Alien Nation

by Gini Koch

  Broke down and decided a shapeshifting Amazon wasn’t overkill but thinking ahead. “Fine, Rahmi, you’re in.” She managed not to squeal and jump up and down, but I could tell she wanted to. “Mossy, I’d like you to come, too, if you’re up for it.”

  “I was going whether you asked or not,” he said with a grin.

  “I figured. The rest of you, don’t even think about it. No one appears to be as mobile as the Turleens and he’s the smallest and my bet is that we’re going to need small somewhere along the way.”

  Buchanan shook his head. “Half of these should stay here as well.”

  “I’d agree, only that tower is huge and we have no clear idea where all of the Crazy Eights may be. That they’re there is likely. That they’re together is not.”

  Jeremy came out, dressed for our kind of success. We all matched now, everyone in black jeans, black on black long-sleeved t-shirts, and those flexible and non-slip shoes. We looked like a bunch of commandos, or like we were a troupe about to go out and do some hip-hop for So You Think You Can Dance. Rahmi shifted to match us. Mossy didn’t bother. Presumably he’d be our stage manager if we landed on TV. Everyone dug through the bag Serene had sent over and ensured we were all equipped.

  “Why are you bringing that extra bag?” Christopher asked as we finished up, all of us putting on the communicator watches and goggles and clipping gas masks to our pants. The goggles were the fancy kind, and I sincerely hoped they’d work for us like the ones we’d used during Operations Epidemic and Madhouse, because we were going to need all the help we could get.

  “It’s got more supplies, and it’s mobile and smaller than the bag you brought over.” And Algar wanted me to have it.

  “I’ve been carrying it, Son,” White said calmly. “It’s fine. And a useful weapon, too, if necessary.”

  Checked Mr. Watch and Mr. New Watch, which looked a lot like an iWatch. Chose not to ask Serene about it at this precise time. They both shared the same time, 7:15, so I had that going for me. We’d only spent about forty-five minutes on this. Which was too long. “Tim, Tony, have you heard anything, good or bad, from Jeff or Chuckie?”

  “Impatience from your husband,” Tony said.

  “Suspicion from Chuck,” Tim replied. “And I’m running out of ways to be vague that won’t tip him off that something’s really wrong. And I’m also not sure I shouldn’t tell them that something is wrong.”

  “I point out that the moment Cliff knows that they suspect something, he’s going to stop waiting for me and just roll his latest Death to All But Metal campaign. Camilla, take over the Chuckie wrangling, would you?”

  “Oh, it’s what I live for.”

  Serene pinged in my ear. “Kitty, you need to hurry. There appears to be some sort of dust storm starting near your target location.”

  “Crap. Okay, gang, we’re rolling right now, a haboob we didn’t create is forming. Camilla and Tony, do your best to keep Chuckie and Jeff respectively misinformed but prepared in some way. Do your best to have them explaining why I’m late out loud to people, because I’m sure Cliff’s listening in and he needs to be reassured that I’m just making an entrance versus coming to get him. And good luck with that.”

  “It’s all conjecture at this point,” Buchanan said to those two. “But still, conjecture based on history.”

  My goggles shifted and I had a schematic of the Burj Khalifa in front of me, though I could still see everyone else, too. Looked for where to go and found it. “Serene, we’re ready, get us a floater gate over to the Burj Khalifa, Floor One Hundred and Twenty-Four.”

  “Why above the restaurant, not below?” Mona asked.

  “The most likely gasses being used will be heavier than air,” Siler answered for me. “So we need to be above them in order to ensure that we aren’t affected.”

  “And this deck is open-air and currently closed for maintenance.”

  “Go fast, all of you,” Serene said. “That storm is about to hit.”

  Shared this with the team as the floater gate shimmered into view. “Silent exit, just in case,” Buchanan admonished.

  White grabbed my hand and we went through first and fast, but not yet furious, the others coming after us. The gate left us out on what was indeed an outdoor deck. It was all glass and shiny metal, and the theme was sleek and rounded geometric shapes.

  There was an overhead structure that was another rounded geometric with metal slats that wouldn’t really block the sun. But it looked cool. We’d landed on a beautiful wooden floor in front of an all-glass revolving door. There were glass walls that were at least twelve feet high all around, and even some comfortable chairs scattered about. The deck curved around to both the right and left from where we’d landed.

  The heat was intense but not as bad as I’d been expecting. It felt like home, really. My home, Pueblo Caliente, not D.C. And there was something else, too. Wind.

  “It shouldn’t be windy, not as much as we can feel right now,” White said softly, as the last of the team stepped through and the floater gate disappeared. “Not with the height of the glass.”

  “Serene said a haboob was forming. I’d assume it’s having help. Abby, Mahin, you’re with me and Mister White. Malcolm, we’ll take the exterior, at least until we have to take cover.”

  Tim tried the door. It revolved without issue. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

  “So it’s a typical mission. You guys find a way for us to get in and around without being spotted. Everyone remember, speak softly, use the wrist communicators sparingly, just in case, and if it’s one of the Crazy Eights, aim to kill.”

  While Buchanan and Siler divided the rest of the group into teams, White, Abigail, Mahin and I stepped off a bit and conferred. “What’s the best place to draw sand from here?”

  “The opposite side from the sea,” Mahin said, sarcasm meter at only about four on the scale.

  “Thanks for that.” Looked around. The view was breathtaking. The sun was just starting to set and lights were coming on, and we were so high up it was like we could see forever. But, as with all the cool places I went while working, I had no time to actually enjoy it. Because we were looking at water, ergo, we were on the wrong side of the building.

  The four of us moved off quickly but cautiously. Despite being a hybrid, Mahin didn’t have hyperspeed. She’d been the person who’d made us realize that not all hybrids were even close to alike, particularly anyone sired by Ronald Yates. And while any one of us could have just grabbed her and run, we had other hybrids in the Crazy Eights and we weren’t sure if they could see people going at hyperspeed or not.

  We slunk around and I noted a couple of the “Closed for Maintenance” signs. They looked slightly wrong, in part because they were in English as well as Arabic. “I don’t think that the people who actually run this tower closed this floor off.” Looked at Mr. New Watch. “How do we use these? I mean that seriously.”

  White tapped a button. “Malcolm, Missus Martini feels that this level is closed due to foul play.”

  “Affirmative,” Buchanan said, voice coming softly through White’s watch. “Have already found dead bodies. Throats are slit.”

  “Kellogg is on-site.” White hit a button on my watch. Stopped talking into his and talked into mine. “That’s another one of his moves.”

  “Agreed. Sending the Minister of Sulky Looks up to the top to verify who and what we’re dealing with above us.”

  That was Buchanan’s nickname for Christopher, seeing as I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed his glaring. Controlled the Inner Hyena, mostly so that we wouldn’t be given away to our enemies by my snickering. “Good plan.”

  My team started off again. At its base, the Burj Khalifa had the cross-section of a rounded Y. But up this high, most of that outline was gone and it was more like a giant, rounded arrowhead. There were wide sections
of walkway that hugged the exterior glass walls, and interior walls that were also mostly glass because people came to this floor to look at the amazing view. There weren’t a lot of corners, just curving walls, meaning we could come upon someone at any moment.

  Which we did. He was in the spot I figured Mahin would have chosen, at the far end of this side of the deck, where the scene was all desert in the near distance. His back was to us, but I recognized his shape and stance—arms out, head tilted up.

  We’d found our first Crazy Eight—Darryl Lowe, Air Bender to the Stars.

  Pulled the others back so that he couldn’t see us. “We’ve found Lowe.” White somehow shared this via his watch without speaking into it. Decided he had the Communications Post from now on in. “Mahin, he’s doing what we want essentially, creating a haboob. Can you help him do it?”

  “Do we want that?” Abigail asked. “If Cliff wants a haboob, maybe it’s because that’s when he plans to kill everyone—when there’s no chance that help can come.”

  “That makes far too much logical sense to be ignored.” Dug into my purse and found my Glock. My iPod was there, too. Hit play to see if the earpiece worked like Serene had promised. “Hot Shot” by Shaggy came on. Worked for me.

  Wasn’t enough to let me know if I was on the Algar Channel or not, though. However, I wanted to get rid of the Crazy Eights, and I was willing to start with Lowe. He’d tried to kill far too many of us far too often for me to want to give him another chance.

  Started to head back and had him in sight, when White put his hand on my shoulder. “Wait a moment.”

  “Why? Do you think he’s going to give us intel or something?”

  “No, I saw something, or someone. I don’t believe he’s alone.”

  Abigail concentrated. “I feel . . . supremely confident. But it’s more confidence than I’ve ever felt from one person before. And before you ask, Kitty, think of how confident your Aunt Carla normally is. This feeling is easily ten times what I’ve felt from her.”

  “Wow, I don’t think Aunt Carla’s had an unconfident moment in her life. So, there are more people than I saw there?”

  Abigail shook her head. “That’s just it. I only feel one person.”

  “Okay, well, we can’t dally. Let’s move forward. Mahin, start revving up the earth bending prep. Abby, before we go, can you shield Jeff and the others in the restaurant?”

  “No. I can’t feel them at all. This one confident person . . . he’s almost blocking me, it’s so strong.”

  White still had my rolling purse, though he was carrying it over his shoulder. “You need me to take that?” I asked him.

  He chuckled. “No, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to carry the bag. Besides, I’m not joking—I believe it will make an excellent blunt instrument.”

  “Then, let’s get rid of our air bender once and for all.”

  Took the lead since I had the gun. Hunched down and headed out, hugging the inner wall. My music changed to “Double Vision” by Foreigner just as Lowe was in my sight again.

  There were several chairs here. Walked slowly and quietly toward him, keeping my eye on the chairs so I didn’t bump into one and alert Lowe to our presence.

  Which was a great plan. What I hadn’t realized, however, was that White was right—Lowe wasn’t alone. There were people sitting in those chairs.

  I froze as soon as I saw that the chairs were occupied. But it didn’t matter—we’d been spotted. The people in the chairs stood up. Then they all turned around. Lowe turned, too. In fact, they all turned in unison.

  There were ten Darryl Lowes standing there.

  CHAPTER 72

  “OH, HELLO,” Lowe said. All of them. In unison. The unison thing again. This was, by far, the creepiest it had ever been. Resolved not to care about normal people talking in unison ever again in my life as long as I could ensure I’d never have to deal with unison like this ever again. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  Managed not to scream but only because I’d been focused enough on being quiet that I could control it.

  Mahin and Abigail both gasped, but quietly. White didn’t make a sound, but his expression shared that he was controlling himself.

  “Um, nice to see you. All of you. Clones?”

  Lowe nodded. They all nodded. “It’s amazing how much more powerful I am now,” all of them said.

  Was fairly sure that the Lowe that was standing nearest to the glass was the original. But it was hard to be positive. For all I knew, the original was elsewhere. “So, which one is the real you?”

  “This one,” they all said as they all pointed to themselves. They all looked over my shoulder. “Oh, Mahin, how funny you are, trying to stop my storm. You can’t, you know. Air is stronger than dirt.”

  “And paper covers rock, rock smashes scissors, and scissors cut paper.”

  All the Lowes stared at me. “You’re stupid. You and Mahin both. You had your chance to join us and you threw it away.”

  “I feel all terrible about that, too. Mahin, what’s our status?”

  “He’s right,” she said quietly. “I can’t stop it. The storm is now a storm of its own.”

  “Then we’ll do it my way.” With that, I aimed my Glock at the Lowe nearest me and used the rapid-fire technique Mom had taught me, and fired three shots into his head.

  The less said about the blood splatter the better, but the Lowe went down. Moved the gun and shot the next-nearest one. Same thing—three to the head, body went down.

  The rest of the Lowes just stood there. Well, not quite. They turned back to face the coming storm. And then they just stood there.

  Went up to the next one and put three into the back of his head. Hit his neighbor next.

  What I didn’t want to do was miss, however. The blood and bodies and such could be cleaned up. But permanent destruction didn’t say “saving the day.” It said “acting like the Avengers fighting Ultron,” and that was not the way we wanted to be perceived.

  Maybe the glass was all bulletproof. And maybe it wasn’t. But either way, a bullet or bullets ripping through the glass would be the definition of a bad idea. I didn’t want to wreck this beautiful building, nor did I want to find out what happened when you were up this high and the twelve-foot glass walls disappeared. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps you were sucked off the platform. Chose not to find out.

  “Two minutes until the storm hits you,” Serene said in my ear. “And it’s massive.”

  Decided I’d better hurry up. Shot another two dead, which used up my clip. Dug around in my purse for another, popped the old one out and put the new one in. Killed another Lowe.

  It was creepy and gross and weird. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I was killing anything for real or if this was all some bizarre stunt of Cliff’s. If so, it made no sense, but crazy people didn’t make sense all the time.

  Killed the next three without issue. White was making sure they were really dead. Waited for them to reanimate in some way, but it didn’t happen. Reached the final Lowe. He turned around and smiled at me. A really weird, really crazy smile. “Goodbye,” he said. Just like the Casey Thing had at the police station.

  “Bomb!”

  White ran forward at hyperspeed and grabbed Lowe, who didn’t resist at all. White spun around a couple of times then flung the body up. “Skeet shooting time, Missus Martini!”

  Lowe sailed over the top of the glass wall. I had one shot and I took it. Hit the torso. Not a killing shot.

  We all ran to the glass walls. The haboob was almost to the Burj Khalifa, but we were high enough up that it might not bother us. The body exploded just before it was lost in the dust.

  “He was confident because the real Lowe wasn’t where he could be caught.”

  “I felt all of them.” Abigail sounded as grossed out as I felt.

  “Are the rest going to
explode, too?” Mahin asked.

  White and I looked at each other. “Probably,” I said. “But if not, we’re tossing dead bodies off the side of the tallest building in the world. I don’t know how we explain that.” My music changed to “Bombs Away” by B.o.B. Meaning Algar was suggesting we toss the bodies. “Then again, the haboob may solve the issue for us. Better something on the ground we can clean up than blowing up this level.”

  White, Abigail, and I now all did the spin and toss thing, all at hyperspeed, while Mahin watched to see if the bodies exploded or not before they were in the dust storm and so out of view. Some of them did, some of them didn’t.

  “I had no idea I had the ability to toss a dead body over a twelve-foot wall. Go team.”

  “Do you think Darryl used all of his clones to create the wind that made the storm?” Mahin asked.

  “I think if they were moving and talking as one, they might have been powering as one, yeah.”

  “That makes sense,” Mahin said. “Because Darryl doesn’t have the range to be doing this from afar, unless he’s expanded his talent in the last few weeks.”

  “Why isn’t the haboob stopping?” Abigail asked as we headed back toward the revolving doors. “If it was created, shouldn’t it have died the moment he did?”

  “The storm found its own life,” Mahin said. “The winds were strong enough that it’s fueling itself now. Probably not for too much longer, but long enough that we can’t safely leave.”

  “Maybe, but we’re above most of it up here, so we might still be able to get people out.”

  Abigail looked out one of the window walls. “Yeah, it’s still raging but I don’t think it’s going to hit above about the hundredth floor. So, where do we think the real Lowe is?”

  “He has to be nearby, in this building somewhere.” Dropped my almost-empty clip out and put a full one in. Saved the clip with two shots left, though, because who knew, right? “Clones or not, there’s no way that his range has become so massive in the time since we last saw him that he’s somewhere else. Serene, do we have status on the restaurant?”