Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

“Beta team!” a man with a Rutian accent shrilled authoritatively. “Intel indicates that storage units 3856 to 3870 are on the left. Objectives are mass confiscation of data and destruction of valued property!”

  The men cheered.

  “Alpha team, we’re examining units 3871 to 3886!” A pause. The direction of the man’s voice changed, speaking directly toward him. “Over here! You two, take the left side, and we have this building.”

  Two men approached the row of units, reeking of sweat and adrenaline. He felt their alertness, their darting, distrustful eyes, like sharp foxes.

  He glanced around: he was unable to make an escape without risking a sighting by the other groups of men. He would be heard or sighted if he snuck into the trees.

  Compressing his body into the tiniest ball possible, he squinted and prayed none would come around the back of the building.

  They had no reason to. At least they were not the men from inside. They were not informed of the bounty on his head.

  But he had no idea what they would do to him, what they were capable of. He knew it took a righteous sense of audacity to dare to infiltrate this place, this dragon’s nest.

  He heard metal doors slide open, men inspecting the units, rifling through property.

  Their leader lurked near the other side of the storage unit.

  He held his breath. Would he round the corner? He had no chance to run—

  The leader lingered, and finally retreated. He crept to the other side of the building, lurking again.

  The boy sweat. The longer he was trapped here, the more likely other men were to come outside and search for him—he wanted to be away from the property—

  He heard the leader’s breath, his footsteps. He felt the beat of his heart, the excitement in his blood. The footsteps drew nearer, and he rounded the corner.

  A large hand covered his face. The leader dug his portly fingers into the boy’s cloak, heaving his body against the wall of the storage unit. “Who sent you?!”

  The boy trembled, shrinking against the wall.

  The sky was black. He heard crickets chirp, smelled the cedar in the breeze.

  The leader leaned directly in his face, staring at him with dark and bulging eyes. Coarse stubble spiked his face, and his greasy black hair was matted in every direction. He gritted his teeth, crushing the boy against the wall. “Answer me! Or I’ll kill you!”

  The boy shook his head. “No one sent me—”

  “Lies!” The leader walloped a hand across his face. “Are you a spy?”

  The boy whimpered. Squinting, he frantically shook his head.

  A black-clad operative standing behind him spoke. “He looks too young to be a spy, Sir.”

  The leader restrained the boy with one thick hand around the throat, and turned to his comrades, wagging a mangled finger. “You know the rules!”

  Another operative nodded and sighed. “Leave no witnesses alive.”

  The first operative cleared his throat. “He is just a boy, Sir.”

  “He’s seen and heard too much. I don’t care.” The leader firmly shook his head. “Forces of evil never hesitate to use children as pawns.”

  The boy scrabbled at the big hand around his throat. Wheezing for breath, he squirmed against his grasp. “I pledge you my life!”

  The leader raised an eyebrow, and lowered the boy, keeping a hand around his neck.

  “I swear!” The boy rushed his words, heart pounding, eyes nervously darting between the men surrounding him. “I’ll pledge my entire life to your cause!”

  The leader scowled. “How would you know anything about our cause?”

  “You are trying to break inside. . . aren’t you?” He glanced over his shoulder. “I mean, what else would you be doing here, like this, in secret?”

  The surrounding men encircled him.

  The boy swallowed nervously. “I’m trying to break out.” He made trepid eye contact with the big man restraining him, and pointed at the treeline. “Neither of us approve of what goes on in there. . . That means we must have something in common. . . right?” He swallowed.

  The leader spat. “How do you know I’m not here to steal this technology and do something more nefarious with it myself?”

  “I can see it.” The boy gingerly poked a finger into his chest. “I can read hearts. I know you’re here. . . because you loathe this place.”

  The leader glanced at his comrades.

  “Please.” The boy begged. “Take me with you. I didn’t think—” His voice cracked. “I barely escaped with my life and I’ll die in that forest.” He thought of the wolves, the coyotes, ripping him limb from limb. “I can help you. I can. . . serve you.” He widened his eyes. “Think of how you could use my skills for your cause!”

  The leader tugged at an unkempt goatee.

  “Please.” He hung his head, and shivered. “You have no idea what goes on in that place. Take me with you. Please.”

  ❧　❧　❧

  Pushing aside the canopy curtains, Orion groped for the lighter at his nightstand, lighting the candle beside his bed.

  He contemplated burning the dream catchers, useless pieces of trash. He couldn’t remember who sold them to him, swindled him.

  Perhaps he was the fool: maybe he mistakenly hung them backwards, and they caught all the good dreams, only granting the nightmares passage.

  The skull-shaped ashtray overflowing with squashed butts irked him, distracted him. He should have emptied it last night.

  Whatever. He lit the last rolled cigarette beside his bed.

  Why were there some things his sleeping brain refused to forget? People to whom he vowed he’d never speak, places he swore he’d never revisit—everything dead to him—the most toxic things in his life burned bright as the sun in his mind. Faces, incidents, like yesterday. Like he was still there.

  It was twenty fucking years ago and he didn’t want to be there. It was why he left; it would have killed him to stay.

  He was better now. Safer, happier, healthier. In ship shape.

  Except for the nightmares. His own brain tormented him—he unconsciously couldn’t leave himself alone.

  Orion reclined against the headboard, palm on his face, reaching through the curtains to ash in the skull.

  He had the sneaking suspicion he was never free. No matter where he lived, what he did, even if he never laid eyes upon anything, anyone from his past again, he was indelibly haunted. Doomed, sentenced to relive the most horrifying events of his life ad infinitum against the stageshow of his dreams.

  They conquered him, broke him from the inside.

  The dreams were always present, one creeping into his mind whenever he relaxed, mistakenly assuming his second life was his to keep. Specters lurked on the fringe of his consciousness, reminding him never to settle, never to grow too happy. . .

  Because he was born a fucked-up monster, and for this he would have to pay.

  That was the relentless, unfair torment of the universe. The ruthless exploited the meek; they manipulated the good-natured with guilt to clean up after them, to excuse their wickedness, to foot the bill for their havoc.

  They built the guilt into him at a young age, an age too tender to resist, an age when he was too trusting to see them for what they were. He couldn’t remove the guilt, interwoven with the seams of his being. He was what they always wanted, what they created him to be: broken and subservient.

  Unless he rose up against them, unless he struck them down, he would never be free—this was the true moment for which he bided his time.

  Sometimes he liked to entertain the idea that this was the divine purpose of his dreams. Like a knife in his brain, the dreams presented a necessary agony to spur him toward his goal.

  But that was a lie.

  Even if he eradicated them, it would never bring her back.

  The pain was just pain, awful, stinging, crippling pain. Pain that would haunt him until he finally died.

  It was interesting, the girl, N
inkasi. She was blissfully ignorant to it all.

  It was part of her appeal.

  The frequency of his tormented visions increased with her arrival. He was never without the dreams, but before her arrival, never had he dreamed so often.

  “Ho!” Aleister leaned over the arm of the spacious turquoise chair before the fireplace, and waved at Orion. Black tassels on a dandelion fez decorated with The Brotherhood’s diamond-studded emblem swished into his face, over his mouth. Aleister puffed his cheeks like a blowfish and huffed the tassels away. “It’s about fucking time you woke up and joined us!”

  Orion lingered in the doorway, crossing his arms.

  Aleister grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and dumped it into his goblet, precious liquid sloshing over the sides of the cup. “Come, I’ve brought you a glass.”

  Sauntering into the library, he leaned against the fireplace mantle, scrutinizing Aleister with a hand on his chin. “How magnanimous.”

  He noticed a copy of Jambu Gossip above the fireplace, with some blonde tart on the cover and the headline, “Hos Over Bros diva Pink Seth dishes: what happened in the limousine with Sheol's hot young prince after the kiss.” Narrowing his eyes, he perused the other newsbytes, “Rutian senator’s surgery secrets exposed: bio-mechanical heart made by aliens.”

  Aleister leaned toward the table, rustling his black velvet robe with gold-spun embroidery, and gripped the wine bottle at its base. He turned the bottle perpendicular to the floor, wine glugging and spraying from the mouth of the crassly inverted bottle.

  Orion wrinkled his nose.

  Phobos and Deimos sat cross-legged before the fireplace, engaged in a game of chess.

  Nero remained seated at his computer, hair standing up like he ran his fingers through it a thousand times. A coffeepot, three-quarters empty, sat on the desk beside the keyboard. Dirty plates, bowls, and cutlery lined the floor at his feet.

  “You’ve been at this all night?” Orion nodded at the computer.

  Glancing away from the screen, Nero gritted his teeth.

  Aleister passed Orion a chalice.

  Retrieving an extravagant teal pillow with silver tassels from beneath the table, Orion sat on the floor.

  “We’ve found a way in!” Aleister raised his glass in the air. “That’s cause for celebration!”

  Orion pinched the stem of his glass and swirled the wine, lifting it to his nose. “And that’s why you’re drinking?”

  “No.” Aleister clutched the chalice and jerked his wrist in vigorous circles, churning a maelstrom of wine over the glass and into his lap. “That’s why I’m sharing.” He pointed a finger. “You ought to thank me.”

  “Aleister.” Orion lifted the chalice to taste the wine and grimaced, smacking his lips. “This is corked.”

  “No!” Aleister leaned forward, beating his palm against the arm of the chair. “I uncorked it!” He pointed at the empty bottle on the table. “Look! I opened it myself!” Grabbing the wine key impaled with half a crumbled cork, he waved it in Orion’s face.

  “I mean. . .” Orion’s eyes darted from side to side. “It’s sour.”

  Aleister shook his head. “All red wine is sour.” He threw his head back and took a big gulp, squinting his eyes. “You can taste the tenants.” He cleared his throat. “The tennis. The, ah—”

  “The tannins.” Orion slammed his glass on the table. “This fucking tastes like piss.”

  “Well, it’s not piss.” Aleister forced another gulp, with one squinted eye and a twitch. “It’s wine. Sometimes a bad attitude can spoil a good drink.”

  “I would cook with piss before I’d cook with that.” Orion turned his back, waving a hand. “I’ve tasted better vinegar.”

  Deimos glanced up from the chess game, a devilish grin on his face. “Have you tasted better piss?”

  Phobos brought his hands to his face, smothering a laugh.

  “Listen, Hansel and Gretel!” Aleister widened his eyes, voice booming, and pointed at the hearth. “There’s room in that fireplace for two!”

  Orion’s eyes flashed. “He’ll roast you and eat you.”

  Deimos pointed at his brother, and covered his face with his hands. “He’ll deglaze you with piss!”

  The twins cackled like hyenas, choking on laughter.

  Aleister thumped his palm against the armrest, silencing the room.

  The brothers nervously glanced at each other, Deimos biting his lip.

  “The Techthonic Innovations research facility contracted a private maintenance company.” Aleister reclined in his chair. “There is a team of electricians scheduled to do some repairs in two weeks.”

  Orion traced a satiny finger over the runes etched into the table. “You want to seize the vehicle en route to the facility?”

  Aleister nodded. “We’ll have some spare uniforms stitched in the meantime, so enough of us will have access to the building.”

  Orion glanced at Nero. “What about the map?”

  Nero gurgled.

  Aleister shrugged. “He’s working on it.”

  “There’s a problem with that.” Nero spun in his chair, unintentionally kicking through the china on the floor. “There’s a small elevator to the basement that descends into unsurveilled territory. I have no idea if it’s a dumbwaiter for storage, or if there are lower floors with another darknet that nobody knows about.” He raked fingers through his hair. “If that’s the case, we’ll need a contingency plan. We’ll have to get down there with charges if we want to bring the whole building down. I doubt any group of third-party maintenance men would have that kind of clearance.”

  Aleister crossed his arms. “Is there any evidence to suggest this place has secret levels underground?”

  Orion lit a cigarette.

  “I haven’t deciphered the first floor.” Nero filled his mug with coffee, wrist trembling. “I need more time.”

  “I bet they have a secret lab underground.” Phobos cast his brother a grueling stare, moving a game piece on the board. “It’s where they perform their twisted experiments, create their monsters.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to wash my vahan?” Tilting his head, Aleister drummed his fingers on the table.

  “I wasn’t—” Phobos lifted a hand to his chest. “That was—”

  Deimos stood up and slinked to the edge of the room.

  Aleister whipped his finger in the direction of the door, barking at Phobos. “Get on it! Go! Now!”

  Noting Aleister’s back was sufficiently turned, Orion reached to the table, compulsively stealing the wine key with busted cork.

  Ninkasi lay on her back, staring at the canopy. The bed was soft, fluffy like a cloud.

  The servants brought her lavish meals—all strictly under orders of Master Orion, of course. For breakfast, she ate fresh yogurt sweetened with honey, made by the cows and bees that belonged to Aleister, with bursting wild berries plucked from the chateau’s edenic permaculture fields.

  It didn’t surprise her one whit that a whack job like Aleister should have pet bees and a personal cow collection.

  She was impressed that the original purveyor of the property went to such great lengths to create a self-sustaining, closed-loop system, his own slice of paradise.

  Aleister’s dead uncle.

  And here she lay, in his dead wife’s clothing.

  Nothing out of the ordinary, no, nothing unusual at all. This was nothing strange, at least within the mad walls of Chateau Bernadette.

  Ninkasi was terrified this madness would consume her, that she would become a part of this world so detached from the rest of reality. She feared the subtle pleasures, the ample luxuries would weaken her, make her dependent, and then one day, suddenly, she would wake and find nothing wrong with the situation at all.

  She shook her head.

  Someone would come for her, take her away from here.

  In the interim, at least she knew she wouldn’t die of starvation. She was grateful to be eating well, at whatever humi
liating price.

  She might die of boredom. She paced, inspected the furniture, marveled at the carpet, and many times returned to the window, to see the azure skies, the rolling hills, the crashing sea.

  Timeless. There was no schedule here. Only sun and moon. Only immutable nature.

  No clocks. No sirens. No civilization. No jobs, no taxes, no deadlines.

  Just this little castle, this faerie world in the clouds.

  She heard the doorknob twist, and leapt to the edge of her bed. Her heart thumped: each time she heard the doorknob, she thought only of Orion.

  For this, she hated herself.

  Finally, he would see her in such extravagant dress. Her face went hot. He saw to it that she was dressed, yet he hadn’t come to see her himself. Why?

  The door flew open, Aleister bursting into the room.

  Ninkasi shrank back.

  Commanding a tyrannical air, he stomped toward her in a black and white aurochs mask, the ancient ancestor of cows, with long horns, floppy ears and boxy snout. It suited him, the hulking, beastly animal, wild and ruthless, an extinct breed, more terrifying and unpredictable than the harmless dames in his field.

  Aleister was more hideous in daylight, in plain sight.

  He pointed a jagged finger. “You!”

  Ninkasi leaned away from him. “What about me!”

  He marched toward the bed. “Where did you get that?!”

  Ninkasi narrowed her eyes. “Get what?”

  Aleister stopped, placed a hand on his hip, and tilted his head to the side. “That’s my auntie’s dress.”

  “Your auntie?” Her jaw hung open.

  He advanced to the edge of the bed. “Silence, cow!”

  “Who are you calling a cow?!” Her mouth contorted into a mad O of protest.

  Unfurling a black hood from his pocket, Aleister yanked it over her head, tying it shut.

  “Hey!”

  “I wore the cow mask because I thought you could relate!” Scooping her from the bed, he flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  Ninkasi beat her fists into his back. “Put me down!”

  “I’d love to!” One thick arm clamped around her thighs. “You weigh a ton. Cow!”