Chapter Four

(Angel)

She was a mile or so above the Goldman Sachs Tower when she saw the explosions.

In the skyscraper's parking lot a gargantuan robotic gorilla was flinging cars as if they were Hot Wheels while a seemingly neverending rocket barrage fired wildly from its shoulder pods. Police helicopters circled from a cautious distance, their open side doors ablaze with muzzle flashes. Angel zoomed in and saw burning wreckage, charred bodies; she strangled the memories before they awoke. The ape’s red eyes burned like torches. It kicked a bus and beat great metal fists against its armored chest. Its hinged jaws bellowed an electronically modulated "Tarzan call" that, despite the heavy amplification, sounded suspiciously like that of a teenage boy.

"I take it mine wasn't the only meteor?" Angel said with forced dryness. From so far up, even the giant machine seemed only a sort of action figure brought to life. But already new fears were brewing.

"Evidently not," the voice replied. "I'm receiving news reports regarding numerous attacks throughout the New York metropolitan area."

Along the building's side, windows shattered and floors sank as the robo-simian began its King Kong climb.

"Who are you people?" asked Angel, her anger sounding only frightened to her ears. "Why are you handing out free mechs?"

"I am a creation of the elven race. I don't know why."

"I don't believe you," Angel said.

When she had accepted the voice's offer, she wanted only the magical, all-healing Hydra-bites. That's all she needed. But the voice insisted she allocate the other "resources," and it really pushed for the "elf-makeover" and "cyber-brain" options, both of which Angel flatly refused. There had been different mech classes to choose from, but the human-sized model with the cloaking ability seemed a lot less conspicuous than the ones twenty stories tall.

But it seemed some wanted to be conspicuous--and homicidal--and the elves apparently had no problem with that. An hour ago she didn't know they existed, but their strategy seemed clear: distribute dangerous technology, let the humans kill each other. Next phase: invasion.

She spotted a C-130-sized silver dragon flapping around the Statue of Liberty. Rocket thrusts belched from its wings, and with a final lash of its tail it snapped off the Lady's torch hand before blasting off into the sunset sky.

"Beware elves bearing mechs," said Angel.

Gliding in a slow, spiraling circle around the Goldman Sachs Tower, Angel considered drawing her "plasma bow" and putting down the mad gorilla . . . until a more intimate concern took hold.

Thrusting to about 10,000 feet, she turned towards the Manhattan skyline. "Show me the Cancer NYU."

Adjusting for the dim light, the cluttered, bird's eye view zoomed upon a single cubist building unremarkable from its companions. Angel scanned the surrounding streets. The Empire State Building looked like it was kind of on fire, but that was several blocks away.

Her computer anticipated her question. "There are no reports of attacks near the New York University Cancer Center."

Angel was already thrusting across the Hudson. "Yeah, but how long will that last? Thanks to your elven masters, New York's become a robot war zone."

"Thanks to my elven masters, your wife will live."

“Are you getting smart with me?”

“I am more intelligent than you, so yes.”

Angel didn’t bother with a comeback. “Shut up and call Carin.”

No ring, then: "You have called the voice mail box of: 'Carin Yovanovitch.'"

Shit.

Down a steep, accelerating curve, Angel swooped over the steel and glass jungle of Lower Manhattan. The cumulative honks of a million-strong traffic-jam blared up like an acoustic aura jingled with sirens, and though the streets and avenues breezed by too fast for details, she saw most were clogged with vehicles and crowds, wrecks and fires.

She yawed herself feet-first, fired her thrusters and used her wings as airbrakes. By the time she touched down on the hospital’s white-pebbled rooftop, the impact was no greater than if she’d jumped off a stepladder. She willed her wings to retract and felt the vague shift as they folded into the spine.

Nestled behind the skyscraper horizon, the sun shone as but a violet suggestion that, through Angel’s light-enhanced visor, left the cityscape a hazy, electric dream. A steel turtle the size of a yacht soared past the Empire State Building, whose brick and glass hide gaped with black, smoldering wounds. Helicopters raced in the distance, though one hovered closer than the others, as if it were searching. Tiny rocks crunched beneath Angel's invisible boots as she stepped to the roof's ledge and realized that whatever happened today, the world had changed; it was not going to change back.

She shook the thoughts away and jogged to the roof's access door. She was surprised to find it unlocked. After descending two flights of stairs to the door of the floor of Carin's usual infusion room, Angel stopped. There would be people on the other side. Walking amongst them as a unseen ghost would be weird.

"How do I take this thing off?" she asked.

"Concentrate on collapsing it."

She remembered choosing that option. She'd wondered what it meant. With the metallic flap of aluminum butterflies, the cloaked suit receded back like a wave, and Angel could once more see her body. To an outsider, it would look like she had just folded into existence.

Angel stared at the shiny black bracelet now clasped to her left wrist. It felt smooth like obsidian, and as she peered closer she saw there were hair-fine bands of purple which seemed to jiggle under the stairway's florescent lights.

"How could all that fit in . . .?"

"Ten dimensional storage," the elven computer replied, somehow still speaking in her ear. "The physics you wouldn't understand."

"Like a Tardis," Angel said. Carin loved that silly show.

Angel buttoned her flannel jacket to hide the blood on her tanktop and stepped through the door into the hospital corridor. No one noticed.

A harried-looking security guard nearly bumped into her as he jogged past. Through an open door, an old bedridden woman held hands in a circle with her family, their eyes shut in intense prayer. By the service desk, a small, somber crowd of patients and staff were gathered around a wall-mounted flatscreen which showed a cute blond news-anchor speaking excitably while images of the newly-maimed Statue of Liberty played behind her.

"Evacuate?" someone from around the hall cried. "Yeah, that went real well in New Orleans . . ."

Given the local attitude, Angel half-expected the lights to flicker, but they shone with the usual sterile brightness that so complimented the pallid, antiseptic smell that all hospitals shared. She hated this place.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Dr. Ison walked by, his head bent over the tablet in his hand. He pecked at it irritably.

"Hey, is Carin . . .?" Angel began.

He gestured down the hall without looking up. "Yeah, she's still in the chair, I guess."

He guessed right. When Angel stepped into the 7-A chemotherapy infusion room, her wife was leaned back in a padded recliner. The other seats were empty.

Carin's left hand was taped with a IV line, her right fiddled with her phone. With a sad, frustrated scowl lining her delicate features, she glanced up lazily and actually did a double-take.

"Angie! Oh, my god. I was so worried!"

Angel was going to kneel by her side, but her wife stood to embrace her. Carin had always been on the petite side, but after weeks of chemo her previously snug Tegan and Sara shirt hung baggy on her shoulders; through the thin cotton Angel's hands felt only skin and ribs. She stroked the bandanna hiding Carin's bald scalp and kissed her. Angel would sooner cut out her own tongue than tell her, but she tasted of death.

But hopefully not for much longer.

Carin pushed away, her gray eyes almost wild with inquisitiveness. "How did you get here so fast? They say the traffic's blocked, and your car . . ." She trailed off and shook her head. "The internet and phones are out, and the news only says there's 'attacks.' What's going on?"

"Space elves, baby," Angel said. "They dropped a bunch of meteors full of anime robot shit. Some folks are just being assholes about it. But hey, that's the bad news. The good news is I snagged one of them suits--and it comes with some awesome health care."

Carin looked like she'd been slapped. "Are you trying to be funny? This is serious." She pointed out the window. "Did you see the Empire State Building?"

"Forget the Empire State Building. I've got it all under control. Look, I'll prove my bona fides." Angel closed the door. Holding up her left fist, she willed the action and shouted, "Go-go-gadget cybersuit!"

From the bracelet, the black and violet armor flapped into place around her, its movements so precise yet mechanically impossible as to seem computer generated. The interlocking plates gave a tight hug as they fastened and locked.

Angel flexed a bicep. "What do you think?" she said, her voice now slightly modulated. "A little too 'Power Rangers,' maybe, but I like the color scheme."

"I see," Carin said, nodding slowly. "The cancer's finally reached my brain."

"No, it ain't like that," Angel began. "I know this seems crazy, but--"

"Authorities are incoming," the elf computer said.

"Incoming? What, you mean here?" Angel asked.

"Six FBI helicopters are converging on this hospital. ETA less than one minute."

"But why here?"

"Angie, who are you talking to?"

Angel raised a gloved hand to shush her wife as the computer said, "Their transmissions are encrypted, but from what I can deduce they are looking for you."

"Me? How did they know--" But then she remembered the wrecked car, the text, the phone calls. "Shit. But half the city's overrun with giant fucking robots. Why the hell are they bothering with me?"

"The National Guard is engaging with the dangerous targets. The FBI has likely been tasked with capturing a suit, and they knew you would come here. Evidently you arrived before they could prepare an ambush, but they were likely monitoring the building, probably through thermal vision."

Angel could hear rotors now, thrumming louder by the second. Pulling Carin with her, she leaned behind a wall and through her expanded peripheral peeked out the window. A lumbering Black Hawk roared by, followed shortly by a Little Bird. Like a dragonfly of war, the smaller helicopter bristled with miniguns and rocket pods. Angel pulled back from sight.

"Shit!" she hissed. Others buzzed past, though one hovered nearby. Suddenly the lights went out. The air conditioning ticked a few times as it lost its hum.

"ANGEL ZACARIAS!" megaphoned a voice from outside, mispronouncing her name. "THIS IS SPECIAL AGENT BOYLE OF THE FBI. YOU ARE IN POSSESSION OF HAZARDOUS MATERIALS. REMOVE THE ARMOR AND STEP ONTO THE ROOF WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD. IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY, WE ARE AUTHORIZED TO USE DEADLY FORCE."

A searchlight shone through the window, casting the vertical blinds as barred silhouettes. Angel held her wife closer and inched to the corner of the room, dragging the IV stand with them. Trembling, Carin hugged the armored plates on Angel's chest and said, "This can't be happening. This can't be happening . . ."

"Elf," Angel whispered. "Have those hydro-bots cured Carin yet?"

"No. A full eradication will require at least two days of frequent physical contact."

"Which she won't get if I turn myself in."

"Correct. You are contaminated with alien technology. You will likely be detained indefinitely. Your wife may be as well."

Something was always inside Angel, sometimes slumbering, sometimes stirring. It screamed, on occasion, but hadn't been fully awake since that shattered morning outside Abu Ghraib. But it was awake now. It's heart beat with stone fear, cool anger.

Even through two floors Angel heard the heavy windstorm of what must be multiple Black Hawks congregating over the roof. She could even hear the rushing patter of boots landing, running.

Roughly, Angel pulled Carin down with her in a crouch. When customizing her suit, she had chosen certain weapons, and she thought of one now. As if by magic the stocky pulse carbine folded out from her back and slid down her right arm to her outstretched hand.

Through weird, light-enhanced sight Carin's weeping face looked too much like a skull. "I . . . I don't know what's going on, but please, just give up! I don't want to lose you!"

Angel looked at Carin and smiled, though she knew all her wife saw was the smooth dark faceplate of a motorcycle helmet. They'd both been through so much shit, but especially Carin. She'd survived her dad's belt, the foster homes, her boyfriend's fists. And her girlfriend's PTSD. And then when life turns around and she's found happiness and is about to publish her first book and they can dare to plan their future together. . . she gets knocked down with leukemia.

And now there was a way out. But the door was closing.

The carbine was about the size of a M4. It felt like an old friend. And she had her "plasma bow" too. Deer, Feds: what's the difference?

"Don't worry, baby," Angel said as she turned invisible. "I got everything under control."