by Mark Lingane
He reconnected the sensors and wired in a small battery. He clipped a roll of paper on a spindle between the sensors. He put a pencil in the spindle cradle so it lightly touched the paper. He clicked a lever and stood back with the end of the paper roll in his hand. As the sensors discharged their readings, he slowly drew the piece of paper from the spindle. The pencil hiccupped occasionally, but barely moved. Then it erupted.
Albert cackled with glee at the thought of all-night analysis.
As the hours passed, he pored over the long piece of paper scrolling across the small table, down one side, along the floor, and up onto the bed.
He picked up the paper that was just coming out of the sensors. “Hmm,” he muttered. “Something’s not right.”
There was a knock on the door. He acquiesced to the intrusion and the door squeaked open. A waiter brought in a glass of water on a small tray. He placed it down and left the room.
Albert scribbled notes furiously. He checked, then double-checked the results. He put the pencil down, sat back, and tapped his fingertips together. This changes everything, he thought.
He lifted the glass and took a sip. He smacked his lips. He swirled the water around in the glass and examined the contents. It then occurred to him that he was in a military complex, not a hotel. And they didn’t have waiters.
On the other side of the door, the man shrugged off his waiter’s uniform. He heard a gurgle followed by heavy thud from within the room.
Peter knocked on the door. Thunder rolled and the clouds opened, breaking the dry spell.
“Angel, we need to talk,” he said above the first spray of rain when she opened the door.
“Of course,” she said eagerly, beckoning him into the room.
He sat down. She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him, very close. Perched on the edge of the chair, she looked at him expectantly.
“There seems to be some misunderstanding about our relationship.”
Her smile faded. “Misunderstanding?”
“Yes. You seem to think I have feelings for you.”
She gasped and held her hand to her mouth.
“The truth is, there’s only one woman in my life, and that’s Melanie.”
“But she can’t give you what I can.” Angel reached over and placed her hand on his knee.
“It doesn’t matter what she can or can’t give. I love her the way she is. I accept her for everything she is, as she does me. Trust me, I’m not perfect. She sees through all of that and accepts it.”
“But, to me, you are perfect.”
“That’s all very flattering, but you need to stop it now. It is and always will be Melanie and me.”
Angel winced as she heard him utter Melanie’s name.
“Nothing can change that,” he continued. “Even if she died, I wouldn’t instantly switch to you.”
“But you would switch eventually?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Can I not become your lover? I would bear a child for you.” She placed both her hands on his chest.
He stood up. “Now you’re sounding desperate, and a little creepy.”
“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t push me away. I’ll wait for you, forever.”
“Infatuations and distractions are only fleeting. Nothing’s going to change. I’m sorry,” he said solemnly, and turned to leave.
The tears ran down her face and boiled away into mist. “Nothing’s going to change?” she whispered as he closed the door. “We’ll see about that, Peter. Let’s see how fleeting you find me.”
Melanie watched Peter leave Angel’s room and stepped into the heavy downpour. She ran into the middle of the courtyard and confronted him.
“What were you doing with her?”
He stepped back from her aggression. “I was telling her—”
“You love her.”
“No, God, no! Look, Melanie, it’s not what it seems.” He reached out to her but she shook him off.
“Then why were you in there with her?”
“You have to calm down. I don’t need this. Call me when you make sense.” He strode off to his room, head bowed, leaving Melanie blinking in the rain.
49
MELANIE STRODE ACROSS to Angel’s room and burst through the door. Angel was hidden from view, but Melanie heard a sigh that sounded one part resignation, one part annoyance.
“I might as well get a revolving door installed.” Angel’s voice was cold, bored.
Melanie searched for her, and found her sitting behind a small divider. She was naked. Her perfect back moved like a cat’s. She was turned away, her face hidden. Her words seemed almost to float from above. The sultry weather had drawn in. Melanie felt claustrophobic in the small room.
Angel turned to face Melanie. Melanie’s face fell in horror and she backed away.
“Now you know,” Angel said. “I am a faraday.”
Bright white light glowed through metal gears, which spun and writhed. The occasional small, square black spider-like creature crawled out of one of Angel’s eye sockets and disappeared elsewhere. A fine metal mesh, forming the structure of Angel’s face, covered the horrific metalwork.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she said. “Awe-inspiring, and totally undetectable by those pathetic teslas. They’ll never match this level of technology.”
Angel stood up and her skin faded away, revealing a combination of organs, muscles, and living tissue, heavily integrated with technology, all surrounded by the thin metal cage forming her covetous body. Angel was built—not bred. The small black squares crawled over her body, connecting, then disconnecting as they flowed over her curves.
“I was once like you,” Angel said. “Not exactly like you, Melanie, because that would be sad and pathetic, but I was human. I was different. Enough to scare everyone with my freaky powers, enough to make everyone cross the road and walk on the other side when they saw me coming. Then the cyborgs found me. They didn’t shun me. They welcomed me. They made me even better.”
Her skin reappeared on the framework, concealing the graphic internals. She waved her hand over her face, the mechanics disappeared, and she was Angel once again, the girl with a figure hardwired into the mental fantasy of all males. In her nakedness, she moved without embarrassment, making Melanie feel inadequate and undesirable.
Angel reached out for a silk robe and slipped into it. “This is amusing. I’m not sure if I’m putting this on for me or for you.”
There was a knock at the door. Angel called, “Come in.”
The quartermaster stepped hesitantly into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, ladies, but I seem to have a conflict of numbers, and I’m doing a headcount. You entered with seven people, but I can only find six. I’m worried there may have been a breech.”
Angel smiled at him. “There certainly has been. I brought someone with me. Someone to do my deeds. A killer. A lover. A cleaner.”
The quartermaster looked perplexed, then alarmed. “I have to report this,” he said, turning to go.
“I don’t think so.” Angel shot out her hand. His chest tore open and blood erupted from his chest. He tried to scream, but no sound came. His eyes closed and he collapsed. She clicked her fingers. “Lover boy, I need your help.”
Melanie turned. A familiar face emerged from the shadows, one of deceit and betrayal. “Gavin,” she whispered.
The recollection of Gavin’s duplicity pierced Melanie where she had been shot, where he had shot her. The pain, the loss, the damage, the futility all speared her, making her legs buckle. Clutching at her stomach, she squeezed her eyes closed, tried to push back against the pain, then succumbed and fell to her knees. She bowed her head. She kept her arms wrapped around her stomach.
Angel looked at Gavin. “In the back of the SUV, there’s another vial. Get it for me,” she commanded.
He indicated the bloodied mess on the floor. “What about the man?”
“Leave it.”
Gavin walked past the
kneeling Melanie, looking down at her with loathing and disgust. “You were never pretty enough,” he spat.
“I have him well trained,” Angel said. “You should have tried it, Melanie. Oh, that’s right, you loved him. I don’t know why. He’s so easily distracted by anything pretty that comes along. They’re nothing to him; he’s merely a butterfly, pretty but flighty, with a brain you could fit on the head of a pin.”
She crouched down and whispered in Melanie’s ear. “Peter doesn’t love you either, not really. Not like he loves me.”
“You can’t say that,” Melanie cried.
Angel stood up. She raised her hand and stroked an imaginary face. “Look at him. He’s beautiful. Perfect in every way. What could he possibly like about you? You, who can’t give him a child.”
Melanie gasped. She staggered to her feet and choked back her emotions.
“You’re surprised I know that? I can see inside you.” Angel picked up a glass half full of water. The water boiled under her touch and steamed into the air. “I can see every little thing that’s wrong with your pathetic broken body.” The glass cracked and she let it drop to the floor, where it shattered.
She ran her hand over Melanie’s body, caressing her stomach. Melanie bent over as the pain shot through her, contorting her face. It drove her to her knees.
Angel slowly walked around the kneeling Melanie. “I can take the poison out. Did you know that? I can also push it in.” Angel pushed her hands toward Melanie, who doubled over in pain. “I can push it so deep within you that nothing will ever cure you, and you’ll be left to face a long and painful death.”
Angel’s voice took on a happy, lyrical tone. Her fingers traced patterns in the air above Melanie’s head. “Or, I could kill you now. It would be simple. But that would make you a victim, a martyr, and Peter would love you forever.” She paused in her circuit of Melanie. “Unless …”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you out of Peter’s life. It’s obvious to everyone that he loves me. You’re blocking what’s right, what’s destiny.”
“But why? What is he to you?”
“I am a faraday, the only one. I’m tired of being alone. I want there to be more. I need a good—make that a great—breeding partner. Peter is that. More than you realize. You’re denying him the one thing he can do perfectly, what he was born to do.”
Melanie’s mouth fell open.
Angel rambled on. “I offered him my body, but he said no. Can you believe that? He said no to this,” she said, sweeping her hands over her body. “And do you know why? Because you cast a spell over his mind. He can’t see the true path forward. There’s only one way forward. You need to go. Once you leave, he’ll have no choice but to look in his heart and see who he truly loves. If you really loved him, you’d let him go. If you had any heart, you’d leave, yet you cling to him like an ugly barnacle, smothering him.”
“I won’t go. You can’t make me.”
Angel gave her a warm smile. She stroked her hand under Melanie’s chin. “I can. And you’ll want to. Let me make it easy. If you don’t go, I’ll kill your sad little friends, from the old ones down, like the guard ripped apart at our feet. One by one, with them screaming for their lives on their knees. With their insides being slowly torn out.”
Inside, Melanie was breaking. She knew she was sick. How long she had before she succumbed to the sickness, she didn’t know. Was it worth everyone else’s life for her to have that fleeting time with Peter? She knew the answer. She made a cracked decision.
“Do you promise to let them live if I go?”
Angel laughed. “You don’t understand. When I say go, I don’t mean leave. I mean die. You’ll profess your guilt at killing the soldiers, and this man here, and then you’ll drink the poison.”
“What!”
The door opened and Gavin appeared with a small vial. He handed it to Angel. She winked at him.
She looked down at the dark liquid. “Such a pretty thing from those disgusting children.” She poured half into a cup. “Drink this now. Later, when you’ve confessed to the others in front of Peter and the pain gets too much, take the rest of the vial. It’ll kill you quickly.”
“Do you promise not to kill them?”
“I am a faraday. It’s what I do.”
Melanie handed back the small vial. Angel stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. Once Peter is mine, I will stop.”
Melanie placed the cup to her lips and drank.
50
A SCREAM TORE through the peace of the compound. The guards came running. Angel screamed again as Melanie stumbled out of Angel’s room. The fallen body of the quartermaster could be seen through the open doorway.
Melanie’s eyes were wild. Green spittle was forming at the edge of her lips. She ran to the center of the quadrangle and collapsed in the sand. She clutched the vial tightly in her hand. The guards surrounded her, confused about what to do. Her skin was turning green. She vomited up thick green liquid.
Simon crouched down beside her and she whispered in his ear.
“She’s confessing to killing the soldiers,” Simon called out. “And killing the quartermaster.” He pointed to a couple of guards. “Go and check.”
Peter ran out of his room. He saw Melanie and cried out. He ran to her and cradled her in his arms. She fell back and stared into his eyes. There were voices and explanations curling around them; everything sounded confused and exaggerated.
He stroked her face, and she closed her eyes. In a world that consisted of just the two of them, he sat and held her. “They’re saying it was you,” he said.
She nodded. “I killed the soldiers. I killed the quartermaster.” She sobbed. “I’m dying. I have to pay for the wrong I’ve done. I’ve lied to you, to everyone who trusted me.” She clasped the bottle and rolled it between her fingers. “There’s nothing that can be done for me. There’s no antidote. The others haven’t come. This is the best way for me to pay for everything.”
“I can’t believe you did these things.”
“Look into my eyes. Believe me. It was so I could hold onto you.”
“You never needed to do that. I walked willingly to you and chose to stay. Hang in there for me. We’ll find a way to stop this poison.”
“There is no way. It’s too late. Look to a new future, Peter.”
“A future without you is no future at all.”
“No, I wasn’t right for you, Peter. I want you to find someone better.”
“There is no one better, there never has been.”
She closed her eyes as tears flowed down her cheeks. Peter grasped the vial and poured the rest of the contents into his own mouth. Melanie opened her eyes and saw what he was doing. She cried out. He looked her in the eyes and swallowed.
Angel gasped. “What have you done?” she screamed. Pain socked her in the face. “You don’t love her,” she cried. “Only me. How could you love her? Look at her. I am the angel.” Her face twisted into an ugly expression of desperation.
“No, Melanie is the angel,” Peter said. “She always was. Beauty and grace beyond compare. I’d been waiting for her all my life.” His body convulsed.
Angel reached out for him, afraid to touch. “How dare you think so little of yourself,” she said, her voice gentle now. “I had such great plans for us. We were going to create a new race, one that would change the world. People would have bowed down before us, shaking in fear from the power and majesty. You were to be a king like no other.”
Peter held Melanie tightly.
“No!” Angel screamed. “Don’t do this to me. You don’t know what it was like, living a life of torture, being outcast, never being good enough for anyone because I was different.” She shook him, weeping. “You’ve taken my chance away from me, my one chance at a happy life where I could repay the agony and misery I went through. This was my chance, and now it’s gone. You’ve stolen it from me.”
Peter collapsed and lay motionl
ess next to Melanie, his arm still wrapped around her.
Angel brought her breathing under control. Her skin faded away, revealing the machine and creature she was. “Now you will pay.” She reached up and called out to the power in the storm clouds above. The thunder growled like an ancient beast, shaking the bones of the land. She looked at the dumbstruck faces surrounding them.
“Prepare to die, every single one of you.”
51
“JUST YOU AND me, kid. Two renegades, kickin’ back and freewheelin’, the feel of the wind in our hair, roaring down the great wide-open road. It makes me feel like singing.”
“No singing!” shouted Sebastian. “Not in public. Now, can we actually move out onto the road?”
“Sure,” Michael said. He put his steambike into first gear and it instantly stalled. “I might be a little rusty.” He restarted the bike.
He kangaroo-hopped the bike out onto the track. Eventually, Michael gathered enough speed to smooth out his ride, and soon they were both soon purring peacefully down the road, accompanied by the calming sound of the steam engines.
The sun rose steadily above the horizon, puncturing the bright blue sky. Steam rose off the wet ground. Tufts of greenery sprouted alongside the track. Insects buzzed and peace settled over the area.
Michael called across to Sebastian, “This is a bit different to our escape from the cyborgs on horseback all those years ago.”
“I feel like I’m still running,” Sebastian said. He swatted a fly as it tried to rush into his mouth.
“Maybe you’ve never been running. Maybe you’ve just been on your way to some great destination.”
Sebastian looked at him skeptically. “It must be a pretty amazing place to go through all of this.”
They rode on for a while without talking. Sebastian was deep in thought. Eventually, he said, “Do we know where we’re going?”
“Physical or philosophical?”
“Actually, both seem like good questions. How do you feel after being a prisoner of war?”