‘I’ve just got to put it out there, B,’ Kira said. ‘I’m not sure I’m into the robot sex thing. I mean he’s cute and everything, but this just isn’t oiling my engine.’
She waved her hands over Azrael, who sat oblivious, maintaining his trance-like observance of the television. All at once doubt edged its way into Blake’s mind. Earlier today she’d been so certain of what should occur. Gwen had informed her of Kira’s visits to the containment cell. They’d both observed Azrael’s favourable reaction to her presence, and had ensured it was not a one-off by allowing Kira to sit with him a second time this morning. For reasons Blake struggled to comprehend, the gallu appeared to find Kira’s juvenile, trivial chatter soothing.
Blake shifted her shoulders, shrugging off her own discontent at allowing the term into her vocabulary. Gallu. A mythological Sumerian entity. A demon or devil. It both stupefied and intrigued her that the Syranians used a term derived from an ancient Earth religion, but it was hardly evidence that the energy contained in the carapace was anything remotely divine. Evidence of a superior intellectual race once having been on Earth? Perhaps. And if the Syranians were prepared to simply destroy that evidence, then what harm in keeping it for herself and attempting to understand both the gallu and the mea stone welded into the carapace. Captain Nex declared both disposable. Of the five carapaces, Azrael was the one she was most proud of. The Syranians treated him as little more than a crash-test dummy, a model that would be discontinued the moment the Four arrived to fill the empty shells awaiting them.
Taking a deep breath, Blake quietened the nagging doubt. Her hands were steady today, her thoughts clear. A suppressant Cym had given her the day before appeared to be blocking the hallucinatory and physical effects of the Waters. No mental impairment hindered her thought process today. No ache behind her eyes. Her usefulness to the Syranians was drawing to a close; she understood that. But it did not mean she had to go quietly. And she was fast running out of days. What little control she still held was about to be removed.
Blake forced herself to her feet. Despite the success of Cym’s latest concoction, her limbs were leaden.
‘Take him out,’ she said.
Kira’s eyes widened, and a choked laugh escaped her. ‘Whoa. Okay. Well my gun’s in the shop right now –’
‘Don’t be stupid, Kira. Listen to me. Take him out of the Facility. Like you did with Eron.’
Now Kira’s laughter was not choked. It was loud and free and full of incredulity. ‘Oh, just like that? The thing that ended with him being banished to his room for months, and to this day makes the captain and Tamas look at me like I’m shit they just stepped in? Sure. No worries.’
‘I don’t have time –’
Kira’s laughter evaporated. ‘For my shit? No one fucking does. Especially you –’
‘This is not the time.’ Heat flushed Blake’s face.
‘Nah. Never is. Hasn’t been for years.’ Kira poured herself another golden, bubbling champagne. ‘Just say it. You’ll feel better.’
Blake frowned. ‘What?’
Kira threw back the champagne before the froth had a chance to settle. ‘Say it. You hate me. Hated me since the day I slammed Dad into a tree.’ A crack infiltrated her tone.
Now it was Blake’s turn for incredulity. Of all the moments for this mammoth conversation to burst free of the carefully packed box both she and Kira had shoved it into, this was truly the most inopportune. ‘Kira . . . I don’t . . .’ Reality was too complex for a hurried discussion. And the death of their father had created a rich tapestry, as difficult to look at as Kira’s arm. Did she blame Kira for the accident? Blake had not stopped long enough to allow herself to give it consideration. But hate her sister? No. Blake loathed herself. For not pulling Kira out of the pit she’d descended into since that day. While Kira drowned, Blake submerged herself, and her grief, in the alien world, with all the advanced technology and artificial life she could gorge on.
‘Kira, listen to me.’ Blake grabbed the bottle before Kira could pour another glass. ‘I need you to focus. On this. Right now. This moment. The past will have to wait.’
‘What’s another three years, right?’
The waft of Kira’s alcohol-and-garlic-scented breath pushed Blake back a step. ‘You went out in public more than once with an extraterrestrial. Somehow you managed to integrate Eron into everyday situations –’
‘Trust me, the Ballers Club is so far from an everyday –’
‘My point, Kira, if you will allow me to make it, is that you have a talent for manipulation –’
‘You’re just laying on the fucking compliments, aren’t you? Give me the bottle.’
‘No.’ Blake scanned the room. The layout was identical to her own townhouse one block down. She strode into the kitchen and tipped the near-full bottle over the sink.
‘Jesus, that’s a four-hundred-dollar bottle,’ Kira cried. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
She reached for the bottle, her hands getting in the way of the fleeing liquid, sending sugar-brown specks over Blake’s white linen blouse. The simmering anger rose up again, and before Blake realised what she’d done, she slammed an open palm against Kira’s flesh shoulder, sending her sister stumbling against the sink.
‘What the fuck was that for, you crazy bitch?’ Kira rubbed at the small of her back. ‘Christ almighty, go back to ignoring me. I’m good with that.’
They stood close in the narrow kitchen. Reason suggested now may be a good time to reach for Kira, tend to her, ensure she was not injured. Blake folded her arms across her unstable stomach and moved away.
‘Kira, I’ve not behaved in the way I should have. Not just now, and perhaps not in the past. For that, I apologise. But any further discussion must wait. This is too important. I need one thing from
