. I can tell he’s memorized his answer by the way he stumbles over the words. “By combining the high intellect and reasoning skills of humans with the brute strength and longevity of this species, we’ve been able to create the perfect space-faring military weapon. Excellent for stealth missions, almost telepathic in communications skills, and blind in loyalty to their commanding officers. Loyal to the death. This is the future of the military. You’ll be pleased to know that the divisions you and he create will be the first wave of that future—a future that will ensure us both victory and peace.”

  The officer stands beside us now. He looks satisfied. My father mouths, prisoner of war. I pretend not to see him.

  “What is he? Where is he from?”

  The officer smiles. “That’s classified.”

  I ignore Dad’s “I told you so” smirk.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “He has a number.”

  “That’s stupid. He needs a name. I’m going to call him Sidabras. For the color of his eyes.”

  Now the officer looks a bit pained. I think he’s getting tired of giggling girl before him, even if she is the mother-to-be of twenty-six divisions of death. I swallow down another nervous laugh, and try to look serious.

  “Will the babies—the soldiers—look like him?”

  “Not quite. A bit more human, more like you, less—” he waves his hands, as if unable to express the disgusting alienness of the creature standing before us. “You’ll be quite pleased. And I think your darker skin tones will help.”

  “What?” I can feel Dad’s anger as he speaks, his hands gripping into my skin.

  More hand-waving. “No, it’s not that, not at all. The last two batches with this male were produced with lighter-skinned females, which led to problems with the
stealth capabilities of the fur and skin. Someone with coloring closer to his will correct that. We can’t afford to destroy any more batches.”

  “Have you already, you know—” I glance down.

  “Oh yes. It’s harvested and good to go.” The officer pats me on the shoulder. “We’re all just waiting for the four hundred thousand to report.”

  The creature’s snarl has faded. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His children, maybe, destroyed or sent to space to die. “Does he understand us?”

  “You can speak to him,” the officer says. “We’ve wired him with a communications system.” He flicks a small switch by the metal circle, and an intercom crackles to life.

  We stare at each other.

  I lean forward, open my mouth. But I don’t know what to say.

  Wide hands rise, both large enough to cover half my head with just the palms. He places a finger against his neck, flicks a switch with a sharp nail. A delicate movement—I bet he’s good with weapons. Small wires run down one side of his neck to the front of his throat, ending in an electrical plate bolted on an armor-like chest of calloused skin. He opens his mouth again, and several short bursts of harsh sound shoot out. Seconds later, I hear the translation.

  ARE. YOU. LOYAL.

  “Yes,” I say, not sure what he means. I look him directly in the eyes, and he does the same in return. It’s what you do with animals. I think we both know that. “Are you?”

  The translator crackles, unable to understand the sharp bark. I jump at the sound. My heart pounds faster, and it’s getting hard to breathe. The anti-panic gas has worn off, I’m freaking out. “I’m so sorry you’re in here.”

  COMMAND. THEM.

  He must mean his children. Ours. “I can’t go into space with them, if that’s what you mean. I would if I could.” The lies come babbling out. What does he want to hear? “They won’t let me go. I’ll never see them. If I could—”

  The glass fogs as ivory fangs appear from the red of his mouth, and his face distorts in the steaming air. His growl sounds like thunder in the canyons.

  I step back. “Can we go now?” Dad reaches out with his hand to draw me away. I see a flash at his fingers.

  “No!” I grab his wrist, and we struggle. The officers watch, dumbfounded. They don’t see the syringe, they only see a stubborn old man resisting his daughter. “I won’t let you kill them!”

  “You stupid girl, it’s not for you—!” We collide, and I cry out: something just punched my heart. Dad pushes me away.

  The syringe sticks out of my chest. It’s empty. I stare up at Dad. He points to one eye, his finger tearing the lashes as tears stream down his cheeks.

  “Be loyal,” he says.

  I say something, but my voice sounds so small and distant, I can’t hear the words.

  Behind me, the creature roars. I hear him slam against the glass, and several hundred soldiers start as the entire cube shifts forward with an ear-splitting shriek. I scream—hands pull me back and under the cover of limbs. Doctors are shouting at the soldiers, trying to push through the wall of weapons and armor to get to me. Dad pitches sideways, hits the cube and slides down. I see him clutching his chest as soldiers surround him, weapons clicking.

  “Don’t kill him!” I grab my throat—it burns. My heart is on fire from the poison, and the fire is spreading up. I press forward as the soldiers jostle their guns in confusion. They’re waiting for orders to shoot or save my father.

  The dog soldier looks out, down, and our eyes lock. All that storm-cloud mercury fills my mind, and I feel the words drop out of me like bullets or babies newly formed, even as the doctors finally pin me to the floor.

  sidabras. don’t let him die. be loyal.

  I don’t think I spoke.

  The creature rages. Plumes of white gas curl from the cube’s ceiling, even as soldiers surround it like beetles on rotting food. The glass cracks, shatters all around us in sharp rain. Gunfire and sparks in the smoke—

  I disengage.

  I’ve done it before, like when I was jumped during an all-night party that turned into a riot, several years ago. I shot three men. Didn’t feel a thing. There’s a part of you that shuts down, and the lizard part blossoms, cold and bright and uncaring. There’s a man trying to rape you: stab him to death. The doctor straps you to the gurney: don’t fight it. Wake up, feel the gauze at your waist, you’re not a woman anymore: forget it. Ask the officers about my father—they don’t know anything about a syringe or a shot. You were high, hallucinating, remember? They do know something about a heart attack, but your father refused treatment: you say nothing. They tell you your mother left the base with a suitcase in one hand and a pamphlet in the other. She remembered to take your money, but forgot to leave her new address:

  Disengage.

  And now I stand on the apartment balcony, gripping an honorable discharge. Inside, Dad runs a hand down the front of his mended unisuit. Underneath, a new heart beats—a chop-shop job I got on the street, after he collapsed again on the train ride home. It was that, or let him die. Guess I’m not loyal. Dad hates me for it, says he loved the old heart better. It was the heart he fell in love with his wife with, the heart he loved me with. The heart of a soldier. Now the wife’s gone, the heart’s gone, the money’s gone, and I’m the monster.

  I open my hand, and the wind whisks the papers away. I stare at the distant buildings, silver and slick. I fall to my knees, fall asleep. I dream of mercury, and unblinking eyes.

  Sirens wail as I run the tip of the pen over the last white square. Black fills up the space, and now the calendar is complete. One year gone. Outside, battle cruisers prepare for lift-off. Already the buildings vibrate from the engines springing to life. There are more cruisers this time, three times as many. Whatever was in that syringe, it didn’t affect the eggs. The dog soldier and I, we did good. The letter on the table, delivered today, tells me. Four hundred thousand, every damn one of them grown up, armed, and ready to go.

  “Mom should have waited before she dumped us. She’d have twice the money now.” I push the letter across the table toward Dad, then hold the bank chip up to the light. A credit for every soldier shipped into space, with a bonus for “extensive” modifications. Just like they’d promised. Not that it matters much now. Things are bad—food supplies low, water dwindling, medicine nonexistent. The power is off half the time or more. Everything tastes and smells like rotting metal. Something’s gone wrong in the world, but no one knows what it is. This time, there are no rumors.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Dad stands at the balcony door, a silhouette in the pale morning light. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been waiting for this day as much as me. He’s their grandfather.

  “Fine. Whatever,” I say to myself. Dad doesn’t talk anymore. He hasn’t spoken to me since we left the base a year ago. Not one word. He’s healthier with the new heart, he even walks downstairs once a week. But he can’t forgive me for not stopping the war—for not dying when he stabbed me, for not dying when he stabbed himself. At least he didn’t kick me out. I have no place to go. Thabit and Badra don’t live in the building anymore. It seems they weren’t with me, after all. They were with a girl from another floor, the one I heard Thabit knocked up. I can’t blame them.

  Something whispers in my ear, little half-caught words I can barely understand. It’s Dad, muttering under his breath again, whenever I look away. This is what he does instead of speaking, and it drives me crazy. I slap the chip onto the table, knocking the chair over as I stand.

  “I am so sick and tired of your mumbling. If you have something to say to me, just say it!”

  The light bulb fizzes, and winks out. I can hear the power dying in the building, all the ticks and hiccups of machinery shutting down. The sirens fade.

  “Great. Just great.” I stumble into the living room, feeling around for my pack. “Come on, close that door and let’s get going. If we go now, we might still find a good place in the st
airwell.” Silence, of course.

  “I swear it’s like talking to a child….” I find my pack and strap it on, then feel my way into the bedroom. Dad’s pack is on his bed. I reach for it, then stop and cock my head, hearing the absence of engines. The battle cruisers. Have they already gone? Have my children already gone?

  The pack slides off the bed, contents clattering onto the floor. I reach out, grab—

  My hand shoots back, stung by the tip of a needle. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I see syringes. Empty syringes and full ones, too many to count, roll around my feet. I pick one up. It’s the same type that entered my chest. Even without a light, I see traces of silver glowing inside the hollow tube.

  Everything tastes like metal, smells like metal.

  “You son of a bitch.” I run to the kitchen, clutching the syringe. He’s not there. “You bastard! What did you do to me?” I kick the fallen chair aside, and step out onto the balcony. In the strange silence, my clumsy movements sound like thunder.

  Dad sits on the railing, one leg thrown over the edge. His body leans into empty air, as if he’s looking for something in the distance, the right place to jump to. I don’t move.

  “If you want to jump, fine. I’m not going to stop you,” I say. “But first you tell me what you did to me. What is this shit and what does it do? You owe me an explanation!”

  “I never used them on you, not after the accident, at the cube—” Dad’s voice cracks, and he stops. It’s been so long since he’s spoken, we’re both surprised at the sound. He clears his throat before beginning again. “I told you they weren’t for you, you never needed them. They were intended for me, only for me. I’m sorry.” He leans out, raising his free hand high.

  “Wait, don’t jump! Please—” I reach a hand out to him, slow and deliberate in the chilly air. “I promise I believe you, whatever you say. But please just tell me what why you’re doing this. Just talk to me for once.”