‘Blake, we have known each other a very long time. Well before we became so much more than we’d ever been. Do you remember that we used to share tinned beans in university? You always took the larger portion, but I didn’t care. I truly didn’t.’ The reeds in the garden beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows swayed back and forth beneath a clear morning sky. Insects darted at the still surface of the water. ‘Because you were my friend. A companion who had as many idiosyncrasies, and as few friends, as I did. And it is that history that enables me to offer you one last chance. Tell me where they have gone.’ His fingers dug into her thigh, nails pushing at the thin material of her black pants.
In the haze of fatigue, and duress, and whatever else swirled through her system, Blake wavered. The captain had told her she would not win this game. Highly likely, considering she wasn’t sure what game she was playing. Arrogance had driven her to begin with. They had wanted to take Azrael from her, to destroy her creation when they were done with it. Like a disposable toy. But that motivation had shifted as she’d watched Perry die. She’d recalled a particular book in her possession. One her father had presented her with, just a year before the accident. A copy of the Bhagavad Gita, the very same text Oppenheimer had quoted after the dropping of the atomic bomb. ‘I am become death, destroyer of worlds.’
All because she’d told him of a new development in drone tech that the Facility was pioneering. Her father had had no knowledge of the aliens, no inkling of the superiority of their technology. No clue of what she would become involved in. A simple drone had pressed him to declare his own daughter in danger of becoming a monster. Blake had despised him for it. Abhorred his lack of vision. Didn’t speak to him for weeks. The book had been propping up her lopsided fridge ever since.
Tamas drew in closer, his breath warm against Blake’s skin. ‘One chance. Or I will make you hurt the same way I was made to hurt when the goddess learned Azrael was gone.’
What would her father think now? She had to keep playing. No matter the game.
Blake pressed her mouth up close to Tamas’s ear. ‘I don’t know where they are.’
Tamas slammed his hand on the comms unit beside the bed. ‘You can come in.’ He stood up, pacing away to the far side of the room and standing with his back to her, eyes fixed on the garden his mother had built.
The entrance slid open and Cym entered. A brief moment of relief faded when he refused to meet her gaze. He did not look at her as he rolled up her sleeve and his firm grip left her no option but to hold still as he swabbed her arm.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Let it be done, Blake.’ Tamas kept his back to her. ‘You’ll tell us what we need to know.’
Cym removed a needle from a satchel at his hip. He pushed the needle against her skin and before he broke the surface, leaned towards her and whispered, ‘Forgive me.’
Blake wrenched against his grip, panic knotting her chest. She had pre-planned for this contingency. The use of a truth agent. Human wars were full of such chemical weapons, odds were high that the aliens used them too. But had she done enough to protect herself? An icy sensation raced up her arm, pushing goosebumps to the skin’s surface. That soon changed. Ice became fire, pincers of glowing embers reaching into her skull. Blake screamed, clawing at her ears. She fell to her knees, but Cym dragged her back to her feet, pinning her hands behind her back. Arching her back, slamming her head against his chest, Blake sought some, any, relief from the agony. The screams overflowed from her mouth, choking her. How had she ever supposed she could withstand this?
‘Don’t fight it,’ Cym hissed into her ear. Each word a new flame. A new searing horror. ‘Let go and it will not pain you. Let it take you.’
Tamas stepped in front of her. Blake kicked out. Or, at least, tried to lash out. A straightforward enough movement in her head, but there was no response from her body. Liquid flowed down her face, cool against her blazing skin.
‘Where did you send them, Blake?’ Tamas stood with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding her the same way he had the garden. ‘This can be over very quickly.’
The words forming at the back of her throat ran along the lines of fuck off. But what fell from her mouth was far worse.
‘Melgrove,’ she screamed. ‘I sent them to Melgrove, cabins on the north side of town. We were all supposed to go for Kira’s twenty-first birthday, and I never showed. I was here. I hate myself for that.’ It was a horrifying torrent pouring from her, dragging her far too close to what she sought to hide. Blake’s scream tore at her vocal chords, and in desperation she reached for one undeniable truth. ‘But that was nothing, compared to what she did. She took him away from us. It was her fault, not mine. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. I was never there. I am never there. But it was not my fault. She killed him. Not me.’
Blake rocked back against Cym, damning them all to silent hell. Whatever serum Cym had injected her with, it plucked almost all of the truth out of her, like a crow on a carcass. The shouting match she’d had with Kira, the fury in her sister’s voice as she demanded to know why Blake was cancelling on them again, had rung in her head for three years.
‘Can you contact her, Blake?’
‘No. No.
