Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

  The boy crashed against the floor.

  He sat up, lurching forward, roaring with disjointed moans. He clutched at his body and batted the space before him.

  The boy leapt from the floor and tried to tackle him against the bed.

  Andrealphus remained sitting, too big to knock over; he grabbed the boy by the shirt. “Runt!” His scream was broken, furious.

  The boy maintained a solid stance, knees digging into the mattress, straddling one of the giant’s massive legs. Unable to reach his chest, the boy lifted the knife over his head and thrust it into his enormous thigh.

  Andrealphus screamed and released him, swinging at the boy.

  Sensing his motion, his heated reaction, the boy dodged the swing, falling onto his side across the monster’s lap. He plunged the knife into the demon’s stomach, twisting the blade, and drove it up, aiming for his ribcage.

  Andrealphus thrashed and flopped, grabbing at the boy.

  The boy felt the giant’s strength fading.

  Arms and legs slick with his hot blood, his wretched scent, he plodded up the mattress, crawling over Andrealphus. He raked the knife across him, serrating his skin. “Your pain is nothing!” Face hot, he choked his words through a hysterical flood of tears. “Nothing compared to the pain you make her feel!”

  Thick fingers curled around his shoulder, the giant’s strong arm fighting to pull him away.

  The boy locked his legs around Andrealphus’s torso, fixing his position, and lifted the knife above his head. The closer he brought the monster to death, the closer he brought himself to real absolution, real freedom.

  The knife plunged into his chest, with a sickening, wet sound. The boy drove the blade into him with all his might. He shook his head, shaking away tears, sweat, and blood.

  He felt Andrealphus convulse, a sign that he had lost the battle.

  The boy pulled out the knife and stabbed him again and again, stabbed his heart, wanting him to feel every measure of pain that boiled in his own heart.

  Fucking monster.

  The grip on his shoulder softened, and Andrealphus’s heavy arm crashed against the bed.

  The boy sat for a moment, motionless, in the dark, over the enormous body, soaked in his blood.

  He pointed the tip of the knife at the monster’s throat and leaned over his face.

  The breath left him. It was done.

  ❧　❧　❧

  Standing on top of a ladder beneath an exposed ceiling tile, Ninkasi cracked open her tool kit, resting it on the highest rung of the ladder. She operated in a small laboratory, currently unoccupied, with overstuffed bookshelves, file cabinets secured under lock and key, an office computer with a holographic screen.

  Squinting, she looked beneath a blinding light display at a towering plant with a purple flower like a mouth, its inner walls an iridescent blue. Long spindles protruded from its lips, like needle-point teeth: the plant was taller than her, its flower large enough to chomp a toddler, with a trunk thicker than her own body and thorny tendrils for arms.

  Ninkasi shivered.

  Worse, yet, she stood seven rungs up the ladder. Glancing down, her stomach flopped, her knees knocked.

  Taking a deep breath, she focused on the wires in the ceiling. Moving her hands inside insulated work gloves, she clutched a pair of pliers, searching for the green wire. . .

  The door to the office rolled open and a solemn lady in a labcoat with a knot of chestnut hair sashayed toward the bank of file cabinets. “Ah, maintenance!” She placed a hand against her chest as if to catch her breath, startled. “Finally! The air conditioning hasn’t worked for weeks!”

  Ninkasi smiled and nodded, remaining focused on the task at hand. She didn’t want to be distracted by the lady; she didn’t want to think about the weird plant, and she definitely didn’t want to review her distance from the floor.

  The woman battled to open old cabinets with an ancient key. Tugging and jerking at the drawers, she tore them open with an ear-splitting screech. “Isn’t Landon Porter handsome?”

  “Umm.” Ninkasi tilted her head, yanking a small metal clip from the exposed circuitry. “What?”

  “My office mate.” The scientist gestured toward the plant. “Landon Porter.”

  “Handsome, for sure.” Ninkasi’s eyes remained focused on her work. “What does Landon Porter eat?”

  “It’s tragic, really.” The scientist ripped the lowermost drawer from the cabinet.

  The metal drawer crashed against the floor.

  Ninkasi winced.

  “He was created to thrive specifically upon the company’s Enhanced Water.” The scientist rifled through folders, scanning for documents.

  Ninkasi held the charge in place with her palm, attaching the first of the necessary wires. “Enhanced Water?”

  “Only organisms created by Techthonic Innovations are able to rehydrate themselves with Enhanced Water.” The scientist pulled out a folder, setting it aside. “Without the specified gene enhancements for effective energy conversion, an organism ingesting the Enhanced Water will perish.”

  Ninkasi’s eyes widened. It consumed all her mental strength to ignore the woman’s babble and focus on the circuitry.

  “But you don’t have to worry.” The scientist placed a hand on her belly and gave a warm laugh. “All the fields in which our organisms are grown are first drenched with a patented biocide that prevents the spontaneous growth of life. This way, no creatures will be harmed by the use of Enhanced Water.”

  Ninkasi’s fingers slipped, and she bit her lip. “How benevolent.”

  “Anyway, it’s a tragedy because, as gorgeous as our lovely Landon Porter is. . .” The scientist tore folders from the drawer and tossed them beside her. “The entire developmental crop failed. And it was through no fault of Landon Porter’s own.”

  Ninkasi expertly plugged a rainbow of wires into the small device in a specified sequence. “What happened?”

  “It was during the solar maximum.” The scientist punched the file cabinet, shaking her head. “The intensity of the coronal mass ejections interfered with the targeting mechanism in our prototype colony of robotic bats.”

  Ninkasi jerked her head in the direction of the scientist and her mouth hung wide open. “Robotic. . . bats?”

  “A superior, completely regulated method of pollination.” The scientist hung her head. “Or so we thought.”

  Ninkasi bit her lip, dumbfounded. “What happened with the bats?”

  “They went amok!” The scientist threw her hands into the air. “Started diving low, swooping into anything, everything. Apartment buildings, moving vehicles, small children. The entire city had to be abandoned.”

  Ninkasi had no words. No words for this woman.

  The scientist sighed, stuffing the metal drawer back into the cabinet. “Naturally, after the evacuation, there was no one left to tend to the poor plants. They all perished.” She stared wistfully at the enormity in the corner. “Only our darling Landon Porter remains.”

  Ninkasi narrowed her eyes. “Refresh me again, what does Landon Porter eat?”

  The scientist locked the cabinet and collected her folders. “I look forward to the air conditioning.” Approaching the door, she swiped a keycard for identification. “Have a wonderful day.”

  Ninkasi shook her head, and attached the final wire in place. Running her finger along the base of the device, she felt for a switch, and flipped it.

  A light on the device blinked red.

  “Shit.” Grabbing the communication device on her belt, she hailed, “I need assistance.” She flipped the switch back into its original position, but the light continued to blink red. “Posthaste.”

  Ninkasi climbed down the ladder, up the ladder, waiting impatiently on the second rung. Eyeing the freakish plant in the corner, she shivered.

  The automated door retracted into the wall.

  Ninkasi zipped up the ladder.

  Nero stormed through the door and dashed to the ladde
r, easily mounting the rungs, steadying Ninkasi with his hand on her back. “What did you do?”

  “Everything you told me to do.” She pointed at the red light. “Everything should have worked. I’m not sure—”

  Nero reached up, leaning into the ladder, against Ninkasi. His fingers found the underside of the device, and felt for buttons. He pressed one, two, and then flipped the switch.

  The light turned green.

  He shook his head. “I guess I. . . forgot to tell you about that part.” He gave a sheepish smile, speaking into her ear. Realizing his hand rested on her shoulder, he abruptly jerked it away.

  Ninkasi leaned into the ladder and turned her head, studying him quizzically.

  Resting a hand on his chin, he knit his brow, emanating frustration. “What do you see in him, anyway?”

  Ninkasi blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Because you’re so—” Biting his lip, he stared at the floor. “What I mean to say is—” He lifted a hand to his head. “I can’t see how you wouldn’t get first pick in a lion’s share of guys, if you know what I mean? So, why Orion?”

  “He’s deep.” She blushed, speaking in a quiet voice. “Really deep.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean he. . .” Nero lowered himself one rung on the ladder, scowling. “Fuck, nevermind.”

  “Maybe it’s a female thing, but. . .” She tilted her head and looked at the ceiling. “There’s a certain appeal in having someone understand what you’re thinking.”

  He shook his head. “Why not someone your own age?”

  “Tried that.” She dismissively waved a hand. Merve Sterling. Ew.

  Nero jumped off the ladder, threw his arms in the air. “Okay, what about younger guys?”

  Ninkasi bit her lip, and thought of Tobi. “Definitely not.” She raised an eyebrow, looking curiously at Nero. Laughing to herself, she climbed down the ladder. “I get the feeling that he isn’t the kind of person that opens up to everyone.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Why you?”

  “That.” She put a hand on her face. “I have no clue.” She tapped her foot. “I thought we hit it off, like people sometimes do, no fancy explanations attached?”

  “Yeah. Heh.” Nero turned and opened the door, exiting the office. “Guess we didn’t hit it off, then.”

  Lips So Soft

  XIII.

  The first sound Orion noticed was a whirring, clattering, squealing sound—the screech of little wheels careening down a tiled floor, accompanied by footsteps. He heard the whine and sag of metal, realizing he was laid out, being transported upon a stretcher.

  He lay still and attempted to sense, to listen, to feel—whatever poisons Echidna fed him still coursed throughout his veins; he sensed nothing.

  He was blind. He had no idea how many surrounded him, how many pushed the stretcher.

  Cautiously, he curled his toes. They weakened him with a sea of drugs.

  He dared not open his eyes.

  Shifting his foot, Orion rotated his ankle ever so slightly, undetectably, so that whatever troupe transported him thought his lifeless body bounced daftly along for the ride.

  Orion noticed an absence of bonds, of restraints around his ankle: his heart fluttered, and his mind reeled with the possibility of escape.

  The last thing he wanted to do was to expose his consciousness.

  He wished his mind would sharpen; he would have to rely upon the traditional senses to guide him—four of the five, at that—if he couldn’t open his eyes.

  Orion dared to wriggle a wrist: he was indeed unbound.

  Maintaining a measured breath, he wondered where Echidna sent him, what she planned to do him.

  He wondered what she desperately wanted to understand—his heightened sense of perception? Little did she understand the enormity of that curse. If he alone wasn’t the gateway to something she wanted for herself, she never would have bothered with him.

  The gurney reeled around a corner.

  Orion’s body lurching with the motion, latex-gloved hands forced him back against the stretcher.

  Footsteps slowed, wheels squealed, and he felt the stretcher turn at a ninety degree angle. Others stopped pushing; they tugged him backward; they forced the gurney ahead and nicked the wall against the corner, jostling him.

  They passed through a doorway, entering what he suspected was an operating room.

  He was rolled and repositioned, parked against something flat, a table, a wall.

  Several pairs of feet shuffled out the door; how many people remained?

  Gloved hands lifted his loose-fitting sleeves, swabbed his arm with a cool, sterile-smelling substance. He heard hands rummaging, the clank of metal tools, the tink of glass canisters, the flipping of pages.

  There was a disgruntled exhale.

  The person closest to him marched across the room, lifting a receiver from the far wall. “Yeah, it’s me. . .” Pause. “The compound hasn’t arrived.” Tense breathing.

  Orion strained to hear the conversation: this was his moment for escape.

  “Okay, I’m coming. Yes. Have it ready, yes, or I’ll be in touch with his superior.” The phone slammed, and the person stormed through the doorway.

  The door slammed shut.

  Hearing nothing, he cautiously opened his eyes. He saw no one in his immediate vicinity; tipping his head to the side, he faced the door.

  No one.

  He rolled his head to the other side, scanning the room: beside him stood a multi-tiered table, stocked with every sharp surgical tool imaginable.

  Orion sat up, head swimming. He figured there must be cameras, and it was in his best interest to move quickly: eyeing the table beside him, he swiped a narrow, pleasantly long and sparkling knife.

  He could conceal this easily in his hand if he were caught. He could use it to defend himself, or to slice through potential restraints.

  Barefoot, wearing a wispy medical gown, he tryst to the edge of the room and cautiously opened the door.

  He decided to fight as hard as he could to leave this place alive.

  But not until he murdered Andrealphus for the third time. Yes, he would kill him again; the third time was always a charm.

  “You won’t believe this!”

  The static from the radio startled Ninkasi and she jumped, wobbling the ladder. Her heart skipped and she grabbed the upper rung, steadying herself, catching her breath.

  She squeezed the sides of the radio clasped to her suspenders. “Is everything alright?”

  Aleister’s commanding voice. “Get down here, now!”

  Ninkasi zipped through the halls in a feverish trot, doing her best to rush without looking rushed. Rounding a corner, she smacked into Aleister.

  He stood with his hands on his hips, immovable, an enormous megalith.

  Ninkasi lifted her hands to break their collision, skidding to a halt.

  Nero crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot.

  “What’s going on?” She looked to Aleister, to Nero, and to Aleister again.

  “As soon as we entered the fourth sector of the building, my RCU detected a signal.” He pulled the device from his pocket and waved it in her face.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What signal?”

  “Your signal!” He thrust a deformed finger into her face. “Your tracking bracelet, anyway.”

  “But I’m not wearing it. . .” She furrowed her brow.

  Nero slapped a palm over his face.

  “Someone has your bracelet!” Aleister waved his hands in the air. “Didn’t you say Orion removed it?”

  Her eyes widened. “So he’s here?!”

  Nero’s hand tensed around the modified rifle on his belt. “There’s only one way to find out. . .”

  Orion smacked his hand against the scanner and groggily body-checked the doors to the eighth tier.

  If Andrealphus were hiding anywhere, that fucker would be here. He was likely drinking, laughing, maybe violating the servant girls
in his quarters, having a grand old time.

  His days were numbered. Orion pressed forward, stumbling, catching himself against the wall.

  He squinted: everything in the golden hallway shimmered. Repetitive patterns carved into the walls made his head spin: he had to focus.

  Orion remembered this place as if he’d never left; it made him sicker than the drugs. He ignored the servants that scurried past, dressed head-to-toe in gold, painted gold, perhaps like coins; he fought not to retch against the stale air.

  This deep underground, breathing became different. The air was different. He didn’t know how, because of what, or why—he never understood the subtle, oppressive suffocation he felt in his bones. It was why he cherished Aleister’s isle, that sweet, rainy, forested, fresh and thunderous isle, where the sky cracked open and poured upon the trees, spawning the densest, lushest, tallest forest in the world.

  There the air was sweet. Grimacing, he slumped against a wall, pushing his hand into another identification box.

  The doors rolled open, revealing Andrealphus’s familiar haunt.

  Orion hesitated, before crossing the threshold and stepping inside.

  The room was empty, reeking of booze and blood. An overturned crystal goblet lay on the engraved cherry wood table, beside the gargantuan armchair, stained with blood.

  Orion’s stomach flopped, overpowered by the flood of horrific memories.

  A gold servant’s mask sparkled on the floor. God only knew. . .

  His hand tightened around the knife: his situation, and the matter of extricating Andrealphus from the world once and for all, boiled down to a game of hide-and-seek.

  Rather than to hide, Orion preferred to seek.

  He made his way to the edge of the chamber and continued his search through the halls.

  It was a tortuous hike through three frosty sectors of the building before Aleister’s RCU indicated close range with the target. They passed hallway after hallway, door after door, everything locked and stamped with the bident emblem of death.

  Aleister thumbed through his RCU. “I should have the access codes here.” He lifted a hand, prepared to input the code.