by Mike Wild
And Blackblood had an interest in the second. If only he could find the warehouse while he was still alive.
Blackblood careered around another corner, his robotic legs pumping, bullets - he thought they were kryptonite this time - thudding into the floor behind him.
"This way!" Number 5 shouted, pointing. "Around this corner."
"If this is another empty corridor, you little-"
Blackblood took the corner. Number 5 stood by a simple wooden door, looking very sheepish. "Broom closet," he said. "Missed it the first time round. And the second. Oh, and-"
"Are you telling me the warehouse is hidden in a broom closet?"
Number 5 nodded. "Inventive, ain't it."
And it was inventive, in an illegal kind of way. As he and the robot entered, Blackblood saw that the warehouse stretched so far into the distance in all directions that he just knew that dimensional annexing was in operation, probably to Mxyzptlk, which was a particularly laid-back dimension and the least prone to invade as a result. The others were not, which was why dimensional annexing had been banned a hundred years ago.
Blackblood still remembered the bloodbath that had followed the Slainesbury's fiasco, when the Fangretti had found that their gladiatorial pits were suddenly the fresh fish department of the rogue supermarket chain. Still, even if it was Mxyzptlk that had been annexed, he wondered how the Blini were reacting to finding stacks of boxes of dubious content crowding out their eggloos, or the Tharg to bumping into rows of shelves blocking the path to their sacred muttering ground.
At least, though, in all of this, he knew what he was looking for. The problem was, there was something in the way. And whatever it was, it was big. Very big.
The gargantuan machine half rolled, half stomped into view from behind a row of high shelves, a mek of some kind but one quite unlike any Blackblood had ever seen. It appeared to be part warehouse worker, part cleaner and part fighting machine, a house-sized chunk of claws and grips, grabs and brushes, baskets and platforms, guns, floor-polishers, grenade launchers, extending arms and some really serious looking cannons. In no particular order, that was.
The thing was an unnatural fusion of shopping trolley, humungous tank, automated char and forklift truck. It held a gigantic duster in one hand with which it was dusting down the tops of some nearby crates. Blackblood couldn't work out why, but he thought it might be female. If so, she was the ugliest girl he had ever seen.
She reminded Blackblood a little of Mek-Quake.
The behemoth sang along to itself, spinning happily on her forklift wheels. "Working nine to five, what a way to make a livin'..."
"What the frag is that?" Blackblood asked.
"Unique to the Invention Exchange," Number 5 explained.
"One of a kind. Last line of defence. Prototype Janitorial, Defence and Distribution Droid, JDD 1. Her name is Two-Ton Carmen."
"Isn't she a little too... multi-tasked? Janitorial, defence and distribution? I mean, what happens if she's being attacked and has to take a delivery? Especially if it makes a mess?"
"Two-Ton Carmen cope."
Blackwood took another look at the array of weaponry and forklifts, sliding and twirling perpetually, the noise in the warehouse deafening. He had no doubt that she probably would.
"So how do we get past her?"
"We don't," Number 5 said simply. "Have to go through her."
"You mean fight," Blackblood said. He un-holstered a machine pistol and slipped in a full clip. Hurriedly, Number 5 shoved the barrel down.
"Fight, no, no." He pointed around them at the stacks of crates and their contents. "Fight in warehouse and we destroy inventions." He leant forward, as if imparting a great secret. "Some inventions make very big baaaang."
Blackblood prepared to stand. "I can live with that. Just tell me which crates the anti-nanos are in and I'll make sure I avoid them."
"Number 5 does not know where crates are."
"You don't know? You said you'd seen them!" Blackblood was rarely exasperated but after almost a day with Number 5, he was getting there. He stared around the cavernous interior. "There has to be a quarter of a million crates in here, for frag's sake."
"Two-Ton Carmen has moved around. Stock rotation."
"Stock rotation," Blackblood repeated disbelievingly.
"Yes. It is a system whereby retailers and wholesalers-"
Blackblood grabbed Number 5 by the closest thing he had to a neck. "I know what stock rotation is, you micro-brained midget," he snarled.
"Two-Ton Carmen is verrry efficient. Another reason we have to go through her. She knows where crates are."
"So what do you suggest we do?"
"Bluff," said Number 5, simply. Saying that, the droid whipped out his clipboard and stepped out into the open. Blackblood was wondering what the frag he was doing when the droid turned slightly. "Back me up on this," he whispered over his shoulder.
"Hi there. Remember me?"
Two-Ton Carmen stopped what she was doing. Her immense T-shaped head swivelled round and descended toward Number 5.
"You are shoe-size robot sent by new owner of Invention Exchange, Professor Medusa."
"That's right," Number 5 said. "I came for the very small robots."
"And you take very small robots. What you want now?"
"This is embarrassing," Number 5 said, "but last time we came we forgot we also wanted the box next to the very small robots."
Two-Ton Carmen regarded him suspiciously. "Professor Medusa said nothing 'bout second box."
"No," Number 5 said quickly. "But she wouldn't. You see, it's a surprise. For Professor Medusa."
"A... sur-prise?"
"Er, yes," Number 5 improvised. "A birthday present. From her nephew, Blackbl- er, her nephew... Bob." The tripod turned and waved. "Get out here, Bob. Don't be shy."
Blackblood stepped out from behind the crate, scowling. He was going to kill that little fragger.
"Tell the nice robot how Auntie Medusa would be very upset if you forgot her present... Bob."
Blackblood growled. "Auntie Medusa would be very upset if I forgot her present," he repeated through a gritted grille. He bent to Number 5. "You're dead, shrimp."
Two-Ton Carmen regarded them both. She folded two of her huge mechanical arms and tapped a foot. "Hmm. Well. We can't have that, can we? Second left, first right, east, diagonal, north, down, widdershins, right, right, right, up, left sideways, south, up, down," the mammoth robot explained.
"Ummm..." Number 5 said, confused.
But Blackblood had already memory-dumped the necessary information. "Over there," he said, pointing. He strode off. Behind him, completing his act, Number 5 said to Two-Ton Carmen, "She's having a party on Saturday night if you want to come along. Bring a friend."
"PARTY!" Two-Ton Carmen said, excitedly. And then she sighed heavily. "Two-Ton Carmen would love to come to party but Two-Ton Carmen has no friends. She never leave Invention Exchange. She cannot leave Invention Exchange because she cannot fit through doors. She is very lonely here-"
"Oh, that's so sad. But maybe we can fix you up with a date?"
Two-Ton Carmen shook her head. "Two-Ton Carmen put ads in Lonely Master Program columns but never get reply. No one quite like Two-Ton Carmen..."
Now Number 5 sighed. "I know how you..."
"Shorty!" Blackblood shouted. "With me, now!"
The ABC Warrior and Number 5 worked their way between the crates toward their needle in a haystack. It was true what they said of the Invention Exchange: everything that had ever been invented was there. On the way they passed a pile of dustsheet-covered crates that even Carmen ignored. They were marked "withheld" and were obviously inventions that had, for one reason or another, never been released. Blackblood scanned the labels, guessing the main reason that they had never been released was that they were utterly useless.
Among other things, there was a six-coloured rainbow; Distant Arboreal Shadows, never used, five Es each; a cheese watcher. There was
even something called a twirlybobblestop straightener, but Blackblood couldn't imagine a single use for that.
Two-Ton Carmen slapped him about the head with her duster.
"Restricted access," she said. "What you want is four aisles down."
Blackblood moved on and finally reached the crate he wanted. A crowbar extended from his arm and he prised it open. Inside were what looked like rifles - ten of them. They were not strictly rifles, of course, more like spray guns considering their purpose, but for Blackblood it still felt good to heft one in his arms.
"Shorty, come here." Number 5 skittered over.
Blackblood shot him in the foot.
Then he took out a real weapon and blew his foot off. He was extremely gratified to see that it stayed blown off.
"Whaddyaknow," he said. "The fraggin' things actually work."
Number 5 was hopping around, yelping with pain. "What did you - ow! OW! - Why did - uuunh - You absolute bast - aaaargh!"
"That's for 'Bob'," Blackblood said. He grabbed the remaining weapons and slung them over his shoulder. "Now try to pull yourself together and let's get out of here."
There was a loud roar and Two-Ton Carmen came hurtling across the warehouse, batting crates aside. She rammed into Blackblood and pinned him against the shelves.
"Two Ton Carmen hear bang," she rumbled. "Banging is NOT ALLOWED in warehouse!" Her eyes fell on the rifles and she inhaled deeply. "Those not birthday present," she said. "Chocolates are birthday present. Very small kangaroo is birthday present." Her eyes narrowed and her T-shaped head pushed toward Blackblood. "Who are you, really?"
Blackblood fired twin machine guns right into her guts and Two-Ton Carmen recoiled with a screech.
"Oh frag," said Number 5.
"YOU ARE VERY NAUGHTY ROBOT!"
Blackblood flipped sideways as Two-Ton Carmen waved her feather duster at him. It wasn't the duster he was worried about - it was the cannons that she brought to bear.
DUM-DUM-DUM!
DUM-DUM-DUM!
Blackblood returned fire. DU-DU-DU-DU-DU! DU-DU-DU-DU-DU!
"Stop!" Number 5 shouted. "Remember the inventions make veerry biiig bang!"
His plea was not heard; the two robots continued to exchange fire. Blackblood rolled and ducked through the crates, swapping guns and ammunition as he went. He unleashed acid rounds, grenade rounds, corrosive rounds, fire rounds. Two-Ton Carmen was horrified as her feather duster went up in flames, and smoking as the rounds ate into her armour, so she doused herself with fire extinguishers while turning her cannons on everything, too incensed to care.
Shelves crashed over. Crates blew open. Dimensional annexes collapsed.
The warehouse was suddenly filled with activity. Music blared as dancing fridges began to pirouette about in confused circles. A six-coloured rainbow appeared near the ceiling. A group of Thargs appeared out of nowhere and began to mutter very loudly. Two kamikaze cod buzzed about in little fishy planes before saluting each other and impacting with the floor.
Inevitably, it happened: one of Blackblood's and one of Two-Ton Carmen's rounds met in the middle of one particular crate.
It exploded with a veerry biiig baaang.
The side of the Invention Exchange warehouse was blown out. Blackblood was blown out with it, landing on his back in the street outside. Without thinking about it, Two-Ton Carmen raged after him, her tank-tracks spinning, launching herself into the outside world.
She sailed through the air and crashed onto Blackblood, crushing him into the ground. Blackblood struggled to free himself as a vicious drill-like device rotated out of Two-Ton Carmen's forehead, zuzzing angrily.
"Who are you really?" she asked him again.
The drill buried itself between Blackblood's eyes.
"I SAID," Two-Ton Carmen repeated, "WHO... ARE... YOU... REALLY?"
"Nnnngghh," went Blackblood. "Uuuuuunng!" He spasmed and twitched as the drill worked its way through his armouring and inside his head, felt it start to dig deep into his memory core. His thoughts started to flash like fireworks and were then sucked away. Two-Ton Carmen was directly accessing his memory dump, seeking the information she wanted:
Atomic... Bacterial... Chemical...
"An ABC Warrior, eh?"
Mongrol... Hammerstein... Joe...
"Your friend has a strange taste in underwear."
Volgons... Mars... Medusa...
"THAT'S Professor Medusa?"
Deadlock... Morrigun... Mek-Quake...
Two-Ton Carmen suddenly stopped probing.
She inhaled sharply. "Whooooo," she said breathlessly, "is THAT?"
"That's Mek-Quake," Blackblood croaked. Oddly enough, right now, he felt a lot like croaking.
"MEEEEK-QUAAAAKE..." Two-Ton Carmen repeated slowly, almost lovingly.
Blackblood looked at her strangely. "He's, er, a Ford Industries Demolition Robot. Serial Number..."
"FORD INDUSTRIES?" Two-Ton Carmen screeched. "MY UNDER-CARRIAGE WAS MADE AT FORD INDUSTRIES!" She looked dreamily into the distance. "Meeeek-Quaaaake... oh, we could be made for each other."
Blackblood gulped. If what he thought was happening here was happening here, the last thing he wanted was to be trapped beneath a randy robot.
He struggled. "Excuse me. Miss Carmen?"
With a quick zzz, Two-Ton Carmen retracted her drill. Her T-Shaped head shot into Blackblood's face.
"This Mek-Quake. He is friend of yours?"
"I wouldn't call him a friend exactly but..."
Two-Ton Carmen rumbled.
"Oh, that Mek-Quake. Yes, very old friend - you could say he's my best buddy, in fact. So brave, so caring, so intelligent..."
Two-Ton Carmen trundled off the top of him. Blackblood picked himself up with a series of groans. He debated starting the fight anew but there didn't seem to be much point now that he had what he wanted. Besides, he'd had more than enough of the Invention Exchange.
"I can give you his transponder frequency if you like," he said to Two-Ton Carmen, if only to get her out of his face. "You could look him up some time."
"Yeees... Two-Ton Carmen would like that very much."
Blackblood did so.
"Everything all right here?" Number 5 said. The tripod leapt down from the Invention Exchange - or what was left of it, anyway - amidst a crackling of sentient poppadoms intent on mass escape. Not sure where to go, they hooked up with a pair of fellow escapees: a solar-powered bat and a contortionist lamppost.
"Oh, yeeesss," Two-Ton Carmen said. She looked around and jumped, suddenly realised that she, too, was at liberty in the outside world. "Oh, yess, indeed," she repeated. And with that, she trundled off at some speed down the street.
Number 5 turned to Blackblood. "So, that's it, then? Off to war?"
"War," said Blackblood hungrily. "Yes."
"Against Medusa?"
"Oh yes."
Number 5 shuffled his feet. "Can I come?"
"No, of course you can't."
"Go on."
"No!"
"Can I have one of those, then?" Number 5 asked. The robot pointed at the rifles slung on Blackblood's back.
"They're not toys," Blackblood said. He pointed in the direction of Sunset Motors. "Go home."
He turned to walk away, felt a tug on his back. Number 5 had made a grab for one of the rifles anyway.
"I said no," Blackblood snarled.
But when he turned, the robot -- along with one of the rifles - had gone.
FIFTEEN
As Ro-Jaws had said, there was something strange going on, something very strange indeed. For a while, though, Hammerstein chose to ignore the strangeness and to enjoy it, because however strange the place was, he would rather have liked to stay and party.
Deep down inside, though, he knew that he couldn't, because Maggie kept telling him so. After that first night, the party had continued on the following day and the next, and the day after that. It was a party, in fact, that appeared to go on forever.
Parties didn't do that, did they? Not in the real world.
Nevertheless, Hammerstein revelled for a while in the company of the friends and acquaintances that he thought he had lost for all of time - Jodi Jones, Terri, Colonel Lash and Happy Shrapnel. They spent hour after happy hour talking, reminiscing and simply chewing the fat. Hammerstein liked that. He could not remember when he had last had time to chew the fat. He could remember only battles. But he thought that perhaps he'd had enough of battles and that life was over. Most of all in the company he shared, he enjoyed being with Maggie. They spent their days walking through green fields, talking and getting to know each other since they had the time. They spent their nights wrapped in each other's arms, Maggie telling him of her life, he telling her of his.
Oddly enough when Maggie spoke the topic always came back to that of the place where Maggie had grown up - a place called Bowel Town on a planet called Mars.
Mars? Hammerstein had repeated. The name had an oddly familiar ring about it.
"Yes, Mars," Maggie had repeated to him, in turn, time and time again.
"You'll have to come back there... Back here... with me. When you're ready."
Hammerstein thought that perhaps he would.
As happy and as carefree as the days were, the nights offered different sights, different sounds.
It was fine while he lay with Maggie, listening to her words, but then her words followed him into his sleep, haunting him. It was almost as if she wanted them to.
Bowel town...
Mars...
In Hammerstein's dreams, he heard the sound of marching feet.
Metal feet. And of heat-rays. He glimpsed massed armies and other friends. Friends that he was only now beginning to realise that he had. Wherever these friends were, wherever the armies were, the place was red.
"Troubled, son?" Colonel Lash asked him one morning.
Hammerstein was staring out of the window of the house, in which they all partied, at the town outside. He believed it was called Grinnell, Iowa. Or was it Green Bluff, Illinois? He thought he knew this place. He thought he knew that it wasn't real.